Chapter Thirty-six
Declan
HOME ROUTE CONFIRMED should have been the best three words I had ever seen. Instead, every part of me trained to distrust an easy answer stood up at once.
Not literally, of course. Nothing below my neck was interested in standing anywhere, and the machine breathing for me let me know it was personally offended whenever I tried to interfere.
But the instinct was there. A confirmed route meant Earth believed Janus was real.
It did not tell me who had confirmed it, what waited at the other end, or what the word home meant to whoever sent the message, however.
Avena looked from the words above Brevak’s wrist to me. Blue-white light moved beneath her throat while the pink along her hand remained warm against my skin.
“It is an authentication result,” she said. “Not a guarantee of safety.”
I pressed once.
Exactly. I wasn’t surprised she understood.
Vaeron had stopped beside the cradle. Up close, he looked older than he had in the cabin, though I had never actually seen him there. Avena’s memories had given me impressions of him. A formal coat. A steady voice. Hands that moved carefully around a compass he had protected for years.
The man standing over me had deep lines beside his mouth, silver hair flattened on one side like he’d slept without moving for a long time, and a monitoring band locked around his wrist.
“Declan Shaw,” he said, his thin lips almost trembling. I thought he might be trying to smile but didn’t quite know how.
She understood. “He is acknowledging you.”
Vaeron’s mouth steadied into a tired smile. “I had hoped that was what it meant.”
“You do not owe me gratitude,” he said. “I found a record my government failed to destroy. You are the one who survived what it did to you and fought to return.”
Brevak turned his wrist. The three human words disappeared, replaced by compact layers of Khevari symbols. Avena followed them as they opened.
“There is more,” she said.
“The final response contained a compressed navigation packet,” Brevak replied. “The visible text was its confirmation layer.”
She translated before I had to ask. “The message carried route information beneath the words.”
Brevak expanded the packet. A dark sphere appeared above his wrist, crossed by a narrow line that bent sharply around several points of pale light. One end pulsed blue. The other remained red.
“The route begins beyond Dominion-controlled near space,” he said. “Its far boundary is held by a human transit source.”
Avena rested her free hand against the cradle. “Earth cannot open a path inside Dominion airspace. A vessel must leave this world and reach the beginning of the route. The human source will hold the far end open.”
Vaeron read them first. “Forty-six minutes.”
“Forty-five point eight,” Brevak corrected.
“Then I am relieved precision survived the end of civilization.”
Avena leaned over me. “Do not attempt that again.”
“Declan.”
The senior technician moved to the respiratory controls. “Physical response is declining. Transfer should stop until suppression can be safely increased.”
“No suppression,” Avena and I answered together, though my half came through our hands instead of my mouth.
Brevak studied the route. “Would suppression prevent authentication at the transit boundary?”
The technician examined the readings above me. “The Janus signature is attached to Participant Shaw’s conscious baseline. Artificial suppression may reduce it below recognition threshold.”
There it was. Earth had not sent a door anybody could walk through. It had sent a door that would open only if I arrived awake enough to knock.
“And Participant Serath?” Brevak asked.
“Her field remains part of the authenticated severance record. Removing the established orientation reference may destabilize both patterns before transit.”
Vaeron looked at the third line in the original message, the one acknowledging all three prisoners. “The human source expects three.”
“It acknowledged three,” Brevak said. “Expectation and acceptance are different conditions.”
“Do you intend to argue the distinction until the route closes?”
“I intend to know which lives I am placing aboard a vessel I have no authority to launch.”
Vaeron’s eyes narrowed. “House Korven maintains an Intelligence courier beneath this facility.”
“House Korven maintains two.”
“One is fitted for biological evidence transport?”
“One was,” Brevak said. “Its recovery supports were removed six years ago.”
Avena looked toward the sealed frame around me. “Can this unit provide support aboard the vessel?”
The senior technician answered. “The frame can maintain respiratory exchange and vascular support independently for seven hours. External power is required after that.”
“Transit duration?” she asked.
Brevak opened another layer of the route. “Unknown. The human source controls the corridor.”
Fabulous. We could steal a ship, fly into a route held open by people who might keep it open or might shoot us out of the sky, and hope my alien life-support battery lasted longer than the trip. After years in an artificial cabin, it was nice to have a practical plan.
Avena watched my face. “You may refuse.”
I looked at the dark bracelet around her wrist, Vaeron’s monitoring band, and the sealed door behind Brevak. Our ability to access the route remained open for forty-four minutes.
One option still had Earth at the end of it and the possibility that I would not be put in a new tube.
“He consents to transit?” Brevak asked.
“He consents to attempting the route with both of us,” she said. “He has not consented to suppression, separation, or any procedure required to make the attempt easier for you.”
One pressure.
Vaeron moved closer to the signal. “The route will not remain hidden. Central Authority monitors every departure from this facility.”
“The launch will be recorded, yes,” Brevak said.
“And intercepted.”
“Not if the vessel carries an active Intelligence seizure order.”
Avena’s attention sharpened. “You can classify the recovery frame as evidence?”
“It is already classified as evidence.”
“The passengers?” Vaeron asked.
Brevak looked at him. “There are no passengers on an unmanned evidence transfer.”
Vaeron’s brows rose. “Unmanned.”
“The courier can launch and reach the route entry under remote guidance. Once it crosses the first boundary, Dominion control will end.”
Avena did not look convinced. “Who enters the transfer order?”
“I do.”
“Who answers when House Korven discovers the evidence contained three living people?”
“I do.”
Vaeron studied the man who had monitored him for fourteen years. “You knew where the route would lead before you brought us here.”
“I knew Intelligence had the only vessel capable of leaving this district without prior Central authorization.”
“That was not my question.” Ah, I hadn’t been awake long but I seemed to be rubbing off on these Khevari.
Brevak closed the navigation layers until only the clock remained. “It is the answer relevant to our present circumstances.”
Vaeron breathed out something that might have been a laugh. “I have been trying to make you answer one irrelevant question for fourteen years.”
“Your persistence has been documented.”
The door behind the Intelligence officers flashed white. Every field in the room changed at once. A Central Authority seal spread across the surface, followed by Assessor Selari’s face. We’d run out of time. She had found the rule he needed.
“Intelligence seizure is suspended,” he said. His voice remained flat, but I still heard the evil glee in it. “Participant Shaw and Participant Serath will be returned to Central Integration immediately. Vaeron of the First House remains in separate custody pending conspiracy review.”
The two officers beside the door looked at Brevak.
“Acknowledge the suspension,” Selari ordered.
Brevak raised his wrist. For one terrible second, I thought he would comply.
Instead, he transferred the navigation packet into the recovery frame. Blue light ran across the cradle. The route clock appeared above my chest.
“The seized evidence entered transit before suspension was received,” Brevak said.
Selari’s face hardened. “That statement is false.”
“Then you may submit a challenge to the departure record.”
Brevak turned to the senior technician. “Can you keep Participant Shaw conscious until launch?”
“Not without risk.”
“That was not the question.”
“Yes,” he said. “If the orientation reference remains in physical contact and the frame is not delayed.”
Brevak addressed the officers. “Open the lower passage. Prepare Courier Two for unmanned evidence transfer.”
Neither officer moved.
“House Korven will call this treason,” one said.
“House Korven may call it whatever survives the record.”
The officer touched the wall. A section of the floor separated, revealing a descending platform beneath the recovery frame.
The external override reached five seconds. Avena leaned over me as the platform began to lower. Her hair fell around our joined hands, hiding them from everyone else.
“Stay with me,” she whispered.
I pressed once.
Then I held on while the door above us opened and Selari discovered we were already gone.