“Why else would you select a neutral location like Antini?” Sang said. “Far from Eriuman? You tripped the governor weeks ago and it didn’t work. That must have scared your friends. That’s why you suggested a neutral place to meet. You knew I would not go anywhere near Eriuman territories.”
“Iulia, what is it talking about?” Thora demanded, a deep furrow between her brows.
Iulia ignored her. She was studying Sang with an intense gaze, as if she was reassessing him. “Yes, I have friends in the military,” she said. “I have friends in the assemblies. I know that the formal Alliance between the Republic and the Karassian Homogeny will be announced before either us gets back home. You do not want to be standing next to Bellona when that happens, Sang. The full weight of the combined navies will be brought to bear and I will not be able to offer you the protection of the family name if you stay with her.”
Sang only just hid his reaction. The urge to hurry away, back to Demosthenes, was strong. “It’s formalized?” he said sharply.
“A resolution settled by the united assemblies,” Iulia replied. “And the Homogeny’s council, too.”
“All to hunt down your daughter,” Sang murmured. “How can you do that to her?”
Iulia’s face clouded. “You have to ask that?”
Sang let out his breath. It was not quite a sigh. “Do you not see what is happening? What will happen now? The only thing slowing down the annexation of free states was the war between the two of you. Without it, they can pour over worlds like a tide. You resent the erosion of your own family. How can you condone the destruction of so many others?”
Iulia’s face closed over. “I see now that I have wasted my time, coming here. You will not listen. You have chosen to be branded a runaway, instead.”
“I’m not a runaway,” Sang said, almost laughing. “Is that really the extent of your imagination?”
Thora clutched the fur around her neck firmly. “What else could you be?” she demanded.
“I am a free man,” Sang told her. He walked away.
* * * * *
Demosthenes, Nomansland.
Bellona was in the big dining hall when Sang returned. Once, the hall had been used to feed hundreds of troops in one sitting. Now, the benches had been removed and the long tables converted to worktops. Just as everyone gravitated to the little dining room for company, this big hall had become the place to gather to work together, instead of being spread out across the huge vessel.
Even Amilcare’s Abilio mining people came here. Bellona was pleased to see they were not clumped together at one end. They had spread out among the Ledanians. There was more than enough room for everyone and the common work area meant that cross-pollination of ideas and expertise happened easily.
Even Aideen had set up shop—at the end of a table, it was true. Along her section of the table, she had an array of the articulated armor she had been growing. She was fitting it on everyone, a person at a time.
When Bellona reached the table, though, Aideen had been diverted from finishing her assignment by Thecla, who was fitting a different device on Aideen.
Aideen held up her hand and open and closed the fingers, as Thecla fastened the armored glove up by her elbow. The glove had jointed plates of black carbyne over the back of the hand and fingers, and up to the middle of her forearm.
Projecting off the knuckles were five short, triangular-shaped blades. When Aideen flexed her fingers, the blades lay along the back of the fingers, the sharp edges fitting into matching indentations in the plates beneath.
When she turned her hand into a fist, though, the points and blades jutted out.
“It is not as heavy as it should be,” Aideen observed. “There are seven hundred grams of carbyne attached to it. It should drag my hand down.”
“You don’t notice the weight because you’re wearing it, not holding it,” Thecla said. “It’s distributed. Although your arm muscles will compensate and grow bigger and stronger, once you’ve used it for a while.”
“What is it?” Bellona asked curiously.
“A cestus,” Thecla said. “I’m making you a pair, too, Bellona. I’ve got these metal monsters, so I don’t need them. You and Aideen and Hero have little lady hands and the cestus will compensate for that.”
Aideen met Bellona’s gaze. “Hero will not use them. Must I?”
“It seems like a good idea to me,” Bellona said. “Why don’t you set up a trial for them, Aideen? A proper evaluation will tell you if they are worth adopting or not.”
“Yes,” Aideen said, with a short nod. “A precise measurement of their usefulness.”
“Where is Hero, anyway?” Bellona asked, looking around.
“She’s in the medbay,” Thecla said.
“She’s injured?”
Thecla shook her head.
“Hero asked the medical AI to put her through a course in emergency medicine,” Aideen said.
“Hero is learning medicine?”
“Why not?” Thecla said. “Her understanding of anatomy and what makes people tick is just as good as Vang’s.”
Bellona considered that. “True,” she admitted. “Although the idea of Hero operating on me makes me just as uneasy as I felt about Vang doing it.”
“She has a better bedside manner,” Thecla said.
Bellona had to agree. “Why will Hero not use the cestus?” she asked.
Thecla shrugged. “She wants her nails free and clear. They’re more dangerous than any blade I could put on a cestus, so I guess she’s right to refuse.”
“Cut the ends off the fingers,” Aideen said distantly, bending and flexing her hand experimentally, watching the plates curl and straighten in a sinuous wave.
Bellona grinned.
Thecla raised her brow. “Shoulda thoughta that,” she said stiffly. She glanced over her shoulder. “Sang is back,” she added.
Bellona nodded. “Connie warned me, a few minutes ago.”
“There’s something I should tell both of you. Come over to my bench,” Thecla said. She strode around the end of the next long table and up the aisle, stepping around people working on either side.
Bellona stayed in the aisle she was in and kept abreast with Thecla. Sang met them at Thecla’s messy section.
“How did it go?” Bellona asked him.
His expression was calm. “As expected,” he admitted. “She demanded I return to my duties. I refused, which surprised her, although I don’t know why it did.”
“You’re the first Eriuman android to choose free will and self-determination,” Bellona told him. “Of course she was surprised. Most Eriumans would be.”
“I don’t think she was truly surprised, though,” Sang said slowly. “Your mother is…devious.” He grimaced.
“Iulia Cardenas is sneaky?” Bellona asked him. She shook her head. “Are we thinking of the same person?”
“We are, which proves my point,” Sang said. “She only ever showed her most positive and simple facet to you and anyone who counted. The household androids, though, saw her…calculations.”
Thecla shook her head. “You make it sound as though you guys are cattle.”
“Assets,” Sang corrected. “Karassians use screens and keyboards and other input devices, yes?”
“Hell, they run our lives,” Thecla said. “There was always a screen nearby.”
“That’s what androids do for Eriumans,” Bellona said. “They run their lives. Sang and the other household androids were privy to the private side of every family member. Of course they got to see our every secret. If Sang says my mother is devious, I believe him.”
Thecla looked from one to the other of them. “You realize you’re saying the family pet—no offense, Sang—”
He just grinned.
“—only, you’re saying the family asset knows your mother better than you do.”
Bellona grimaced. “That was my life,” she admitted.
Thecla blew out her breath. “Fuck. And you t
hink Karassians are self-centered?” She lifted up a small pile of extruded carbyne, her arm tendon showing the strain, and made a satisfied sound. “There it is.” She pulled out a one-handed ghostmaker from beneath the pile and let the pile go. It crashed back onto the counter with a deep ringing sound, making neighbors look up, startled.
Thecla pointed the ghostmaker at Bellona and squeezed the trigger.
Sang jerked forward, throwing himself in front of her.
Nothing happened.
Sang fell back again. Bellona breathed out a shaky breath.
Thecla grinned and held the ghostmaker up by the very end of the grip. “It’s dead.”
“No shit,” Sang breathed, straightening up his jacket. The tone he used was a replica of Thecla’s dry sarcastic one.
Bellona couldn’t smile. “There was a point to that?” she demanded of Thecla.
Thecla tossed the ghostmaker to Sang. He caught it precisely, even though he kept his gaze on Thecla.
“That was the gun that went through the bridge with Vang,” Thecla said. “It’s not just out of juice. It’s so dead I could run the exhaust from a reactor through it and it wouldn’t even glow.”
Sang looked at the gun, frowning. “The bridge sucked the charge out of it, too…” he murmured.
Bellona sighed. “So, until we figure out a solution, we’re reduced to non-mechanical, non-electronic weapons and armor.”
“Suits me,” Thecla said.
“We’re going to keep trying to use the bridge?” Sang said, his voice rising.
“There has to be a way,” Bellona told him. “Vang taught us that we can’t step through without…something. Shielding. A different frequency. Something. Only, the bridge works. If we can figure out how we can use it, it will give us an advantage over the Alliance that they can’t counter with bigger ships and bigger guns.”
Sang’s face paled, making the freckles stand out. “We can’t use it,” he said woodenly. “It would be suicide to keep trying.”
Bellona rested her hand on his shoulder. “We had a setback, that’s all. It was terrible. Tragic. If we don’t use it and learn from it and move on, then Vang will have died for nothing and that would be even worse.”
Sang sighed and nodded. “I agree. Here.” He tapped his temple. “Here, though…” He touched the middle of his chest.
“If it makes you feel better, you can be the one to step across the bridge when we try it next,” Thecla said.
Sang rolled his eyes.
Bellona leaned over the counter and snagged the corner of one of the small sheets of carbyne and lifted it up. It was very heavy and she grabbed the opposite corner with her other hand and hefted it. “Is this the pure ore, from Pushyan?”
“I smelted the fragments left over from making the first forge, then rolled it out so it can be stacked,” Thecla said. “I didn’t think we should waste the stuff.”
“That’s what we were tossing through the bridge?” Sang asked, his voice distant and his eyes narrowed.
“I swept up everything I could find,” Thecla said.
“It’s still pure and inert?” he asked.
“Test it for yourself.”
“Sang, what is it?” Bellona asked.
“It’s still inert,” he said. “Despite forging and despite going through the bridge. The ghostmaker is inert, now it had passed through, too.”
“It still makes a good blunt weapon,” Thecla pointed out.
Bellona handed the sheet to Sang. He held it as if it weighed nothing, staring at it. “The forge stayed on the counter,” he said slowly. He looked up at Thecla. “What if it went with the person using it?”
“You mean, wear it?” Thecla asked. She frowned, too. “We put it on a belt because we figured you’d need it at the other end to come back, and carrying it meant one hand less to fight. I just didn’t think carrying it would protect the wearer. Like a grounding rod,” she added.
Sang pointed at her. “Yes. Exactly. It would disperse the charge.”
Thecla grinned. “The only way to test it is for some sucker to put on the belt and step through it. You’ve already volunteered, Sang.”
He didn’t smile. “I want to do the math, first. Then I will test it myself. No one else should take the risk.”
Bellona’s gut tightened. “Maybe we should find someone else. You would be…” She searched for a non-revealing way to say it. “You’d would be hard to replace, Sang. Impossible, actually.”
His gaze met hers. “The risk would be minimal. I’m sure of it, now. I will prove it, too.”
* * * * *
Kachmarain City, Kachmar Sodality, The Karassian Homogeny
Chidi glanced at the setting sun and shivered. Sunset was no longer his happy time. He hadn’t been near his apartment for days. With a jerky movement, he polarized the walls of the privacy pod, so they turned opaque, and turned his back on them.
Korbina sat on the divan with his hands on his knees. Despite the subject matter, he had become calm once Chidi had explained that he had not dragged Korbina into the pod for sex.
Chidi had dismissed his fears quickly. He had no need for pods, or for seducing reluctant partners. Sex was freely available to him, whenever he wanted it. And why would he indulge out of the view of lenses?
Then he had eased into the real reason for blowing his precious alone time this way. Korbina had listened soberly.
“You’ve been saying for months now that the Xenia tapes are forged,” Korbina said. “If you start saying they’re not, viewers will lose faith in you.”
“I’m not going to change anything I’m saying,” Chidi said quickly. Barely noticed, an image of the little man, Woodrow, with his cheerful smile, formed in his mind. In the last two weeks, Woodrow had appeared three times without warning in his apartment, to encourage Chidi to keep up the good work. Chidi had also seen him on the street, standing and watching among the crowd that always formed wherever Chidi went. He thought he’d seen Woodrow at the back of the restaurant last night, too—sipping a glass of something black.
Chidi’s armpits prickled in reaction to the idea of saying anything in front of a lens that Woodrow would not approve of. His belly clenched. “That’s the last thing I’m going to do.”
“Then why do you want me to analyze the footage?”
“I told you. To see if the videos are real.”
Korbina seemed genuinely confused. “So, you think they’re real, yet you’re telling everyone they’re not?”
“You’re not as smart as I thought you were,” Chidi said. He blew out a heavy breath. “I’m going to keep the viewers happy, while you find out what is really going on.” As he said “viewers”, Chidi thought of Woodrow.
Korbina’s eyes widened. “What is going on?” he asked. “Did something happen to you that we didn’t get to see?”
Yeah, he was exactly as smart as Chidi had thought. Chidi shook his head. “Don’t worry about that. Just check the footage—there’s hours and hours of the stuff now. The Xenia feed runs endlessly. Find the non-digital segments. See if they have been changed.”
Korbina considered that. “Is this…dangerous?” he asked.
Chidi jumped. “No. Not for you,” he said, picking his words with care and soothing his tone.
Korbina tilted his head. “You’re lying.”
Chidi threw out his hands. “I don’t know, okay? They’ve never hinted at violence.”
“They?”
Chidi silently cursed. He wasn’t good at hiding things. That’s not what his viewers paid him for. “I can’t say,” he told Korbina. That was also the truth.
Korbina considered him. “The Xenia tapes are political and mixed up in the war. That means ‘they’ is either the military or the council.”
“We’re not at war anymore, remember? The Republic is our new best friend.” The parties celebrating the end of the war had lasted for a week and my, how Chidi’s approval rating had soared!
Korbina smiled. “Xenia—if s
he is real—isn’t with the Republic. That’s why they are our new best friend.”
Chidi stared at him, startled. Why hadn’t he thought of that possibility? “That’s why we have to figure out if the Xenia feeds are real or not,” he said urgently. “If Xenia really is out there, everyone should know that. Everyone should know Karassia is still at war, just with someone different now.”
“Okay, then,” Korbina said.
“You’ll do it?” Chidi asked. He couldn’t help adding, “Despite the risks?”
“I couldn’t figure out this whole Alliance thing at all.” Korbina shook his head. “You’ve given me the first clue that might explain it. I’m not going to check the feeds for you. I’m doing it for me.”
Chidi stared at him. For the first time he wondered how many other people felt just as Korbina did. Was there a groundswell of questioning Karassians out there, who didn’t automatically believe everything they saw on their feeds?
It was a startling idea. A novel one. Who’d’ve thought that the truth would be so attractive?
Chapter Nineteen
Mycia 489, Mycene System Asteroid Belt. Free Space.
The room they were keeping him in was square, tall, iron-lined and studded. It completely lacked any contact with the outside world. Not even sound penetrated. Khalil lost track of time. He had no idea how long he was there before the woman came to speak to him. The only marker of time passing was the cycle of his biological needs. Hunger, thirst, sleep and elimination. As his jailers denied him food and dribbled down his throat the bare minimum water necessary to keep him alive, and as the lights in the room blazed without cease, even his physical needs became unreliable.
Khalil knew they were trying to disorient him. He also knew that the silence and isolation were designed to make his imagination work overtime and let his fear build.
At first, they kept him shackled to a hard, upright chair by his wrists. When his hips lost all feeling and the heaviness moved down toward his knees, Khalil got up and smashed the chair against the wall. It left his hands locked together, yet he was otherwise free to move.
He stretched until the feeling returned to his limbs and walked around the perimeter of the cell. It was featureless except for the heavy door. He could not spot the lenses, even though he knew they were there.
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