Sound (7 page)

“Thank you.” Rubio smiles and raises his glass to take a sip.

“Thanks,” I mumble after him.

“What a lovely sari.” The officer smiles as he hands over my drink. “Miss . . . ?”

“Guiteau,” I say. “Science Specialist.”

“Guiteau.” His smile spreads like butter. He gestures at my sari. “My colleagues and I are honored by your knowledge of our homeland. You must have gone to quite a lot of effort to procure such a fine piece.”

His words hit me before I have a chance to brace myself. I stare at him, fighting to keep my face blank.
Senior officers make the lab assignments.
I've come to expect this sort of thing from Rubio, but the senior officers? Even the ones from my own country? Surely they can see I'm one of them, not an outsider trying to weasel my way into their good graces.

I shift from one foot to the other. “Not really.” The sari came from a big, airy shop across the street from the one in South Mumbai where Soraya bought my school uniforms. It was only a twenty-minute lev train ride from
our house. “Not much trouble at all.”

“Guiteau's from India herself.” Rubio volunteers. “Chennai, yeah?”

I scowl down into my sherry. “Mumbai.”

“Ah, yes?” The officer blinks and looks me over more closely. “I would never have imagined.”

I raise my eyebrows at him, the words lashing out before I can stop them. “What does that mean?”

An awkward silence follows.
Stupid, stupid, Guiteau
. I should have kept my tongue, taken a drink, anything other than biting the head off one of the officers. I grip the slick sides of my glass.

“Nothing.” The head of telemetry gives me a tight little smile. “Nothing at all. If you'll excuse me . . .” He backs away with a little bow and melts into the crowd.

“Smooth,” Rubio mutters.

“I didn't ask for your help,” I snap back. I don't know why everything is coming out angry when all I feel is hurt, those million little scratches adding up to a deeper wound.

“Heaven forbid anyone should try to help the great Memsahib Guiteau.” He swirls what's left of his sherry around in the bottom of his glass and throws it back in one gulp.

“I told you.” I grit my teeth. “Stop calling me—”

Suddenly the officers' laughter fizzles out behind us, and silence slices through the room. Something acrid curdles the air. Rubio's mouth opens, his gaze fixed on something behind me. I turn. Cassia stands on the threshold, stinking of smoke and dressed in the same soot-stained clothes she wore when she carried Milah from the smoldering ship. I hadn't taken much notice of them before, in all the chaos. She wears a dark gray quilted jacket and a kilt with knife-sharp pleats over black trousers and boots. Her hair fans out in wild curls, her freckles have almost disappeared in the dangerous red flush creeping up from her neck, and the look in her eyes says that if she could, she would burn this whole room, this whole ship, and everyone in it, to cinders.

Chapter 5

A
man with Cassia's same honey hair—the lanky one who was first out of their burning vessel—waits behind her, in clean blue scrubs from the medical ward.

“Mr. Kaldero.” Commander Dhar emerges from the knot of officers near the bar. She smiles in welcome “Ms. Kaldero. We're so glad you've accepted our invitation.”

“Thank you.” The man takes her proffered hand. “Please, call me Ezar.”

“It's captain.” Cassia corrects him with a harsh look. “Captain Kaldero. Not Ezar.”

“For now.” Ezar offers an apologetic smile. “Only until our father's well again.”

“Of course,” our commander agrees without missing a beat.

All the other officers and guests exchange the same pitying look.
Captain of what?

“Won't you please have a seat?” Commander Dhar gestures to the dining table. “Now we're all here, we can begin.”

Cassia drops into the nearest chair and scowls down the table while the rest of us find our seats. The officer to her left shifts his chair ever so slightly away from her. There's no escaping the odor that follows her, even on my side of the table, but apparently we're all going to follow the commander's lead and ignore it. Cassia stares at each of us in turn, as if daring us to comment on the state of her clothes. Her brows lift slightly when she comes to me—suddenly more hurt than angry—and then batten down again.

I swallow down the knot in my throat. How must this scene look to her, all of us laughing and drinking while the
dakait
fly her brother farther and farther into the Deep? She frowns down at the porcelain plate in front of her. My insides churn. Here I am moping around, feeling sorry for myself about the head of telemetry mistaking me for a foreigner, when she's the one who's truly lost something.

Look at me,
I think.
Please, look at me.
If she would only look my way, she could at least see the apology in my eyes.
I'm not part of this. I didn't ask to be here.
But she doesn't.

The food comes in waves, served by the officers' stewards. Crispy paratha bread stuffed with spiced potatoes. Chickpea-encrusted pakoras, sweet, minty yogurt raita, green chutneys, mango chutneys, and platters of saffron-scented rice. Fried paneer cheese, for the vegetarians among us, and lamb vindaloo for the rest. Then stewed tamarinds and cardamom-laced kulfi, sweet and cold. The rest of our shipmates are eating plain chickpea chole or lentil stew with naan in the mess halls tonight, but part of me wishes I was there instead. I can hardly bring myself to raise a fork to my mouth.

I lean over to Rubio, seated beside me. “Do they eat like this every day?”

He shrugs. “What do you care? Just make the most of it.” He forks a tender bit of lamb into his mouth and closes his eyes. “Augh. Heaven.”

“Specialist Guiteau.” Commander Dhar pushes aside her near-empty plate and leans forward, apparently still intent on maintaining the illusion that everything is normal. “I heard you went out of your way to help welcome our guests today.”

I glance down the table at Cassia. Our eyes lock for a brief second.

“I didn't do much, ma'am.” I lower my fork, suddenly
queasy. Is that really why I'm here, after everything that happened? The
chirkut
cat? “I'm sure Mr. Rubio's contribution was much more important.”

“Never.” Rubio leans forward on his elbows, eyes glinting, and aims one of his charming smiles at the commander. “We pilots get more than our fair share of glory.”

Commander Dhar smiles, pleased. “Specialist Guiteau was instrumental in apprehending one of the more wayward members of Captain Kaldero's crew.” Her voice lifts with humor.

A laugh makes the rounds among the senior officers. I look up, mortified. Never mind how Rubio is going to find out about my cat-wrangling skills; I doubt Cassia and her family are going to find any part of today's ordeal funny. What is the commander thinking? Now would be an excellent time for a minor hull breach or a ventilation systems failure. Something small, but enough to send everyone scurrying to security stations.

“Really?” Rubio turns to me, one eyebrow quirked. “Who?”

“Tibbet,” I mutter, sinking down in my chair.

“Who?” he frowns.

“Tibbet.” I clear my throat. “The . . . um . . . the ship's cat.”

“The cat?” Rubio looks like someone has handed him a million
rupaye
and a medal for Interstellar Gossip Hunter Laureate.

My face goes hot as a Mumbai sidewalk. If he and the commander weren't both staring at me, I would crawl under the table and die.

“Do tell us about it, Specialist.” Commander Dhar smiles. “I'm sure everyone could use a little levity after today's drama.”

“I . . . um . . .” I shoot a miserable look at Cassia.
This wasn't my idea.
Behind her, Dr. Osmani titters as the head of telemetry whispers something in her ear.

Cassia slams her fork down on the table and pushes back her chair. “Commander Dhar. We didn't come here for
levity
. We came to figure out what we're going to do about my brother.” She plants her hands on the table and leans forward. “Are you going to help us, or are you going to drink yourself into a stupor, like everyone else here?”

A shocked silence runs down the table. Dr. Osmani presses a napkin to her lips and raises an eyebrow. I know that look.
Uncouth,
she's thinking. My discomfort vaporizes into hot, white anger. Suddenly, I don't give a damn about what that woman thinks anymore, world-renowned
bioengineer or no. Why did I ever care about pleasing her in the first place?

Captain Ezar clears his throat and steps into the silence. “What my sister means is, while we appreciate your hospitality, Commander, we have problems a meal won't solve.”

“Yes, of course.” Commander Dhar sobers. “Forgive me. We'll be approaching Ceres Station in a few days. We can spare a shuttle to take you there and help you book passage to your home station.”

Cassia's eyes go wide, as if she's choked on a chicken bone. I cringe. I don't know much about Rovers, but the one thing I do know is that they skip from planet to station, picking up small jobs as they go. Surely someone should have briefed the commander about that.

Ezar shakes his head. “Thank you, but our ship was our home.”

“Then you're welcome to stay aboard with us and try to repair it,” the commander says without blinking. “You'll have whatever help we can give. Techs, engineers, equipment—”

“But what about our brother?” Cassia cuts in again.

The commander's face softens. “We're truly sorry for your loss. We can hold a memorial service once your father
has recovered, of course, or sooner, if you prefer. If there was anything more we could do—”

“He's not lost.” Cassia's clutches the edge of the table. “He was taken. And there is something you could do.”

Commander Dhar stiffens. “Changing this ship's course isn't as small a matter as you seem to think, Ms. Kaldero.” Her careful diplomacy is slipping.

“I'm not asking that,” Cassia says. “But you have fighters. Couldn't you spare some of them to track the
dakait
down and bring him back?”

The senior security chief at the opposite end of the table clears his throat. “I wouldn't advise that, Commander. Without a full complement of fighters, you leave the ship vulnerable to attack. That's twelve thousand lives at stake, for the sake of one boy.”

Rubio nods in agreement.

Cassia glowers at them. “He's not just one boy, he's my brother. He's Milah's father.” Her voice breaks on the last word.

“Cassia,” Ezar says, low and warning. He reaches for her wrist.

“No.” She pulls away from him. “I won't stand by and let them take him. I'm not a coward, like some people. I'll find a way.” She rakes her eyes over each of us, stopping
half a second on me, and then whirls on her heel and storms from the room.

A moment of stunned silence follows.

Finally Ezar clears his throat and glances apologetically at Commander Dhar. “Forgive us, Commander. My sister, she's young. Nethanel wasn't just her brother; he was her best friend. This whole experience has . . .” He pauses, searching for the right word. “It's shaken her.”

“No apologies, Captain, please.” Commander Dhar waves his concern away, and with that, the room lets out its breath. Dr. Osmani takes a thin sip of her sherry, and the murmur of conversation begins to grow around the room's edges.

“We've all been that young,” the commander says. “I can have one of the ship's mental health counselors look in on her, if you like.”

Captain Ezar blanches, as if she's offered him a rotten fish. “That won't be necessary. Thank you.”

I look from him, to the commander, to the door. No one else is going to say it. “What if . . . ,” I begin in a small voice, and then stop.

Everyone turns their heads to me.
Chaila.

I clear my throat. I don't want to be the one do this, but I can't stay silent, not when I'm as much to blame as anyone for the
dakait
getting away.

“What if we gave her one of the shuttles?” I say. “If we can spare it long enough to drop her at Ceres Station, couldn't she take it and go looking for her brother herself?”

Rubio shakes his head. “Those shuttles aren't outfitted for long-range travel.”

“But they could be,” I insist, the idea clicking together in my head as I speak. “We could modify one. . . .”

“Even if we did,” Commander Dhar interrupts, “what would happen if she found him? We'd be sending her to her death, or at least into slavery, if the
dakait
didn't kill her outright. This girl is under our protection now. Her safety is our concern.”

“Then she could find them, and report back—”

“To who?” Rubio snorts. “We're not the law. We can't police the whole system.”

“Someone should.” I lean forward, digging my nails into my scarred palms. “We're the ones who know about it. We can't stand by and let this happen.”

Dr. Osmani clears her throat and stares at me with her cold fish eyes. “Specialist Guiteau, may I remind you we are a research ship, not a paramilitary vessel?”

“But we can still stop them.” I turn to Commander Dhar, my heart drumming. I have to make this right. “Please. One shuttle. You were going to give it up anyway.”

For a moment, she hesitates, and I think she might say yes. But then she drops her eyes and shakes her head. “We can't let Ms. Kaldero throw away her life for someone who's good as dead.”

For a split second, I am both in the officers' dining room and clinging to the iron railing of a widow's walk in the midst of the Gyre's first and only typhoon. Rain lashes my face and my hands burn. A high, whining sound fills my ears. I try to push down the memory, but it throbs through me, radiating out from my bones. What if my mother and Ava hadn't come after me that day? What if they'd seen the storm and given me up as dead? What if they'd done that same math and decided my one life wasn't worth risking the two of theirs?

“But it's her choice.” My chest constricts. I always cry when I'm angry, but I'm not going to do it now. “She knows what she's asking. It's her life.”

“She thinks she does.” Commander Dhar meets my gaze with a sad, even look, and I know at once she isn't talking only about Cassia. “But she's just a girl. She doesn't see it's not that simple. If she goes after them and gets herself killed, she won't be the only one that suffers. When she's older, when she has a command of her own and people's lives depend on her, then she'll understand. We
have to do what's best for the greatest number of people.”

It's as if someone has pitched a tuning fork to the exact frequency of my memories. My palms burn. I can't get enough air. “But—”

“I think the commander has given sufficient consideration to your request, Specialist.” Dr. Osmani says.

The whine sharpens and then drops. My pulse comes roaring back into my ears.

“Of course.” I stand and shove my chair back, trying not to let the shaking I feel starting at my core spread out to my limbs. I stop before Commander Dhar. “Thank you for the lesson in moral relativity, Commander.” My voice shakes only on the last word.

Utter silence swallows the room.

“Memsahib . . . ,” Rubio mutters under his breath.

I ignore him. I ignore all of them. Part of me knows I'm making a terrible mistake, insulting the commander herself, but most of me doesn't care. I make for the door, hands and bones on fire, storming by the stunned officers and the clerk on my way out.

My whole life, I've wanted to work on a Deep Sound research ship. When I was a little girl in the Gyre, I would sit up on our roof and watch the distant lights of the ships
and satellites orbiting overhead while the chickens clucked softly around my feet. I never lost that scrap of memory, maybe because it was safe, or maybe because that wanting was an indelible part of me. Then, in my first year at Revati Academy, the instructors arranged for us to tour a research ship docked in orbit, one of the
Ranganathan
's smaller, older sisters. We walked the ship's pristine hallways two by two, Vishva and I holding hands, goggling at the researchers and techs in their smart white jumpsuits and soft-soled slippers. I couldn't have put into words what I felt then. Every person aboard carried a measured, peaceful industry with them down the corridors, smoothly interlocking their duties, as if they all knew their own small part was vital to the vessel's perfect clockwork.

I had never seen people work this way before, not in the frenetic pace of Mumbai, where everyone crushed up against his neighbor in competition for customers, time, profit, or in the Gyre, where one steady, monotonous day collecting trash on the waste plain bled into another. All I knew then, a wide-eyed girl aboard her first Deep Sound ship, was that this was what I wanted. This was the closest human beings got to perfection.