The Stars Are Legion(51)

She leaves the arm on the ground and goes to the door. She summons Samdi and two more security personnel.

Together, the five of us walk in silence. Rasida and I are side by side, following Samdi as the security people come up behind.

I map out the route we take in my mind, counting steps and turns. In bed, with the covers pulled up over my head, I will often retrace my mental map of Bhavaja, storing it for the day when I will need to leave this place quickly. The day I have the arm and the world.

We come through a broad corridor and into a holding room. I am not surprised to see Nashatra there, standing next to one of Rasida’s sisters, Aditva.

“This is not necessary,” Nashatra says when Rasida comes in.

Nashatra does not look at me. I keep my gaze focused just above Aditva’s head, trying to pretend I know nothing of any of this.

Rasida takes Aditva by the shoulder. I tense.

“Tell me what you planned,” Rasida says to Aditva.

Aditva begins to cry.

“Please, Rasida,” Nashatra says. “I know you are displeased, but—”

“You know what we do to traitors, Mother,” Rasida says.

“I know,” Nashatra says again.

“The Legion is my sister,” Rasida says. “We are all sisters. That means nothing when survival is at stake.”

It’s only now that I notice the black, gaping wound on the far wall. Its edges are dry and puckered, but I recognize it for what it once must have looked like. It’s a recycling chute.

She’s going to recycle her own mother. “Is this necessary?” I ask, because though I have no love for Nashatra, I fear that if she is gone, there will be no one to counter Rasida. If Nashatra is planning a coup, she may help me get what I need from Rasida in exchange for my help. The long game. I have always been good at the long game. It’s another reason it had to be me here and not Zan. She understands vehicles and genetics and gooey organic sludge, but not people.

“Of course it is,” Rasida says.

“But—” I say.

“Let it lie,” Nashatra says, and meets my look.

I stare at her feet. Bite my tongue. If I reveal myself, then we are both done. If I— “Stand, Aditva, and tell my consort what you did,” Rasida says.

Aditva?

Aditva stands. She is a short, skinny woman, all knees and elbows. Her face is long and pained, her hair stringy and unwashed. I wonder how long she has been here.

“Tell her,” Rasida says softly. She begins stroking Aditva’s lank hair.

“I betrayed you, Lord,” Aditva says. She begins to sob. “I am sorry, Lord. I was weak. The Lord of War—”

“Do not blame your foolishness on the Lord of War,” Rasida says. “You tried to foment rebellion, is that right? An uprising. But an uprising of who, and to what? There is nowhere to go, Aditva. If you had truly listened to the Lord of War, she would have told you all this and much more, the way she spoke to me. She has whispered to me of the only way to save our people, and it is to work together to unite the Legion. It’s the only way. You didn’t want to unite us. You wanted to overthrow me and divide us.”

“Yes, Lord,” Aditva says.

I am staring at Aditva’s bare, callused feet now. I don’t want to see Nashatra’s face. I fear that I will give her and myself away. Why should I feel guilt now, when this is not my family? When I declined Nashatra’s offer? It could very well be me here, barefoot and filthy. The next time, it very well might be. What will happen then? Will Nashatra speak for me, or let me be recycled as she is letting her own daughter be recycled?

Rasida makes little shushing sounds and draws Aditva into her arms. Aditva embraces her and continues sobbing, great heaving gasps that wrack her little body. As she grips Rasida, I see two fist-sized lumps on the back of her neck, most likely cancer, and I wonder how long she has been sick.

While Rasida comforts her sister with one hand, she moves the other to her waist and the long bone knife she keeps there. I could call out. I could, like Nashatra, beg Rasida to spare this woman, her own sister.

But I don’t. I put my hands over my belly instead, and I watch as Rasida plunges the knife into Aditva’s armpit. Once. Twice. A third time.

Aditva crumples.

Rasida lifts her up as blood pumps from Aditva’s armpit. Rasida’s expression is sad, almost kind, as if she is doing Aditva some great favor. Then she dumps Aditva into the black maw of the recycling chute.

Aditva cries out once. Then silence.

Rasida stares into the blackness.

It is only now, with Rasida’s back turned, that I dare to gaze into Nashatra’s face.

She signs something at me. It takes me a moment to understand it, because she’s using an alternate sign language, not the Katazyrna one, but the more general one we use among worlds on the Outer Rim. She signs, “Who is your master?”

I sign back, “I am my own master.”

And Rasida turns. “This is what I did to Zan,” she says, “your prisoner who is not a prisoner. If you cannot love me, if you lie to me, if you betray me, you will end up here, like Aditva. Like Zan.”

She means this to be a warning. It’s meant to break me or perhaps Nashatra. But like Nashatra, I am not bowed. Though I cannot smile for fear of giving myself away, hope blooms in my belly in a way I have not felt since hearing that Rasida had destroyed Katazyrna. Hope blooms because I know this means it’s possible that Zan is still alive. Zan has crawled up from the belly of the world before. Zan has survived it once. She can do it again. Zan will come back for me. She always comes back for me.