Reclamation (45 page)

What does she expect of me?

“Then I might be able to find us a way to dodge the Vitae’s prying eyes.”

Eric threw back his head and laughed. “You! Arla, they may have taught you to read and write at the labs, but you’ve got no idea the level of complexity we’re dealing with. It takes years to learn how to operate even a simple ship …”

“If my Lord Teacher will permit me to finish,” she said tartly, “this despised one might be able to tell him how she intends to manage it.”

She told him about her stones in short sentences and carefully chosen words, as if she had been rehearsing the speech so she wouldn’t make any mistakes. Eric realized that was probably exactly what she had done.

When she finished, he said, “That’s insane.”

“No more insane than what you can do.” She gestured toward his hands. “You should hear yourself talk. You are so convinced that these Skymen and their steel and silicon are so superior, you’ve never even stopped to ask why they care about us. You! A Teacher, a power-gifted, the first among the People along with the Royals. If we are so inferior, so … primitive and so close to death, why are the Skymen willing to make war over us? If the Realm is such a barren, useless piece of rock, what is their interest in it? You cannot tell me the all-powerful Vitae just want a place to warm their feet. You cannot tell me the Unifiers are acting for our poor benefit.” She leaned forward again. “Let me prove to you what I can do. Let me prove to you the worth of those named by the Nameless.”

It was too much. It was not enough. She could sit there and lecture him, she hadn’t seen … she didn’t know … she’d never slaved for them the way he had, never sold herself for their protection and their money.

“I am not a servant of the Nameless,” he said. “I have known too many other masters since then.”

To his surprise, she started to laugh. Her whole body shook with it, and she dropped her forehead into her hands.

“Oh, Nameless Powers preserve me!” she giggled. “Oh, Garismit’s Eyes!” She lifted her head again and there were tears streaming down her cheeks. “Do you think the Nameless care who else you serve? The Teachers serve the Temples, the Nobles and the Royals serve themselves, and the Nameless do not care.”

His hands opened wide at his side, the fingers straight and rigid as sticks of wood. “You don’t understand! The Aunorante Sangh found the Realm because of me! I led them straight to it! This is all happening because of my heresy!”

His breathing was ragged and his throat was raw and his ears rang.

Arla watched him silently for a moment, then she said, “All the more reason you should go back and make it right.”

He wanted to shout that it was not that simple, that there was no returning, not for him, not ever, that he would not give them satisfaction by recanting his actions. That he could not, he would not, be forced to regret what he had done in front of the Seablade House, however much he might do so when he was alone.

But he couldn’t. All he could do was stand there and shake like a terrified fool, watching her watch him with her impassive, unforgiving eyes.

At last those eyes widened and she said, “Nameless Powers preserve me, they really did get to you, didn’t they?”

“Yes,” he whispered. “Yes.”

He had no idea how long they stood like that. He was too caught up in the riot inside him and the memory of those long years when he thought he was free. Now that illusion was shattered at his feet and all that was left was a broken, terrified slave whose masters had proved disloyal.

At last, he ran his hands through his hair, a habit he had learned from Perivar. “If I gave you the operational parameters, do you really think you could find a way to get the ship back to the Realm?”

He expected a show of triumph, but again his expectations were wrong. She simply shrugged. “I think I might. If I get enough information.”

“I think I know what you need.”

The ghost box was already plugged into the comm board. “Perivar?” he asked.

She nodded. “He set it up and worked the transmission by remote from Kethran.”

Eric looked at the cube for a moment, tracing the length of cable with his eyes. “Why didn’t he come with you?”

Arla hesitated. “Because he felt he owed a greater debt to his partner’s children. Kiv was killed because he refused to hand me over to the Aun … the Vitae.”

Eric felt his shoulders stiffen.
He left? After everything …
he hung his head.
What did I ever really bring him? I saved his life and he saved mine and we spent the last six years trying to forget about each other. Why should I be surprised he’s left me on my own?
He felt an itch between his shoulder blades and remembered Arla was watching him.

He straightened up. “Then you know that this”—he laid his hand on the box—“is basically all the two contraband runners who took me off the Realm knew about their ship.”

He tapped the screen three times to bring up Kessa’s image by itself. “What history I’ve got of this ship is in here, and if anyone could get past the Vitae, it was her.” He pointed at Kessa’s image and shook himself to try to chase away the memory of her lying dead on the deck plates.

Arla sat in the terminal’s chair and drew one of her stones out of the pouch. “I can learn without the stone, but it makes rearranging things later much more difficult.” She hit the PLAY key on the console and cupped the stone in her hand.

“Whaddaya want?” demanded Kessa.

“I want to know about the
U-Kenai,”
answered Arla. Her voice was heavy, as if there were a weight pressing against it.

Kessa started talking.
“U-Kenai,
it means ‘Second Chance.’ Good little ship …”

Eric watched Arla. Her eyes fastened on the recording without blinking or flickering. She sat like a Vitae Ambassador, not moving, barely even breathing. She wasn’t watching what passed in front of her, she was absorbing it.

A strange awkwardness washed over him and he automatically retreated to the bridge. But it wasn’t Cam in the pilot’s chair, oblivious to his presence. Adu turned around and wrinkled the skin over his eye sockets in a jerky imitation of humans raising their eyebrows.

Eric turned away again and, trying not to see Arla, shut himself into his cabin.

“Garismit’s Eyes!” He sank onto the bed and stared at the blank surface of the door. “What is the matter with me?”

I don’t know.
He rubbed his palms together.
That’s really it. I’ve always known what I was leaving behind. I knew the Realm. I knew all its rules and I knew all its ranks and its choking, stupid laws and Words. Then, she turns up and it turns out I never knew a crashing thing, not about the People, or the world, or her. Especially not about her.

And I’ve just said I’ll go back, to this place I don’t know.

Eric leaned against the side of the bunk’s nook and rubbed his eyes wearily.
What do I think I’ll do when I get there? Put on Garismit’s robe and lead this Notouch into the Earth
t
o move the Realm again? Save the world? I can’t even save myself.

To his relief, exhaustion clouded his mind, wrapping his thoughts in thick velvet. Willingly, he relaxed into it and fell asleep.

Eric awoke several times to the uninterrupted sound of Kessa’s voice vibrating softly through the cabin wall. When he woke to nothing but silence, he swung himself out of the bed and opened the door to the common room.

Arla still sat in front of the comm board. She was gently massaging her eyelids with her fingertips. The stone lay in her lap, gleaming in the light.

“Garismit’s Eyes,” she muttered, “I think mine are about to fall out of their sockets.”

“Did you find it?” asked Eric.

“Eh?” Arla glanced blearily at him. “I don’t know.” She sucked in a deep breath and picked the stone up. “Ask me again.”

Eric sat on the sofa so he was eye level with Arla. “How can the
U-Kenai
land in the Realm without being seen by the Rhudolant Vitae?”

Her whole face changed. Her pupils dilated until her irises were almost lost behind black pools. Her jaw slackened, leaving her cheeks hollow and her bones pressing sharply against the inside of her skin. It was not a look of intelligence, or revelation. It was as if the woman inside had fled to make room for … what?

But when she spoke, it was Arla’s confident voice. “A comet can be located in or near the MG49 system. The
U-Kenai
can intercept it and use the first level drive to drive the nose of the ship into the comet. The heating vents in the
U-Kenai’s
prow can be used to hollow out a cavity in which the majority of the ship can be embedded. Thrust applied from the second level drive can push the comet, and the
U-Kenai
with it, into the atmosphere. The particulate tail of the comet will hide the thruster output. The shell from the comet will provide resistance to the burn of entering the atmosphere and a cushion for a semicontrolled crash. Any satellites observing this occurrence will record a simulation of a natural phenomenon.”

Her hand jerked, dropping the stone back into her lap.

“That’s insane,” said Eric. “That’s absolutely insane.”

Arla let her head drop backward until she was staring up at the ceiling. It was only then Eric realized she was breathing like she’d just run a marathon.

Without even thinking, he jumped to his feet and laid his hands on her shoulders, reaching out with his power gift to loosen her chest and speed her recovery. The whole time he was far too aware of the tingling warmth of her skin and the depths of her eyes as she looked up at him.

Nor did he miss the fact that he had forgotten to flinch from touching her.

Eric drew his hands away, now winded himself, and poured some cold tea from the pitcher on the table.

“How do you know it’s insane?” Arla sat up straighter.

Eric swigged the tea and made a face at its rancid taste. “Because it is. I’ve never heard of anything like it even being attempted.”

“I didn’t tell you all of it.” The amused tone crept back into her voice.

“What more is there?”

“That if it worked, it would only work once.” She leaned forward. “And that the ship would most certainly be unusable afterward.”

Eric stared into the cup. “Now it sounds a little less insane.”

“It is the only way your”—she waved toward the comm board—“ghost box knows that could work.” Her eyes narrowed. “This despised one is waiting for my Lord Teacher to inform her he refuses to do this.”

“You’ll wait the dark seasons through.” Eric dropped the cup onto the table. The puddle he had spilled yesterday had dried, leaving an uneven amber stain on the tabletop. “I only ask that Arla Born of the Black Wall does not ask me why I am doing this.” He spread his fingers out so that he could see the backs of his hands. “Because, and the Nameless hear my words, I do not know.”

“It’s all right.” She took his naked hand in her scarred one. “It’s enough that Eric Born is doing this.”

He looked up at her deep eyes. “I hope so, Arla Stone. I truly hope so.”

He felt her work-roughened palm against the soft skin on the back of his hand. He watched her breathing with a deep, sudden fascination and felt the warm pulse of his erection begin. She must have realized what was happening in him, but she didn’t release his hand.

He kissed her. Her mouth stiffened, startled, then puckered, as she thought to pull away, then softened to answer his gesture, his entreaty.

This is insane too, part of him said. He didn’t care. She was pressing her body against him so he could feel every centimeter of her, as full of desire as he was, as lost, as scared, as crazy as he was.

For now, there was nothing else in the universe.

“
It is you who has set this work to my hands. I will not fail. It is you who has set my eyes to these sights. I will not look away. I am a child of the Lineage and through me the Lineage shall be brought home.”

Fragment from The First Grace, the Rhudolant Vitae private history Archives.

“…P
ERSONNEL FOR A THOROUGH
survey of the vaults before we begin sealing the walls …” Even though it came through her translator disk, Historian Maseair’s voice was barely audible under the noise around Avir.

Contractor Avir plucked two more greasy oil lamps out of their alcoves in the curving walls of the “Temple.” “Record authorization and time stamp,” she said through gritted teeth as she carried the filthy objects over to the flash disposal unit, sidestepping the Beholden who carried the programmer for the drones cleaning the ceiling.

“Anything else?” She dropped the lamps into the disposal’s open mouth and, as the hatch closed, felt an irrational satisfaction in knowing they had been reduced to ashes faster than she could blink.

The initial plan had been sound; the engineers would string fiber-optic threads over the stone and plaster supports already in place and cover them all with optical matter to make a usable workspace. Eventually the supports could be replaced with more durable steels and polymers.

But now, spiderlike drones crawled across the ceilings, scraping off years of soot and tempera paints that were supposed to represent a night sky. A Beholden was injecting concrete filler into the oil lamp alcoves that studded every square foot of wall space. The tiled floor would have to be sealed and primed against water leakage before a silicate coating could be laid to make it smooth. Then optics had to be laid into the thresholds to allow for the installation of proper doors that might actually be able to shut out the sound and stench drifting in from outside, where the artifacts waited.

There had been a tiny group of telekinetics inside the Temple when her team had arrived, but they had vanished. The search teams of artifacts that Ivale had organized claimed to have found no trace of them, but then, some of the city residents had barricaded a full square kilometer’s worth of the streets and it was possible the telekinetics were hiding with them.

She hoped one day she’d forget what the artifacts looked like when she had stepped out of the transport. Their eyes had been wide and their faces were all contorted with fear. Many had been on their knees or their bellies in the mud, babbling so fast in what was left of the language of the Ancestors that the translator disks couldn’t even make any sense out of it.