by Delia Roan
Her arms tightened around the bundle. Raising her chin and pulling back her shoulders, she walked back into the common room. A group of aliens, Luall and Gymari included, sat around a rickety table, playing what appeared to be a game. Smooth, colorful tokens lay scattered across the table. She would have stared, except Clez leaned against the wall. When she saw Mara’s curious gaze, she sneered.
Keep your head down.
With a suppressed sigh, Mara dropped her sheets onto the bedside table by her bunk and began unfolding sheets. Every so often, she would shoot a glance in the direction of the game, only to find eyes dropping back to the board.
Looks like the locals are as curious about me as I am about them. The thought brought her comfort as she fluffed up her pillow. Maybe we aren’t so different after all.
Smoothing down the sheets with her hands, she hesitated. What now? Should she go to the game and join in? Should she sit on the edge of her bed and watch? Should she lie down and stare at the ceiling? Should she ask about food?
An empty chair sat at the edge of the table. She could take it, sit and try and learn about her new peers. After all, they were all in the same boat. We’re all slaves. We have that much in common already.
Her motion toward the table was hesitant, but not unnoticed. Clez pushed off the wall. Mara froze. With a studied nonchalance, Clez took the chair and spun it backwards and straddled the seat. Her face radiated disdain as she turned her attention to the table.
“Deal me in, girls. I feel like killing tonight.”
Mara stepped back. While she could still watch the game over Luall’s shoulder, she felt like Clez had already claimed the gaming circle. The message she was broadcasting to Mara came in loud and clear: you are not welcome here.
Bed it is.
Mara pulled off her stuffed boots and tucked them under her bed. She pulled aside the sheets and slipped into bed, fully clothed. The metal loops of the belt dug into her hip, and the mattress was lumpy, but Mara lay as motionless as possible. Even when her tears started, she kept her sobs stifled and her back still.
I won’t give Clez the pleasure.
I will survive.
I need to survive.
And one way or another, I’m going to save Dannica.
First, she needed to save herself.
CHAPTER FIVE
SYREK
Another week passed before Syrek’s personal comm unit jingled again. With a groan, Syrek pressed his head into the cool wall of the elevator shaft. Beside him, Ancain tutted.
“Just answer it, Syrek. Get it over with.”
“I have bigger concerns to handle right now, Ancain.”
The music faded, and for a few blissful moments, the only sound in the ancient cargo elevator was the clanging of chains. Just as Syrek’s shoulders began to unhitch, the melody started up again.
He growled at the comm. “Give it a rest, Cyndrae.”
Ancain stared at the display at the top of the door. The numbers counted down the floors as they descended into the bowels of Haven. “You know, it’s quite a complex system to get your sister’s call all the way from Ennoi space to the very outskirts of the universe over here.”
“I know, Ancain.”
“Do you really? It’s quite a mathematical feat. Thousands of signals, perfectly harmonized, flicking bits of data through the void of space, all so you can ignore your sister. Again.”
“I know, Ancain. I know.”
“Whatever matter she is calling about sounds very urgent.”
“Ancain…”
“I’m just saying, if I had a sister…”
With a heavy sigh, Syrek reached for his comm and flicked the answer button. “Greetings, Cyndrae.”
Cyndrae’s face and voice filled the elevator. “Syrek! I have spent days attempting to contact you. Where have you been?”
“On a mission, Cyn.”
“You mean on a heist.”
Syrek gritted his teeth. He moved his fingers in the intricate gestures of the secret language he and Cyndrae had used in their childhood. I am not alone, his fingers warned. Speak carefully.
Very well, came back her flicked reply.
“What is it that you require, Cyndrae?” He winced. Half a minute spent talking to his sister, and he reverted to the formal Ennoi speech of clan courts. His father had drilled formal speech into both his children, but Cyndrae was the only one who still required it. She served as a lady’s maid to the leader of the Ennoi Haron.
“I have news,” Cyndrae replied. “Vital news regarding my position in Ennoi court.”
“Can it wait, Cyn? Now’s a bad time.” It took an effort to drop the formal tones, but he chose to do it deliberately. He had no interest in the goings-on in Ennoi courts.
“It cannot. I shall be succinct. I have been named Honor Guard for the Ennoi Haron.”
“Honor Guard?” Syrek paused. It was a huge accomplishment.
“Indeed. I am quite as surprised as you. The ceremony occurs in four months’ time.”
Syrek’s heart sank. This again. “Cyn…”
“Can you make it? Can you make it to the ceremony?” Please, brother, her fingers signed. This is important. To me.
He closed his eyes. “You know I cannot.”
“The terms of the exile fall on father’s name. Not on yours. Not on mine. Father’s.”
Syrek clenched his eyes until he saw spots. “Cyndrae, Father’s name is mine. I am Ar’Zathris.”
“I can speak with the head of the Ennoi Council. The new lord, Kovos, he’s married to my lady. I can appeal on your behalf.”
“Cyndrae, I must go.”
“Thedi wishes to meet her uncle.”
So, she’s playing dirty now.
“Don’t you dare say no, Syrek Ar’Zathris!” Cyndrae’s voice cracked. “Don’t you dare.”
Syrek sighed and opened his eyes. He knew it cost Cyndrae to show emotion when she knew she had an audience. “I-I will think on it.”
For a moment, Cyndrae made no reply. When she spoke, she resumed the formal tones of an Ennoi servant. “As you wish, my brother. But know you do not have to sequester yourself in some forsaken corner. The universe is changing. You can change with it.”
“Bye, Cyn.”
“Farewell, Syrek.”
He stared at his comm for a moment, resisting the urge to slam the device into the elevator wall.
“Well,” Ancain drawled. “Aren’t you glad you answered?”
“My big sister. An Honor Guard.” Syrek shook his head. “She was always the good kid.”
“Now is probably not the best time to mention that you haven’t called the Ykine about the PETL Cells yet.”
Syrek growled. “Don’t push your luck, Ancain. I can only take one soul-shattering conversation a day.”
The elevator slowed, and the door rattled open. Hot air blasted into the cage, making them reel back and blink. Syrek stepped out of the elevator into a furnace, or at least it felt like he had. Within a few seconds, sweat began to dot his brow. The Mechanical levels were always hot, but this felt extreme.
“See you later, boss,” Ancain said, hitting the close button on the elevator. He was not built for the heat, so today’s unpleasant task fell solely on Syrek’s shoulders.
Syrek headed down the corridor until he came to a bright yellow door. He rapped on metal, right underneath the name plate engraved with the words Hatcher, HEAD. He frowned when the skin on his knuckles stuck to the door.
“Come in!” Hatcher bellowed from inside.
Syrek hadn’t been in Hatcher’s office in years, when his father had introduced him to the Head of Mechanics. As far as he could tell, nothing had changed since then. Springs, screws and wrenches sat on every available surface, oozing grease over papers and furniture with careless abandon.
Hatcher stood when Syrek entered. She bowed and crossed her multitude of arms over her chest. “Syrek! ‘Bout time you showed your scraw
ny ass down here.”
Syrek dipped his head to Hatcher. “I came as soon as I could get a spare moment.”
Hatcher’s face crumpled into a mess of creases. “I didn’t say when you had a spare moment. I said as soon as possible.”
The sweat pooling between Syrek’s buttocks made him short-tempered. “I’m here. What’s going on?”
She sized him up. “Not so scrawny any more, huh? Strapping like your father, but you also got your mama’s snooty attitude.”
Syrek said nothing, torn between pride and shame at her words.
“Come on, then,” Hatcher said. “Sweeper! Come!”
“Coming, Ma!” Sweeper turned out to be a scaled down version of Hatcher, dressed in nothing but short pants. He bowed to Syrek, before picking up Hatcher’s heavy toolkit.
“How many kids you got now, Hatcher?” Syrek asked.
She shot a dirty look in his direction as she led him out of the office and down a hallway. “Same as I always did, Syrek. Seven. Seven is what I’m allowed. Seven is what I’ll have.”
Syrek studied Sweeper, who ducked his head. His arms were corded with muscle, despite his petite stature. “This one doesn’t look that old.”
Hatcher snorted. “Cutter’s kid. My grandson.” She raised a hand. “Don’t worry. Cutter knows she’s only allowed seven herself.”
Syrek pursed his lips. “My apologies. I did not mean to imply…”
“I know resources are limited, boss. Nobody knows it better than me and the brood.”
“You would never even dream of breaking the rules, Hatcher.”
She laughed and turned them down a corridor. Large pipes lined each side of corridor. They were as wide as Syrek, and heat flowed from them in waves. Despite his Ennoi blood, Syrek began to feel a little lightheaded. His shirt clung to him and he blinked sweat from his eyes.
“I don’t break the rules, boss, because I helped write them.” She stopped in front of a heavy pipe and pulled out a wrench. “Know what the biggest concern on Haven is?”
Syrek had several suggestions, but he knew which one Hatcher wanted to hear. “Thermal control. Ships get hot. Heat gets sent out of the ship.”
“Clever boy.” Hatcher tapped the pipe, letting a hollow ringing noise echo through the corridor. “Hear that?”
“What should I be hearing?” he asked. “Sounds like metal on metal.”
“Well, it shouldn’t. These pipes should be full of coolant.”
Syrek blinked. “Coolant?”
“One of the ways we keep heat down in the living areas. Supercooled fluids. They run through these pipes and keep the up-tops up top alive and well. We’re running low.”
“How low are we talking?”
“Low like people are gonna die kinda low.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
Syrek cursed, a steady stream that filled the air and made Sweeper duck behind a control box.
Hatcher nodded. “Yup, that’s about what I said.”
Syrek paced. What would Father do? He would do nothing, considering the loss of life a risk he was willing to take. So I do the opposite.
“Why didn’t I hear about this sooner?”
Hatcher shrugged. “Only happened recently. It’s an old ship. Things fall apart.”
He stared at the pipes like they might leap out and bite him. “What can we do?”
“We need more coolant. And we need to stop producing so much heat.”
Nostrils flaring, Syrek cursed again. There goes another chunk of our payload. The payload he hadn’t even sold yet. “Okay, more coolant. Until then, what are our options?”
Hatcher scratched her chin. “Funnel what coolant remains into important areas. Keep people alive that way. Shut down sections of the ship.”
“We already have shut down sections of the ship!” Syrek roared. “We’re crammed together like seeds in a jukkad fruit!”
“Ship overheats and we’ll all die,” Hatcher replied with a shrug. “Won’t matter what fruit we feel like then. We’ll all be jam. Shut down more sections.”
“Which parts?”
“Start with the bigger areas that produce more heat. Waste recycling. Sanitation. Laundry. We can get by for a few weeks without those.”
Syrek paced, his eyes darting around the tunnel. He shook the wooziness from his head. Sweeper darted forward and offered him a canteen. He chugged the water, which was almost as hot as his saliva, but he appreciated the gesture.
It’s only temporary. Once we sell the PETL Cells, we will have enough to buy the coolant and make the necessary repairs.
“All right,” he said, after a moment’s thought. “We’ll shut down the sanitation departments. Short-term only. We can live like filthy animals for a while. I’ll spread the word upstairs.”
Hatcher nodded. “Smart move, boss. Sweeper, see Boss Syrek back to the elevator.”
Sweeper led him through the maze of tunnels. With every step, Syrek swayed, but the youngster didn’t seem to feel the heat. When the elevator doors opened, Syrek stepped into them with a groan of pleasure. The cool air wrapped around him and he leaned against the metal panels.
He found Ancain on the bridge, chatting with one of the pilots. Ancain’s smile dropped when he saw Syrek’s face.
“Ancain, come.”
They found a deserted bathroom with a sink and Syrek dunked his head in the water, letting the heat from his body dissipate, along with his thoughts. The Promise Stone clattered against the basin, and he tucked it back inside his shirt before he began to speak. Ancain listened patiently, his fingers steepled under his chin.
“It is an unfortunate situation,” Syrek concluded. “But I think we’re against the wall on this one.”
“Do you know what produces the most waste heat on Haven?” Ancain asked.
“If you say it’s me, I’ll kick your ass out that door.” Syrek splashed his face again and wiped his skin down with a towel.
“Hilarious. A laugh a minute. No wonder the ladies love you. It’s the weapons, Syrek. The cannons.”
Syrek tossed the towel onto the counter. “No, we aren’t going there.”
“It’s our only choice. Shutting down the cannons will buy us time.”
Syrek pressed his head into his hands. Why couldn’t he shake this headache? “We cannot afford to be sitting dead. If we are attacked, we are finished.”
“If we overheat, we are finished.” Ancain picked up the towel and folded it. “Attacks won’t matter at that point.”
The whole universe is against me. “Fine. Order the shutdown.”
Ancain bowed and left Syrek alone. His shoulders seemed to be attached to his ears. He rolled his neck, listening to his spine crack. What he needed was a meal, a hot bath, and a night of distraction in a woman’s arms. Except the nearest available woman was probably light years away on New Trades, or even further.
Except for the human, his traitorous mind whispered. She’s not part of your crew. Not officially.
He groaned. That would be even worse and cross lines even his loose morality wouldn’t tolerate. No, he would have to wait.
Maybe he could find the meal and bath first.
Then go find the woman.
Then, he told himself, he would go find work to keep himself busy and out of trouble.
CHAPTER SIX
MARA
Waking in her new bed the first morning, she had been a suffering mass of knots and kinks. Gymari had taken one look at Mara’s sunken face and dead eyes, and sent her to get a meal before assigning her to the laundry room. Mara’s task had been to sort a mountain of clothing by item and size.
All morning, Mara had tried to figure out the purpose of each random scrap of fabric. The bipedal pants and shirts were easy. Even some of the quadruped items were obvious. But the clothing that appeared to be tangled fishing net? The tube-like cowl that she couldn’t fold into a neat bundle? The hat shaped like a
tree’s roots? She had no clue, but she did her best to place items into logical piles.
She spent her lunch break studying the creatures around her, trying to figure out how their clothing fit together, so when she returned to the pile, she made more educated guesses.
The next day, Gymari set her to scrubbing clothes with a cleansing dust. Mara moved the dirty piles into giant barrels, dumped scoops of powdery chemicals over the clothes, and hand-cranked the barrels until the dust absorbed bacteria and odors. Then she cranked the barrels some more until the dust sifted out to be reused on the next load.
That night, the skin on Mara’s hands peeled off in strips. Luall took pity on her, treated her hands with a salve and wrapped them with bandages before bed.
“Don’t handle the dust, okay?” Luall pulled a pair of old aviator gloves out from her stash and offered them to Mara.
“Thanks,” Mara muttered, wondering what the salve, bandages, and gloves would cost her. I just keep racking up debts.
The first week in Haven was a haze of aching muscles, hurried meals, and back-breaking work. Mara kept her head down and her eyes up, studying the world around her through her lashes. She watched, she learned, and, bit by bit, she settled into her new routine.
To her disappointment, Luall flitted in and out of the communal sleeping room as she wished, coming to play with the other ladies at night, but not staying in her own bed. Fortunately, Clez also had other sleeping arrangements, and Mara rarely saw her either.
Some nights, she lay in her bed, listening to the aliens chat while they played the token game called Casters. Unlike her first night in her bed, her eyes stayed dry and she fell almost immediately asleep.
When she rolled out of bed the next morning, she paused for a moment. Instead of the usual chatter and good-natured jibing, the workers were sullen, dressing in silence.
Gymari found her at breakfast. “We’re moving to sanitation today.”
Mara choked down her mouthful of bread. “Pardon? What happened to laundry?”
“Done all we can. We’ll have to make do with what we’ve washed.” Gymari cursed. “Let’s pray we didn’t miss any mites.”
Her skin crawled. “Is that what we were doing? Killing bed bugs?”
