The Remnant
Page 7
“Show me around the room, Char,” he said abruptly.
I sighed. “Not much to show. There are two doors off this one, not counting the one we just came through.”
“Show me to a keypad,” he said, taking my arm. I released my chopsticks unwillingly, but stood without protest. As I guided him around the couch, he leaned in close to my ear. “Gotta assume we’re bugged.”
I gave a terse nod. “There’s a keypad in front of you.”
A moment’s investigation revealed that the keypads to the bedrooms had been deactivated, but the door to the hallway remained locked, in spite of considerable coaxing on our end.
The bedchambers were sumptuous, yet sparse: a soft, flat space for sleeping was set into the floor next to a single hard space for walking. Behind the bed, an oilcloth curtain revealed a spacious bathroom, with fancy lighting, a big tub, and a long mirror. I wandered into the smaller of the two bedrooms and sank down into the bed, which lay even with the floor. I was suddenly very tired.
Isaiah popped back into my little space, and I started describing the room to him out of habit. “So, it’s a tiny bed, built right into the ground, and a massive powder room behind that. Also, there’s a weird tube thing coming off the wall. It’s attached to some kind of keypad.”
“Same as mine, then. That’s a sleep machine,” he said. “You punch in how long you want to sleep, suck on the tube, and you wake up exactly that much time later. I think they go up to eight hours.”
“Sounds pretty great. I know a lot of people who would have loved this back home.”
“They were around. I’ve never known a careful man to use one.”
“I’d have liked one in lockup,” I said, thinking of countless nights I’d spent staring at the bunk above mine. “I guess part of prison is having to lie awake at night thinking about all the things you’d do differently, if you could.”
“It’s unconstitutional to drug juvies without a psych override,” Isaiah said, his face tight. “And they’ll have this one monitored. Don’t use it.”
“Oh, is that an order?” I asked, teasing.
“Yes,” he said, simply, and disappeared back to his room.
I awoke to utter comfort and began stripping off my clothes before even leaving the dense pool of silk sheets around me. Halfway through, I realized I was still wearing handcuffs, which made the stripping a little too complicated for my half-awake brain.
I’d barely worked up the wherewithal to stand when the door chimed, interrupting my elaborate plans for the longest, hottest bath since the fall of Rome.
“Charlotte, you decent?” Isaiah’s voice perfectly matched the low tones of the chimes.
I rolled my eyes. “Come on in. I hope you packed me something pretty to wear tonight.” I held up the cuffs, which now had my shirt wrapped around them. “I’m probably going to have to cut this shirt off.”
He stepped into the doorway with the assurance of a tamed tiger. His posture was more like a friend than a king, but with Isaiah, the two could not be separated. “Check your trunk. You should have what you need.”
“Is it a robe?” I said sarcastically. “I bet it’s a robe.” I flitted back toward my room. “People really do love their robes around here.”
“You noticed that, did you?”
“I’m a very important diplomat. It’s my job to notice these little cultural differences.”
Isaiah shook his head. “Give it a look. At least tell me you like the color.”
I popped open the trunk and rustled through the packing paper. “My first official mission, and I’ll be wearing pajamas. Seriously, though, I can make that work. I’m sure it’s fi—” I stopped, seeing the pool of silk before me.
It was a blazing ember, tinged with amber, in a bed of white paper, as solid and bright as the final gasps of flames that had completely claimed the thing they burned. It was the last shade of a fire before everything was charred and black.
The robe was the exact color of the meteor.
I ran a hand over the delicate silk, then looked up with a start. Isaiah was still standing in the doorframe.
“It’s beautiful. Really.”
He didn’t move. “Good. I spent enough time explaining the color I wanted.”
“Of the meteor? But how? You were blind by then.”
“No, not the meteor,” he said, frowning. “Of your eyes.”
He still wasn’t moving, so I wrestled my shirt back over my shoulders and put a hand out. His tone was like I’d leaned against a fence made out of rubber. You expect it to be hard, but there was softness instead. It was the giving in that put me off-balance. “Hey, what’s going on with you? We’ll be fine. I can diplomat.”
“I know you can.”
I stared at him. “At least come in here. Stop standing in the doorway. Seriously, Ise, what is it? I put the cuffs on without protest. No blood was spilt thus far. You’re at the top of your game, here.”
“It’s not the cuffs,” he said. “There’s something else. I thought I was going to do this differently, but…” His voice thinned out, making him sound like someone else.
“You’re scaring me, Ise,” I said quietly.
“Yeah. Me too. Listen, Char. I’m having second thoughts about my plan.”
“You? Never. I’m sure it’s a good plan.”
He looked away. “It’s a great plan. It’s perfect, actually. There’s just one problem.”
I shifted uncomfortably, pulling my shirt even though he couldn’t see me. “Pins and needles, my old friend.”
He crossed the space between us to take both my hands, but when he began to speak, he lost his nerve again.
I broke the grip and put a hand on his shoulder. When he raised his head to look at me, I spoke barely above a whisper. “You can do this, whatever it is. I know you can. And listen, I may not be cleared for top secret, defcon-level-one conversations, but you know you can talk to me, right?”
Isaiah shook my hands off his shoulders and visibly gathered his resolve. “I’m just going to ask you one thing. And I’ll know if—” he took my hands, “if you’re lying, Char. I’m gonna know.”
“For Pete’s sake, Isaiah. The suspense is killing me.”
He swallowed. “That guy, Eren. The Commander’s son. We drugged him a little, asked him some questions. He said your name in his sleep. Coulda been a fluke, or something, but then you came back for him.”
“That’s not much of a question, Isaiah,” I said quietly.
“Fine, here goes: him or me?”
I could not feel the softness of my shirt, or the warmth of his hands as they found mine. Only the steel of his blind gaze and the hardness of the floor beneath my feet. “What?”
“Never mind. Bad question; assumes too much. Let’s start over: do you love him?”
“Eren?”
“Don’t play dumb, Char. There’s a lot at stake right now.”
“Sure. The fate of nations. Right here in this room.”
His jaw tightened. “Do you?”
“This is crazy.” I shook my head, then let out a breath. I wasn’t even sure what that meant. I’d spent three days with Eren back when I’d first arrived on the Ark. The closeness of those days, the feeling that I could reach out and touch him at any moment, was on my mind almost constantly. “I don’t know. I guess. Maybe. I’m a little young to worry too much about all of that.”
“You and I cannot afford to be young anymore. He’s a good guy? He seems good, in spite of his father.”
“He is, Ise. It’s weird. He really is.”
“Has he ever hurt you?”
“What? Look, Isaiah. No. But first of all, what’s gotten into you? He’s fine. You’re fine. I’m fine. Everything’s fine. I don’t see how any of this affects the mission.”
“That’s what I figured.” He squeezed my hands harder, stopping just at the point of pain. I winced, and the pressure was gone.
That was when I saw the kuang band. He held it in one hand
and my exposed wrist in the other.
“They can’t make me wear one,” he said absently, touching the skin around the silver cuff. “Well, he can’t, anyway. I outrank him.” He said the last part thoughtfully, as though he’d needed to remind himself. “Or I should. Guess it depends on how you see the Remnant.”
“Is that supposed to be some kind of explanation?”
He straightened suddenly. “A k-band is a lie detector. It has a sensor that goes under the skin and continually monitors your pulse. As I understand it, when the green gem is lit, it means you’re telling the truth. They aren’t much use to me,” he said. It was the first time I’d heard any hint of bitterness about his blindness.
“And you expect me to wear one?”
“I do. And you will.”
I thought about that for a moment. “That’s why you haven’t told me anything about the mission, isn’t it? I can’t lie about what I don’t know. Smart man.”
He smiled at me. “I do what I can.”
“Why are you here, Ise? I mean, here in this Ark? Why not just send Mars with me?”
He looked up. If he was surprised at the directness of the question, he didn’t let it show. “Put on the band, Charlotte.”
It lay over his hand like a spider, thin wires protruding like delicate limbs. The thought of it made me step back involuntarily. “No,” I whispered. “Ise, it’s scary. You see that, right? I can’t let it— I can’t put that on.”
He didn’t say anything, but lifted it gently from its cradle, running a palm under the gossamer metal threads, testing their weightlessness against his skin.
“They’ll never let you in if you don’t. Do it for the Remnant.”
“The Remnant wants me to die in space.”
He grimaced. “For me, then.”
I’d expected him to remind me of my promise to follow orders. I wasn’t prepared for an appeal to our friendship, or whatever this was, but something in the tone of his voice put me even further off-guard, and my hands reached for the compressed metal band.
I didn’t look up at him again.
I just clapped it on, fast, before its tentacles crept any further around my brain. I winced as a wire pressed through the unprotected skin on the underside of my wrist. “For king and country,” I muttered, hoping to mask the pain. “Kip used to say that on jobs, right before we’d break in somewhere.”
Isaiah spoke even more quietly than I. “Thank you, Charlotte.”
I shook my shoulders, trying to rid myself of the sensation that there were actual spiders on my arms and back. “Well, you’re welcome,” I said. He was standing halfway across the room, but it was suddenly too close. “But don’t get too sentimental. I have my reasons, remember?”
A hand across his neck. A smile. “Glory and honor, obviously.”
“Uh huh.”
He turned to leave. “You’re a real patriot. Get dressed. It’s about time.”
I rattled the chain between my wrists so that he could hear it from the living room. “I’m still cuffed.”
“Like that’s ever stopped you.”
I sat on the edge of the bed and stared down at the smoldering pile of silk he’d left behind. It was a smart move, having us dress as though we belonged at the party. It put the cuffs even more out of place.
I needed to refocus. This party—or whatever it was—was only a few minutes away. As far as I could see, the handcuffs were the most obvious roadblock. They branded me a criminal. No one ever took criminals at their word.
I wound a bit of the copper wire out from around my waist and straightened the end. From there, it took maybe five seconds to pop the lock on both cuffs. I threw the cuffs to the ground in a heap with what was left of my clothes and jumped in the bath for a lightning-fast soak.
The copper wire remained around my waist, and I crushed it into a flat tangle as I padded across the room to examine the contents of the trunk. I wished I had a way of cutting it, but that was a problem that could wait. Better to see to the fate of the Remnant first.
I wasn’t free of Isaiah’s words, either, but those, too, could be untangled later. The time might one day come when I could tell him everything, from the moment I leaped into Eren’s Coast Guard boat in Saint John Harbour, just before the meteor struck, to the days I’d spent hiding from Central Command in his bedroom, all the way through the end of the Battle for Sector Seven, when he’d rescued me from his father, the Commander. It would be good not to keep secrets from my old friend, Isaiah.
I frowned at the empty room. It hurt to think of Eren. And Isaiah wasn’t my friend, was he? Not really. Not like Eren had been. And after all, Isaiah had plenty of secrets himself.
As it turned out, the trunk held little more than the robe, which whispered quickly over my shoulders, plus a pouch of makeup. I tied the sash tightly over the wad of copper wire, so that it could remain unnoticed in the event of further frisking, and headed to the mirror, pouch in hand.
The evening would be formal, and I intended to arrive at the party as though I belonged there, so I put the makeup on, starting with the eyeliner. Lots of it. I smudged it deep into my lashes and turned my face from side to side in the mirror. It looked as though the smoke from the embers in the robe had crept up onto my face.
I liked it.
I cleaned up the edges a bit, hoping not to look too wild, and selected a fairly neutral lipstick. After a moment’s thought, I replaced the cuffs around my wrists. We were in, but only just, and I didn’t want to jeopardize that yet. I threaded the pointed end of the copper wire up over my ribs and out through my sleeve.
And then there was nothing to do but wait.
When I emerged, Isaiah was waiting for me on the couch. He was a different man: much more relaxed, confident even.
And he was determined.
I cleared my throat. “You look nice.”
Isaiah stood and spared a moment to show off a bright silk robe of his own. The purple gleamed against his dark skin, and his voice was as soft and deep as ever. “Thank you. You are lovely, as always.”
I smiled, let myself breathe a little, and slid onto the chair across from him, avoiding the couch at the very last second. There was something twisted between us. Maybe it had always been there. But we were professionals, and we had a job to do. So I ignored the way he rubbed his hands on his legs, betraying his nerves. I didn’t let myself see the tension in his brow.
A chime sounded, ending our brief wait, and Isaiah stood. “So. You ready for this?”
“I guess we’ll find out.” I nudged his shoulder with mine as the door slid open, revealing Shan, An, and the same two guards from earlier. “Any last words of wisdom?” I muttered. “Advice? Hints about what I’m getting myself into?”
At last, he smiled. “The first dance is mine.”
I laughed, more for Shan’s benefit than Isaiah’s. If they’d hoped to cow us before we stated our case to the Imperial, they’d have to do better than a measly pair of handcuffs. “Sure thing, Your Eminence.”
He offered me his arm, and we swept out of the room together.
Eleven
An’s eyes followed me.
No matter where I stood, I could feel her taking in my robe, my face. My hair was loose from its usual binds, but somehow, its unruly texture seemed suited to the fiery robe. I’d cleaned up fine, all things considered.
We followed the curved guidao, the path that spiraled toward the center, until we could access the nearest lujing, at which point, An finally fell into step beside me. I straightened my back and let my sleeves fall over the cuffs.
We gave each other a brief nod, and she spoke. “Ambassador Turner. What an elegant robe.”
“Goes with my band, right?”
“I must apologize on behalf of Ambassador Hui. He is only following orders from the Imperial himself.”
I met her eye. Her words sounded genuine, but there was a hardness behind her expression I couldn’t account for. “I’m happy to comply.”
She struck me as a woman who didn’t need a k-band to spot a false intention, so I decided to try sincerity instead. “He doesn’t need to fear us. We are not a threat to your Ark.”
“So you say,” she said. “But it is not my place to determine.”
“Will you remove the cuffs, at least, before we arrive?”
“It is not my place,” she repeated simply.
I gave her a hard look of my own and continued down the path in silence.
The hallway was colder and more dimly lit than when we’d arrived that morning. I guessed the Asian Ark had a weather team of its own. Isaiah’s words came back to me: the more the environment was like Earth, the less likely people were to go mad at the lightness of space. That probably included changes in temperature.
At last we came to the end of the lujing, which met with the end of the guidao. An ornate door, carved like a temple pagoda, opened into a huge, round ballroom.
Actually, ballroom may not be the best way to describe it.
The center of the ship was enormous, for one thing. It was open and airy, and set in two tiers. The circular dance floor was surrounded by three staged areas and recessed slightly, so that we were looking down onto it. Two pods swung around overhead on raised tracks built into the space between the tiers. One was empty, and a larger one held a band of musicians. On the dance floor, a troupe of artists performed an elaborate dance. They were outfitted in robes with hundreds of long, carefully crafted streamers, so that when they moved, their limbs blurred through the air.
Above us, just beyond a chandelier hung with every gemstone imaginable, was the night sky, black and deep and spattered with infinite stars, all beyond our reach. I had to wonder how their engineers had created such a vast porthole. I stared at this the longest.
I was yanked from my slack-jawed reverie by the conclusion of the performance. A man and woman, bound together by silk streamers, unfurled themselves from a long silk sheet secured someplace above the chandelier. They began horizontally, holding each other tightly. As they hurtled toward the floor, the sheet unrolled around them, and they flipped around more and more quickly as they fell. We stood below, utter captives to the spectacle. If they hit the ground at that speed, we would stand witness to their certain deaths.