Sound (18 page)

Isha nods furiously and points at me. “That's the one. That's the one.”

I press the heels of my palms to my forehead. Of course. Cassia's headaches, Rubio's hallucinations. They all make sense now. We covered carbon monoxide poisoning briefly in my medic training, but we never spent much time on it. Early explorers used to come down with it all the time when their air cycling systems failed or their secondary fuel shrouds ended up perforated, but you hardly heard of it happening anymore, especially since ship makers dropped biological fuels altogether. But the
Mendicant
is old enough to be a hybrid.

“Yes,” Isha agrees. “Carbon monoxide. Sometimes we forget the words.”

I look at Rubio asleep on the couch, his face slack and sedated. “That's what's wrong with him, too, then?”

Isha raises the empty blood vial. “We can find out.”

I make a face. “I don't think so.” I start for the door, then think better of it and point at Isha. “You stay here. Don't touch him.”

Cassia's eyes flutter open and struggle to focus on me.

“Hey.”

She tries to answer and fumbles with the oxygen mask
covering her mouth. I catch her hand before she can pull it away.

“You're okay.” I squeeze her palm. “You have to leave that on. You've been sick.”

She winces and lifts her injured arm so she can see it above the oxygen canister and mask. We were out of skinknit bandages when I patched her up, so I had to give her old-fashioned sutures and wrap her forearm in clean strips of cloth. She'll heal, but she's going to have a very nasty scar. Cassia raises her eyebrows.
What happened?

“Long story.” I scowl, thinking of Isha. She could be up to all kinds of mischief out there in the ship, especially with Rubio still too weak to stop her. Hopefully she hasn't turned him into a shish kebab by now.

I pull my own mask up over my nose and mouth and rise to go, but Cassia tightens her grip.

“I'll be right back,” I say. “I have to check on Rubio.”

I find Isha in the common room. She stands facing the wall, smearing something red over its blank surface in the outline of a circle. A moment passes before I realize what it must be
. Blood.

“What are you doing?” I stride over and make a grab for the small bowl of thick red liquid she holds.

Isha backs away, hissing, and hugs the bowl to her chest with red-stained fingers. Tibbet, watching us from beneath one of the torn lounges, flattens his ears against his head. I tried holding an oxygen mask over his face, too, but he scratched me.

“I'm sorry.” I hold up my hands. “Sorry.”

Isha eyes me suspiciously. Her breather hangs loose around her neck. “We're finishing the treatment.” She dips her two forefingers into the bowl and gives me a warning look before placing them on the wall. “Preventative measures.”

“Right.” I nod as if this was not completely mental. “Just out of curiosity, where did you get that?” I point at the bowl.

“It's our own.” She smiles and paints another swoop of the arc. “Only the best.”

I glance at Rubio, propped up on the sofa in a cocoon of thermal blankets. He blinks at me groggily and takes a deep draw on his oxygen canister. At least he doesn't look like he's been bled in service of Isha's art project.

Isha completes the large circle and adds a smaller one at its center.

“What is it you're drawing?” I step forward to inspect her work.

“This ship is sick.” Isha collects another daub and adds a line radiating out from the center circle to the larger one. She shakes her head. “Flying without a Wheel.”

“A wheel?” An image flashes through my head—the wheel behind the soot on the wall of the burned-out Rover ship. “The Wheel of Heaven?”

Isha nods. “This station had no Wheel, and look what happened. We fixed it, though, didn't we? All better now.” She shakes a finger at me. “We thought Rovers would know better.”

“Us?” I laugh, and then bite my tongue. The more people think we're simple Rovers, the better. Even deranged hermits with dissociative identity disorder.

Isha frowns at me, thinking. “Maybe not you and the boy,” she says at last. “But that girl is, certain. You should listen to her.”

I shake my head. “I don't think she believes in your Wheel anymore.”

“Believe in the Wheel.” Isha snorts as if I've suggested milking dogs, and adds another spoke.

“Don't you?” I glance up at the immense red design forming on the wall.

“You think magic is real?” Isha pauses with her hand in the blood bowl and arches an eyebrow at me.

“No,” I say cautiously. What is the protocol when a self-proclaimed witch asks you if you believe in magic?

“Neither do we.” Isha looks over her work. “The Wheel gives us strength here.” She touches her forehead. “And here.” She touches her heart.

“So it's like a psychological trick?” I say. “If you think you're safe, you'll fly like you're safe?”

“Not a trick,” she says. “A balm.”

“A balm?” I wrinkle my nose.

Isha grunts in exasperation. “How many ways can you die out here? Radiation poisoning, decompression exposure, hypothermia, suffocation, immolation.”

I shrug. Any Deep Sound applicant can recite the dangers in her sleep. “Your point is?”

“Would anyone venture off her sad, safe world if she didn't have some hope to cling to?”

“My world's not sad,” I shoot back. It's hardly safe, either, but that doesn't seem like the best argument to make right now.

Isha looks at me with an expression I can't quite read—compassion, maybe. It doesn't fit her face. “Then you're a lucky one, aren't you?” she says.

I don't answer. That cold, sick guilt rolls over me again. I know I'm lucky. I could have died many times over
between the day the hurricane hit and now. I've had more education than I ever could have dreamed of if I'd lived out my life in the Gyre. But now that I remember my mother and the home I lost, I know that luck didn't come cheap.

“No,” Cassia says. “Absolutely not.” She clutches Tibbet to her chest and strokes his fur.

“It's only a little thing,” Isha says. “Fair payment for saving three lives.”

“Cass—” I start to say.

“No,” she interrupts, and glares from me to Isha. “You can have anything else you want, but you're not taking my cat.”

Isha snorts. “What do we want with some gunk in a barrel? Blankets? Boots? Not enough. We want the cat.”

“Cass.” I lean toward her. “He might be safer here. Who knows what we're flying into?”

Cassia clutches Tibbet tighter. He squirms in her arms and jumps to the floor with a soft thump, then looks at all of us as if we've offended him. I'm not sure if he was hallucinating like we were, but his pupils are smaller and he's only vomited once since Cassia managed to get his nose into one of the oxygen canister face masks for a few minutes.

“Now look what you've done,” Rubio jokes. “Maybe you should have asked him.”

“Maybe you should shut up and put your mask back on,” Cassia snaps.

I've found the crack in the secondary fuel shroud that's leaking poison into our air supply, but it's not an easy fix. We're still carrying around our oxygen canisters and breathers, only taking them off to speak.

“We would like a companion.” Isha licks her lips. “Especially one that catches rats.”

“I said
no
!” Cassia shouts, and bursts into tears. She throws off the blanket covering her legs, scoops up Tibbet, and runs from the room.

Rubio and I stare at each other for a moment, too shocked to move.

“Better go after her,” he says at last.

I sigh and nod. I get that Cassia loves that
chirkut
cat, but why can't she see this is best for everyone? What good is Tibbet going to be when it comes to rescuing her brother?

I find the two of them in the cockpit, Cassia in the copilot's chair feeding Tibbet a pat of bean paste from her fingers. She looks up with me at red eyes as I enter.

“Hey,” I say softly.

“Hey.” She rubs the back of her hand over her eyes.

“I'm sorry,” I say. “I didn't know what else to do but bring her here.”

“I know.” She scratches at her bandaged arm absentmindedly. “It's just . . .” Her eyes well with tears.

“Oh, Cass.” As unreasonable as she's being, I can't stand to see her sad.

“He's the only family I have left,” she says. “I know it's stupid. I know he's only a cat, but . . .”

I wince at the way my own thoughts sound coming from her mouth.

“I've never been away from them before. I didn't know it would be like this. I didn't know
this
part would be hard.”

I don't know what to say, so I hug her instead. My whole life, I've floated at a distance from everyone else. I love Soraya and Ava, no question, but I've kept my tethers loose. Everyone leaves someday. Everyone dies. And isn't it easier if you leave first? Isn't it easier to hide away inside equations and term papers or ship yourself off to the far side of the Deep when you feel those tethers start to anchor you? Why be there when the inevitable happens?

“It's not stupid.” I kneel beside her. I want to tell her it's beautiful, and I wish I could feel the same way, only there's something wrong with me. But the words stick inside, so I repeat. “It's not stupid at all.”

“I know it would be better for him to stay here,” she says. “Even if we never get him back. You're right.”

“No—” An alarm interrupts me.

It echoes in from the station itself, long whooping waves of sound, and then a voice, polite and civilized as Advani-ji. “Caution. Vessel approaching. Please clear docking bay for landing. Caution. Vessel approaching . . .”

“What's that?” I sit up straight.

Cassia hits our telemetry display and links with the station's external eyes. An image appears—an angular gray ship with a full tail of engines and artillery batteries spiking from every surface, like a particularly nasty durian fruit, glides into view.

“Chaila,”
I curse, because I've seen the ship before.

I look at Cassia. Her face has gone still and pale, and I know why. She's seen it before, too, the night she lost her brother and her ship, the night we pulled her from the burning wreckage. The
dakait
are here, and this time, there's no one to save us.

Chapter 16

B
ootfalls on the floor overhead. We hold our breath, crammed together in the access vent—Cassia, Rubio, Isha, me, and Tibbet. I squeeze my eyes shut and listen closely. The
dakait
who left me cowering in the
Ranganathan
's utility passage, the one I let get away, is he one of them?

“. . . can't have been here long.” A woman's voice. The floor buckles lightly under her step as she passes over us. “No dust, and the secondary power's still working. They must have seen us coming.”

“They won't get far,” a man answers. Not him. “There's no way off this station except through us.”

A whoop echoes from deeper inside the ship.
“Förbannat!”
A younger man this time, his reedy voice full of unchecked excitement. Not him, either. “You're never gonna believe this.”

“You found something?” The older man's words recede with his footsteps, followed by the woman's.

I frown up at the underside of the floor. What could the
Mendicant
possibly have aboard that—and then it hits me.
Chaila.
I share a glance with Rubio.
Sweetie's cryatine.

The woman lets out a long, low whistle above us. “I got to give it to you, Warume. I never thought you'd suss out something good here.”

“It's the pearl in the clam,” he says proudly.

“Oysters,” the older man says. “It's oysters have pearls.”

“Oysters are high-class.” Their voices move back toward us. “This here's plain clam.”

“Will you two
manuke
shut up about sea meat?” the woman snaps. “The sooner we find the ones that brought this hulk here, the sooner we can leave this shithole of a station.”

Isha jerks up and hisses.

“Hush.” Rubio wraps a hand over her mouth, and she bites him.

He chokes down a cry and somehow manages to leave his hand where it is, with Isha's teeth stuck in him and a thin line of blood running down his palm. We all freeze, acutely aware of every small sound we've made.

“Did you hear that?” the young
dakait
asks.

“Probably just gas in the pipes. These old hybrid ships are noisy,” the older man says.

I let out the breath I've been holding. And at that moment, Tibbet begins to growl. It starts low in his throat, an uneasy animal noise that raises the hair on the back of my neck. I glance over at him, crouched on Cassia's shoulder. His pupils dilate to full, death-dealing black, his hackles rise, and his ears fold flat against his head.

I shoot a worried look at Cassia.

“It's okay, little guy. Shhh,” Cassia whispers, stroking the back of his neck, but the rumbling sound in him only grows.

“There,” the woman says, directly above us.

The access panel shrieks open. The
dakait
stare down at us, all three of them holding slug guns, the younger man wearing an expression as stunned as our own. Tibbet leaps as if he's spring-loaded, launching himself at the older man's face. The gun discharges as the man falls back, punching an ugly hole in the floor and filling the hall with its deafening report.

The woman fires at Tibbet, misses, and then hits the floor as Isha leaps on her with a wild scream. Her gun goes spinning and crashes into the access shaft beside me. The
youngest
dakait
stumbles back a step, looking for all the world like a little boy despite the web of tattoos covering the left side of his face.

Rubio vaults out and charges him, and suddenly I remember that he's a soldier. The
dakait
boy takes one look at Rubio and bolts for the open door leading to the dock. Rubio barrels after him.

The oldest
dakait
rips Tibbet from his face and throws him across the room. The cat's body hits the wall with a heavy thump.

Cassia screams, and she's on the man, clawing at his already-bleeding face and cursing. From the corner of my eye, I see Tibbet skitter to his feet, shake off the blow, and flee. The
dakait
flips Cassia off him and gropes for his gun through the veil of blood dripping over his right eye.

I lunge for the woman's gun and bring it up exactly as the oldest
d
akait
wheels his own on Cassia.

“Don't,” I say.

He freezes, the muzzle of his slug gun trained on Cassia, who lies furious and panting on the floor, propped up on one elbow. Blood flushes her cheeks and her eyes are bright.

The
dakait
chuckles. “You're going to use that thing on me, are you,
lillflicka
?”

“Not if you let her go.” I try to sound menacing, but my voice cracks on the last word.

His shoulders relax like a snake uncoiling. He chambers a round and turns slowly, a grin playing over his lips. “Nah, you're not going to use it. You know why?” His gaze skips over to Isha and the
dakait
woman, still scuffling on the floor. He doesn't wait for me to answer.

“You're too civilized. Not enough wild left in you.” He nods over his shoulder at Cassia. “Now that one, she's got fire still. Lot of men would pay a good price for some of that.”

I raise the gun.
“Chup kar, jaan var fattu.”

His smile widens. “An educated miss. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I'll double my sale. Or maybe I'll keep you for myself.” He reaches for my gun.

A film passes before my eyes—memory overlaid with the present.
My mother is crouched beside me, wrapping my small hands around a pistol's grip, guiding my movements as I cock back the hammer . . .
and the
dakait
is reaching for me, a cruel smile on his lips . . .
I'm in a dark room, crouched behind the old sea chest where my mother kept our clothes, the pistol in my hand. A man is hurting my
manman
. . .
the
dakait
's hand closes over mine . . .
I struggle with the hammer—I'm so clumsy, and the gun was made for hands much bigger than
mine—and in the struggle I forget what my
manman
said about not touching the trigger unless I mean to shoot, and when the hammer finally comes back, the air cracks open, an explosion of light and sound in my hand, and the force of it nearly kicks the gun from my grip
. . . and my finger moves beneath the
d
akait
's grip.

The sound breaks through from that past, that dark room with the man hurting my
manman
, and echoes down the
Mendicant
's halls. The
dakait
collapses on the floor. His hand is a bloody mess and he's clutching his shin, but all I can see is that other man long ago.

He lay at the foot of my
manman
's bed, wheezing in pain as a dark stain spread across his belly. Manman hit the light and his eyes went wild. His skin was a lighter brown than mine and my mother's, but those eyes of his, they were the same deep amber I saw when I looked at myself in my
manman
's hand mirror.

My mother hobbled to me, her whole leg wet and red with blood, and took the gun from my hands. “Well done,
ma chère
.” She kissed the top of my head softly, then pulled back the hammer to chamber another round.

“Don't look now,” she said, and I hid my face against her side as she turned on the man.

“You bitch,” the
dakait
howls, rocking in pain.

I blink and flinch as someone touches my trigger hand.
Cassia stands beside me, holding the older
dakait
's gun. Behind us, Isha has finally wrestled the woman's hands behind her back and holds a knife at her throat.

“I didn't mean to,” I half-whisper. There's so much blood.

Cassia looks at me as if I'm mental. “I'm glad you did.”

She steps up to the
dakait
and kicks him. “Hey!” she shouts over his moans. “Dog face. Remember me?”

Pain glazes his eyes, but he looks her over without any spark of recognition. He shakes his head.

Her mouth narrows to a line. “Three weeks ago you took a Rover ship outside Ceres. You remember?”

He closes his eyes, cradles his ruined hand, and keeps rocking.
“Fitta,”
he mutters. “Heartless bitches.”

Cassia kicks his leg again. “Do you remember?”

He gasps. “Rover ship. Yes, a Rover ship.”

“My brother.” Cassia's eyes water, but she blinks furiously. “Nethanel Kaldero. You took him from that ship. Where is he now?”

The
dakait
shakes his head.

“Answer me.” Cassia levels the gun at him.

“How should I know?” Spit flies from the
d
akait
's mouth. His eyes are wide with shock and he begins to shake. “You think I care about some
koitsu
?”

“Cassia.” He's going to black out if he keeps losing blood.

“You know who I'm talking about.” Cassia says. “Look at me.”

“Shinjimae, fitta.”

“Look at me!” she screams. “You know where he is. He looks just like me.”

A half-hysterical laugh escapes the older man. “Maybe.”

She raises the gun. “Son of a—”

I catch Cassia's arm. “Let me try,” I murmur.

Our eyes lock for a moment. I wrinkle my brow.
Trust me.

Cassia huffs and steps back. “Fine.”

“Listen.” I crouch down eye level with the
dakait
. “You're bleeding out. You can feel it, right? You're cold all over?”

A small edge of fear creeps into his scowl.

“I'm a medic,” I say. “I can fix you up, stop the bleeding. All you have to do is answer her questions.” I nod up at Cassia.

“Don't do it, Kol,” the
dakait
woman bursts out. “Don't give that
yariman
the satisfaction.”

“Hush,” Isha hisses, and presses her knife closer to the woman's throat.

“You're going to shoot me either way.” Kol looks from me to Cassia. “Why drag it out?”

“Maybe I will.” Cassia's eyes are cold. “But like you said, my girl here is the civilized one. Maybe she won't let me.”

“Right.” I swallow. “So tell us what we want to know. Where's her brother?”

His eyes dart between us and he wets his lips nervously. “He looked like you, right?” He looks at Cassia. “Curly hair? Speckles on the face? Kilt wearers?”

Cassia nods once.

He closes his eyes. “He was in the parcel we dropped on Enceladus.”

The
dakait
woman moans in defeat.

“Parcel?” I frown.

He nods. “Five hundred kilos of salt, couple hundred of taurine, five females, two males, and five barrels of cryatine.”

“Who did you sell him to?” Cassia's voice is cold as the air around us.

The
dakait
shrugs. “Highest bidder.”

Cassia's jaw tightens. “A name,
rövhål.
”

He laughs, a short, nervous bark. “It don't work that way,
lillflicka
. It was a blind bid. We did it from orbit.”

Cassia makes a show of turning to me. “I guess we won't need your services after all, Miyole.”

“
Herregud.
Wait,” the
dakait
cuts in. His eyes have begun to glaze over. “I can tell you the port where we dropped him. I can tell you that.”

“Cassia,” I mutter, my eyes on the growing pool of blood. The
dakait
blinks. We're losing him.

But we don't even need him to tell us,
I realize. His ship's log will have the coordinates. “Cass—”

She follows my gaze to the blood. “Not yet.”

“Ny Karlskrona,” the
dakait
says. He glares from Cassia to his hand and shakes his head in disbelief.
“Fitta.”

“Ny Karlskrona.” Cassia smiles sweetly. “Thank you.”

And she pulls the trigger.