Catalyst

  “Why not?” Lanaril asked.

  “No windows. At least, not in our quarters or most of the ship. We have sophisticated displays that can fool our brains into thinking we’re looking out of a window, but my brain isn’t fooled. I spent a lot of time in Deck Zero. If I can’t see outside, I…I can’t breathe, sometimes. And today we found out that I don’t handle intellectual surprises very well, either.”

  Tal tightened her hand around the glass and wondered if she could squeeze hard enough to break it.

  “Does it help, knowing those men are in custody?” Lanaril’s voice was soft.

  “Osambi isn’t in custody,” Ekatya said. “He was killed in the raid. Sholokhov had no interest in him; he was a small fish. So he didn’t risk any of his operatives trying to capture him.”

  “I didn’t believe it until they showed me images,” Lhyn said. “I couldn’t. But seeing him really, truly dead—yes, it helped. What really helps is knowing that Kane Muir is miserable.”

  Surprise lifted Tal’s head. “But surely he’s healed by now.”

  “Yes, but when Ekatya did that to him, she gave Sholokhov a blueprint.”

  “Sholokhov recorded that from every angle,” Ekatya said. “Which didn’t surprise me once I found out. He heard every word I said, analyzed everything I did. And then he used it to design Kane’s interrogation.”

  Lhyn let out a small laugh. “He’s in a cell with crooked windows, a crooked door, and images permanently fixed to the wall in an off-center position.”

  “And crooked,” Ekatya added. “Not too much—just enough to set him off.”

  “Plus they haven’t let him cut his hair or shave. So it’s still the way Ekatya left it, just longer.”

  “He cracked in days.” Ekatya’s satisfaction held a hard edge. “The first thing he spilled was who hired him for that job. It was one of the rising stars in the Defenders of the Protectorate, a protégé of the party leader. She was planning a little party shuffle: push out her boss, take over his job, and leverage the paranoia Lhyn’s revised conclusion would have caused. The DOP could finally have taken enough seats in the Assembly to have a say in Protectorate policy, and who knows where it would have gone next?”

  “She was a co-owner in that hotel,” Lhyn said. “That’s how they were able to get me in there with no one seeing. And they blocked off the top two floors, so no one was around to hear.”

  Ekatya reached for her hand. “I heard,” she said quietly.

  “I know.”

  For a moment it seemed they were the only two in the room. Then Ekatya squeezed her hand and turned toward the others. “She’s not having much luck with that strategy now that she’s in prison. And the DOP lost power.”

  “Oh, it lost more than that. It lost legitimacy.” Lhyn sat up straighter, her emotions colored by anger for the first time since she had begun her tale. “I don’t know Shipper shit about politics, but I know what it means when a party suddenly becomes invisible in Gov Dome. Every minister who ever allied with them now runs the other way when a DOP minister tries to say something. It’s nothing official, because the trial hasn’t started and the press doesn’t have all the facts. My name hasn’t been released.”

  “That’s why you haven’t heard anything from Ambassador Solvassen,” Ekatya told Tal.

  “Right, but the press knows the DOP’s second-in-command was arrested for transactional instigation of kidnapping and torture, and it’s no secret that I vanished off the scene the night of my keynote speech. The fact that a DOP plant made a big point of confronting me and calling me dangerous that night has worked against them. It’s pretty clear that the word is out behind closed doors, and nobody wants to be associated with a ship that’s about to explode.”

  “It’s going to be a beautiful explosion,” Ekatya said with a touch of pride. “Lhyn will make sure of it.”

  Lhyn’s anger turned cold. “There’s a downside to torturing the most publicly visible anthropologist in the Protectorate. I’ll be a lot more visible when I testify. Even more so once the trial is over. They tried to put words in my mouth. I have plenty of words to say now.”

  “Will you have to go there to testify?” Salomen asked.

  “No. I’ll do it from here. I’ll do everything from here, because I’m not leaving. Thank the Shippers for quantum coms.”

  “Good,” Tal said shortly. “Because if you had to go back, I wouldn’t let you leave without at least ten of my best warriors guarding you.”

  Lhyn’s anger abruptly vanished under a thick, soft blanket of comfort and security. Her eyes reddened as she said, “That would make an impression.”

  Watching her reaction to the mere idea of feeling safe sent Tal’s fury soaring again. She was grateful to Lanaril for asking the next question.

  “How is the DOP losing power when it was only their second-in-command who was arrested? Our caste Prime would have to resign for the shame of having chosen a second so badly, but the caste itself would simply elect a new Prime and the Council would move on.”

  Ekatya shook her head. “That’s not how it works in the Assembly. Your political system is stable; your numbers don’t change. Six castes, thirty Councilors per caste.”

  “Plus the Primes,” said Lhyn.

  Tal almost smiled at her inability to let a factual omission go unremarked.

  “The Assembly isn’t stable?” Lanaril asked.

  “Our parties are always fighting for more seats,” Ekatya said. “And they change. New ones rise, old ones fall—the strongest ones have been around for a long time, but it’s always in flux.”

  “It’s predatory is what it is.” Lhyn had recovered. “They eat each other at the first sign of weakness. And it wasn’t just a second-in-command. It was the leader’s protégé, the person he was training to eventually take over the party. They can’t shake that off as bad blood at the top. It colors all of them. It’s really going to color them when Kane testifies.”

  “Which he will. Sholokhov told me that Kane is singing every song he knows—”

  “That doesn’t translate,” Lhyn said.

  “Oh, right. I mean he’s giving up answers to every question Sholokhov asks. He’s a fountain of information because he’s desperate to get back to a normal cell and get a haircut. It’s driving him literally insane. Sholokhov just keeps finding new questions. I doubt he’ll ever give Kane what he wants. Kane killed three of his operatives and made a fool out of him, and Sholokhov never forgets.”

  “Show them what Sholokhov sent you.” Lhyn nudged her arm.

  Ekatya reached into her sleeve pocket and brought out her pad. A few taps activated the virtual screen, and she rotated it to face outward.

  Tal leaned forward, fascinated by what she was seeing.

  The image had captured the moment just before Ekatya took Kane down. She was walking toward the cam while Kane was rushing up behind her, chair raised for a strike. His face was twisted with rage and hate.

  But it was Ekatya’s expression that held Tal spellbound. She was staring straight into the cam—and she was smiling.

  It was not a smile Tal had ever seen on her, but she recognized it. That was the triumphant, almost feral smile of a warrior suffused with adrenaline and battle joy. Kane may have thought he was still fighting, but Ekatya had known the moment he lifted the chair that the fight was over. For her, the real battle had been in forcing him to react—and she had already won it.

  “Sometimes I still wish I’d killed him outright,” Ekatya was saying, but for Tal, it had all fallen into place.

  “You couldn’t have,” she said with certainty. “Sholokhov is a brilliant strategist. He was playing to win both sides. You may have thought no one was in the area, but I’d bet a moon’s wages that he had a team of healers around the corner, waiting for you to do what he thought you would.”

  Ekatya’s head went ba
ck, the realization exploding like a starburst on Tal’s senses. “Stars and Shippers. That would be just like him. Why didn’t I think of that? I thought the trap was to tempt me into killing Kane for him. He would have gotten rid of someone he hated without any personal risk, and then he would have had me forever. But this—he would have had everything. Me under his thumb and Kane still able to answer questions.”

  “He would have had it from me. I would have been too blinded by rage to see that trap.” Tal looked at her in admiration. “You are a gifted warrior. And you…” She shifted her gaze to Lhyn. “Ekatya was right. Your courage is without measure. I hope you never doubt that.”

  “Thank you.”

  But Lhyn did doubt it, and it was more than Tal could bear.

  “I have something for you.” She crossed the room to the storage cupboards, pulled out a slim case, and returned to stand beside Lhyn. “I had planned to give these back to Ekatya, but now I understand that they belong to you. They have since the moment they were left here.” She opened the case and offered it.

  Ekatya’s shocked recognition turned instantly to approval, and when Tal met her eyes, a wash of gratitude warmed her senses.

  “These aren’t mine,” Lhyn said with a frown.

  “Oh, yes they are.” Ekatya pointed at the silver medal. “This is for extraordinary service performed for the Protectorate. You did that when you prevented the DOP from getting a foothold in the Assembly. And this one,” she touched the red star, “is for courage under superior fire. It’s easy to win when you have all the power in a situation, but if you’re outnumbered and outgunned and you still refuse to be beaten—that’s true courage. I won this medal while surrounded by two hundred thousand tons of protective armor called a ship. You did it with no protection at all. You deserve this far more than I do.”

  Lhyn turned the medal over and read the inscription on the back. “Ekatya, these have your name on them. They’re yours.”

  “Not anymore. I left them for you on the Caphenon when I realized what you had been through in the crash. I was outside, being treated and told everything that was going on, while you were trapped in our quarters, alone—” She stopped. “I meant for them to be vaporized when we blew up the ship. But I’m glad Andira saved them, because they’re yours.”

  Lhyn’s confusion bordered on denial, a willful rejection that Tal suspected was based on the source. Ekatya would always support her tyree, therefore her praise could be dismissed as comforting words.

  “Doctor Lhyn Rivers,” Tal said in a tone that turned every head in the room. “Stand up, please.”

  Lhyn uncurled from her spot next to Ekatya and rose, towering over her.

  Tal met her uncertain gaze and said, “I am Andira Shaldone Tal, Lancer of Alsea. I speak so that all may hear.”

  She watched Lhyn straighten at the ritual words and held back a smile. It was not surprising that she would recognize them.

  “Courage has never been limited to the warrior caste,” she said, “and those who make extraordinary sacrifices for Alsea are remembered in our history regardless of who they are. You have performed a service of incalculable value to my people. You risked your life and suffered unspeakably, and I am convinced you would have given your life had it been necessary. You did this for Alsea, for a people you cannot even claim as your own. I can offer nothing that would come close to proper payment for such a service, but I can give you a claim to our people and our home.”

  Lhyn raised a hand to her mouth, her eyes shining. A nascent understanding took root in her emotions, and now Tal did smile.

  “As Lancer, I have certain executive powers. You are hereby named a citizen of Alsea, with all of the rights and responsibilities inherent therein. You will be remembered forever as the first alien to be recognized as Alsean. With your permission, we will record exactly why this honor was accorded to you, so all will know that it was not a political gift but a reward, more than earned.”

  As tears pooled in Lhyn’s eyes, Tal added in a softer voice, “Of course, we’ll have to decide on your caste. I presume you would accept the scholars?”

  “Yes,” Lhyn whispered. “Yes, please.”

  “Then it will be done. Alsea is proud to take you into her heart. And I’m proud of you as well.” She opened her arms and was immediately swept into a warmron. For a moment she was afraid of hurting Lhyn’s ribs, the story still too sharp in her mind. But Lhyn held her tightly.

  “Was that last part still the Lancer?”

  “No. That part was me. Please, Lhyn, never doubt your courage again. I can feel it when you do, and it hurts me, because you truly are extraordinary.”

  “You might be talking me into it.” Lhyn held her a few pipticks longer, then released her with a shaky laugh. “How did you know? It’s the one thing I wanted, but I didn’t think I could ask. I didn’t even know you had a mechanism in place for it.”

  “We didn’t until recently. Prime Builder Eroles campaigned for it because she wants to offer citizenship to Chief Kameha. The Council agreed because the value of his services is self-evident and even they can’t avoid seeing that we might benefit from more like him in the future. So we need to offer some sort of incentive besides wages and housing.”

  “Is the Prime Builder going to be angry with you for giving the first one to me?”

  “Probably,” Tal admitted.

  “Almost certainly.” Lanaril’s smile was wide as she approached Lhyn and clasped their hands together. “But I’m delighted with her choice and proud to welcome you to my caste. You’re a more than worthy addition to the scholars. If you’ll accept me, I would be honored to be your sponsor, to help you learn what’s expected of you. We’ll go straight to the caste house as soon as we return to Blacksun and get you enrolled.”

  “I would love that.”

  It was when Ekatya pulled her into a warmron and murmured, “It really is your home now,” that Lhyn lost her composure. Tal turned away, giving the two what privacy she could, and found Salomen smiling at her.

  “That was very well done, tyrina.” Salomen drew her toward the windows and spoke quietly. “For a moment, I thought I would have to hold you back. I’ve never felt you so angry.”

  “I can’t recall the last time I’ve been that angry. Not even when I first heard about Herot, and I was under the influence of drugs then. I still don’t understand how Ekatya kept herself from crushing his throat.” She glanced back at the embracing couple. “But I admire her for it. That’s a strength I can barely fathom.”

  “It does make her insistence on keeping your secret much more understandable.”

  “True words. It feels like some sort of lesson from Fahla, doesn’t it? That Lhyn would feel safer here than anywhere else.”

  “Based on what we just heard, she is safer here than anywhere else.” Salomen lowered her voice further. “You do realize that they’re not just tyrees.”

  “They’re not divine tyrees, either. They’re something different. I don’t know how Lhyn hasn’t burst with questions about it before now.”

  “Because she couldn’t ask until she told her story. And she couldn’t do that until she was ready.” Salomen looked across the room, where Lhyn was now wiping tears but smiling as she spoke with Lanaril. “Prepare for a blizzard of questions now, though.”

  “Oh, I am,” Tal said as she watched Lhyn. “I’m just grateful she’s here to ask them.”

  CHAPTER 52:

  Secrets

  They talked late into the night, long enough to see both of the moons rise from the ocean. Eusaltin raced ahead, reaching a point overhead before Sonalia made her appearance.

  Everyone had questions and conjectures about their bond, especially Lhyn, who spilled them as though a dam had been breached. Which, Ekatya thought, was exactly what had happened.

  Much discussion was expended on the fact that while Ekatya had been a
ble to see and hear both sides, Lhyn had not. Ekatya shared Dr. Wells’s hypothesis that since her participation in the connection had been carefully managed, with a perfect balance of conscious and subconscious, she was “in the doorway,” as she put it. Lhyn had not been balanced and so was entirely on her side, able to hear and see Ekatya, but nothing else through the doorway.

  Lhyn was eager to take part in an experiment testing the hypothesis, but Dr. Wells was adamantly against it until she had progressed further in her mental healing. It was an ongoing frustration for Lhyn, which she was eager to express to the sympathetic Alseans.

  Ekatya took great comfort in watching her speak so freely at last. She wondered if perhaps this was what Lhyn had needed to finish her healing—access to the only people who could begin to understand what had happened. People who would not react with fear or judgment, but be excited at the potential, just as she was.

  After several hours, Salomen proposed a light meal to absorb the spirits they had been drinking, Andira and Lhyn went to help, and Lanaril said that she would step outside for a moment if no one minded. Ekatya stood looking at the view of Pica Mahal, highlighted by the brilliance of Sonalia, then took a fortifying breath and walked onto the deck.

  Lanaril was leaning on the railing, her forearms crossed as she stared out to sea. A soft, warm breeze ruffled her hair and stirred the leaves in the trees below them.

  “Do you mind if I join you?” Ekatya asked.

  “No, of course not.”

  They stood side by side in silence, watching the silver path that Sonalia was blazing atop the shifting waters.

  “I’ve always loved that,” Ekatya said. “Back on my home planet, we call them moon paths. You have to catch the moon at just the right time to see them. I hardly ever get the opportunity.”

  “Neither do I. And I have less excuse than you.” Lanaril sniffed quietly and brushed a hand across one eye.

  Ekatya looked over in alarm. Oh, stars, she was crying. Only a few tears, and obviously trying to hide it, but…by now she would have sensed her reaction and there was no turning back.