Bloodstone Page 13

  Kojo quirked a smile. “You look a little stressed. What’s wrong—married life doesn’t agree with you?”

  “Shut up.” I followed him toward the passenger hatch.

  I’d considered telling Kojo about the relic, but I wasn’t yet feeling friendly enough toward him. My mistake had been to treat the relic like the friendly spirits of my ancestors, inviting a communication. I wouldn’t make that mistake again.

  Since then, I’d been in and out of the cargo hold, lashing equipment to the battens, shifting stores into the smaller holds. The relic’s voice still murmured in my mind, but I’d kept my mental defenses high, remaining firmly in control. Let the damn stone whine, it was safely locked away.

  Once again, Kojo and I welcomed Sergeant Danto, Lyden, and Mya aboard Sparrowhawk. Lyden looked the ship over with a sharp eye, as if it were up for sale. By the look on her face, she was not buying at any price.

  Behind them, the Settlement Authority scientist stepped aboard.

  “How very nice to meet you,” she chirped. “Call me Rachel.”

  I had expected the Authority to send a humorless Gav, ready to spout rules and regulations to quash any attempt to open a new world to settlement. Instead, Dr. Rachel Fiori was a plump, pink little Terran, her iron-dark curls sprinkled with silver.

  I carted luggage and showed everyone their cabins. Lyden declared the stateroom adequate for her and Mya, saying she was inured to hardship. Jamila and Rachel would share the adjacent cabin. In a third cabin, Danto placed his kit on the lower bunk and wordlessly tossed Grim’s pack to the top. I’d let Balan keep his little cabin—I doubted anyone would want to share space with him.

  Balan emerged from his cabin to follow Lyden as she settled into the salon, his eyes bright and fingers twitching, exclaiming in florid Gavoran over their great mission.

  I felt a little sick watching him. Whether it was the effect of the relic or his religious fervor, he looked more like a candidate for a medical intervention than a guide to spiritual bliss.

  Danto came onto the com. “Prepare to get underway in a quarter of an hour. All Corridor Patrol personnel must leave Sparrowhawk at this time.”

  The Gav guards marched stone-faced toward Betanda. They looked as relieved to be leaving Sparrow as I was to have them gone.

  I did a hurried check of all the holds, engine room, and cabins. I wanted no more stowaways on this voyage.

  Finally, Kojo withdrew the gangway and secured the hatches himself. He hit the com. “All hands, secure for departure.”

  Archer answered, “Engines ready, Captain. Jump cells ready.”

  Hiram followed with “Fire ’em up, lad. Rolling out.”

  Hiram maneuvered Sparrow into the gateway’s arch. Blue lights turned to red as we reached jump position.

  The checkpoint disappeared in a blur as we began our journey to Nakana.

  CHAPTER 15

  The biological effects of interspecies interactions

  Papa always said to begin and end a journey with a fine meal, to give the passengers a good first impression and leave them with a fond memory. For our welcoming dinner, I used the fresh stores to make a lush pasta primavera.

  The passengers dug into the food all right, but it wasn’t exactly a friendly crowd. By age and rank, Lyden should have sat in the place of honor at the captain’s right, but Kojo put Jamila there and Rachel on his left. Lyden appeared not to notice the slight and took the seat at the foot of the table, flanked by Mya and Balan. As the rest of us filled in the gaps, the table looked less like a welcoming dinner than a temporary truce between warring parties: four Terrans at one end, three Gavorans at the other, and me and Danto facing each other in the middle.

  The viewscreens provided no diversion. The ether in this corridor was a uniform gold haze, no spots of brightness or swirls of color to break the monotony.

  Awkward pleasantries soon turned to awkward silences, until Grim asked Rachel, “Why does a Terran work for the Settlement Authority, anyway? It’s nothing but a tool for the Neanderthals to keep Terrans from spreading out.”

  “Grimbold.” Danto’s voice was cold. “Do you recall the terms under which you agreed to accompany this mission rather than remain in less comfortable surroundings for the next three years?”

  Grim grumbled, “Follow orders and keep my mouth shut.”

  “Correct,” Danto said. “Do so.”

  Rachel smiled indulgently. “The Authority is not as one-sided as you may think. There are lots of Terrans who want to see planets settled in a responsible way. No one wants a repeat of the Albo fiasco or the tragedy in the Chichester system.”

  Grim shrugged, as if a couple of ecological disasters wouldn’t faze him. “Still, it’s the Gavs who run it, right?”

  Rachel wore the expression that Tinker had when she cornered a mouse. “Actually,” she said, “I hold the rank of commander in the Authority.”

  Kojo whistled and bared his wolf grin at Danto. “Commander? I guess you’re outranked, Sergeant.”

  I exchanged a desperate look with Kojo. Rachel wasn’t the low-tier Settlement Authority flunky I’d taken her for. A Terran who made it to the rank of commander in the Gav-dominated Settlement Authority was either very savvy or a complete tool of the Gavs. Either one was trouble: The synthreactor’s core was stashed inside a bulkhead barely three strides from Rachel’s survey console.

  “Excellent,” Jamila said. “I’m so glad we have the Authority’s support at such a high level. Have you experience in planetary surveys?”

  Rachel let slide this reinterpretation of her role from supervision to support. “Some, but my specialty is the biological effects of interspecies interactions. I’m a physician and exobiologist.”

  Kojo looked up doubtfully. “That doesn’t sound like the kind of science we need for this voyage.”

  “No?” Rachel chuckled. “An interracial mission to an unknown world, populated by an unknown species, guided by a psychoactive artifact of unknown origin? I rather thought it was right up my alley. An object that has a differential effect on Terrans and Gavorans is quite interesting. How many of you are receiving some sort of communication from the artifact?”

  It was a question neither I nor Kojo had dared to ask. Jamila froze, her eyes darting around.

  Balan instantly said, “I am.” He glared around the table, daring anyone to dispute it.

  “I am, of course,” said Lyden. “The relic’s desire to return home to Nakana is palpable.” Mya nodded.

  I stayed mum. Danto scowled.

  “Excellent,” Rachel said cheerfully. “There seems to be a clear demarcation between hominin subspecies. I’ll need to examine each of you, and all the crew members as well, as soon as possible.”

  “Examine us?” I asked.

  “Yes. Genetic tests, blood chemistry, that sort of thing.” She waved a fork. “Nothing painful. But quite necessary in order to track any changes caused by exposure to the item. I will also ask each of you to wear medical sensors so I can keep abreast of any physical changes. I’ll begin with you, Balan, first thing in the morning.”

  I thought an examination for Balan was a good idea. He pushed his food around on his plate, but ate almost nothing, his lips moving in some silent whisper.

  “I would like to renew my link to the bloodstone,” he said. “It is unconscionable to lock it away from me.”

  Rachel looked up, her eyes flinty. “Not yet. I need to study the artifact before anyone touches it again.”

  “You’re going to examine the artifact?” Jamila asked. “Finally, someone’s doing something sensible.”

  Balan appealed to Lyden in Gavoran. “This is nonsense. I am here, ready to commune with the relic. Why should a Terran, blind to its message and its beauty, be allowed access to it when we are not?”

  “Because I’m less likely to die in the process,” Rachel said in Terran, proving she was fluent in both languages. “Let me be clear. The Settlement Authority has authorized this mission to investigate
whether there is a planet that contains technology that should be controlled. What happens to the artifact and any other technology we may find is a matter for the Settlement Authority to determine. Given the artifact’s psychoactive properties, no one will touch it again until I examine it under controlled conditions.”

  “It must not be harmed,” Lyden said.

  Grim belched. “It was buried under ruins for a few thousand years. I don’t think looking at it through a microscope is going to hurt it.”

  Balan muttered something about intolerable delay. As he pushed his food around with his fork, his long fingers twitched.

  That evening, I joined Kojo in the wheelhouse. I still was angry, still didn’t trust him not to go behind my back again, but we needed to work together to finish the job for Ordalo.

  So I settled into the watch station to catch up, the way we used to. Not that there was much to watch—the ship’s internal systems were humming along nicely, and there were no demands on the pilot during the jump.

  “Any problems?” I asked.

  “Huh. Nothing but problems. Look at Balan. He’s always been a fanatic, but he’s getting worse, and he’s supposed to be our guide. Then there’s Danto. What’s your read on him?”

  I twisted a lock of hair. “A competent police officer. He’d have to be, to make sergeant—he must have been fighting prejudice at every step. He’s got a major chip on his shoulder and resents Terrans. Probably blames his Terran blood for all the trouble he’s had to put up with in life.”

  Kojo arched a brow at me. “Do you ever feel that way?”

  “Hell, no. I blame you.”

  He chuckled. “I almost feel sorry for the bastard. I’ll bet he’s been offered this mission as his first solo command—something that’s supposed to be good for his career if it succeeds, but it’ll most likely be a monumental waste of time.”

  “What about Jamila? Why did she go along with this?”

  Kojo made a sour face. “She only agreed to this crazy plan because Lyden backed her into a corner—let her off on the charges of theft and implant tampering if she helped with the archeology. Jamila’s been ragging on me, trying to find a way to contact Galactic. As if I’ve got some way to wriggle out of the mess she dropped us into.”

  “Any chance of bypassing the com block?”

  “None. Believe me, I tried. We’ll need Danto’s codes for anything other than a pure distress call.”

  Tinker entered and glared at me for occupying her seat. She jumped effortlessly to my lap and began to knead my leg, not always remembering to sheathe her claws.

  “Then there’s that priestess Lyden,” Kojo said. “According to Jamila, she’s an armed grenade, ready to detonate on contact. Utterly convinced we’ll find the home of the ‘blessed Sages’ and that they’re going to show up as soon as we hit atmo.”

  “Hmm. Our contract’s with the Patrol and Danto says he’s in command of the mission, but as a clan matriarch, Lyden outranks him. And Rachel—she’s just supposed to make sure the Settlement Authority rules are followed, but she’s a commander, after all.” I carefully detached Tinker’s talons from my leg. “Rachel reminds me of Tinker—sharp claws under soft paws.”

  Kojo’s face lit up. “But if we play our cards right, we can use it. We have forty-seven days left to deliver the goods to Ordalo. Sooner or later, this group is bound to squabble. If things get dicey and the charter parties start to fight over where to go, I’ll exercise my captain’s right to terminate the mission and return to port.” He stroked his chin and winked. “Maybe in Kriti, right?”

  I nodded. “Not bad.”

  Kojo said, “I’m going to try to get friendly with Grimbold. If push comes to shove, I want him on our side.”

  “You can’t trust him.”

  “I don’t have to trust him, I just need to keep one step ahead of him. He may be a snake, but he’s a predictable snake.”

  I stretched. “Whatever happens, we’re facing weeks cooped up with a ship full of crooks and fanatics. You don’t think there’s really anything to find in the Gloom, do you?”

  “The lost home of the Sages, filled with technology? More likely dust and ruins. We’ll let this group of misfits play it out, at their expense.”

  “And somewhere along the way, we’ll take care of our other business.”

  “Sure,” he said easily. Then, with a devilish grin, he asked, “So, how’s married life? Is this the honeymoon you always wanted?”

  He was still laughing when I slammed the wheelhouse door behind me.

  As Sparrowhawk settled into the days of easy travel through the star corridors, I scuttled about the ship, spelling Hiram at the helm and Archer in the engine room, producing meals and supplies when needed, and trying to ease tensions among the passengers.

  Rachel fussed with her equipment behind locked doors in the cargo hold. It made me nervous, with the synthreactor’s core cached in the bulkhead, but there was nothing we could do about it.

  Jamila commandeered a console in the salon to study the recent images from the archeological site. Grim sat at another, watching erotic performances and making lewd comments or playing chinko against the computer. Lyden wandered between her stateroom and the salon, Mya at her elbow and always ready to bring a cup of root tea or take notes.

  Balan worked on his book in his cabin or prayed in front of the cargo hold door.

  The general longing for home continued to emanate from the tablet.

  There was little work for the crew to do during the long jumps between outlying gates. The first three jumps each lasted more than a day and the final one was nearly three days. I would never have attempted any of them with the jump cells available to us, but Archer assured me the military cells were able to handle the load.

  Archer. I was acting normal, shifting jump cells, taking my turn in the engine room during his breaks, checking in with him from time to time. He was acting odd, surly one minute, making puppy eyes at me the next.

  When I pushed the handcart with a fresh jump cell into the engine room, the waiting exhausted cell was topped with a handful of pink Prestowipes, wired together into a tiny mop.

  I held the mop out to Archer. “Cleaning the bore?”

  He shifted from foot to foot, making no move to take it. “It’s for you. It’s a rose. I figured, we didn’t have time to get flowers when we were married. I thought you might like something to…”

  He looked at me and stopped, his pale face flushing pinker than the wipes. “Stupid idea. Forget it.”

  Damn. I shoved the new cell into its freezer niche. “A rose. It’s a sweet thought, Archer, but the marriage—it doesn’t change anything, you know.”

  “It must mean something to you.”

  I wondered what to say that wouldn’t hurt his feelings. Hurt them any worse.

  I sat on the exhausted cell, the wipes-and-wire rose in my hand. “It means I trust you. You’re my best friend.”

  “That’s all.” His voice was flat. “I see.”

  “I don’t want that to change,” I said desperately. “If things got awkward between us that would be terrible.”

  Archer nodded slowly. “Yeah, that would be terrible.”

  “Thanks for understanding.” I kissed him on the cheek and hauled out the used jump cell.

  Later, I realized the “rose” was still in my hand. I put it away in my locker.

  Rachel took the Gavorans for their medical exams first, conducting her exams on a table in the cargo hold. Soon, Balan, Lyden and Mya were wearing medical sensors on their wrists and some sort of device behind their left ears.

  When my turn came on the third day of travel, I crept gingerly into the hold. The cavernous space, crammed with crates of supplies, was as familiar to me as my own cabin, but the addition of an examination table and a console with an impressive display of monitors made it seem threatening.

  Home, whispered the voice from the vault.

  Hell, I wanted to go home, too.

  “
Do I have to undress?” I asked. I didn’t want her to see the graft scar on my arm.

  Rachel laughed. “Not at all. Just sit here and let me do a quick physical. I would tell you there’s nothing to worry about, but for some reason that tends to make people more nervous.”

  She took samples of blood and tissue and inserted them into her machines to work on while passing various instruments over my anatomy. I bit my lip, unable to quell my nerves. The bulkhead that hid the synthreactor core was close enough for her to touch.

  She smiled, like a genial shark. “Have you ever talked to a doctor about being a hybrid?”

  “No,” I admitted. “Not since I was young, anyway.”

  After looking at her instrument readings, Rachel put down her tools and sat facing me, eyes at level.

  “My instruments tell me a lot about you,” she said. “You are a healthy twenty-year-old hybrid, offspring of a Terran male and Gavoran female. Do you know nearly all hybrids have a Terran father and Gavoran mother, and not the other way around?” I shook my head. “That has to do with mate selection instincts for the two races. I also know your mother was from a slave clan, and you’ve tried to obscure that fact by removing the brand from your arm.”

  I must have looked alarmed, because she patted my hand. “Don’t be concerned if you’re keeping that a secret,” she said. “As a doctor, I’m under oath not to talk about my patients.”

  I nodded. As if people never broke their oaths.

  “I know that in your early years you mostly ate Gavoran rations, the sort lower castes eat. I expect you suffered a lot of digestive problems because of it.” It was true, I’d had terrible stomachaches during the time I lived with my mother. “That’s a common problem with hybrids, and it’s one reason many hybrid children don’t thrive. You must have been six or seven years old when you came to live with Terrans, and finally had a diet you could digest properly.”

  I nodded, fascinated.

  Rachel lightly touched the top of my head. “I envy your height. That’s a lovely example of hybrid vigor, but you might have been even taller, had you received a more appropriate diet when you were young. Many hybrids also have auditory problems, but your hearing is fine.”