"I've got it." The way I read it, this sleep issue was along the lines of a disability. So this was an accommodation, not a fix.
"I need this to keep you safe," he said. "Will you do as I ask now?"
"Depends."
"Zara!"
"Is there an off switch?"
He sighed. "Yes, because all Leviathan must enter the dark sleep at least a few times in their life. The device is built with a code that will allow it to be disabled under certain conditions of safety. It must only be used when I am bathed in starlight, and there are no other risk factors. I will place this code in the records. Is that acceptable?"
"Then absolutely."
It was grueling work, requiring both technical comprehension and physical dexterity, but I was in my wheelhouse. I blazed through the assembly, and I found a few things to add on as I went, including a second, hidden off switch--a mechanical one. I didn't always trust beamed code. If Nadim needed to enter that deeper sleep state, and the damn shock collar wouldn't let him, then there needed to be a backup.
But I didn't tell him, because I knew he'd object to me modding the design. I skipped lunch and kept working, flying through progress steps, all the way to the testing phase.
I left the diagnostics running and went to dinner, feeling sweaty, exhausted, and exhilarated all at once. I'd finished two days ahead of schedule.
Take that, bottom of the class.
After dinner, since I was done with my to-do list, I sat down in front of the data console and absently said, "Hey, Nadim? Are you tied in to this device?"
"Of course," he said. "I provide it with power."
"Yeah, I mean . . . can you read the data on it?"
"I can, but I don't normally. It is for your use, organized in human structures."
"Okay. Mind if I poke around a little in past records?"
"I don't mind. The recordings are there to help you. There is nothing in there forbidden to you."
Digging around in the data proved to be fun. I was no Conde, but I'd rehabbed enough times to understand how to find the stuff people buried in their data sets. Which was how I unearthed the coded personal journal of one Marko Dunajski. Recording our thoughts was encouraged "for posterity" but not mandatory, which was good, because I was pretty sure I didn't want to have my thoughts out there for anyone to see.
I figured Marko's entry would be gold from the beginning, because he looked grumpy. "I'm going to record, please ignore me," he said, which I thought was a strange way to start, until I heard Nadim's voice on the recording say, "Of course, Marko." Marko chugged more coffee and set the cup aside. Rubbed his face like he might scrape his features off.
"I thought . . . I don't know what I thought." His tone surprised me. When he had me on the recruitment trail, he'd seemed so confident that I figured these would play like propaganda films. Instead I had Marko, uncut and unkempt. "Okay, let me start again. When I was chosen as an Honor, it was the happiest day of my life. I thought I was prepared. Before getting on the shuttle, I read all the previous Honor biographies and interviews with people who were alone on space stations, and I watched vids about the first settlers on Mars. I understood that we're partners with our Leviathan in training during the Tour. But once the fanfare and celebration stops, it's . . . a sobering responsibility. How does it make sense that somebody like me has been sent on a mission like this? I'm not a scientist. I am a musician."
Somebody like me. The words caught my attention and tugged because I'd been wondering the same thing.
"What we've seen out here, it's marvelous. Unbelievable. So many civilizations that no longer exist, because they've destroyed themselves. Nadim doesn't say it, but I think the reason they show these places to us is to explain why they take such an interest in humans. We're here now. We exist. And we were going to destroy ourselves when they first met us and end up another cautionary tale on the Tour. I suspect the Leviathan couldn't stand to see it happen again. He says that the two who made contact were on their own, responding because they couldn't ignore the cries of the wounded in the dark. That has a certain . . . beauty." Marko's voice changed. Grew darker and rougher. "And I'm sure Nadim believes the story. But I'm not sure I do any longer. There are things that don't make sense out here. Things he avoids talking about, or can't tell us. There are mysteries in the dark too."
So, like me, Marko wasn't all sunshine and flowers. He had an edge I'd never suspected. Good. It made me like him better. And his words put me more on my guard too. Mysteries in the dark.
"Still, for all that . . . This is going to sound stupid, but I'm just talking to myself, aren't I? There are people who study the stars their whole lives and never get to soar among them. I can't help feeling that I didn't deserve this chance, but I intend to make the most of this experience. I'm going to learn everything I can and make my family proud. And maybe . . . maybe I will go on the Journey, if the Leviathan give me a chance. Solve the real mysteries. Finally explain once and for all what the Leviathan want from us . . . or want us to learn from them."
Maybe it wasn't meant for me at all, but that message arrowed straight into my heart. Make my family proud, he'd said, and I realized that I desperately wanted that. My family and I, we were like passengers on trains heading in the same direction but on parallel tracks. I loved my mother and Kiz. Maybe we'd never be like a regular family, but if I could make them proud of me, of something I accomplished--that would be . . . good.
But I also had to take Marko's doubts seriously. I'd come on board thinking about Valenzuela and his incoherent warning; Nadim had soothed that jitter out of me, but this made me think, again, about what we weren't being told. What mysteries the Leviathan kept.
"The thing is," Marko continued, "I'm not sure I'll be chosen. Nadim seems to need more interaction than he gets from me. Certainly he's not getting it from Chao-Xing. It helps when I play for him. The Leviathan are musical from their core; I think that's one thing that fascinates them about us, our ability to summon up our own songs, even though we aren't born from the same culture. Even though we can't hear what they do. I like Nadim, but I feel we're not . . . not a good fit. He has just one more try at finding someone who fits with him before he goes out into the black. I hope--I hope someone next year works. If they don't, he'll either be matched for a long time with someone who isn't on his frequency, or he'll be alone out there. I don't like to imagine that."
I wasn't sure exactly what Marko was talking about, but it was sad to consider Nadim setting off on the Journey unhappy. He had a real yearning to bond with people, or at least, that was what I sensed in him. He was lonely. More lonely than anybody I'd ever met.
It occurred to me that this was pretty rude, listening to Marko talk about Nadim and his shortcomings when Nadim was bound to have heard all of it. Marko, after all, had made a point of asking Nadim not to listen when he was recording. Leaning back in my chair, I said, "Um, Nadim?"
No answer. I had an awful thought that he was so bothered by Marko's observations that he didn't want to talk to me at all . . . but then I reached out and touched the wall and tried again. "Nadim?"
"I'm here," he said.
"Were you listening?"
"No," he said. "It was a private record. I don't listen to those. It isn't polite." There was a certain precision to his response that made me smile.
"Let me guess. Somebody yelled at you before for spying on them."
"I've had dozens of Honors aboard. Most of them have yelled at me when they became frustrated or felt they had no privacy. I don't take that personally, most of the time."
Most of the time. That got me curious, made me want to ask.
I didn't.
From a transcript of a research interview between Dr. Elacio Camacho and Leviathan Moira, conducted aboard the Leviathan, 2112
CAMACHO: May I play you a sample of how we interpret the sounds that stars make, Moira?
MOIRA: I would like that.
CAMACHO plays a recording.
MOIRA: That is a very limited interpretation, Dr. Camacho. It is only sound. There is no life in it.
CAMACHO: It's only a digital interpolation based on the shifts of light frequencies. We find it useful for various calculations.
MOIRA: It makes the stars sound very stupid.
CAMACHO: [pause] Are . . . you saying that the stars are intelligent?
MOIRA: Creatures of your planet sing. I sing. The stars sing. Who am I to believe they are not singing on purpose?
CHAPTER EIGHT
Breaking the Peace
THE SILENCE THAT followed as I hovered near the data console might have been awkward. I supposed that our connection let him sense my lingering curiosity. "Did you . . . want something else?" Nadim asked me. "There are more recordings. I could leave you to play them in private."
"No, I'm done." I yawned. "Maybe I should just go to bed."
"If you prefer. Or you could proceed to the media room. Beatriz is singing."
"She's what?"
"Singing. She is quite accomplished, though I believe she underestimates her talent."
"Did she say it's okay to listen?"
Instead of answering, Nadim lit up a pulse on the corridor wall for me to follow.
Halfway there, I heard her, a quiet voice, then louder, stronger. I didn't know the song. I didn't go into the media room, but I peeked in and saw Bea standing on the stage, her eyes shut, her face lit with transcendent joy as she sang and sang, the notes soaring with pure and perfect beauty.
It was like the starlight. Like the dizzying black beauty of space. It was free and fierce and full of longing. It was so far beyond me I felt lifted on it, taken out of myself.
Nadim said, in a whisper meant just for me, "It's the most beautiful thing I've ever heard. Other Honors played music or sang, but she . . . she's different." There was awe in his voice. Awe all around me, like a cool, shifting fog.
Beatriz sang a long time before she paused. Since this wasn't a concert, I got up and headed over to her. Following my impulses had gotten me into more trouble than I could list, but I hugged her anyway--the kind of hug you give when somebody surprises you with a gift so special you never even knew you wanted it until you opened it.
She let out a little squeak, and then she squeezed me back. "My vo would be pleased with me. For bringing her music to the stars."
"Your vo?"
"My grandma. She was an opera singer at the Teatro Real," Beatriz said. "Very famous, in her day. She sang to me all the time, and I studied music as well--but I was always afraid of being onstage. So I've always sung just for her. And for me."
"Nadim should broadcast you. The whole universe should hear that gorgeous voice."
She gave me a smile so radiant that I understood at once how different she must be back home in Rio. "I don't know about that, but thank you. The acoustics in here are so perfect, I might not sound so wonderful somewhere else--"
"Don't even," I cut in. "You're special. Get used to it."
"She's right, Beatriz. Thank you." Nadim sounded soft, warm, almost shy. "I've never heard anything like it."
Beatriz, I noticed, raised her head when she was talking to Nadim. "You built a pool for your last Honor. Did you design this place for me?"
"Not specifically. Marko played piano here. I altered the space a little for you."
"Yeah, about that," I said. "You made a pool. You made a concert hall. How, exactly?"
"The pool was easy. I can grow or shrink open chambers within my body, and the filtering of water was just a special organ I grew for that purpose. Like creating and filtering the air you breathe."
"Okay, fine, you grew a room--" Weird as that was. "But you didn't grow the chairs!"
"No," he agreed. "Those I requested from Earth. An accommodation for you."
Beatriz laughed. "I don't even care how you did it! I didn't have my own stage at home. I worked on music in my room and sang in the shower."
"Then I hope this is better?"
"This is magnificent. It's a little . . . overwhelming." From her tone, I didn't think she meant it in a bad way.
"What was that, the first thing you sang?" I asked her. Because I'd never heard anything like it.
That turned out to be the magic question. Beatriz was into opera, and she elaborated for a while about composers and history, more of a musical education than I'd gotten in school. Then she bit her lip, seeming as if she was about to confess to some shocking secret. "Sometimes I dabble with my own arrangements. I did a jazz adaptation of La Boheme for fun last month."
That sounded impressive as hell. And it sparked my curiosity, because I'd noticed a few different qualifications that stood out among the Honors over the past few years. More recruits had a musical background. Marko did. Now here was Beatriz, who sang so brilliantly.
There has to be a reason they picked her. And me. Since we were bonding over music, I kept the questions coming. "Do you have a favorite opera?"
"Norma. You ever heard of it?" she asked me, and when I shook my head, she said, "Nadim, do we have a music library on board?"
"Of course. Each Honor has added to it. What would you like to hear?"
She enjoyed Caribbean fusion, insanely dramatic opera, reggaeton, Afro-Cuban jazz. While I didn't love everything she called out, I could feel Nadim soaking up the input, registered the moments when a particular cluster of notes gave him pleasure. Nadim especially liked the merry blare of horns, and I knew that because it washed in an irresistible flush of pleasure that cascaded over to me. Like emotional overflow. I wondered if I could control that. If I should. Sure, this feels good. But what happens when it goes bad?
Beatriz distracted me. Her expression animated, she asked, "What do you like, Zara?"
"Well, I don't know much, but . . . there was this old-time singer, Billie Holiday? I relate to her music, I guess. And her story. You heard of her?"
"Claro." She grabbed my hands in her excitement. "She was a legend. What's your favorite song of hers?"
"That's a tough call. But I guess . . . 'Summertime.'"
"I have it," Nadim said. "Shall I play that one?"
"Please." Normally, the word didn't come easy, but I'd revealed an important part of myself; my mother and Kiz and I had all listened to Billie Holiday together. This time, I didn't feel scraped raw over it, because I wasn't listening alone.
What started out as Music Appreciation 101 evolved into a proper party. Beatriz taught me dance moves to the beat of some of Nadim's favorite jams. The girl definitely had rhythm, and soon I was executing complicated steps that could've been on a stage backing up some auto-tune diva. The sheer joy of it took me over--and not just me, I noticed. Nadim too was soaking up our enthusiasm, our happiness, our energy. It seemed like a good thing.
If we could join together this way, I felt solid about our chances at making this partnership work.
Beatriz finally wandered off to bed, and even though I was tired, I lingered behind.
"That was fun," I said, more to myself than Nadim. It had been. Better than anything except a few times back in the Zone, and that made it impossible not to think of Derry. I had some shit times with him, some outstanding moments too. Now I also had the bitter memory of the way he'd burned me.
It cooled me down, got me steady. My natural defenses came back up again. I had to be practical, even if I didn't need to be ruthless. That meant I had to wonder if Nadim and Beatriz would do me the same way Derry had, eventually. I'd liked Clarice for a hot second back in rehab, and look where that had got me.
The memory of rehab, and of the dirty purity of the Zone, crept back in. That Zara wouldn't have held a dance party. That Zara would have grinned and slipped away to rip off the marks while their defenses were down.
I wasn't one of them, I had to remember that. Beatriz had trained to be an Honor. Nadim . . . I could feel a lot of what went on with him, but how could I really know what he thought or felt? He was an alien. It might feel like I knew him, but I didn't. I couldn
't.
It surprised me when the alien suddenly spoke up and said, "You and Beatriz are . . . brighter than Marko and Chao-Xing."
"Brighter?" That was weird. "You mean smarter?"
"No. I mean--you have more light inside. Both of you."
It was the opposite of how I'd been trying to feel. Darkness was cover. Darkness was safety. "Yeah, probably just adrenaline or something."
A pause, as he was probably thinking about how to respond. Or if he even should. "No. It's dimmed a little now in you, but you are still bright. Marko was the closest, kind but somber. He was always a little muted. You and Beatriz are different."
"So no dance party with Marko and Chao-Xing?"
"Definitely not."
With Nadim talking as I walked, it felt like he was seeing me to my room. I don't need watching over, I wanted to tell him, but at the same time, it felt good. Safe. "Okay, well, I'm out." Because I was at my door. And I suddenly realized I was bone-tired anyway.
Nadim said, "Sleep well. I'll see you in the morning, Zara."
I fumbled with the panel. The life I'd chosen in the Zone didn't grant privacy; freedom had its price. I'd gotten used to sleeping in overcrowded dorms or public squats, with people doing whatever all around. I hadn't really thought about it, but now I realized that privacy felt like isolation. "So you don't come in here without an invitation, right?"
"No," he said. "Unless you are in medical distress."
"Well, you're officially invited."
"As long as you're sure. You can tell me to leave anytime."
I sat down cross-legged on the mattress, fiddling with a pillow. I left the door open, through some bizarre notion that it made it easier for Nadim to get in and out. "I didn't want to freak Bea out; she seems to be finding her peace and I don't want to blow that. But you need to explain some things to me."
"Such as?"
"Why did you pick me?" I immediately rephrased. "Okay, I know you didn't pick me. Why are the Elders all of a sudden yanking crims out of rehab?"
He didn't answer for so long I didn't think he was going to. I had an impulse to pull the pillow in closer, and instead, I put it down and waited.