by Ramona Finn
I stared at Aine’s back when she turned away again, absorbing her words. Glancing over at Sullia, I saw that she looked wholly bored. But I wasn’t bored. I was unsettled.
“I could say the same for you, Aine.” I spoke quietly on purpose. “That you’re brainwashed by the Ferrymen and that you’re doing everything you can to destroy a good system. A system that works.”
She stopped still at that, right outside the doorway of the room where I’d first talked to Kupier. She breathed slowly through her nose and turned to look me in my eyes. “It’s not brainwashing if you’re given all the information. Asked to choose for yourself. If it’s okay to leave at any point. My life is harder because I’ve chosen this side. I haven’t been given any fancy technology, or three square meals a day, or privileged status throughout the solar system. I agreed to live my life in constant danger, to be an outcast. Because I believe this is right. I have no question that this is what is morally right.”
I refused the urge to step back from her. She couldn’t know that I’d questioned the role of Datapoints. That I’d refused my tech at first. That I’d wondered about the process and gotten zero answers from Haven. That our roles as Datapoints were shrouded in secrecy. I thought of her view of the life of a Datapoint. Blue light in my eyes. My brain fighting to keep out the intrusion. Haven’s voice in my ear. Sync. Sync. Sync. She thought that becoming a Datapoint was easy. Luxurious. The path of least resistance. “You think we’re weak.”
Her eyes searched mine. “I think you were chosen to be Datapoints for a reason.”
Aine swung through the door and into the room with the huge glass window. I didn’t look at Sullia. I knew what I would see. Her bored expression morphing into an attractive, affable expression. I didn’t want to see that right now.
Kupier watched DP-1 step into the room, her eyes wild and her hair that glossy black. He wasn’t sure why she always drew his eye so quickly – well, scratch that. He knew exactly why. She was cute. Not in a cuddly way. No, no, no. But in a looks-like-she-smells-good kind of way.
He frowned at himself. He shouldn’t be thinking this crap in a moment like this. So much rested on his shoulders, and he couldn’t afford to get lost in la la land. Kupier forced himself to look away from DP-1, but he didn’t like what he saw. He saw Aine looking like she’d swallowed astral dust and, more disturbingly, Sullia giving him quite a sultry eye.
Kupier sighed. He knew that sending Aine to get the Datapoints had been a bad idea, but he’d done it anyway because he was learning to delegate. When he’d first become leader of the Ferrymen, he’d wanted to do everything himself. That attitude hadn’t lasted more than a month before he’d realized he’d have a heart attack before he hit twenty-five if he continued on such a path. There were lots of ways to show competence. Doing everything on his own wasn’t one of them.
“Everything alright?” Kupier whispered to Aine as she came to stand beside him. The Datapoints didn’t come any further than the doorway. The rest of the twenty Ferrymen stood in a circle around the edges of the round room, as they’d never show their backs to the enemy. Kupier knew that he and Oort were the only ones who’d softened toward the Datapoints at all. None of his Ferrymen had even shared their names with Sullia or DP-1. In fact, they were mostly avoiding the Datapoints, scared of being noticed, observed, singled out. His Ferrymen stood tall here, though. By his side. None of them flinched or shifted. Kupier was proud of them.
Aine scoffed at his question. “Just peachy.”
“Anything I should know?”
Aine opened her mouth to say something nasty, if the expression on her face was any indication, but at the last second she changed tack. “Her name is Glade.”
Kupier’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline as he turned the name over in his head, like a stone in his hand. His eyes found their way back to the black haired Datapoint. Glade. It suited her, he decided. There was something fluid and natural about it. But also, it rhymed with blade. And that really suited her. The thought made him smile to himself as he watched her frown and stare broken glass directly into the face of anyone foolish enough to look at her.
He wondered how Aine had figured it out, knowing that DP-1 would never have given it up herself. Kupier slicked a hand over his buzzed head and tried the name out.
“Glade.” He wasn’t sure if he was just getting used to the sound of it or trying to get her to look at him. She didn’t look, though, and Kupier wasn’t particularly surprised.
“Well?” Oort offered from next to him. “We might as well get this over with.”
Oort was not excited about what was about to happen. None of the Ferrymen were. It hadn’t been a long conversation he’d had with them, but it had been pretty eventful. He couldn’t remember a time when his comrades had objected so strongly to an idea of his. But he’d been proud of them. They’d spoken their thoughts, showed a little emotion, and then stood behind him when they saw he’d thought it through.
It didn’t mean they had to like it, though. And Kupier could respect that. He wanted to make this process as painless as possible.
“I’m not one for ceremonies,” he called out, and the group quieted. Though, several Ferrymen chuckled at his words. They were probably remembering the day he’d become the leader of their group. He’d taken his brother's dagger in his hand, raised it up in one hand, and said, I’m not my brother. But I’m gonna get good at this. Let’s get started.
Yeah, ceremonies were definitely not his thing.
“So, let’s make this as brief as possible.”
Kupier took a step forward, a step toward the two Datapoints. As he did, he planted one boot on a huge tin chest that sat before him. He launched the chest forward, into the middle of the circle of people, and as it screeched to a stop, the top flung open.
“We stole you from your world. It’s not a world we respect. But that doesn’t mean we don’t respect you.”
Kupier spoke the words, and he meant them, but he could feel the tight, unbridled strain of each of his loyal Ferrymen. He was speaking for them, and they were not in agreement. But they understood why he was doing this. And he could also feel the skepticism practically dripping off of DP-1. Glade.
He could understand that, too.
“So,” he continued on. “As a show of peace. And, hopefully, of friendship…” Kupier offered as he looked right at Glade. Without pausing, he strode up to the open tin chest and pulled the dagger from the holster at his hip. His brother’s dagger. The same dagger he hadn’t gone a waking second without wearing. And he tossed it into the chest with a monumental clank. Next came the two small knives in his boots and the brass knuckles he kept in one pocket. Last were the three sleeper darts he kept in his breast pocket at all times.
He didn’t look at the Datapoints as he strolled back to his place in the circle, palming his blue marble in one hand. He looked at his Ferrymen. And they looked grim.
Oort was the next to step to the chest. His two throwing knives and the mace he wore at his belt went directly into the chest. One by one, each Ferryman stepped to the chest. Some of them threw guns, some threw poisons, and all threw knives.
Kupier stood across the circle and felt a swelling of pride at the loyalty of his people. His eyes settled on Glade and Sullia. Sullia looked pleased and awed, friendly. Kupier didn’t trust her for a second. Glade looked skeptical still, but less than before. Her eyes followed the movements of each Ferryman who stepped up to the chest. Kupier imagined she was memorizing the placement of where each weapon had been held on each person. In case she ever had to fight them, she’d know where all their tools were kept.
And then there was just one more. Aine.
She stood stiffly next to Kupier, both his and Glade’s eyes on her. Kupier didn’t reprimand her. He didn’t prompt her. He wouldn’t do that to her. He wouldn’t embarrass her like that. But he could feel her internal struggle. She wanted so badly to defy him. And yet, she wouldn’t. They both knew it.
Second
s passed, and then a full minute, and still, Kupier waited patiently.
He was rewarded with the quick, stiff steps that Aine took toward the chest, her hands already tearing the twin daggers from their holsters at her wrists. She looked at no one as she rid herself of each weapon with deadly efficiency. She kicked the chest shut when she was done, and stalked back to Kupier’s side.
“It’s done,” Kupier said, his deep voice falling heavily in the room. “We’re holding you here, yes. But while you’re with us, we won’t keep you vulnerable. We won’t threaten you with weapons or violence by holding weapons which you don’t yourselves have.”
Sullia looked quickly back at Glade, as if trying to verify that she’d just heard what she thought she had. And when she looked back at Kupier, it was with a different expression on her face than he’d ever seen from the pretty Datapoint. It was calculating. Kupier had just changed the game on her and now she was reassessing her strategy. The sight of it sent a chill down his back.
Glade, on the other hand, didn’t look away from Aine.
Kupier moved through the crowd of Ferrymen, speaking quietly to them. Thanking them; dismissing them. By the time he made it to the two Datapoints, the room was mostly cleared.
“Quite a show,” Glade said, her eyebrows high and dark on her forehead.
“It wasn’t for show,” Kupier said, his voice low and honest. “But it was to send you a message.”
“That you won’t be violent toward us?” she asked, her voice laced with disbelief.
“You don’t buy it?” Kupier asked, turning the marble in his hand, and her eyes fell to it.
“Of course not,” she scoffed. “That little display showed nothing more than that your people are loyal to you.”
“So I guess the question, then, is whether or not you think I will order them to be violent toward you.” He paused. “Glade.”
Her eyes seemed to stab into his own, and Kupier was momentarily rocked with the emotion he felt coming off of her. It wasn’t hatred, but it was just as hot. She was vulnerable right now, he realized. And pissed off about it.
“Don’t ask questions you don’t want to hear the answer to,” she said, nearly biting off the words before they could make it all the way out of her mouth.
“I don’t think you know the answer, DP-1.”
She didn’t look away from him, but he saw the snap of surprise on her face at the fact that he’d reverted back to her nickname. And perhaps the moment she’d registered just a hint of affection in his tone.
“It’s fine if you don’t trust me,” he continued. “It’s fine if you don’t trust us. But tonight, you’re going to sleep on a ship where no one is armed.”
She took a step back from him, her eyes sweeping to his feet and all the way back up to his face.
“Why don’t you sleep on it, Datapoint? And tell me how you feel in the morning.”
Chapter Eight
“Glade!”
Someone was whispering my name and, for a moment, my dream mixed with my reality. It was my sisters calling my name. But they were young again. Sweet and blonde and four years old. And then it was Dahn, the way he’d been when I’d first met him. Younger and so serious, whispering my name in admonishment when I was doing something he didn’t approve of.
But then I came just a touch more awake, and without even opening my eyes, I knew none of that was my current reality. I wasn’t on Io with my sisters in the bunk next to me. I wasn’t on the Station, a new trainee with a new friend. I was on the Ray. A hijacked prisoner on a Ferryman’s ship. In a cold room with a tiny window and a bed jammed in its corner.
“Glade.”
And someone was whispering my name in the dead of the night.
“Don’t you know better than to wake a Datapoint from sleep?” I couldn’t help but whisper back.
There was a weighted pause that gave me a clue as to who was doing the whispering. There was so much young wonder in that pause.
“Why?” the whisperer asked fearfully, his voice slipping into my room from the cracked door. In my sleepy state, it was almost like his voice rode in on that small triangle of light that splashed across my floor from the hallway.
“Because,” I grumbled, tossing my feet over the edge of the bunk and grabbing my clothes from the ground, given that I only slept in my underthings. “When we first wake up, we’re thirsty for blood.”
Another weighted pause, and then a whispered, “Really?”
I couldn’t help but let out a sharp bark of a laugh as I yanked on my shirt and then my pants. “No, Oort.”
“Oh.” His voice had brightened considerably with that one syllable.
“Why are you waking me in the dead of night?”
His shadow shifted in the slightly cracked doorway. “I wanted to show you something.”
I considered turning him down, just because I could. But a deep voice flashed through my head. But tonight, you’re going to sleep on a ship where no one is armed. Kupier had insisted it would make a difference. And as I followed Oort out of my room and down the hall, I wondered if it had.
Oort tossed me a bottle of water and gestured to the bathroom down the hall. “We don’t have much time, but I can wait.”
“Gee, what a gentleman,” I muttered as I passed him. I came back out with water dripping down my face and the back of my neck, my mouth rinsed out.
As I approached, I studied Oort. Short and stocky, he looked almost more grown up than his tall, lanky brother did. But there was something so young about Oort. He was practically vibrating with expectation and excitement as I approached him.
As soon as I was close enough, he started speed-walking down the hall. A few moments later, he pulled up short in front of the room with the great window. Then he turned and faced me with a look of chagrin on his face. “You probably don’t want to watch it with the rest of the Ferrymen, do you.”
“Watch what?”
“Never mind.” He shook his head once, fiercely, and doubled back. “There’s one other room you could watch it from.”
I followed him back and through a small door I’d noticed before but never been allowed through. It led to the second level. I’d seen Ferrymen coming down from there, but I wasn’t sure what it held.
“Our living quarters,”, Oort answered, like he’d guessed my unspoken question from my expression.
The doors to each chamber were slender and short. Both Oort and I could stand straight in the hallway, but Kupier or Aine would have had to slouch down in the short second floor. Oort led us through a door and into one of the rooms. It had an unmade bed, a familiar blue cap hanging on a hook, and a little cabinet with a few sets of clothes folded at the bottom. There was a sink with a cracked mirror that had a toothbrush in a cup soldered to the edge. Next to the bed was a crate of old, yellowed books. Wow. I hadn’t seen that many books in one place outside of a museum. They must have been ancient. Passed down from a relative?
“Here,” Oort said to me, his voice no longer in a whisper. The room we were in had two port windows, the same size as in my room, and Oort nudged me over to one of them.
I slouched over and peered out. The sun was a distant, glowing orb, looking almost icy through all that black of space. From this distance, it wasn’t much bigger than any star in the sky. Maybe four times as big. But it sure was bright. I’d heard that, when you’re close enough to it, the sun is actually warm. But I’d never actually experienced that. It sounded nice.
“You brought me all the way up here just to see the sun?”
“Just watch!”
“You’re not supposed to look directly at the sun. You brought me all the way up here to blind me?”
“We’re 19 astronomical units from the sun, Glade. I think your poor little eyes are gonna be fine. Unless Datapoints have weak eyes or something.”
I couldn’t tell if he was teasing me or genuinely asking, so I didn’t respond.
“What is it I’m looking for?”
“Jus
t wait.”
So I did. Nearly ten whole minutes. The ship was moving steadily in one direction and then the next. We were toggling through the air first backwards and forwards, then up and down. “Who the hell is piloting this thing?”
“Kupier.”
“Your captain can’t drive worth sh—“ I broke off immediately when I realized what was happening.
He wasn’t driving terribly on purpose. He was fishing for a certain angle. The perfect angle. And as I watched, the ship shifted, and a distant Saturn with its crown of rings came into view. From our angle, it was on a perfect plane with the sun. It was about the size of an orange as it crossed my port window. One side was lit up by the sun’s rays, all pale yellow and orange, with just a hint of green in places. The unlit side was so dark it melted in with the black space around it. I’d never seen Saturn this close before – only as a distant pinprick in the sky from Io.
And never like this. Usually, Saturn was pictured wearing her rings like a skirt, around the middle. But the planet was tipped, the way it occasionally was during its cycle around the sun. The rings of Saturn, from our angle, were in a perfect circle around the edges of the planet, making it seem like Saturn had many haloes.
Still, the ship moved and shifted. I’d thought the shifts the ship was making were small, but I realized soon, from the speed with which Saturn’s position shifted in our view, that the Ray must be moving at an incredible rate. Damn near lightspeed.
