Chapter 17 #2
"A'Vanti?" Cody is at my side in an instant, weapon raised, scanning for threats. "What is it? What's wrong?"
But I cannot speak. I can only stare at a panel mounted on the wall beside the nearest doorway.
I make a sound. A sharp, involuntary intake of breath that comes out closer to a gasp.
"What?" Cody's hand finds my arm. "A'Vanti, talk to me."
I raise a trembling finger and point to the writing.
"That," I say, and my voice sounds strange and distant to my own ears, "is the Ostium language."
I turn slowly, seeing the facility with new eyes. The proportions built for bodies slightly different from our own. Every detail that felt wrong now snaps into terrible focus.
"This is not Cerastean architecture," I say. "This is Ostium. All of it." I look at Cody, and I know my expression must be alarming because his hand tightens on my arm. The Ostium built a mining operation on Ceraste. On my planet. And no one knew.
The question of why hangs in the hot, still air.
Dr. Reyes moves past us, her attention caught by whatever lies beyond the doorway.
She steps through carefully, scanning the interior of what appears to be a large processing area.
Equipment lines the walls. Machinery I don't recognize, conveyors, sorting stations, all of it coated in thick dust but clearly designed for heavy industrial use.
"This is definitely a mining operation," she says, her voice carrying the authority of someone stating a professional assessment.
She runs her hand along one of the sorting bins, examining the residue.
"Extraction and processing. Whatever they were pulling out of the mountain, they were refining it on-site. "
Cody's jaw tightens. "We need to report this. Now." He looks at each of us in turn. "Back to the shuttle. Stay tight."
We retrace our steps through the compound, moving faster now, the silence of the facility weighing down on me. The sonic emitter chirps as we pass it, still keeping its vigil at the entrance. The open air should feel like relief after the closeness of those corridors, but it doesn't.
We are halfway to the ship when Cody stops dead.
His weapon comes up in one fluid motion, trained on a cluster of rock outcroppings at the base of the ridge, maybe fifty meters to our left. I follow his gaze. Two figures shuffle out from what looks like the mouth of an old mine shaft, half hidden by fallen rock.
They move slowly with stumbling, halting steps. They are upright and bipedal, but their proportions seem off for Cerastean or human. Their heads and faces are wrapped in rough fabric against the sun, making it impossible to tell what species they are.
"FREEZE!" Cody bellows, and the word cracks across the silence like a thunderclap. He advances two steps, weapon locked on the approaching figures.
The figures stop. One of them extends trembling hands toward us, palms out and pleading, and I see a flash of familiar lavender-gray skin. The other sways, as if it is about to fall.
They speak. Their voices carry across the sand, thin and ragged, forming words in a language Cody cannot understand.
But I can.
The sound of Ostium hits me like a fist to the chest. I have heard this language spoken in laboratories and the cold gray rooms of my captivity.
I have heard it in the voices of scientists who treated me like a specimen and guards who treated me like an animal.
I have heard it in Premier Sator's gentle tones and Queen Diamalla's cruel sneer.
I never expected to hear it here.
As they draw closer, details sharpen. They are Ostium males.
Their skin has the characteristic gray-lavender hue, but it is dull and ashen, lacking the subtle luminescence of a healthy Ostium complexion.
Their multi-faceted silver eyes are sunken, the light in them dimmed.
Their luxen groves are barely visible, as if their bodies have conserved energy by shutting down even the capacity for expression.
They are rail thin. Bones visible through papery skin. Clothes that were once uniforms now hang in tatters, bleached and shredded by the desert. One of them stumbles, and the other grabs his arm to steady him, nearly going down himself.
They look like how I looked when Cody first carried me from that cell.
The recognition is a knife between my ribs.
I step forward to Cody's side and call out in Ostium. The language feels strange on my tongue. A bitter, familiar medicine. "Who are you? Identify yourselves."
The effect is immediate. Both males crumple to their knees. Desperate, broken sobs shake their skeletal frames. One of them begins to speak through it, words pouring out in a torrent of Ostium that I struggle to parse.
"Please… please, we are not soldiers… we were brought here, forced… the pheromone, the Regina pheromone, it controlled us… we had no choice…"
"The ampoules ran out… no one came back to resupply them… the queen's hold, it just… it broke…"
"We don't want to be here… please, we want to go home… we never wanted…"
The other Ostium doesn't speak; he simply folds onto the sand and weeps silently, his whole frame shaking.
"What are they saying?" Cody demands. His weapon hasn't wavered, but I can hear the tension warring with compassion in his voice. He sees what I see. Two wretched, broken creatures on their knees in the sand.
"They were workers in the mine," I translate, and my own voice sounds hollow. "Forced labor. They say they were controlled by the queen's Regina pheromone. When Queen Diamalla fell, these males were abandoned here."
One of the males is still speaking between sobs, and I force myself to listen through the tightness in my throat.
"He says they were mining something called velith," I continue. The word is Ostium, but I do not recognize it.
"Tell them to stay where they are," Cody says. "Nobody moves."
I relay the command in Ostium, keeping my voice as steady as I can manage. The males nod frantically, pressing themselves lower into the sand as if trying to make themselves as small and unthreatening as possible.
I ask their names. The taller one looks up at me with hollow eyes. He says his name is Drev. He gestures to his companion and says that his name is Joln.
"Please," Drev says, his silver eyes fixed on me, filled with anguish. "Please. Water."
I relay the request.
"L'Stourn." Cody doesn't take his eyes off the Ostium males, but he unhooks his canteen from his belt with his free hand. "Your canteen."
L'Stourn unclips his own without hesitation. Cody tosses his canteen toward the males first, a clean underhand throw that lands in the sand a few feet from the nearest one. L'Stourn follows suit.
The males fall on the water with a desperation that makes my stomach clench. The sounds they make are the raw, animal relief of thirst finally being quenched.
Cody reaches for his comm while they drink. "D'Rett. L'Zaen. Come in."
The response crackles through immediately. "Go ahead, Cody."
"We've got a situation." His voice is level, but I can hear the weight beneath it. "The facility is Ostium-built. It's a mining operation. And we've got two Ostium males here. Civilians, not combatants. They say they were forced laborers. They've been abandoned here since Diamalla fell."
A beat of silence. Then D'Rett's voice, sharp and urgent. "Say again. Ostium? On Ceraste?"
"Confirmed. A'Vanti is able to communicate with them. These guys are in rough shape, D'Rett. They need food, water, and medical attention. I don't believe they are a threat, but I'm taking no chances."
L'Zaen cuts in, his tone carrying a gravity I've rarely heard from him. "Secure the area and hold position. We are already on our way. Keep the Ostiums contained for now. We will be there within the hour."
"Copy that."
The comm goes silent, and Cody exhales. A slow, controlled breath like he's steadying his nerves.
The males have finished the water. Every drop. Now one of them looks up, his hollow eyes meeting mine, and speaks again in Ostium.
"Food," I translate. "They are begging for food."
"A'Vanti, L'Stourn, cover me. I'm going to check them for weapons," Cody says, his eyes never leaving the two figures.
He hands me his sidearm and moves forward, slowly and deliberately, hands visible.
The males flinch as he approaches but don't resist as he pats them down with quick, practiced efficiency.
He steps back and shakes his head. "They're clean. Nothing on them."
Cody takes his weapon back from me and trains it on the Ostium males.
"Dr. Reyes, there are emergency rations in the shuttle. Can you grab them?"
"On it."
She returns minutes later with an armful of ration packs. Cody tucks his sidearm into his belt long enough to take them from her, then walks forward – slow and deliberate – to set them on the ground within the males' reach. He steps back and draws his weapon again as he returns to my side.
They tear into the food with the same desperate abandon as the water. I watch them eat, and I think of flavorless Ostium porridge on a metal tray. Of Sator sneaking me extra portions. Of the hollow ache of a body that has forgotten what it feels like to be properly nourished.
I was them. Not so long ago.
The thought cracks my composure. I turn away from the others, pressing my fist to my sternum, and breathe. In and out. The desert air is hot and dry against my face, and I focus on that. Just that.
Cody nudges me.
"You okay?" he asks.
"I will be."
He nods. He trusts me to know my own limits. Another gift he gives me without realizing its value.
They arrive in force.
Three transports crest the horizon less than forty minutes later, their hulls gleaming in the Cerastean sun. They set down in a ring around the facility, and armed Cerasteans and humans pour out with faces grim and weapons drawn. The sight of them should be reassuring.