by Rachel Caine
That reminded me of Elder Typhon, and the momentary distraction of humor burned away. I got serious again. “Right. Next, you’re going to tell me what the hell was going on with Marko and Chao-Xing and Typhon. He was using them. Is that some kind of . . . deep bond?”
He didn’t want to answer this one, I could tell. “An imperfect one,” he finally said. “Imbalanced. Typhon takes what he needs from them. Commands. Controls. It is very difficult to find the ideal bond. Typhon had that, once. But he lost them. Since, he has not been—not been the same.”
Suddenly I understood the look that Marko and Chao-Xing had, all pupils and dead man’s stare. “You lied to us.” The words came out quieter than I meant, but they had hard, cutting edges. I pushed off from the wall and limped the rest of the way toward my room. Not far now. “About what the Honors program really is. It isn’t just cultural exchange and learning, is it?”
“No,” Nadim said. “But at the same time, it is those things too. We are beneficial to humans, and humans to us. That isn’t a lie.”
“You don’t tell people about the bond. About how it can take away our minds! Our humanity!” Fury crackled through me, realizing that Marko and Chao-Xing had gone off to their new ship expecting another voyage like what they had with Nadim. Instead, they’d gotten jumped. “You sure as shit should have said something about that!”
He went silent, though he didn’t draw back from me; he just didn’t seem to know what to say. I didn’t want to sleep anymore. I wanted to pace, even though it hurt, but common sense took over; I opened the door to my room and sat on the bed. I felt Nadim come in with me—a sense of him right beside me, an almost physical presence, so strong that I fixed my gaze on the space where I felt he stood.
“I can’t change what Typhon does,” he said. “One human is not responsible for the actions of all humans, isn’t that true?”
“Sure.”
“Then please understand. Typhon is not . . .”
“What, they’re all like you and he’s the outlier? Is that what you’re telling me?”
“No,” Nadim said. “I’m saying that we are all different. Please don’t think I would ever do that to one of my Honors!”
“What’s the Journey, Nadim?”
“I don’t—”
“You know. Don’t try to tell me you don’t! I can give you a pass on the shock device, but the weapons? That isn’t just shit you come up with because it looks cool. You develop it to protect yourself!”
“I never said the Journey would be safe,” he said. “No one has ever promised that. We’re taking precautions—”
“Shut up!” I yelled, and stood up. “Come on, you know better than this! Something is wrong and if you don’t know what it is, then you’re being lied to just as much as we are!”
I felt him draw back that time, as if I’d slapped him. I wasn’t sorry, either. Sometimes a wake-up call was necessary. “Stop shouting at me!” Now he had lost his temper too. Good. “I haven’t done anything wrong! I’m not responsible for what Typhon does, any more than you were responsible for your father—”
The rage bubble burst inside of me and drowned me in a flood of fire and ice. “Get the hell out of my room.”
It was impossible for a living ship to slam a door on himself, but Nadim did his best to try. He disappeared, and the sudden chill of his absence was breathtaking. I froze in place, struggling for breath. It physically hurt to lose him in this way. I wondered if it hurt him too. I couldn’t tell, because there was absolutely no way I was going to check on him. I hadn’t told him about my father. About any of that. Angry as hell, I slammed out of my room, blocking him from my mind as I rushed back to the console. Called up my own personnel file, which I hadn’t done before because why would I?
It was full of my sealed treatment records. Everything from my therapists. Everything that I’d thought would never be revealed to anyone else. Not even Camp Kuna had seen these things, but here they were.
It was all in the files that the Honors Selection Committee had sent to the Leviathan. All my damage, all my violence, all my wounds, laid bare.
Nadim knew.
The anger rushed out of me as if someone had pulled a plug. I staggered and instinctively reached for a wall, flinching when I felt the warmth of it, but I stayed in contact anyway, because I needed the support.
When I breathed in again, I had to take a convulsive gulp of air to clear spots from my eyes.
“Zara?” Nadim’s voice came from all around me, and it was sharp with alarm. “Zara, what’s wrong?”
“Everything,” I whispered. I felt something wet on my cheeks, and I swiped at it in disbelief. Not sweat. Tears.
He said my name again, this time pleadingly.
But when I closed the door, he stayed outside. I don’t cry, I told myself. My father had tried to crack me. I’d learned to turn off tears long ago.
But the need to cry this time was overwhelming. No. No, I won’t. And I didn’t. Exhaustion finally closed in.
Just as I was about to doze off, my bunk rocked hard enough to tip me onto the floor, and Nadim’s agony split my skull into a thousand pieces, so all I could do was writhe and scream. Since I’d promised not to leave him alone in his pain again, I did not pass out.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Breaking Hearts
I MADE IT to the data console without succumbing. It was like he’d been hit with a shock baton. I knew that feeling. I’d been stunned plenty of times back home—rehab, the Bible camp, even in the Zone a couple of times when the enforcement troops had come in to clean up the place.
It had been a hit designed to keep him in line and unable to fight back. The quarrel we’d just had paled in comparison to this new situation. Mentally I called for a truce.
“Nadim! I need to see!” I shouted.
Hopefully he’d get the need to cooperate too. The wall opposite the data console shimmered into transparency.
Typhon filled our sky, massive as a living moon, pitted with dark scars and thick with armor. There was grace in other Leviathan, and beauty—like luminous fish in dark water. But not him. He looked graceless and brutal, and most of all, he looked three times Nadim’s size. I’d never felt as scared of him as I did in that moment. That was partly because he was just that badass, but also because I could feel the raw fear vibrating inside Nadim like a drum. This had taken him completely by surprise. He wasn’t good at hiding the feeling, and somehow, I knew Typhon would be able to sense it.
Bullies always could.
I hit the comm. “Bea! Get up here now!”
I heard a confused flailing on the other end, and the clear sound of her feet slapping the floor. The first part of her question came out in Portuguese before her brain caught up, and then she translated, “What? What is it?” She wasn’t waiting for an answer. I could hear her pulling on her uniform.
“Trouble,” I said, and switched off. Explaining would only make her more anxious and solve nothing. Besides, I had things to do. Nadim’s pain was passing, and I sensed his defenses coming up. “Nadim! Why is he here? I thought the Elders went out on their Journey and we never saw them again!”
“Almost never. But he didn’t go.” There was a strain in his voice, as if it was hard to think past the suffering and stress.
“What do you mean, didn’t go? He left, we saw him go!”
“He didn’t sing.”
Ah. Of course. I remembered that; the other Leviathan had sung their beautiful, mournful good-bye when they’d darted out of sight, gone on their Journey to distant stars. Only Typhon had remained silent.
“Are Marko and Chao-Xing still on board?”
“Yes. They are his deep-bond partners.”
“So they can’t leave.”
“They can, with his cooperation. But—you saw how he treats them.” His attention narrowed in on Typhon. That tightened our connection to a trickle, so I only got glimmers of what Nadim heard and felt. But fear, Nadim had an ocean of it. Through
him, I sensed that Typhon was a black hole of a presence, radiating grim menace.
And then he was talking. Not to me, of course. Elder Typhon didn’t deign to talk to insects. I felt the booming waves of vibration that rang through Nadim like a shout, and his involuntary flinch, as if he was afraid of being hit again. I put my hand on the wall beside me, trying to send him comfort and support, but I didn’t know if he felt it. His focus was all on the other Leviathan, and for good reason. I was still shell-shocked from before, but that didn’t matter right now. Outside threats mattered more than my feelings. Always would.
Beatriz arrived at a run, tying her curls behind her head as she slid to a halt beside me. She didn’t ask questions, just took in the intimidating view from the window and then scanned the console. “Can we lose him?” she asked.
It was a sensible question, but I knew from my training that even at his best speed, Nadim wasn’t fast enough to outrun Typhon.
I shook my head. Nadim’s dread seeped into my head, making it hard for me to be logical. Bea didn’t seem to be feeling it as much.
“Then can we fight?”
“With what? Near as I can tell, Leviathan fight by ramming each other, and Typhon’s big enough to crush Nadim. I don’t think anything we have in our weapons locker will be more than a flea bite on him.” I thought of the weapon I’d assembled for Nadim, on the day that Bea was trying so desperately to finish her qualifications. If only we’d installed that . . . but it might not have mattered. At all.
She hummed a little in the back of her throat, gaze intent on the console. That was her thinking mode, an absently musical one as she analyzed.
Bea pointed to the star we were orbiting. “Do you think Nadim’s fast enough to get on the far side before Typhon can catch him?”
“Maybe. What good will that do?”
“It’s cover. Even Leviathan have to avoid flying too close, and surely it blinds them. Maybe not their eyes, but the noise it produces—”
“Yes,” Nadim said, suddenly very interested in what we were saying. “If I can get very close, the starsong will baffle his senses. Not for long, but maybe long enough.”
“Did he track you? Or did that other Leviathan who responded to our distress call tell him about what happened?” Bea asked.
“Likely the latter would be the case,” Nadim said. “According to Zara’s account, you frightened his Honor. He would have sought help.”
“Look, the guy had a million tentacles,” I said. “Don’t pick a girl who shoots first if you don’t want her to, all right?”
You know how I am. That’s on you. Or the Elders. I knew it was on me too, but still.
Bea brushed that aside. “Doesn’t matter. If Typhon didn’t track us, and he was told where to find us, then we might be able to lose him. True?”
“Perhaps.” Nadim sounded relieved. “But I should be sure of what he wants before we run. It—it could be more than just punishment.”
“I still think we should run,” I said.
“Zara.” My name sounded gentle from him, and it relaxed some of my tense wariness. “Typhon is harsh. But he is not irrational. He won’t hurt you or Beatriz.”
“But he’ll hurt you,” I said. “And I’m tired of you getting hurt.”
“I have to speak with him. I will try to be brief.”
Typhon, as far as I was concerned, had nothing that I wanted to hear about, and imagining Marko with those dead-black eyes again, stranded aboard, made me sick. Unequal bond was the same thing as Typhon playing with human dolls, and Marko deserved better. Hell, I might not like Chao-Xing, but she did too. It was sickening.
And there was nothing I could do about it.
Nadim and Typhon had some Leviathan-level exchange; I could feel the rumbles through my boots. With my hands on the human-built console, it was harder to sense what he was feeling. He was being very careful to keep it all buttoned up tight just now.
Beatriz put in a course that would swing us under the burning ball of the sun at the closest safe distance, then vector us away into the dark while Typhon’s senses were confused. It might work. Maybe. Her fingers hovered over the controls, and she was listening, just as I was, for the slightest hint of trouble.
But it didn’t come as a hint.
Our comm activated, and both Bea and I jumped in surprise. Chao-Xing’s calm, measured voice said, “Honors. Lie flat on the floor. Do it now.”
“What?” Bea blurted. I hit the button to reply.
“Why?”
“We wish to avoid unnecessary injury to you. You have five seconds to comply.”
“Punch it!” I yelled to Bea, and she reached for the panel. Just as she touched the activation button, the entire data console shut down. Powered off completely, like someone had pulled an emergency switch. Not Nadim’s doing—I could feel his surge of astonishment, and then grim determination.
“Please lie down,” Nadim said. I heard the fatalism in his voice. “I was warned that if I broke rules on this Tour I would not have another chance to make amends. This is my punishment.”
“That’s insane! We can run! Get away!”
“I am about to try. But you must prepare yourselves now.”
“Nadim!”
“Please, Zara.” My name was almost a caress. “Beatriz. Please comply. I will try to protect you as much as I can.”
I grabbed Beatriz and pulled her to the floor. We accelerated as Nadim dived for the blazing curve of the sun . . . and I glimpsed a flash as Typhon flipped with eerie agility outside the window and slapped Nadim with stunning force with the ventral surface of his tail. Normally, it fanned out into what looked like a delicate structure designed to catch starlight. He’d folded up that fan, and what hit us was like a whip, full of devastating power.
It sliced through Nadim’s skin, crushed fragile tissues, cracked whatever passed for Nadim’s bones. It was a full, cruel blow, a fist to a child, and I screamed into the muffling surface of the floor.
Run, Nadim. Before he destroys you.
But he couldn’t. The blow knocked him off course, and though Nadim dodged and tried again, Typhon was not only faster, he was so much larger that he cut Nadim off easily and knocked him tumbling again, a strike to the injured dorsal side, the fresh scar he’d earned in the debris field. That scar broke open with a hot, wet rush, and I felt Nadim bleeding, smoky silver pouring into the darkness. The newly healed muscles beneath were crushed by the blow.
It was a good thing we were on the floor, but even then, Nadim’s uncontrolled spin sent us rolling, tumbling clumsily around and banging hard into the unforgiving metal of the console. I rolled over the transparent window and for a heart-stopping moment I was gazing into the universe itself and felt it looking back with an intent, uncaring focus. If this membrane ruptures . . .
Typhon hit Nadim again. Again. The strikes were vicious, and Nadim was already weak. This had to stop. Ignoring the danger, I grabbed hold of the edge of the console and hauled myself up with all my strength to slap my hand on the comms control. “Marko!” I shouted. “You have to stop him! He’ll kill Nadim! Stop him! Marko!”
Another shuddering impact flung me into Beatriz, who clutched me tight as we cowered together, wedged into a small alcove as the beating continued . . .
. . . and then suddenly ceased.
I raised my head and looked at the transparent window. Typhon’s enormous bulk hung there, momentarily still. That lethal tail was still bare of solar sails, and I realized it wasn’t only a whip, it was now barbed. Like the tail of a scorpion. It could stab as well as crush. But he hadn’t used that. Yet.
“Nadim?” My cry echoed back from the walls. When he didn’t reply, Bea let out a little sob and let me go. The ship was still spinning, but slowing down now. Gravity stabilized beneath our feet. “Nadim!”
I felt a trickle of something. He might have meant it as reassurance, but it wasn’t that at all. It was so fragile, and it made me think of a long-ago friend in the Zone, beaten to
death but still flashing me a bloody grin through broken teeth before he’d breathed his last. The memory terrified me. I pressed hard against the floor. Pressed my cheek to it. Reached for him.
“All right,” Nadim whispered. Even the synthesized voice sounded raw, hardly even understandable. Something groaned deep inside him, and I felt another bright hot-pink spike of pain stab through me. I winced and stumbled, bracing against the console. “Marko stopped him—”
Marko had intervened, somehow. Not quite the human doll after all, which was what I’d so desperately hoped. “Nadim, can you move?”
“No.” I read the desperation in it. “If I try and fail, he will hit me again. It might hurt you.”
“Screw that. Run! Do it!”
I turned my head in surprise, because that was Beatriz saying it, not me. Her hair had broken loose to riot around her face, and her eyes were ferocious. I’d have stayed out of her way if I’d crossed her path in the Zone.
I held up my hand, and she clasped it, our fingers knitting together tightly. “Yeah,” I said. “Nadim—you said you could go into stealth mode?”
If he’d been human, he might have drawn in an audible breath. He’d forgotten that. He’d never even tried it yet. “Yes,” he said. “Yes.”
“Do it!”
“I can’t. I’m not strong enough.”
“I am,” I said. “We are.”
I felt the wild surge in him, and his mind reached and opened to me, and I fell, and it wasn’t I anymore, it was we, spinning in a vortex of black fear and red pain and stars, stars, the pulsing beat of Typhon’s rage pummeling our body, vital fluids streaming into the dark, so much hurt, so much, but we clicked together in pieces made to fit and there, there it was, a shimmering pearl of power greater than either of us could ever be separately.
We disappeared. Typhon’s surprise flared like a dying star. We dove, stiff and awkward with the pain, the damage, and skimmed barely past the stabbing thrust of his barbed tail, drinking thick starlight and whispering by, not even a shadow, not even a ripple. Turning now, gliding, the sun so hot it hissed and burned the wound on our dorsal surface black, turned the blood to ashes drifting on solar clouds, and we ran, racing up and out into the dark.
