Salvage

by R J Theodore

  Zeela sighed. Helsim Breaker was not the only god whose absence was unusual or troubling. Lindent Vein, her creator, would have done his people good if he had deigned to let them hear his voice. “I can only report what I hear. It is not my job to assume or inject hope where there is no cause for it. There are enough rumors and lies in the Cutter Empire without my needing to add to them.”

  She did not have a transcript panel that would allow her to type out the messages she was hearing into text that sighted people could read. Instead, each week, Lilac was sent from the Subrosan headquarters of the resistance group calling itself the Tempest, to meet with Zeela in the back room of her antiquities shop in Subrosa, to take down the latest news from across the closed border. Zeela’s personal radio was the only one in range to receive transmissions from outside Cutter skies. That relay, transmitted from radio point to radio point, came into contact with enough people and biases to worry Zeela over the accuracy of the reports. She did what she could for the cause of disambiguation by not altering a single word as they came to her.

  “Yes, of course.” More movement of paper. “‘The new Bone temple ships have been observed searching Yu’Nyun wrecks, as have other ships of Cutter design but unknown affiliations’—you asked me not to record the theories as to which groups they were affiliated with. ‘Uncertain as to the success of their missions.’”

  Lilac paused again. “What is it?”

  Though the Breaker woman was extremely perceptive, it was hardly necessary at the moment. Zeela felt the tension in her facial muscles and realized she had tightened her lips into a crooked frown. In the security of Zeela’s sealed apartments, behind its sound insulated walls and heavily barred and latched door, she let down her guard. One needed no Breaker sensitivity for moods and life force to read her now.

  Something was bothering Zeela about the salvage operations that so many wanted to run on the Yu’Nyun wrecks. “The aliens escaped their ships on life rafts . . .”

  Lilac made no reply, allowing Zeela to tease out her thoughts on her own.

  “I imagine they would have carried anything of value with them in their escape.”

  The larger woman shifted in her seat. “If you’ll pardon my forwardness, you know firsthand how plentiful their valuables were. Perhaps there was much more aboard their ships that they could not take it all.”

  “Onaya Bone’s people certainly think so, don’t they?”

  She heard Lilac’s collar crease as the woman nodded. “And these Cutter salvage crews, whoever they are.”

  “Don’t mind me.” Zeela sighed. “This is not my riddle to untangle. Please continue.”

  Lilac placed the pad of paper on her knee with a light smack. “This is our tangle, though. You are doing as much as you can, Zeela.” She dropped the use of ‘Lady’—it had always been a social construct anyway. Lilac was ages old, as all Helsim Breaker’s children were. She had as much right to call Zeela ‘child’ if she so chose. “Yours is one of the only radios on this side of the borders, and the only one in range of those on the other side. Without you, we would only have the information the Empire was willing to disseminate.”

  Aware of the time, Zeela stood and tucked her seat back under the communications counter. “Thank you, Lilac. I should not keep you. I’m sure your notes are as complete as they have always been.”

  The chair slid across the steel floor on its padded feet with a light susurration. Zeela felt the shift of mass in the room as Lilac stood. But the woman did not move toward the door.

  “I am always here, Zeela, for anything you need.”

  Zeela untucked one of her primary hands and placed it on Lilac’s forearm. She felt the warmth of the ageless woman’s presence through the cobblestone-like pebbling of her skin.

  “Thank you. And I for you, of course.”

  As Lilac left, Zeela listened to make sure the large footsteps traveling through the floor carried her all the way to the front of the antiquities shop. Zeela’s head attendant, Reian, would send Lilac back to the Tempest with the usual medical poultices and clean linens for the refugees who found their way to the group’s headquarters in the warehouse district.

  With the door to her rooms slightly ajar, sound flowed in from the front of the shop and Zeela could hear Reian’s lilting voice providing instructions to a customer on an unguent’s proper storage and application. Zeela heard the metallic scrape of presscoins against the shop counter and paper folding as another attendant packaged up the item.

  Her breath caught as the curtain of beads and bells rang in the front of the shop. The newcomer was tall and, by the way they brushed through the entrance, very familiar with Zeela’s establishment. Zeela did not breathe as she listened carefully to the sounds from the front. The customer parted with their purchase, and Reian greeted the newcomer.

  “Pleasant morning, madam.”

  “Not bad.” With the reply, Zeela recognized Captain Vitnir’s voice, but still did not relax. The shop attendants continued as though they had never met the newest visitor, asking if she needed anything specific.

  “Thanks, just looking. I’ll let you know when I see it.”

  Zeela did not emerge from her rooms until she heard Lilac, arms loaded with supplies, push her way through the beaded curtain and displace its strands as only someone of her stature could.

  She smoothed the front of her silk robe, aware that her secondary arms were perspiring slightly and likely to discolor the fabric. She was about to step out into the shopfront when Lilac paused in the door.

  “Please let the lady of the house know that there is a bit of a social gathering tomorrow evening. All of my closest friends will be there.” Lilac’s voice projected loudly enough that Zeela was certain it was meant to reach her ears.

  A coded statement. There would be a Tempest meeting the next night. Zeela did not attend these things. She was happy that their group spread the news she received on her radio, but she did not wish to so explicitly align herself with anyone in Subrosa. It was too dangerous. The Rosan agents from the island’s topside city were always lurking, on alert for people to target and harass. Zeela had withdrawn from all her social excursions, including a relationship that had taken a pleasantly romantic turn. That had been before the storm cloud of political tension in the undercity chased such pursuits from her mind.

  Reian answered. “I shall tell her for you.”

  And then Lilac exited finally. Her footsteps were easy to trace across the platforms outside, though she was light on her feet.

  Zeela gathered herself up and adjusted her posture before stepping out behind the shop counter.

  “Captain Vitnir, right on time.”

  “C’mon, Zeela, you know to call me Frankie. I see you’re running a touch behind, today.”

  “The transmissions were longer than usual. Please, let us talk privately.”

  Reian lifted the counter’s hinged top to let the bounty hunter through. “Tea, my lady?”

  “Something stronger.” The captain was comfortable anywhere she went. Not one of her better qualities, though the confidence carried her far in life.

  “Tea for me. Perhaps the captain would like hers with lemon, honey, and brandy to soothe her throat?”

  Captain Vitnir chuckled, and Zeela heard bangles move on her wrist as she crossed her arms. “You know, I do have a bit of a tickle. Hot and sweet, then. Thanks, Reian.”

  Zeela turned the dial to raise the illumination along the corridor floor for the comfort of her sighted guest. Partially sighted guest. Captain Vitnir had one glass eye, which Zeela had custom made for her. It didn’t completely replace the original, but it was packed with enough Vein sensors to give the woman a decided advantage at cards. That was the deal. The Vein’s carefully guarded assistive technology in exchange for even giving Zeela the time of day. It was the solid foundation upon which they built their business relati
onship.

  For the second time that morning, Zeela led her guest to an insulated private room, though these were not Zeela’s personal chambers. Designed to receive intimate audiences with up to a half-dozen visitors, the room was arranged with seating in a circle around a low table that was wide enough to hold refreshments, merchandise, and paperwork at the same time.

  Captain Vitnir let herself in, breezing past Zeela with a whirl of fragrances: ylang-ylang, vetiver, clean cotton, oiled leather, gold accent dust, and wax-based cosmetics. The bounty hunter plunked herself down on the room’s softest cushion and reclined against the bolsters to await Zeela’s latest information, and that beverage.

  Neither was long in coming. One of the junior attendants carried in a tray and placed it on the table before Zeela, who tapped the fingers of one secondary hand on the table to the left of the tray to indicate there was nothing else needed. The door closed and the strange, ear-pressing silence of the room closed in on them.

  “Got something for me?” Captain Vitnir reached out and took the small cup offered. The mix of citrus, sweetness, and alcohol was heady, and its scent left a trail in the air between them.

  Zeela didn’t reach for her tea. “I do, though the information is vague. Would you mind crossing the border for me again?”

  “So soon? I just got back.”

  “Very little enters Cutter skies that the Veritors don’t find first as I’m sure you’re aware. They have the one. The others, thankfully, appear to be at fixed points, all unlikely to travel where the Empire can reach them.”

  “You know you could have hired a smuggler for this. I don’t usually take on contracts for inanimate objects.”

  “I know, Captain Vitnir. You prefer the chase.”

  “Told you, call me Frankie. And yes, you have the right of it.”

  “I appreciate your indulgence. The chase, if it were to be necessary, would mean we were entirely too late.”

  “Right, yes. Well, the border run will be fun, anyhow. So where do you need me?”

  “There is a Rakkar library. They have reserved a book for me.”

  “A library book.”

  “Yes.”

  “You hired a bounty hunter to check out a library book.”

  “Captain Vitnir, please.”

  The bangles on her wrist chimed again as the captain made a gesture of defeat. “I won’t tell you how to spend your money.”

  Zeela extracted a narrow satin pouch from her pocket, satisfied to feel the uneven weight in her robes settle. She set the pouch on the table between them along with the matter of whether Captain Vitnir would deign to go on this errand.

  The bounty hunter didn’t take it right away.

  “Why is this so important to you? What are you going to do when you have these rings, anyway?”

  “It is personal. There is something I did which—”

  “The deal with the aliens.”

  Zeela kept her expression as passive as Captain Vitnir would have expected it to be. The bounty hunter was not trying to agitate her, she simply had little sense for subtlety where it came to conversation. Thankfully the reputation for pursuit of her quarry told of far more stealth.

  “Yes. I put one into their hands, and that was quite clearly a poor decision on my part. I intend that they shall not obtain another one.”

  “Paid for these fancy steel walls of yours, though.”

  “Yes.” Though Zeela made the upgrades partially for the benefit of her clients, one did not speak of personal expenditures in polite company. So then, she should not have been surprised that Captain Vitnir brought it up.

  “In the pouch, I have also included the library’s address.”

  Captain Vitnir finished her cooling beverage in one swallow, placed the ceramic cup on the table—not the tray—with a clink, and reached into her jacket for a paper. This, she placed on the tray in front of Zeela. Without touching it, Zeela could sense it was wrinkled and warm from its journey in Captain Vitnir’s pocket.

  “Expenses for the last run.”

  “Yes, of course. It will be included in your next payment.” Zeela was paying her enough; she wouldn’t be poor in the meantime. And from the scent of gunpowder on the paper in front of her, Captain Vitnir was supplementing her income from Zeela’s tasks with contracts more in keeping with her usual line of work.

  She was violent, greedy, and took risks that cost her dearly, but Captain Vitner had a code of honor, in her own way, and Zeela trusted her. In Subrosa, especially in these times, one had to choose their allies and business partners carefully. A lesson Zeela had learned only too well after partnering with the Yu’Nyun.

  Chapter 10

  The docks looked like a discarded candy swarming with ants.

  The borders were open, Bill had said, and it was too much sweetness for everyone to resist. Dignitary ships were railing-to-railing with merchant vessels and private touring ships. Some vessels dabbled in a little of everything: transporting ambassadors of communities, cramming their holds with as much merchandise as they hoped they could sell, and then finding gaps and corners to charge exorbitant fares of passengers who couldn’t stand the thought of being left out. The air-filled bumpers squeaked in protest as the harbormaster’s office tried to make room for everyone. If they could accommodate them at the docks, they could collect docking fees.

  Talis’s head was buzzing from the energy. The excitement was palpable. Everyone seemed to think this marked the end of the tension that followed the battle at Nexus. Talis wasn’t ready to be that hopeful, but it was hard to resist the anticipation. A royal coronation didn’t happen every day. A tragedy was at the heart of it, but you’d never know it from the smiles and laughter from all hands.

  All the ships, their manifests, the customs inspections, and passenger logs overwhelmed Talis to the point where she had to drag one of the Rakkar clerks out of the office to assist her. The clerk, spoiled by two years of Talis managing all dockside tasks, edged out to the island’s drop, accidentally kicked a piece of gravel over, turned a greenish hue, and then set up a table at the grassline and made the ships’ agents come to him. A long queue formed, and someone was assigned ginger tea duty to keep the clerk’s queasiness at bay. The chaos that ensued had Talis wishing it was just her out there again.

  So she barely had the wherewithal to register anything strange when a Bone captain approached her and invited Talis onto her ship.

  The ship’s name was emblazoned in black-outlined gold leaf against a blood red hull: Im Ufite Rantor. In the desert tribes’ Bone dialect, it meant ‘Raptor of Fire;’ in Dug’s dialect, it translated as ‘Soul Blade.’ Each people among the Bone had a variation on the language Onaya Bone had taught them, generations ago in the time immediately following Recreation. Talis would know which family and dialect to associate with the ship once she saw the members of her crew, and the details like hairstyle, make up, and dress.

  It was a crimson-hulled barque with intricate gilded scrollwork along the railing and golden telltales knotted through her crisp silk sails. It broadcasted self-importance as much as the expensive berthing request, and Talis dismissed the invitation as selfish expectation of dedicated service befitting such a fancy hull. She climbed aboard with the usual clipboard of paperwork, and a large pouch on her belt to hold the exorbitant impending payment.

  But atop the weatherdeck, a Vein person in a shimmering silver robe waited for her. Talis had read the manifest, and all crew and passengers were listed. This then was Eneil zur Selki, a Vein merchant. The ‘zur’ before their surname told Talis to use neutral pronouns. And the Bone crew at their service told of money and a very specific purpose. If Eneil could take the liberty to summon strangers aboard a Bone ship, that suggested the crew was working for them. Not uncommon at all on this side of Nexus.

  “Captain Talis, I presume?” Their voice was smooth as cream and
warm. There was an accented, alto lilt somewhere behind the otherwise tenor range.

  Talis squinted at them, but their face was unfamiliar. That they knew her name might mean nothing. She was the only Cutter worker at the Rakkar docks, and word of her fate might have spread across the skies on the tongues of anyone who had seen her at Heddard Bay. Still, it put the wind in her ears to be not only recognized, but obviously anticipated. She shrugged in reply. Knew they could sense it, even if their vestigial moonstone eyes didn’t detect the motion as she might have. They could probably sense her suspicion as well.

  Their head tilted, waiting for her reply.

  “Got no ship to be captain of, but yes, I’m Talis. Will you be filling out this paperwork?”

  They offered a delicate, practiced smile which alleviated none of her suspicion, and then took a step closer. In Talis’s experience, Vein traders made no movements that were not calculated, almost down to the movement of invisible hairs. Facial expressions were a skill they practiced to manipulate the reactions of sighted races. This one was good.

  Talis measured them. Noted how they stood, their four arms folded in front of them in a relaxed posture. To know how a Vein person was feeling, a smart woman watched their fingers. But both pairs of hands were quiet. No bells or beads adorned their waist-length, braided, colorless hair or trimmed their fine, soft clothing. Their sounds and movement were guarded like cards at a table.

  They were not discouraged by her warning tone and pressed on, ignoring the clipboard she held out. “But you do have a ship, elsewhere. Wind Sabre.”

  Her breath caught in her throat, hearing the name of her ship spoken by a stranger. Even if their tone carried nothing but respect for the words, as though they ran a loving hand down Wind Sabre’s railing. As familiar with the wood grain as Talis.

  Training, she reminded herself. They’ve got far more control over their tone of voice than you have, so tighten your mainsheet and outplay them.