Chapter 26 #3
I waited until we were in the shuttle to unfurl the tidily folded paper, and cackled immediately as I smoothed it out against my thigh, careful to avoid the lance strapped there.
"Look," I said. "I'm keeping this forever.
" In the drawing, a yellow sephear child wearing gleaming power armour held me in her arms, a knife brandished in one hand with a machine gun turret jutting from the shoulder of her armour.
I was wearing pink slippers and maybe had fainted.
It was hard to tell; the lines were indistinct.
She'd signed it with love and everything.
I grinned, wedging the drawing against the seam of a wall panel so that it decorated the cockpit.
That way, if I ever needed a reminder of my insignificance, I could look at the black void of space outside and the pity a literal child had for my apparent incompetence.
"I did like those slippers," Araxis said as the shuttle broke free of the traffic surrounded Sozamia Station and hurtled toward Basilla in the distance, and whatever awaited us there.
"I did not," I said. "Although we looked pretty good together, didn't we?"
His eyes reflected the pinprick of distant stars beyond our screen. "Hm, yes. But – You know that I see you as capable, Sashen. You are not –" He stopped, calling up a screen and adjusting our course slightly.
"What am I not?" I asked, kicking my feet up on the dash as I watched him, my stare drifting back to the drawing. That was how a lot of people saw me: soft, an easy mark.
They had no idea what I was capable of.
"You are not a liability," he finished. "You were not in the arena. You are not now, not in any sense of the word."
I didn't have anything to say to that, because I was sure he meant it.
He was also wrong: I was his weak spot, and it was my fault, however well-intentioned, that Araxis's status had fallen.
But the lie – that I wasn't a liability; that I was capable; that I was helpful and good and of use – was one I wouldn't mind believing, at least for a little while.
One of those lies that could maybe become true if I repeated it often enough.
And sure, Araxis said he wanted me exactly as I was, but I knew I had to do better.
I had to be better. It was why I was working so hard.
His was a life that didn't have space for mediocrity; he needed competence, and I wanted that too, not just for him but for me as well.
Maybe that could be what we both needed.
When we landed at the retrofitting dock off Basilla and stepped into the walkway leading to our ship, I was surprised to find it still and quiet.
The long utilitarian hallway that connected the main hub of the dock to our particular berth was broad and empty, except for various crates, bins, and supplies for the final rush of adjustments that had happened today ahead of our new departure date.
The lights at the top of the tunnel were dim, as if work had shut down and they'd only left on auxiliary power.
"Is it supposed to be this empty?" I asked, unsettled.
"It is by design." Araxis nudged past a series of crates, boots clanging on the metal walkway. "I do not particularly care to have it become public knowledge that we are meeting with the Unbound."
"Would that be a problem? That we're working with Nizanin?
" I said it quietly, as if there might be someone listening, although I could plainly see that we were alone in this long expanse of hallway, from beyond where we'd docked our shuttle to the terminal end that led on to our ship. It was just the two of us.
"Yes," said Araxis, glancing at his wristband as another message pinged in.
He made an irritated sound and turned off notifications.
"Our Elethenn is correct: the Unbound are considered treacherous.
Perhaps they are much like the shadow-self of Xitera as a whole.
A reminder that we have strayed, and a cautionary tale of where we may yet return.
And yet working with them – while I am certain many creches do so, otherwise Nizanin would not have the resources to sustain an organization of that size – is akin to treason. "
I stumbled over a loose bit of wire, Araxis's hands catching my arm before I could fall. "Oh," I said, blinking at him. "So. Treason."
He looked unbothered. "It is a calculated risk," Araxis said. "Their information network in Xitera is promising, and they are diametrically opposed to the Concord. In truth, I wonder – Ah, you will think I watch too many dramas."
"You don't watch any dramas," I said, "unless I make you."
His smile hooked up at one corner. "I will admit that I have wondered if we might… put them at odds with one another. A war of attrition within the Assembly and its shadow. But it is a passing fancy. I can't imagine how I would begin to arrange that."
I didn't know what to make of that. It was like something out of a drama, and maybe worth entertaining. "We'd say that you could kill two birds with one stone," I said, doing my best to translate.
The look he shot me was incredulous, and I laughed and jostled his shoulder with mine, trying to keep the unease I felt at bay by listing the other weird sayings I could conjure to mind while Araxis looked increasingly skeptical and delighted in equal measure.
The sounds of our voices echoed off the metal and polymer tunnel around us, making the whole dock feel bigger, emptier.
That feeling only intensified as we walked through the cargo bay doors, which hissed open once Araxis pressed his hand against the access panel, and returned to our ship.
The effect of that eerie emptiness, the uncanny sense of a space that was preternaturally quiet when it ought to be bustling with activity, was only heightened by the overwhelming wash of déjà vu that hit me when we stepped into the hold.
It was as if coming to the ship in a dream: it was the ship I knew and yet it had completely and fundamentally changed.
The cargo hold had always been large and empty, except for a few clusters of crates and barrels here and there.
Now, it was roughly divided into large sections, each one stacked with massive containers that would have barely fit through the cargo doors, which Araxis locked behind us with a tap of his wristband.
As we walked the paths between these containers, stacked so high that they effectively divided the cargo hold into a series of hallways, the lights overhead flicked on, matching our movement. It was bright, responsive, immediate.
"I guess you didn't go for the budget lights," I said mildly, squinting as I looked overhead.
Araxis huffed. "No," he said. "In two hundred years, someone will send gratitude to my spirit.
" He craned his neck as he peered down a few of the walkways through the cargo hold, shaped by the containers and crates that were stacked floor to ceiling, strapped in carefully with massive tethers that connected loops in the floor panels to those in the ceiling.
"Where are we supposed to put the shit that Nizanin is sending us?" I asked, scoping out the hold. It was functionally full.
Araxis tapped his wristband, calling up a hovering three-dimensional map of the cargo hold.
Each container looming above us matched one glowing above his wrist. He tapped a few.
"These ones are empty. This one –" a smaller one near the entrance to the training room, "will be for the items belonging to our creche-mates.
These are for the goods we're bringing to trade in Xitera.
" At my skeptical look – I'd just seen our warehouse and it was jam-packed – he trilled.
"I have calculated the volume quite carefully.
Everything we're transporting already has a designated place, rest assured.
We even have one additional container ready for any last minute requests from Xitera. There is room. Just."
"I guess we could always bunk up, if space gets tight," I offered, wry. "I don't mind sharing if it's you."
Araxis immediately silvered under the bright lights in this strange and unfamiliar place I knew so well.
"Ah, well. I had already assumed as much.
I've had some other changes made to the quarters upstairs.
" He glanced at his wristband. "Would you care to see?
We have time. I had planned to arrive early so that I might review the final adjustments.
I could show them to you, if you'd like. "
So we did just that. He walked me through the second floor, showing me the new water and air cyclers that had been installed, as well as the vastly improved climate control system.
"If you ever wish to forego your many beautiful sweaters, you can adjust the temperature in our bedroom to your liking," he said, sounding pleased as punch.
"And we can keep the training room much warmer now.
You've said before that your fingers get cold. "
He then showed me the new lab, the expanded kitchen and dining room, three recreation spaces that had previously been living quarters or storage spaces.
There was even a spartan meeting room off the dining room which, Araxis said with some pride, he had designed so that it might also be used for the children's lessons or, with a pretty little blush, for any late night conversations.
"Yeah," I sighed wistfully, looking around. "Can't imagine any other uses for a room like this." He rewarded me by gleaming.
The layer of grime, which I had come to appreciate, had been mostly buffed out, but I was pleased to see that the renovations were focused on making the ship more functional – on updating its systems and making it fit for a growing creche – rather than prettying up its rough edges.
The hallways were still metal that echoed and clanked as we walked.
The walls weren't fresh polymer, still retaining the patina of age.