Earthrise (Her Instruments Book 1)

by Hogarth, M. C. A.

NotAgain’s voice hardened. “Me too.”

  Reese watched the Fleet officers striding in and out of the light. She’d had enough of people talking in voices like that, but on the other hand she was grateful they existed. The contradiction was discomforting. “I guess Surapinet won’t be paying out my contract.”

  “Mr. Surapinet won’t be doing anything but sitting in a prison cell for quite some time,” NotAgain said.

  “And the crystals?”

  The Tam-illee sighed. “We’re not sure yet. That’s a matter for the Alliance Diplomatic Corps, not us. But we’re sending them the bodies and the information you provided, and hopefully they’ll be able to salvage the situation. Speaking of which…” His ears perked. “I hope you don’t mind that I’m having your salvage towed with ours to Starbase Kappa.”

  “My what?” Reese said, startled out of her contemplation of the work being done by the captain’s personnel. “I don’t have any salvage.”

  “Such modesty,” NotAgain said. “Of course the pirate vessels we found alongside your ship when we answered your distress call were your wrecks. I took the liberty of registering them in your name since you were busy helping us conduct this operation.”

  “I was what?” Reese said, gaping at him.

  “Busy,” NotAgain said. She swore that with every word he grew more cheerful. “But don’t worry. When you arrive at Starbase Kappa you can decide whether to cannibalize them for parts or sell them whole. The Fleet depot would certainly be interested, but I’m sure the civilian wreckers would be willing to bid for them as well.”

  “You’re giving me the wrecks?” Reese asked, unable to believe him.

  “Giving?” NotAgain shook his head and tsked. “You can’t give someone something that’s already theirs.” He grinned.

  “But you—they—doesn’t Fleet need them?”

  “With all the fighters they just threw at us? We’ve got plenty of our own, Captain Eddings. You don’t have to give us yours.”

  “I... should stop arguing with you, shouldn’t I,” Reese said.

  “It would be a waste,” NotAgain said. “Fleet appreciates your generous desire to donate your profits, but we have more than enough for ourselves. Keep your rightful salvage, Captain... and with it, our thanks for your service to the Alliance.”

  “Yes, sir,” Reese said.

  NotAgain held out his hand. “If we don’t meet again, it was a pleasure.”

  She clasped it and squeezed. “Me too.” Remembering the Tam-leyan emphasis on families, she added, “I hope you have more grandchildren than you can hold in your arms.”

  He laughed. “May it be so for us both. Be well, Captain.”

  “Good night,” Reese said.

  A different Fleet officer drove her back to the Earthrise. Standing just inside the cargo bay, Reese watched the dwindling lights of the kestrel and leaned against the wall. Salvage from two wrecks was a windfall she could barely wrap her arms around. Had Fleet not already repaired her Well drive, she could have done so several times over. And while it wouldn’t make her fabulously wealthy, she would certainly have enough to fund her merchant endeavor for several years... if, in fact, she wanted to.

  Reese turned to the shadowed depths of the bay and her eyes fell on a crate and her crumpled vest. She had forgotten about the dagger. Without unwrapping it, she lifted it from the crate and took it with her to her room.

  In the sink, the dagger tinted the water she dunked it in bright pink with oily whorls of brown soil. She ignored them. She ignored that the crust she was scrubbing at with a sponge was blood or something unnamable only a doctor would have been able to identify. She tried not to think too hard about anything while doing it—she just rinsed, scrubbed, drained the sink and refilled it until all the grime had come off. This was her responsibility, wasn’t it? To face what had been done on her behalf. To acknowledge that as uncomfortable as it made her, Bryer’s and Hirianthial’s violence had kept her in one piece. The least she could do was stare at that until she stopped flinching at it so hard. She’d done harder things in her life… she could do this one, too.

  Wiping the dagger dry with a cloth she finally allowed herself to examine it and see that it wasn’t the one from the case, but something plainer and newer. She turned it in her hands, confused. Had Hirianthial bought it in the Alliance? Why not use the ones he had? In her curiosity she twisted the thing to one side and nicked herself on its edge, which was when the door chimed.

  “Come in,” Reese said around her thumb.

  The twins appeared in the door, looking washed and perky.

  “Feeling better?” Sascha asked as they entered.

  “Much,” Reese said. “You two look better too.”

  “What did you do to your hand?” Irine asked.

  “It’s nothing.” Reese drained the sink and joined the Harat-Shar in her room. “Just a cut.”

  “We checked the ship from feet to sensors,” Sascha said. “Fleet did everything but tap out the dents in the hull. We can leave whenever you’re ready.”

  “Good,” Reese said. She waved them to her bunk and sat on the chair. “Let’s do that after everyone’s gotten at least six hours’ sleep.”

  “Do we have a destination?” Sascha asked as Irine settled at his feet.

  Reese grinned. “Do we! Turns out we’re civilian heroes and while Fleet doesn’t do anything as crass as paying them for bravery, they do get generous with gifts.”

  Irine’s ears perked. “This sounds good.”

  “The pirates that were tailing us? Their ships are ours now. Salvage waiting for us at Starbase Kappa.”

  Sascha whistled. “Not a small gift.”

  “No,” Reese said. “So we’ll head there, evaluate the wrecks and sell them to best advantage. After that... who knows? I guess we’ll go wherever sounds most interesting.”

  “We could go anywhere,” Irine said, eyes wide.

  “We could,” Reese said. “Just not back to Harat-Sharii.”

  Sascha chuckled.

  “I’m guessing you’re not here to check up on me,” Reese said.

  “You’re wrong,” Sascha said. “We are here to check up on you. We’re just also here for one more thing.”

  Reese took a deep breath. “Which is?”

  Irine said, “You know.”

  “Pretend I’m without clues,” Reese said.

  “You’ve been treating Hirianthial like the lowest form of dirt,” Sascha said. “Since the rest of us like having him around, we’re hoping you’ll make it clear to him that you like having him around, too.”

  “What if I don’t like having him around?” Reese asked, surprising herself with her own uncertainty.

  Apparently her quiet tone surprised the twins as well. They exchanged glances. With furrowed brow, Irine said, “How can you not like having him around? You read more novels about Eldritch than any person I’ve ever met. Now you’ve got the real thing!”

  “Sometimes the things you fantasize about aren’t what you end up really wanting,” Reese said, staring at her folded hands. She shook herself and smiled wanly. “Though I don’t guess that’s something Harat-Shar are familiar with.”

  Sascha was studying her. “Actually, that’s the first thing you’ve said that makes sense.”

  Reese frowned. “Really?”

  “Really,” Sascha said. He sighed. “Look, if you really want him gone then send him away. But if you’re not sure... then tell him he’s welcome.”

  “Because if you don’t expressly tell him,” Irine said, anticipating Reese’s question, “he’ll go away. He won’t stay if staying is going to make you miserable.”

  “He doesn’t make me miserable,” Reese said. “He just makes me... “ She shifted in her chair, looking for the right word. “Uncomfortable.”

  Sascha nodded. “Of course he does. That’s how all the best things start.”

  “Pardon?” Reese said.

  He smiled. “The best things. Adventures. Destinations. Know
ledge. Relationships. All of them start with uncomfortable moments. It’s only when you’re grappling with something new that you might uncover something wonderful... but unfortunately, that means grappling with something new.”

  “New things chafe,” Irine said, plucking at her tail.

  Reese stared at them.

  “Promise you’ll be decisive,” Sascha said quietly. “Either tell him to go or tell him to stay, but make a decision.”

  She ran a hand over the top of her head. “Sascha—”

  “Please, Reese,” Irine said. “If we’re going to lose the prettiest guy on the ship, let it be because you really don’t want him around, not because he thought it would please you to leave.”

  “I promise,” Reese said, then glared at them as best she could. It wasn’t much of a glare—hadn’t she been planning to work on that? “You two are such trouble. If I’d have known what I was in for when I hired you... “

  “You would have done it anyway,” Sascha said with a grin. “Because we’ve grown on you like flowers on an open field.”

  “Get out of here,” Reese said, suppressing her laughter. “Before I throw you out. I have thinking to do.”

  “Aye, aye, ma’am!” Irine said, climbing to her feet. She added, “I learned that from the yummy Fleet people.”

  “Did you—oh, get moving. I don’t want to know!”

  Irine snickered. They headed for the door, where Sascha bent down and plucked up a crumpled cloth from beside the door. “You might want to return this, Boss.”

  Reese caught it as they left. She shook her head and started to stand when her fingers registered the caress of felt-soft fabric. Abruptly she sat again and looked at the tabard in her lap. Cleaning her room had been the last thing on her mind the past few days and she’d given little thought to the clothing she’d discarded on the way to the shower after Fleet had dragged the pirates off the Earthrise.

  She petted the silky material. The pile was so thick it reminded her of Allacazam’s neural fur, plush and soft. On the tabard’s face, deep channels cut through the velvet, exposing the nap in an elegant but random pattern of swirls and spirals. Most of the books she’d read about Eldritch had only made passing references to their clothing... but the recent ones, the ones by the Harat-Shariin matron, had mentioned an expensive but beautiful tapestried cloth the Eldritch called meander. One of the novels had even described its laborious production, hand-made by artisans famed for the individuality of their patterns.

  Reese bit her lip. If that part had been true, the tabard represented months of painstaking craftsmanship, unique and irreplaceable. Her fingers traced the tattered edge of the front panel, following the broken threads, the unraveling seams that connected the satin lining to the cloth. It suddenly seemed so senseless. She bent over it and hugged her knees.

  The smell of perfume—no, cologne—clung to the fabric. Something rich with a touch of spice, a woodsy scent that reminded her of trees. She wondered if the twins had smelled it when they’d been braiding the crew’s gift into Hirianthial’s hair... and she was suddenly glad she’d added her own contribution to the dangle.

  But he’d read her mind. And he could do it again. She’d seen the ease with which he’d guided them through the chaos in the pirate compound. Not only could he read minds, but he wasn’t dumb. Simply hearing her thoughts wasn’t scary enough alone. The fact that he could read them and then construct the secrets of her heart after knowing her for the briefest fraction of her life... and that didn’t even begin to touch what he’d done with a single dagger. Not even one as impressive as the ones she’d glimpsed in the case.

  Bad enough that he knew all her secrets. It was entirely unfair that he got to keep all his own. And she wasn’t sure she knew what to do with the knowledge that someone knew her well enough to hurt her, without her having anything to use against him as a shield.

  Even thinking of it that way hurt. Why did she always have to plan for the inevitable hurt?

  Reese closed her eyes. The tabard pulled her in one direction. The dagger another.

  “Good morning, sleepy,” Kis’eh’t said in a gentle voice. “Or rather, good night, since that’s about the time. You’ve been sleeping for nine hours!”

  Did he have a voice? He did. He used it. “I’m surprised. I expected to sleep for well over twenty.”

  The Glaseah, barely visible in the low light, shook her head. “Don’t joke like that. We were all worried. How are you feeling?”

  Hirianthial assessed his body. “Better than I probably look.”

  Kis’eh’t winced. “That wouldn’t be hard,” she said. “We put an ice-pack on your face so you aren’t swollen, but your skin’s going to turn interesting colors.”

  “I’m sure,” Hirianthial said. He tried sitting upright and surprised himself pleasantly by succeeding. Someone had delivered him to his quarters and tucked him into bed under a mound of blankets.

  “I’m apologizing on behalf of the crew for taking off your boots and sponging off the worst of the dirt,” Kis’eh’t said. “Bryer’s the one who did it, since we think he’s the one who emotes the least. Did he wake you?”

  “I doubt a falling meteor would have woken me,” Hirianthial said, gingerly pressing on the back of his neck. The longer he remained conscious, the more aware he was of the wrenched muscles, deepening bruises and joint aches he’d incurred fleeing the pirates. It never ceased to amaze him how nothing serious could hurt so badly. “I thank you for the attention, though.”

  “It was the least we could do,” Kis’eh’t said. “Everyone says you and Bryer are the only reason the whole mission came out okay.”

  “I wouldn’t go so far,” Hirianthial said. “The captain and the twins did excellent work.”

  She shook her head. “You can re-assign praise however you want if it makes you feel better. The rest of us... well, we’re really grateful.”

  He couldn’t help a laugh. “I hope this doesn’t mean I’ll have to fend off the twins.”

  “No,” Kis’eh’t said, grinning. “And I think we’re all out of things we can make into jewelry. You’ll probably have to settle for a party. Not just for you, mind you. For Bryer too. We’re going to put a party cap on him.”

  A Phoenix at a party. It beggared the imagination. “That sounds like quite a challenge.”

  Kis’eh’t nodded. “It figures that we’re going to end up fêting the two people on the crew who like the least fuss,” she said. “But we’re going to do it anyway, once we get underway.”

  “And when is that?” Hirianthial asked.

  “Soon,” Kis’eh’t replied. “As soon as the twins wake up, I think.”

  “And Fleet?”

  “They’re still cleaning up,” Kis’eh’t said.

  “Ah.”

  “You’re not thinking of leaving, are you?” Kis’eh’t asked, feathered ears drooping.

  “I’m in no condition to rush away,” Hirianthial said carefully.

  “Good,” Kis’eh’t said. “We were worried you’d want to leave.”

  He said nothing—it seemed safest. Kis’eh’t continued. “If you like, I’ll bring you food? The best cook is sleeping but I can make tea and toast.”

  “That sounds wonderful, thank you,” Hirianthial said. “Perhaps after I’ve showered.”

  “Okay.” She brightened: not the instant sunlit glee of the twins, but a slower, steadier glow. “We’re really glad you’re here, Hirianthial. Things wouldn’t be the same without you.”

  He dipped his head. “Thank you.”

  Once she’d left, he remained on the bunk with the blankets cocooning his lower body and a prickly cool along his back and arms. He was too tired still to worry about whether he’d stay or go. There were more pressing concerns. His body would tolerate no more neglect. Cautiously he gathered clean clothes and went to shower. The sponge bath had removed the superficial layer of dirt from his exposed skin, but he remained grimy from head to ankle and his hair still bore a faint
pink shadow. He scrubbed the blood off his body, out of his clothes, from beneath his fingernails. That last inspired visceral memories of home. Surgery as a doctor was done with gloves; it was only when he used a blade that he got blood running, hot and too fluid, and then sticky on his fingers. How many times had he washed his hands of it? And all he felt over the memories was a kind of exhausted acceptance.

  He was what he was—all of it, from killer to healer. And, he thought, he was also alive… and at peace with that, and the years in front of him. While washing his hair for the second time, his fingers tangled in the beaded cord and he pulled it forward to examine it.

  Beneath his fingers he could still sense the laughter and glitter-glimpses of memory each charm on the dangle represented. As needles of water struck the cord and washed it clean, Hirianthial rested the edge of a shoulder against the shower wall and read the chain again.

  Had he been mind-blind, he would still have known the dangle for an act of friendship. But he was not mind-blind. The ferocity of their affection transcended mere friendship. He couldn’t imagine abandoning them.

  If he had the choice, it wouldn’t be a choice at all.

  Hirianthial shut off the water, dried himself and returned to his quarters. He changed the sheets on the bed and put away the dirty linens. Doing so little had already made him drowsy, but showering had opened the multiple slashes traced across his body. He rolled back the sleeves of his nightdress and unpacked the necessary parts of his first aid kit.

  The door’s mellow chime caught him in the middle of the final bandage. “Come in.”

  The door opened not on Kis’eh’t and the expected tea and toast, but on Reese. Hirianthial slowly lowered his arms into his lap.

  “Sorry,” Reese said after clearing her throat. “I have some of your things. Can I...?”

  “Come in,” Hirianthial said again.

  Reese stepped inside. “I have your dagger,” she said. “Should I...?”

  “You can leave it on the table,” Hirianthial said. “And thank you. I didn’t expect to see it again.”

  “We thought we shouldn’t leave it behind,” Reese said. Her reticence bewildered him; it muted her aura to a soft brown and left him no hint as to her emotional state. “I’ve heard about... um, daggers and things. Being special.”