Empress of a Thousand Skies(22)

There is only one way to get to heaven, and it is not by flying.

Now Aly felt the cool grate against his face. How much time had passed? More than two minutes, he was sure.

He was going to die. Maybe he was dead already.

He could still feel the rain from when he’d been tossed outside all those years ago. In his mouth, on his eyelids, sliding down around his ears. It was like the water had been gathering all these years, between then and now, rising. Then it swallowed him up and everything was quiet.





SEVEN


    RHIANNON



THE UniForce soldiers would board any second, and Rhee could no longer trust that they would protect her.

“Take the pill. The scrambler takes up to a minute to work,” Dahlen said. There was a new sense of urgency in his voice.

“I’ve lost it!” Rhee peered through the grate into the darkness. She’d made a mess of everything. “Help me get the grate up!”

He cursed in Fontisian. “There’s no time,” he said. He went to the wall and slid his fingers along its gnarled surface. He found what he was looking for: the opening of a hatch that had been invisible. He motioned for Rhee to crawl inside. When the hatch closed behind her, everything went dark.

But it didn’t go still.

The bark shifted under Rhee’s weight, poking and prodding her as she tried to get comfortable. She knew the ship was alive—it was organic matter, after all—but she hadn’t expected it to squirm and wiggle. She felt sick, like she’d digested something rotten. No, like she was being digested.

Outside, the ship had settled into a grav beam, and she heard the bay doors open. Dahlen offered strained greetings, and Rhee felt the weight of the craft tip as though several soldiers had come on board at once.

“Sergeant Niture,” a man said, introducing himself. “Just a routine sweep. Interesting vessel . . .”

“I’ve never seen this kind of droid before,” Dahlen said. Rhee heard the zip and hiss of a machine sweeping across the small pod. Something cracked. “It’s pretty, certainly. But can it be more careful?”

“I’m sorry, sir,” the sergeant said in a tone that suggested he was not sorry at all. “These NX combat droids haven’t been programmed for a soft touch. Sooner we’re done, sooner it’s off.”

“Of course,” Dahlen answered. “Can you tell me, Sergeant, when martial law was declared?”

A tense silence followed. Rhee figured this Niture character must not like being questioned, even if the question itself was a reasonable one.

“Since riots broke out across all of Kalu, that’s when,” the man said roughly. “Lots of people devastated by the Princess’s death, and lots of people wondering exactly who’s responsible. Like the allies don’t have enough problems. Enough dusties to choke off whatever resources they have left . . .”

Rhee heard a long pause, and she wondered what had been communicated in that silence. She was worried about the riots. She’d have to check the holos next time she got the chance.

As the droid moved closer, Rhee hugged herself and, as if in response, the wooden walls of the ship enfolded her even more tightly. As she waited in the darkness, Rhee thought of when she’d explored the sand caves with Julian, his crooked smile when he looked at her, the rough stone walls against the skin of her palm—it was the first time they’d ever done a cube-to-cube transfer. She’d felt goosebumps, seeing and feeling his life through his memory.

Now, without her cube, even this memory was gone. Distorted, like all organic memories were. The cave walls closed in and all she felt was terror.

Rhee urged her mind to somewhere calm, and a new memory emerged: a game of hide-and-seek with Josselyn, the time she’d gotten lost in the cellars.

Her parents had thought it was filthy down there and never uploaded the layout to her cube to prevent her from exploring the tunnels. She’d been down there for hours, blinded by the torchlight when Joss had finally found her—relief and shame clutching at her insides as she hid her face so her big sister wouldn’t see her tears . . .

“Hmm. The material makes heat signatures impossible to detect,” the sergeant continued. Rhee placed her hand against the wood as if to thank it. She knew so little about Fontisian tech. “You’ll have to enable your cube playback for us.”

“I’m from a Fontisian order,” Dahlen said. “I turned off my cube once I took my vows. It’s against our practices.” She could tell, now, that the calmer he sounded, the more annoyed he really was.

The sergeant grunted. “Fontisians, sure, the great Vodhan, I’ve heard. Freedom to practice and all that is fine and good, but since you don’t have playback, we’ll need to ask you some questions. NX-101, enable interrogation.”

“Interrogation mode enabled. Level six.”

“Dahlen of Fontis,” the sergeant said. “What is your directive?”

“Missionary work,” Dahlen said evenly.

“Affirmative,” the droid said.

“My brother fought in the war. He was stationed on Yarazu and said you lot don’t feel pain. Should we test his theory?” the man asked casually. Then after a silence: “Break his finger anyway.”

Rhee brought a fist to her mouth as she heard a terrible snap, and wondered if the droid had done what it was asked: Dahlen had not cried out in pain. The walls around her shifted and contorted her into a new position, pushing her leg at an awkward angle.