by Rachel Caine
She gestured impatiently for the toolbox, and I set it on the counter and watched in bemused fascination as she pulled out connections and rapidly connected the data input screen into . . . the reheater? “I’m hungry,” she announced. “Do you want something?”
“Um . . . sure?”
She gave me a silent nod, grabbed a food packet at random and shoved it in the reheater, and pressed the button. It began its work.
She quickly touched the input screen.
It booted up. Bea did a silent victory dance, hair whipping, and then shut it down again as the reheater dinged for attention. She grabbed the food and tossed it to me. Ugh. Meatloaf. Not my favorite.
I got it, then. She’d tapped into a power source, but in order to disguise that the input screen was live, she needed to run something else on the line at the same time. Not necessarily the reheater, just something that Typhon didn’t consider a threat.
I mouthed media room, and she grinned and unhooked the screen as quickly as she’d put it together. Leaving the food, we managed to wire the input screen in series with the vid player. I queued up a marathon playlist, and as it began, she turned on the data input.
We were into the database. Nadim had unlocked it for us, and now we had a way in.
We bumped fists while the opening credits of an old movie rolled over the screen behind us, and got busy.
Nearly six hours later, we sat in the lush seats, watching the end of a movie we hadn’t so much as glanced at until now, and passed the reheated meatloaf back and forth, taking small bites. I pulled out my H2 and quickly wrote, Do you think it will work?
Yes, she said, with five bouncing icons for emphasis. Good enough for me.
I wrote, Nadim, are you following?
He wrote Yes on my H2, and then, on a separate line, I don’t like this. I can’t help you there. It’s too dangerous for you.
I love risk, I told him.
I know. That’s why I don’t like it.
I almost laughed. Instead, I wrote, It’s our shot. We have to take it.
He didn’t approve of that, but he accepted it. Now, all we had to do was make it work. And that depended on all of us working together.
Just like it was meant to be.
PART IV
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Breaking Vows
“MARKO? ARE YOU there?”
I had been trying to hail the other vessel for the better part of an hour. It was so annoying to contact somebody you knew damn well was listening and was choosing to ignore you. If he thought I’d give up, however, he didn’t know me at all.
Into the third hour, his furious face finally appeared on my comm screen. “We have nothing to discuss, Zara! We are not interested in excuses or justifications.”
There went my first pretext. Time for Plan B.
“I need medical treatment. You already know I’m partially deep-bonded with Nadim, and that beating messed me up. EMITU isn’t working properly. I might die if you don’t do something.” I leaned over and groaned, took a mouthful of red juice offscreen from a bottle, then coughed up a stream of it at the holocam. That had to look gross. “But I guess that’s just fucking fine, huh? You don’t care?”
“Get out of the way.” Marko was shouldered aside, and then Chao-Xing appeared. “We don’t have time for your bullshit. Have EMITU fix you.”
“It’s not working.” I moaned and clutched the wall. “Don’t believe me? Come with me to medical.” I picked up my H2 and went mobile with the call.
All my years of truancy paid off in my performance. I hacked, I stumbled, making sure to give them plenty of shaky cam. When I got to medical, EMITU was offline, courtesy of Beatriz. “Please help me,” I begged the inert droid.
No response.
“Try resetting it,” Marko said.
He seemed slightly concerned now, so I milked it, pitching forward so that I almost dropped the H2. From that angle, I’m sure it looked like a full face-plant. I lay there for a few seconds before rolling onto my side with a gargle. I fumbled around at the back of the machine and nothing happened. I rasped out, “Never mind. Probably easier if I die.”
If they could monitor my vitals remotely, then we were screwed. Plus, I was gambling everything on them still having souls. A muffled argument raged behind me, but I didn’t dare move. They have to send someone. They have to.
It would be inconvenient if I died in the Honors program, but there would be ways to spin it, probably. A sudden aneurysm in my brain, some other hidden health defect? Such a tragedy; she was so young. Same way those two Honors on Nadim’s long-ago voyage had just . . . disappeared.
Suddenly this didn’t seem like that great a plan.
Finally, Marko said, “Hold on, Zara. I’m coming. But you’d better not be pulling anything.”
Success.
I lay on my face until Marko arrived. Bea made her entrance just as he did, crying out, rolling me over, babbling questions at me and him in a mixture of English and Portuguese until he waved her off. “Not now. I’ll update you when I know something.”
“She’s been so sick since—” Bea was actually crying. The Teatro Real was in her blood. “I think there are internal injuries, I thought she was resting.”
“All right, calm down, I’ll take care of her.”
She caught her breath on a sob. “How do I know you won’t just—”
“Beatriz.” Evidently her terror registered as sincere because Marko paused. “Am I a murderer? Am I?”
Even I got chills when she whispered, “I don’t know.”
“Psia krew!” I’d heard that swear in the Zone. Still Marko sounded weary more than offended.
First he tried to get EMITU working, but Bea had hacked it good. Now he sounded legit worried. Playing possum took incredible self-control when I wanted—needed—to see what was going on.
Eventually, Marko lifted me and carried me toward their Hopper. Yes. I’m on my way. I made sure I was dead weight in his arms and that spurred him to careless haste. Once he deposited me in the passenger seat and strapped me in, I risked a look through my lashes. Marko checked the instruments with a scowl; he looked way older than he had that day he’d pulled me out of Camp Kuna, with all the girls sighing over him. He looked ragged and tired and ill. And yes, I felt sorry for him too. For being bonded to a bastard like Typhon, for being caught like an animal in a snare. And most of all, for the way I was about to play him.
I let him take off and fly back to the Elder Leviathan. My timing had to be perfect. There might be signals I didn’t know about and Typhon would probably realize the instant I made a move. If he knew, Chao-Xing would also. They were both deep-bonded, distinct frequencies, but similar strength. Pilot and starsinger, like me and Beatriz.
The second we landed, I saw the difference. Although it had a similar design, Typhon’s docking bay was bigger than Nadim’s—with curves you wouldn’t find in a mechanical craft like the ribs inside of a whale. It almost looked like an organic cathedral. I took a good look at the arched ceiling with its cut ridges. There were no teeth, but fangs wouldn’t have surprised me, either. Chills broke out as Marko opened the Hopper doors. The walls were tinted grayish-white, which might have been a sign of age or an aesthetic choice, but the space gave off an institutional vibe. The lighting inside was harsh, a fluorescent glow that stung my eyes.
Marko retrieved me and slung me over one shoulder; not the most careful handling. If I’d had spinal damage, I might have never walked again, but his proximity to Typhon chilled his humanity, his empathy, and I became a female-shaped problem instead of a person.
As we reached the internal docking entrance, I pulled the stunner I’d concealed inside my uniform. Considering how exhausted he looked, I didn’t expect Marko to move quickly, but he blocked the hit and twisted my wrist so hard that I dropped the weapon. He tried to wheel me in for a behind-the-back arm lock, a move they’d used to subdue me at various rehabs, so I was wise to it. I dipped my shoulder, tucked my
arm close to my side, and surprised him by spinning toward him with my other hand, striking his solar plexus hard enough to steal his breath.
“What’re you trying to accomplish?” Marko wheezed.
“Saving Nadim.” I grabbed the stunner off the floor and fired, and he went down hard. Out.
Diving past him, I rolled clear before I got locked in. I made it, barely, though the heavy doors caught my foot. When I pulled free, I lost a layer of skin and would have a deep bruise. They couldn’t vent the hangar bay with Marko on the other side, so I had a little freedom. For now.
Or so I thought.
As I oriented myself, a rosy mist puffed down all around me. It smelled like bitter chalk. Almost immediately, my eyes blurred, my knees weakening. “Damn you, Chao-Xing.”
“Told that idiot you were faking. Want to know a secret, xiao Zara? I was just like you once.” The last thing I heard was her mocking laughter.
However long later, I woke in lockup, a five-by-five cell with a blanket and a bucket. Nadim didn’t have holding cells, and there were lockers on the other side, so this was probably a storage room. A blue, shimmering force field prevented me from moving farther. Both Marko and Chao-Xing stood before me in their bloodred uniforms. Their eyes were black again, full of Typhon’s presence.
I played my part to the hilt. No point in pretending to be innocent, and nothing gained by cowering. Bravado was more my style.
“Hey,” I said. “How’s it going?”
Staring into Chao-Xing’s eyes was like falling into an abyss. No, like getting a glimpse of Typhon’s soul. A shiver trembled through me, and even through the nu-silk fabric of my blue uniform I felt the chill. It was cold in here. Colder by far than Nadim kept our environment. I suspected the cold was comfortable for Typhon or he just didn’t care and kept it at the bare minimum that optimized the performance of his Honors. I could almost see my breath in the air.
Bravado didn’t seem to work, so screw them, I wouldn’t speak again. If they’d come to interrogate me, they could get on with it. On impulse, I brushed my fingertips over the wall—Typhon’s skin—and got an icy shock. He didn’t want me here. Well, that made two of us. Since I didn’t like his dismissive power play, I pushed a little harder, and a shock baton fried my brain as he rejected my attempt at contact. Forcefully.
“Zara,” Marko said finally.
Just my name, in a tone ominous enough that I imagined him intoning it at my funeral. We are sorry to inform you that Zara Cole was lost in deep space. America mourns.
Somehow I twisted that dread into defiance. “It’s freezing in here. Got a blanket? Or a shot of tequila. I’m fine either way.”
Marko, impatient, said, “Tell us what you were trying to accomplish with this stunt.”
“Your ship beat the hell out of mine. And now you’re towing us God knows where. Don’t you think I ought to do something? Anything! You’re not exactly reassuring us that everything will be okay.”
“It won’t,” Chao-Xing said, with a frozen smugness, though she was probably channeling Typhon. “Nadim has always shown weakness and impulsivity. Since you and Honor Teixeira came aboard, you’ve encouraged this behavior. We gave you tasks to complete and you deviated from them. Nadim knew the boundaries. You have failed to comply and broken regs. Now he’ll pay the price, and you will be returned home in disgrace.”
The hell we will.
“I don’t even know what rules he broke!” I said. “You could at least tell me that.”
Okay, so that was a lie. I just wanted to keep them talking. From this side of the force field, I had no hope of mounting an escape. Stalling was a time-honored tactic for coming up with Plan C on the fly. With all my heart, I wished I had some way to contact Beatriz. She must be worried. By now she must suspect that things had gone wrong.
Marko answered. “That is not our responsibility. There is no more to say.” At the very edges of my awareness, I felt Nadim stirring. Starting to fight a little on the end of his tether. That distracted Typhon, and he let go of Marko and Chao-Xing; their body language shifted, just a little, like they were waiting for a blow they couldn’t avoid. Both blinked rapidly as their eyes adjusted again, and Chao-Xing stretched, as if she had been forced to stand in an unnatural position for too long.
Flesh puppets, I thought.
Marko slumped against the wall. He’s clearly exhausted. He’s fighting it more. Chao-Xing was more wholly in Typhon’s grip.
“You shouldn’t have done this,” Marko told me quietly. “He won’t let you go. Keeping you away from Nadim—Typhon knows it hurts.”
“Marko, what’s going to happen to Nadim? The Leviathan won’t beat him again, will they? That was—”
“Awful,” he finished for me. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I couldn’t stop it sooner, but—the bond—”
“You’re deep bonded,” I said. “I know. What’s your pair-bond-name?”
“You’re not supposed to know about any of that.”
“So he didn’t tell you what rules we broke?”
Chao-Xing said, back still rigidly turned toward us, “The Elder is under no obligation to tell us anything.”
“Then that’s not much of a bond, is it? I mean, two-way street and all.”
She didn’t answer. I wondered if all her humanity was gone already and what it took to do that to a person. A shudder rolled through me, contemplating it.
“We don’t choose who we bond with,” Marko said. “What’s your point, Zara?”
“My point is that he eats your soul and doesn’t even think of you as people,” I said. “Is that how the Elders work? How the Leviathan really work?”
“You don’t know anything about it.”
“Of course I don’t, because you’re keeping those of us on the Tour in the dark! Well, guess what? We’re turning on some lights and looking around. If you’re smart, Marko, you’ll do the same before it’s too late.”
“If you want to talk yourself into worse treatment for your Leviathan, keep going.” Chao-Xing folded her arms, but I didn’t miss the faint smears of moisture on her cheeks. She’d wiped away the tears without eliminating the evidence. Something I said moved her. If only I knew what . . . I could dig at that fissure. Maybe we couldn’t win this battle with a frontal assault, but I’d already infiltrated their fortress. The whisper of an idea scratched at the edges of my mind, not ready to emerge in the light just yet. I’d give it time to germinate.
“Worse than death?” I asked softly. “I’m not letting you take his voice away and drive him out to die alone. I can’t. And I can’t believe you’d let that happen, either.”
I thought for a second they’d keep talking, but then Marko shook his head. He and Chao-Xing exchanged a look. “We have duties,” Chao-Xing said. “And there’s nothing to be done. Nadim’s fate is already decided.” She hesitated after a couple of steps and looked back. “I’m sorry.”
She actually was. A little.
“Marko—” I called out after him.
“I can’t,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
Nothing to pass the time in here, just silence and my own thoughts. For the first time since I came aboard, I couldn’t feel Nadim, and the emptiness chewed at me. Based on what Marko had said, it must be the same for him. He’d be half-mad, wondering what they were doing to me. That little crack in the wall between us had been sealed tight, probably by Typhon.
Don’t let them hurt you again. Keep healing. Stay strong.
With every moment that ticked away, Typhon towed Nadim closer to the Gathering. Taking a breath, I shored up my flickering resolve.
No prison was escape proof, and this one was more of an improvised closet. Carefully I scanned every centimeter of my surroundings, but I didn’t find anything that could help me. Just the bunk . . . and the bucket. They probably expected me to use it as a makeshift toilet, but I had a better idea. I already knew that Leviathan were susceptible to music. Marko sang, so Typhon must respond to lower registers. My
voice lacked range, hovering around a husky alto, but I’d make do. I had one advantage that perhaps Typhon didn’t know about.
I had Leviathan woven into my body.
The worst that could happen was that Marko or Chao-Xing would tell me to settle down, or I supposed they might gas me again. I’d survived it once, right? I’d seen street performers make music out of what most people would call trash. Bin lids and broken bottles, rusty ladles and upturned pails. There was a whole troupe of them who worked the Zone, and I’d admired their skill more than once. Now my life—our lives—depended on me matching them.
I started slow with gentle raps on the bucket, and Typhon didn’t register the sound until I brushed the wall, trying to make it seem accidental. Suddenly I had all his attention, and it was like being drenched in ice water. Despite fingers that wanted to tremble, I went on with my quiet rhythm, not enough to make him think it was purposeful. When you tried to coax a wary cat into your lap, you had to pretend like you didn’t even notice it slinking around. Basically I felt like ten kinds of a fool drumming alone in my cell, like this would do any good. It didn’t matter how I looked or what anyone thought. My dignity was nothing compared to Bea and Nadim, so even if this turned out to be a colossal waste of time, I wouldn’t be sorry for trying.
After a while, I added a soft rendition of a song my mother sang to me when I was very small. Hush little baby, don’t say a word. Papa never did buy me a mockingbird, or much of anything, for that matter. There weren’t many lyrics, and they made no damn sense, but it was a relaxing melody. Added to my slow taps and thumps and hissing brushes of fingers, the music I made had a soothing, hypnotic quality. I nearly nodded off a time or two.
