22. The View from The Bridge
The View from The Bridge
Cosmer holds my hand as we climb the last flight of stairs, cross the narrow corridor, and reach the vaulted door to The Bridge.
He lets go to ring the bell.
He doesn’t take my hand again.
I know that’s to be expected – he can’t be seen to be in a personal relationship with me – but it does make me feel like I just lost my armour.
My legs have no consistency.
I can’t breathe.
“Cosmer. I can’t do this.”
He looks at me. “That’s what you said about making the bed, too, remember? You can do anything.”
The door swings open, and Dezeeves stands framed in the doorway.
“Cosmer, you’ll be written up for tardiness, I’m afraid.”
Cosmer stiffens, ready to argue.
I cut in before he can. “It was my fault, Dezeeves. I needed the lavatory. Urgently.” I add, acting bashful, “Because I’m a woman.”
Dezeeves peers down at me. “We must keep to tight timings here. I will overlook this transgression just this once.”
He steps aside.
I get my first proper look at the room. Glass curves all around the perimeter, looking out onto the harsh blue sky.
At the far end of the room is an enormous control table of shiny metal and blinking lights.
It’s more advanced than anything I’ve seen on the smaller ships.
Five first officers are seated at it. The remaining ten, including Meg and Ephraine, are gathered around a table in the middle of the room.
A different setup, then.
But what does that mean?
“Please,” Dezeeves says, motioning to the empty seat at the table’s head.
Neither of us move.
“There are two of us,” Cosmer states. “We need another chair.”
Dezeeves examines him. “I would have thought you might have duties to be attending to.”
“The only duty I have right now is here. If that’s all right.”
Ephraine chimes in. “A keeper does not normally remain.”
From beside Dezeeves, Meg says, her voice like cool liquid, “He isn’t her keeper. She was assigned to Riss.”
Cosmer says, simply, “We switched. There’s nothing in The Accords against it.”
“Yes,” Dezeeves says. “I had started to suspect.” He throws a look around the table. “If no one else has any objection to Cosmer’s presence?”
No one does, which settles the matter.
A chair is brought out – not beside me, but opposite, at the far end of the table.
I can still see him, at least. That will have to be enough.
“Now, Ara,” Dezeeves says, in a pleasant tone. He’s taken the seat to my right. “I know you were somewhat concerned when you saw Drake with us yesterday. But corrective instruction is nothing to worry about. Are you comfortable?”
“Yes.”
“Would you prefer the lights on, or off?”
“On,” I reply, trying not to think about how that could possibly matter.
“You may have noticed some differences in how we will be conducting your session. I’ve found that different minds respond to different approaches.”
I let my voice harden like ice as I say, “And Drake’s mind needed torture?”
Dezeeves doesn’t flinch. “We opted, there, for a firmer approach. But we won’t need to do that with you, will we? The Queen and your mother, after all, praised your intellect. They claimed you had received the education any noble would, in negotiation, foreign diplomacy, strategic reasoning—”
“That’s not true,” I say.
My head feels light. Loud. The buzzing is beating at my skull, trying to get in.
“Are you quite sure?” he asks, innocently enough. “Everything The Assembly had been told about your language skills was correct.”
“That was…”
I don’t know how to explain that.
“And,” he continues, “I found you to be very influential, at our dinner. My instinct is that you have, indeed, had some training in, at the very least, what I like to call problem management.”
The buzzing breaks through. It makes me wince.
Cosmer. If I look at Cosmer, it will go away.
He looks so far away from me.
He holds my gaze. His mouth parts, and I read his lips. Make the bed.
Make the bed.
Do anything.
I turn back to Dezeeves, calmer now.
But his expression has changed. Sharpened.
There is nothing pleasant left about it.
“Ara,” he starts, coolly. “You are spending a lot of time staring at Cosmer. I have to say, I was surprised to learn you were out on an unapproved mission. And you both have sand in your hair.” He touches his long fingers together, forming the shape of a triangle.
“Is there something unprofessional at hand here? Between the two of you?”
I sit straighter. Try not to let the worry I feel creep into my words.
“I’m not sure what you mean by unprofessional.”
“Yesterday, we were all moved by your display of affection for Drake, in this very room. Today—”
“Dezeeves,” Ephraine says. “We can investigate the allegation you seem to be making. But I don’t see how this has any relevance to Ara’s corrective instruction, which we are already behind in issuing.”
“I agree,” Dezeeves says. “Not relevant to corrective instruction. But perhaps relevant to something else. Arguably more important.” He turns to me again. “Tell me, Ara. Is it Cosmer who appeals to you?” He pauses. “Or is the appeal the sacrifice he made for you?”
“What?” Cosmer surges up. “That’s—”
“Please,” I find myself saying, calmly. “Take Cosmer and I down to the brig, if you believe we have broken The Accords in the way you’re implying.” I bow my head a little. “That is the procedure, isn’t it? A trial for Cosmer, and, if he’s found guilty, execution for us both.”
I lift my gaze, meeting his eyes fully.
It’s a risk. But I’m taking it.
Because I think he wants me corrected. More than he wants me incarcerated, and out of his reach.
Dezeeves stares at me for a moment. His face softens. “We will proceed,” he says. “Ephraine. The tank.”
Tank?
Ephraine leaves the table to open a large, plain wooden chest by the back wall. He pulls out a white balloon, attached by tubing to a mask of metal and rubber.
My first thought is that they might be taking me somewhere on the ship I might need oxygen.
But then I remember the oxygen cannisters I’d seen the engineers wearing were cylindrical. Made of brass and copper.
The white balloons contained something else.
And all of me is saying, run.
Cosmer’s composure, which had been steeled, breaks. His eyes widen.
“No,” he says.
“Just to calm the nerves.”
“I won’t allow it,” Cosmer says, voice stronger.
“You speak as if you have authority here.”
Ephraine is closing the gap between us, his metal eye twitching. His muscular torso is like an enormous tank itself.
I’m on my feet. I try to run – but Ephraine moves towards me with the speed of a machine. He sweeps my legs out from under me. I hit the floor, hard.
And then I’m being dragged across it, back to the table, where the mask connected to the osimidite is waiting for me.
“Get away from her!” Cosmer shouts.
I crane my neck – and I see him. He’s up, running towards me. The revolver is in his hand.
Meg’s drawling voice. Only Meg would sound bored by what’s happening. “Is anyone counting his charges? I’ve got at least three so far. Unapproved Use, Threat, IR.”
“IES,” Samson is shouting. “This is grounds for IES—”
“No!” Dezeeves cries. “Disarm and detain only—”
Ephraine drops me by the table, then turns.
I pull myself up onto my forearms. “Cosmer!” I shriek.
Ephraine is already moving fast. He lunges around the table, meeting Cosmer, who fires the gun at his knee – but the shot goes wide.
One second Ephraine is in front of him, swiping the weapon from Cosmer’s arms. The next he’s behind him, wrenching his around and forcing Cosmer down onto the floor, kneeling on him and pressing his face flat against it.
Cosmer thrashes, but it’s pointless.
The gun hits the floor, clattering across the polished wood.
And sliding to a stop in front of me.
I know I can reach it.
I pull myself forwards. Stretch out my arm.
But Meg collides into me. She flips me over, her arms and legs pinning me. I wrestle against her, but she’s strong. She swerves when I try to headbutt her.
I stop struggling. Because a comforting white light is growing around me, just like it did on the desert island.
And I know what I can do. The only thing I can do.
Let go of me, I think. I want you to let go of me and let me get the gun.
I reach, in my mind, for the light.
Her hands loosen. Just for a second.
But then she looks at me with utter loathing. Her eyes could kill.
And it’s instant.
The pain is a bomb. It detonates through my body. Like I’m being blasted open. Like my skull is splitting. Colours, shapes, sounds, all become one. Lights flash behind my eyes. I’m aware my whole body is flailing – yet I feel paralysed.
Screams rip out of me.
Someone else is yelling. I’m sure it’s Cosmer. I need him.
He needs me.
I was so close.
I almost had the gun.
I could have saved us both.
I failed.
I hear someone – I think it’s Ephraine – bellow, “Meg?”
Meg is off my body. She’s glowering down at me like she’s thinking about spitting on me.
I scratch at the floor.
“The pain,” I beg her. “Stop the pain. Please.”
She reaches for the mask on the table and slams it down over my head.