Survive

by Vera Nazarian

  Gordie cusses and says something unrepeatable about Nefir. Gracie echoes him.

  I’m in such a state that I have no words.

  “What an evil jerk!” Gracie spits out her words fiercely. “I always knew he was too slick!”

  But I don’t even glance at her. “Please continue . . . tell me what he did, all of it,” I say, looking at my fiancé. “And Aeson, thank you for not holding back.”

  Aeson nods. His hands run down my arms, then his fingers begin gently smoothing over my wrists. “This is what I learned—along with so many other things, once I confronted him—after a fortunate mention from another fellow astra daimon Pilot assigned to the same ship, Quoni Enutat, whom you’re about to meet. Quoni has been observing Nefir’s interactions with Earth and with those of us here . . . and he noted a subtle discrepancy in both the transmittal of information and the handling of commands. Quoni doesn’t have the same high level of clearance as Nefir, but he is highly observant and capable of deductive inference under the most subtle circumstances.”

  “Okay . . .” I whisper. My hands, despite being held in Aeson’s own, continue to shake.

  “At some point Quoni noticed that the communications sent to your family were not entirely accurate and didn’t reflect the state of things, based on the current planetary status. Nefir made an excuse about being unable to land a shuttle due to the specific location of a fire hazard near your part of Vermont that was not precisely true—not a complete falsehood, but just enough deviation from reality to give Nefir’s reasons for not coming down to the surface enough credence—which made Quoni wonder why. As time went on, Nefir presented other faulty details—heightened Earth government surveillance in your skies preventing a shuttle from passing without detection, social unrest and militia activity near your home, natural occurrences dangerous to flight, false weather conditions—even at one point an excuse about our own shuttle and personnel availability and technical malfunctions, which was clearly nonsense.

  “Quoni began keeping track of all such details until he had enough of a pattern to suspect disloyalty or dark motives, especially after Nefir’s subtle modifications to minor shipboard routine orders each time he communicated with my Father. And that’s when Quoni contacted me privately and presented his evidence. I confronted Nefir about everything, at which point he could no longer distort details without lying to my face. Ah, the things I learned—not just about your family’s stalled rescue, but about so many other things related to the Earth mission. We’ll speak more about it later, but for now I want you to know that a crime was committed, I’m aware of it, and I will not let it go unpunished.”

  “So—so my Mom could’ve been treated for her cancer, and instead—”

  My voice cracks and trails off again. Gracie and Gordie both utter something, but I don’t hear the words, so focused am I on trying to maintain control.

  Aeson’s expression is raw. “Yes—maybe. . . . I’ll be honest, I cannot definitely state that even our advanced medical technology could have cured her completely at such a late stage of her disease, but it would’ve made a difference, yes. . . .”

  I press my hands against my mouth, hard.

  Behind me I can hear Gracie’s messy sobs.

  That’s when the display screen comes alive again, and we see another Atlantean.

  Pilot Quoni Enutat’s face is solemn and calm, without the awful rigid tension of Nefir Mekei, even though his breathing is slightly elevated, suggesting that he’s arrived in a hurry. His lean features are elegant, vaguely Earth-Asian in appearance, with kohl-rimmed dark eyes, a chiseled, aristocratic jawline, and golden-bronze skin. His short, very black hair is gilded only at the spiked tips, adding precision to his sharp looks.

  “Nefero dea, Imperial Lord,” Quoni says with unhesitant accuracy in a deep voice, after performing a crisp salute. “I’m very sorry for the delay, but I was stuck below on H-deck dealing with a minor crisis in Hydroponics—all resolved now.”

  “Good to see you, daimon,” Aeson says in a completely different, friendly tone. “I want you to meet the Imperial Lady Gwen Lark, my Bride.”

  Quoni turns to look at me, and although he does not precisely smile, his expression is softened at my distress. He immediately inclines his head and gives me a courtly salute. “Very glad to meet you, My Imperial Lady Gwen. I only wish it was under happier circumstances.”

  “Thank you . . .” I say in a cracked voice. Somehow, I feel reassured that he can tell I’ve been weeping, and he knows why.

  Aeson takes a deep breath. “My Father will now be informed of everything,” he says.

  “So . . . Nefir’s next report,” Quoni says. “You gave him permission?”

  “Yes. A delay is no longer necessary. The Games are over; Gwen is out of danger and has been informed of the tragedy. The news cannot be used against her by my Father or anyone else. At least Nefir obeyed me in this one small way, bought us enough time so she could finish the Games without being compromised by shock and grief—I give him that much credit.”

  Quoni barely moves his head in a gesture of disdain. “You give him too much credit. Too kind of you, Kass.”

  Aeson frowns. “Don’t worry, I’m not done with him. Continue having him watched for now.”

  “You can count on it. Let me know if you want me to do anything else.”

  “Actually, there is something.” Aeson glances at me then turns back to Quoni. “I have an urgent mission for you. There are four mid-capacity, high-velocity cruisers on board AS-1999. One will not be missed. First thing in the morning, you will take one velo-cruiser, and put Charles Lark and George Lark inside. Take also three of your trusted crew with you and enough supplies for six people for three months, including at least two stasis chambers for the Jump, to accommodate the Larks. And then I want you to leave Earth’s orbit and come home as fast as you can. My personal orders.”

  For the first time Quoni’s calm face shows animated surprise, and his brows rise. “Wait, what? You mean, return to Atlantis—now?”

  “Yes, now.” Aeson smiles and again glances at me briefly. “You’re officially off the Earth mission, and your new primary mission is delivering the Larks to Atlantis, so that my Bride can have her entire family with her as soon as possible.”

  I make a startled exclamation of wonder, feeling the first stab of joy coming to replace the unrelenting misery of the past hours.

  “Seriously? These are excellent orders!” Quoni smiles, baring white teeth. “What about my current duties? To whom should I reassign?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Aeson says. “Nefir can handle everything and anything he likes in this last ugly phase of the Earth mission. He’s been doing it all along, and a few more responsibilities piled on his head are the least I can do to make his life ‘easier.’”

  “Acknowledged—proceeding to carry out the new mission orders. Will make the necessary arrangements immediately,” Quoni says with a pleased smile still lurking on his face. “One clarification—when you say fast, do you mean to pull the Quantum Stream at maximum rated speed, aiming for three months’ arrival time?”

  “No, I mean you exceed the maximum,” Aeson says. “Feel free to ignore the rated speed Fleet standards, and go at true possible velocity, with reasonable safety precautions. Show me what you can do, astra daimon, and I will overlook the illegal details!”

  Quoni raises his brows again. “Understood! I haven’t speed-pushed a velo-cruiser this size before, only the small ones. This is going to be fun.”

  “See if you can arrive here within two months. It will not be in time for the Wedding, but at least not too long after.”

  “Oh my God, thank you, Aeson!” I say with emotion.

  “We’ll see Dad and George!” Gracie exclaims.

  “When’s the Wedding again?” Quoni asks.

  Aeson thinks for a moment. “Believe it or not, in just thirty-five days.”

  Quoni whistles. “I’ll see what I can do, Kass. . . .”


  “I know you won’t fail me, daimon. Bring them home safely, and I will never forget your service.”

  Chapter 4

  As soon as Quoni ends the call, Aeson turns off all the comm equipment and gives me his full attention.

  “Gwen, all right, you need to rest now . . .” he says softly, nearing me and putting his hand on my shoulder to squeeze it. “Let’s get you to your own quarters so you can get changed out of that damn uniform and—”

  Gordie and Gracie exchange quick looks with Aeson, then Gracie nods and gets up in a hurry. “Yes, Gwenie, let’s go get you settled in!”

  I release a breath I didn’t even know I was holding and nod silently, too shell-shocked to protest or even care what’s happening to me now. But there’s a tiny hopeful smile on my lips as I face all of them. Dad and George are coming!

  “Will they be okay on that fast ship?” I ask with a sudden new stab of worry. “And what if Nefir tries to stop them?”

  “Quoni is an excellent pilot,” Aeson replies with a confident look and a smile of his own. “Don’t worry, Nefir has no say in this. Even if he reports to my Father and receives a contrary command, Quoni can claim Star Pilot Corps jurisdiction which, under specific circumstances, takes precedence over the highest authority of the Imperial Fleet. And Captain Hirat Sumbui of AS-1999 will follow the proper command hierarchy.”

  “So, you, as the SPC Commander, can override the Captain, the IF Commander, and the Imperator?” Gordie asks, apparently aware of Aeson’s high position in the Star Pilot Corps. “Cool!”

  Aeson gives him an amused glance and nods.

  It occurs to me, there’s so much that I’ve missed in the lives of my family members—little things such as this. When did Gordie learn about the SPC? Again, my mind starts to dissolve. . . .

  Meanwhile I stand up on my own, with Gracie attempting to help by grasping my elbow. “I’m okay, really,” I say. “Please . . . tell everyone out there in the living room that—that I’m okay. That I’ll see them later, a little later—”

  “Of course. They know.” Aeson grows serious again. He makes no move to leave and watches me, making sure I can walk on my own. He must be reading my mind, so in tune is he with my emotional state.

  “Aeson . . .” I pause, appreciating his hesitation. I realize it must be his subtle way of giving me some much-needed personal space. “Do you mind not coming with us to my room just now? I’m very sorry, im amrevu, but I need to be alone with my sister and brother—for a little while.”

  “Yes, of course.” He inclines his head, watching me gently. His gaze fills me with sweet ease, because, again, he understands completely.

  And so, feeling relief for the first time in a long while, I sigh and follow my siblings passively out the door and through the corridors and levels of the estate to my now familiar bedroom.

  I have no idea how we get there, but at last Gracie opens the door to my spacious bedroom, decorated in warm pearl tones. Two maidservants are inside with the bed made and my bath ready, and I smell the delicate, pleasant scent of my favorite immersion minerals wafting from the bath suite.

  “Thank you, I can manage myself—we, my sister here,” I mumble softly, in response to their offer to assist me.

  Gracie gives them a meaningful nod also, and the two maids make their formal bows and leave at once.

  I move toward the bed, but stop short of plopping down on the pristine covers. I am painfully aware that my Games uniform (still glowing to indicate Champion status) is filthy and encrusted in ocean salt and human blood, and my own personal dirt. . . . Yes, I reek.

  Unsure how to proceed, I sigh with exhaustion and look at the bed longingly.

  “Okay, first we’ll get you out of these gross clothes, and a very quick bath, ok?” Gracie says in a businesslike tone. “Don’t worry, I’ll help you! I totally get it, Gee Two, I know how dead-tired you are, but that clean bed is just too nice, right?”

  Powerlessly I nod.

  Gordie clears his throat awkwardly. “I’ll go outside while you guys get naked, et cetera,” he says to Gracie and me. “Let me know when you’re decent, and I’ll come back.”

  “Yes, we’ll call you—thanks, Gee Three!”

  And so Gordie leaves.

  Gracie helps me remove the nasty clothing, including the viatoios body armor underneath, and then walks me over to the deep, sunken bathtub around the corner.

  Ah, the pleasure of perfectly warm but not too hot water! I sink gently, battle bruises and all, and then submerge with my head all the way under, holding my breath for a few moments, feeling surrounded by silent warmth, in a mother’s womb. . . .

  When I come back up, my dirty dark hair is now floating loose in the perfumed liquid, fanning around me like a mermaid’s seaweed locks, surrounded by gently rising vapor.

  Gracie keeps her hands carefully on my shoulders and watches me to make sure I don’t slip under and drown—not that I would, I suppose, but then I really am on my last reserves of strength. . . . She takes a soapy sponge and works my back, saying absolutely nothing (for which I’m grateful) and then lets me take care of the rest of me.

  When I’m done soaking and washing my hair, I climb out, again with Gracie’s tactful help, then step under a quick shower in the roomy enclosure nearby to rinse off completely.

  The last of the blood and salt and tears and filth of the Games of the Atlantis Grail, all gone . . . running down the drain in clean rivulets, gone, gone. . . .

  I am clean and free of it. . . .

  Gracie greets me with towels, and I dry myself and return to my bedroom where I put on the first clean gown I can find, and lower myself on top of the bed with a weak sigh.

  “She’s decent, Gee Three. Come in!” Gracie calls out, as I lie there on my back, arms folded on my abdomen, head wrapped in a big towel so as not to wet the pillow.

  My eyelids immediately start getting heavy, and I can barely keep them open. . . .

  Gordie returns sheepishly, and then he and Gracie start talking about something very mundane, like my dirty shoes on the floor and where to put the used towels. But in that moment it’s like a power switch goes off in my head, and everything recedes, including their perfectly normal, soothing, familiar voices . . . and I am out, like a burned-out candle.

  When I wake up, it’s once more to the lilting, comfortable sound of familiar voices. This time, Aeson’s deep voice is present here also. And the quality of the light in the room is teal, indicating early sunset.

  “ . . . luckily there’s mostly a bunch of scratches, but she doesn’t have that many bruises,” I can hear Gracie saying quietly.

  “Compared to the other Games Stages,” Aeson speaks in a similar low volume, “she fared much better this time.”

  “Better than most, according to the feeds,” Gordie mumbles in a half-whisper. “Somewhere in all the crazy panic coverage Buhaat Hippeis managed to land some facts. He said more than half the Champions were significantly injured, and even Tiago said—”

  I blink, clear my parched throat, and croak, “Hey . . . you guys are talking . . . about me?”

  At the sound of my voice everyone in the room approaches the bed. Apparently, they’ve been sitting in chairs nearby for who knows how long. I see Gracie, Gordie, and Aeson, who must’ve come in at some point. No one else is here, which is a bit of a relief right now.

  “Yes, we are!” Gracie says smartly, no longer whispering. She gives me a smile and plops down to sit next to me on the bed.

  Gordie stands right behind her, with a little smile of his own, waving at me in a silly way with one hand lowered at waist level. “Yeah, we’re talking about you, Gee Two. It’s how it goes.”

  “Uh-huh. . . . What time is it?” I croak again, while Aeson comes around to sit on the other side, leaning over me to check my forehead. At once I feel a pleasant, light sensation from his warm fingertips at the point of contact.

  I notice he takes a glass of water and wordlessly offers it to me.

&nb
sp; “Oh . . . yes, thanks . . .” I mumble, rising up slightly and taking the glass from him. I drink the cool, plain water, and it goes down like a soothing balm. . . .

  I am so parched! Only now do I realize how dehydrated I’ve been (and all that crying only added to the problem). I start gulping the water down, while Aeson says, “Slowly, slowly. . . .”

  “That’s so good!” I hand the empty glass back, and he pours me another one from a pitcher nearby.

  “It’s after fifth hour,” he says, watching me drink.

  “You’ve been asleep all this time,” Gracie adds. “Which is good. You really needed the rest!”

  “Ah . . . yes,” I say, finishing the second glass. I hand it back to Aeson and then lie back down again as a wave of lassitude washes over me.

  The towel that was holding my wet hair around my head has unraveled, and my now-dry hair has fallen out. So I pull the fabric off all the way with unusual effort and realize that my hands are shaking with weakness. And then I make a little amused chuckle. “I—I feel like I can’t move my limbs, my body. . . . Ever.”

  “Not surprising,” Aeson tells me gently. “You don’t have to move.”

  “What about all those people downstairs waiting to see me? My friends. . . .”

  “They’re just fine. Everyone’s busy eating the dea meal, watching the media feeds, gossiping, arguing, talking. They know you’ll come down when you’re ready,” he says in a firm tone, watching me with his familiar intensity. “Which reminds me—you need to eat something. I’ll call for your dea meal to be brought up. What would you like?”

  I look up at Aeson, stare into his dreamy, lapis lazuli blue eyes, then lift one hand to brush his upper arm and take hold of a few locks of his golden hair. “Aeson . . .” I whisper. “A little later. . . . What—what’s happening on the media feeds?”