11. The Airlock ution
The Airlock Execution
When the clock finally marks the sixteenth hour, the analysts who started their duties at the same time we did leave. Those who started later in the day remain.
Riss stays seated at her desk, fiddling with her own handheld radio.
I hover by her while she speaks into it.
“Cosmer. Cosmer, come in.”
Nothing.
“Maybe we should go down to the Training Room,” she suggests.
Before I can answer, she jumps up and starts heading off.
And I get it. The thought of Cosmer and Drake being left in each other’s company for so long makes me uneasy, too.
The Training Room turns out to be on the same deck we entered the ship from yesterday. This close to the pods, the air is hotter and smells faintly of warm metal and oil.
The room reminds me of the area Rike’s father was in charge of in the Palace, used for the training of the Queen’s Guard.
There are odd pieces of metal exercise equipment, racks of weights and eerily human-looking training dummies scattered around.
Punching bags hang in chains from the ceiling and targets have been set up in a space surrounded by sheets of metal for, I guess, shooting practice.
In the centre of the room, a crowd has assembled around Cosmer and Drake.
They’ve stripped down to their shirts and breeches, and they’re on a mat in the centre of a chalked circle, barefoot, looking sweaty and worse for wear.
Drake lunges towards Cosmer, who ducks, twists and rushes behind him.
I realise what’s happening now. It’s like a game. They’re trying to force the other out of the circle.
Drake tries again, feinting left this time, but Cosmer reads it again, and swerves once more. He steps back in the middle, lightly. Like this is easy.
“Didn’t know this was a dance lesson,” Drake mutters, wiping his face with the sleeve of his blouse.
“It’s obvious what you’re planning to do from a mile off,” Cosmer replies.
Drake moves first again, lunging. He grabs Cosmer’s wrist before he can feint again. They end up wrestling like that for a few seconds, chest to chest, their arms straining.
Riss folds her arms. “They really don’t like each other, do they?”
Shouts from the soldiers ring out.
“Finish him, Cosmer!”
“End the Rhavnan scum!”
Cosmer shifts his weight, headbutting Drake, who lets go of him, clutching his forehead.
I feel bad for Drake at this point. It’s a little embarrassing.
Cosmer’s back in the middle of the mat, somehow still full of energy.
Drake just looks exhausted.
“Stop dancing,” he says.
They both step forwards at the same time. Go for each other again.
“Honestly,” Riss continues. “This is not what I had in mind for them to be doing down here on their first day.” She turns to me. “Well, go on then. Tell them it’s time to wrap up.”
I swivel to her. “Why me?”
She says, impassive, “Because you seem to get both of their attentions pretty well. If you hadn’t noticed.”
I frown. “What does that—”
“Just go!”
I’m moving. She’s scary.
I approach the mat, wondering how I’m going to do this. They’re so immersed in the fight.
“Cosmer. Drake,” I say, loudly. “Riss says it’s time to go.”
And she’s getting angry.
They both look up at me. But it lasts half a second. Cosmer attempts something like a kick. But Drake surges in, faster this time, and grabs him in a headlock.
“I said, stop dancing.”
Cosmer just stays there, in Drake’s grip, completely motionless. Like he’s just another of the training dummies. What is he doing?
The soldiers are clamouring for Cosmer to fight back.
But it’s too late. Drake shoves Cosmer forwards, right out of the circle.
There’s booing and groaning all around.
Cosmer whirls around. There’s nothing but rage on his face as he yells, “You cheated!”
There’s nothing but calmness on Drake’s as he retorts, “How could I have cheated?”
“You did. You did it to me on my ship. And you did it to me just now.” He points at him. “This is blood magic!”
He gapes around the crowd, as if expecting everyone else to be as outraged. But they’re either silent or guffawing.
“Not used to not winning, are you, Cosmer?” one of them chides.
Another of the soldiers – I realise it’s Rike – steps forwards and pats Drake on the back.
“You did good, brother,” he says. He pulls Drake’s arm into the air. “Victor!”
It does something to the crowd. They surround Drake, congratulating him. “This one!” an older soldier booms. “He’s got a fire to him! He’ll be Fully Integrated in no time!”
Cosmer spins around.
“Ara,” he breathes. “How much of that exactly did you see?”
“Enough,” I say.
Lines split his forehead. “I had him,” he tells me. “I would have had him. He cheated. He has blood magic.”
And it seems crazy, because no one else in the room believes that. And they saw exactly what I saw.
Yet –
“I believe you,” I promise.
Because I felt it.
The exact moment Cosmer stopped moving. It was a shock of heat. Like someone throwing scalding water over my chest and arms. I’m still broiling.
“I—”
But before I can finish my sentence, my trail of thought, Riss yells, “Everyone, shut up!”
Her voice is so loud and shrill that – even in a room full of men – they do.
She stands frozen, head lowered and ear slightly tilted.
“There’s going to be a trial.”
Her words change the atmosphere again. The soldiers shuffle on the spot and cast nervous glances at each other, just as a bell starts ringing outside.
“Must be for Chapp,” Cosmer says. “We should watch. They might need us as witnesses.”
From Deck 9, we climb one of four narrow ladders I hadn’t noticed earlier.
They lead up to overhead hatches, which open out onto the very top deck of the ship, Deck 10.
It turns out to be an enormous circular platform surrounded by a curving dome of panels of reinforced Lorallahan glass not unlike the one above the Palace. Around us is unbounded blue sky.
A lot of other soldiers and pilots have gathered – but not everyone from the ship is here, it seems. That’s different to Hevalla on the ground, where executions are compulsory viewing for villages. I get the thought that, maybe up here, these happen too often for that to be possible.
I’d like to get up close to the glass, as I can see ships of different sizes and shapes in the distance – but everyone’s attention is on something high above us.
I look up, to see a smaller dome within the dome itself, accessible by a steep staircase and a rickety-looking wooden platform. A woman standing beneath it with a book and pen must be preparing to scribe.
We wait for a while, bells still ringing out from the deck below us.
Eventually, three people appear and walk in a procession through the crowd.
They go past the four of us, standing in a line of our own.
The man in the middle has a burlap sap over his head, and his arms are tied behind his back.
I assume that must be Chapp. The man at the rear is dressed in a State Craftsman’s regal robes and white cape, and the other, leading the way, is in a near identical uniform to Dezeeves, apart from the fact his leather coat is slightly shorter.
He’s much younger than Dezeeves, only in his late twenties or early thirties, and he looks far more menacing.
A strong chin. White-blonde hair that catches the sun.
A body that seems honed to perfection. Looking up at him, I think at first there might be something in his eye, because it looks silver.
Then I realise it’s made of metal. It’s swivelling in its socket.
Cosmer leans into my ear. “That’s Ephraine, the XO. Executive Officer. Dezeeves’ second. Always leads on executions.”
Once they’ve climbed up onto the platform. Ephraine steps forwards to address us.
Speaking into a brass megaphone, he states, “Today, on First Day in week twenty-one of the year of the cricket, we hold the Trial on Deck of Chapp Fenman, who stands accused of one count of attempted murder of a crew member.”
Some of the crowds are dispersing. I suppose they must have only come in case it was someone they knew.
Ephraine steps over to the man and removes the sack, and then a covering over his mouth. I’m pretty sure Chapp tries to bite him.
“Do you deny the charges?” Ephraine asks him.
“No,” Chapp spits. “I only did what you should all be doing. These people are not safe to be around us. They’re not safe—”
Ephraine stuffs the covering into Chapp’s mouth, a gleam in his blue real eye, which makes it look, for a moment, more metallic than his silver one.
He turns to the crowd, holding up two sheets of paper.
“We have witness statements from Second Officers Cosmer Platt and Rissa Rone to the effect that last night, at approximately one past the hour, you entered Rissa’s cabin and attempted to shoot twice at the Integrating prisoner of war under her watch.
They believe that with the number of bullets in your weapon at the time, had you been successful, you would have entered Cosmer’s cabin and attempted to shoot the prisoner under his.
Can we call forwards one or both of the witnesses, if they are present. ”
Cosmer and Riss exchange a glance.
“I’ll go,” Riss says, already turning.
She’s light on her feet as she steps up the stairs. On the platform, she stands at her full height. Doesn’t look at all intimidated to be there.
“Do you have anything to add to your statement?” Ephraine asks her.
“Nothing to add,” she says, to the crowd. “Only that a count of attempted murder could easily have been four counts of actual murder.”
Riss is excused and returns to us while Ephraine continues.