Inherit the Stars (22 page)

The memory merged with her having piloted
Terredyn Narbas
over Tejuit by thought alone.

“Rhyer showed you how to link your brain with your ship's navigational system?” Navon asked. “Uncanny.”

The pain in her temples crept into her forehead. Kivita concentrated harder, slowing the data flow in her mind.
Different starship designs to hold more cargo and use less energy, farming techniques to revitalize soil with natural bacteria and fertilizer, rather than coarse chemicals or slash-and-burn tactics. Medication to relieve Bellerion bog diseases or Haldon winter flu.

The Juxj Star offered many such beneficial technologies, but why nothing on weaponry or warfare? It made the dogma of the Vim imprisoning humanity in the Arm for past sins ludicrous. Now she understood why the Inheritors considered the Vim superior beings, even gods; there seemed to be no limit to their scientific marvels. There had to be a reason, beyond mere posterity, why the Vim would have left the datacores behind.

What did the Vim gain by doing all this when they were gone?

Instincts told her the far-flung coordinates she'd gleaned, the origins of colony ships, even the Aldaakian homeworld of Khaasis, all resided in other Vim Cradles. The Sarrhdtuu had either destroyed or conquered some of them. What their designs might be for her and the Cetturo Arm chilled Kivita's skin.

Navon grunted and shuddered, but Kivita increased her focus. Icy daggers cut into her brain, so cold they burned. Her mouth opened, loosing a silent cry.

Genetic coding for different human classifications entered her thoughts. Bulked soldiers, reed-thin pilots, fine-boned individuals adapted for low-G. Ones who could adapt to cold and gravity fluctuations: Aldaakians. Bulky individuals with increased metabolic rates and environmental tolerances: Ascali. Kith genes, and their use of hydrogen as food, then Sarrhdtuu code indices to integrate with their ships.

Navon shivered, and she grabbed his hand before he fell backward. Her other hand still remained on the Juxj Star.

Her breath caught at a memory of Sar meeting Navon on Bellerion. He looked a little younger: his eyes brighter, his smile easier. Kivita didn't want to intrude on Navon's life, but information flowed into her like water through a sieve.

One image stood out from the Juxj Star, though, and Kivita absorbed it over all others.

The viewer holding a hazel-eyed baby girl before a seashore fortress—Susuron Palace.

A frigid hammer blow smashed into her mind. Everything went dark and numb.

Kivita rolled over on her side, gasping. Sweat drenched her clothes, hair, and face, while chills ran along her body. Her tongue sought moisture in a bone-dry mouth. A humming in her ears matched the cold throb in her temples.

The Juxj Star remained on the mat, its divulgence still tickling her mind.

Navon lifted her to her feet, still shaking himself.
“You kept absorbing the data from the Juxj Star. I could not endure any more, yet you went on . . .” A few new wrinkles lined his face.

“I saw her. I saw her holding me. But how? If she was the Savant, then who recorded the data and how?” Kivita asked.

“Somehow the Savants of old were able to record their experiences, their thoughts, their knowledge in the datacores. How, I do not know.” Navon sat on a couch and massaged his temples. “It also seems Terredyn could send her thoughts to datacores far away, which recorded them. Like that stone one, or the Juxj Star. Like you did within that crystal tower on Vstrunn.”

“How'd I see your thoughts, then? Those memories of Sar.”

“As I said, the human brain is the biological version of a datacore, Kivita. What else did you see? The images confused me once I glimpsed the different kinds of humans.”

Kivita described the Ascali, Kith, Aldaakian, and Sarrhdtuu data. Navon listened with intense focus, not even blinking.

“I think there's more, too.” She wiped her forehead. “Don't think I'll be trying to get it for a while, though. I feel as if I've just finished a high-G training session.”

Navon rose. “We must eat and rest for a few hours. I would like you to use the Juxj Star again, as well as take on my personal data.” He smiled at her frown. “It is not intruding. I think of it as sharing. I have nothing to hide.”

Kivita's cheeks burned as she realized he might have looked into her past. “Well? What's the verdict on me, then?”

“I have been honing my mind for years, Kivita
Vondir. You took on more data in your first true session of absorption than Savants handle their entire lives. Legends said Queen Terredyn struck fear into the Inheritors with her amazing abilities to absorb and redistribute knowledge. You are her daughter in every way.”

Kivita said nothing. As the truth sank in, everything she'd ever thought about herself changed. No wonder her father hadn't taken her along on his salvaging runs. What had he really been up to? And what about her own wanderlust? Maybe she'd been salvaging all along to discover these secrets, without realizing it.

Navon gently squeezed her shoulder. “The man whom you knew as your father reared a baby princess. I see a ripe queen before me now. Maybe you will become a mature empress—not of worlds and servants, but of wisdom.”

She faced him. “Where is this ship going? Jandeel said you'd tell me.”

“As soon as you boarded
Luccan's Wish
and we knew you were the one who sent that signal, we agreed it was time to investigate the signals' coordinates. Our enemies may already have.”

“How far is it?” Kivita asked in a whisper.

“Six and a half light years. A little over two for
Luccan's Wish
. All aboard enter cryostasis in four month shifts, so you will have plenty of opportunities to hone your Savant skills.”

She turned from Navon and fought the tremor in her heart. The more she learned about herself, the further Kivita traveled from Sar and the life she'd wanted.

Harsh light stung Sar's eyes, and then pseudoadrine splashed into his mouth, invigorating him to a fully awakened state. He raised his hands and coughed. No polyvambraces covered his arms. Sar glanced down. No polycuirass, no polygreaves. Just his gray bodyglove and boots. Both kinetic pistols had been taken.

The light flared in his vision again, and he moved his head.

“So this is what the great Sar Redryll has become? Frozen on a derelict trawler that wasn't even his own ship, floating in an uncharted asteroid field? How pathetic.”

Recognizing the voice, he moved his head again. The light lessened in intensity. His eyes opened.

Sar stood in Kivita's cryopod, which had been placed upright against a wall covered in quartz mosaics. Bright lamps shone from the ceiling, encased in Susuron coral enclosures. The light glittered off the sandstone floor as if he gazed at a night sky filled with stars. Gold-thread drapes hung on either side of a quartz throne in a round chamber.

Several figures moved before him as his vision focused.

“Shit,” Sar muttered. In the depths of his heart, he'd known it would come to this.

Dunaar Thev walked toward him, dressed in a scintillating outer robe, clasping a stone staff. “Not to mention irreverent. Guard, show him what such a foul tongue earns him.”

A soldier in a red jumpsuit slammed a baton into Sar's stomach. Sar heaved and doubled over. The soldier struck him again over the head. Though blood blinded Sar's left eye, he raised his hand in feeble defense as the baton rose again.

“That is sufficient,” Dunaar said. “Shall we continue? Ah yes, that's better. Tell me, Sar, how many Thede agents do you think my loyal soldiers have killed in the past year in Inheritor space?”

Sar gripped the cryopod's sides and staggered onto the sandstone floor. Two soldiers with batons moved forward, but Dunaar waved them off. Behind the Rector, Shekelor Thal smirked at Sar. The pirate warlord wore different green carapace armor, and three new coils writhed from his left wrist.

“Not as many as will rise up and take their place.” Gut throbbing, Sar forced down vomit and wiped blood from his eye. “Been expecting this a long time, Dunaar.”

Dunaar laughed with good humor. “Yes, you should have. All traitors know what their eventual end will be. Like those on Sutara, recently liberated by my soldiers. Two hundred thousand dead. Such a waste.”

Loss tore at Sar's heart, and his jaw clenched. He'd trained some of the Thedes on Sutara, smuggled weapons to them, given medicine to their children.

“You were a renowned pilot and salvager, famed throughout the Cetturo Arm. Who knows what path a
man of your talents could have taken, even mastered? I could have placed you in command of this very ship.” Dunaar sighed.

“What the hell do you want? I was busy.” Sar glared at him.

Dunaar frowned and motioned a soldier forward.

The soldier came at Sar with the baton again. Sar waited until the last moment, then ducked and grabbed the soldier's collar. Using the man's momentum, Sar flung him to the floor and grabbed the baton.

Two more soldiers charged him, but Sar whipped the baton across the first man's jaw. Blood and teeth flew, and the soldier collapsed. The second struck Sar's left shoulder and elbowed Sar's right side. Sar rammed his palm into the man's left temple and knocked him to the floor, baton snapping the man's neck. Swinging around, Sar lunged at Dunaar.

Two coils slammed into Sar's side while another one yanked the baton from his hand. Sar collapsed to the floor, coughing. Shekelor stood over him.

More soldiers rushed forward, but Dunaar held up a hand.

“I appreciate this, Sar. Really, I do. I have long wanted you to kneel before the headsman's block since I discovered your true allegiances. Thanks to your former associate here, of course. But as much as I enjoy watching you suffer, we are wasting time.”

Dunaar motioned to Shekelor, who dragged Sar to the center of the room, into a round mosaic. It depicted an Inheritor prophet touching a mysterious hand coming from a cloud. Blood dribbled from Sar's left temple and busted lip onto the prophet's quartz face.

“Where is Kivita Vondir? You were on her ship. You
were even in her cryopod, Sar. So where could she be? On your ship,
Frevyx
? Or hidden away somewhere in the Tejuit system? I doubt she is in the asteroid field where Shekelor recovered you.” Dunaar sat on the quartz throne.

Nothing would leave his lips. These bastards could peel off his skin and he still wouldn't tell them.

Shekelor nudged Sar with his boot. “It is rather rude of you not to answer the Rector, Redryll.”

Sar locked stares with Dunaar and spat on the mosaic beneath him. Shekelor wrapped a coil around Sar's throat, but Dunaar grunted.

“No, he will talk. It is still too early. I doubt you could wrangle her location from him with a simple beating.” Dunaar pressed a button on his throne's armrest and a four-foot cylinder extended from the ceiling. A light flickered on the tip and shone down on the floor before Sar.

The hologram of a Sarrhdtuu with two eyes and a dozen coils appeared.

“This is not Kivita Vondir, Prophet of Meh Sat,” the Sarrhdtuu said in a squishy, mucus-choked voice.

Dunaar wiped sweat from his brow. “Sar and his Thede allies have tried to trick us, Zhhl. I assure you it won't work.”

Sar rubbed his throat after Shekelor removed his coil from around it. “You'll never find them. Search the cosmos; raze a thousand worlds if you like. You still won't find them.”

“You Thedes think you are so clever, with a null beacon on that old ship,” Dunaar said. “You cannot hide from the righteous.”

Sar's heart jumped. Only Thedes knew about the special beacon on
Luccan's Wish
.

“Zhhl, we are now en route to find Kivita and the Thedes,” Dunaar said. “
Frevyx
's transmitting beacon was more than sufficient to give us the trajectory. Though I was surprised when your friends decided to investigate the signal sent from Vstrunn, Sar.”

“This is acceptable. Kivita Vondir must be recovered. Sarrhdtuu ships have been deployed, Prophet of Meh Sat.” Zhhl's hologram flickered over Sar like a god from a dark abyss, then disappeared.

Sar glowered. “You're lying about my ship's beacon, just trying to get me to tell—”

“I think it is time you met someone.” Dunaar nodded at one of the soldiers, and the man left the chamber.

“The Sarrhdtuu are just using you,” Sar said. “Just like they used you for that mission to Xeh's Crown.”

“I think this will reveal who is using whom,” Dunaar said as the soldier returned. Two Proselytes in copper-meld cuirasses and black masks flanked an Ascali female. She wore a translucent gown and full-face veil. Her dark mane, brown fur, and russet eyes made Sar frown.

“Zhara, your veil, please?” Dunaar rose from the throne.

The Ascali removed the veil, revealing a beautiful face with sharp cheekbones and full lips. The same face Sar had tried to replace Kivita with.

“Cheseia?” His skin numbed. A sharp pain stabbed his heart. “Cheseia!”

A Proselyte jabbed a nerve above Sar's collarbone with a finger. Sar cried out and fell to his knees.

“Not quite. My lovely double agent is aboard
Luccan's Wish
even now. Amazing what one will do, when one's twin sister is involved. When my spies discovered two female Ascali had departed Sygma with a merchant
suspected of being a Thede sympathizer, I acted. Cheseia has taken long enough, but as you can see, patience brings fruition.” Dunaar smiled.

“I am truly, deeply sorry,” Zhara whispered, her delicate voice an octave higher than Cheseia's. Sorrow radiated from her gaze.

Dunaar whacked the back of Zhara's legs with his staff. She grunted and her lithe body struck the floor.

“You see, Sar? This one is strong like her sister. I hope you enjoyed Cheseia. Rutting in space like two beasts.” Dunaar leered, sweat dribbling down his chin.

All his moments with Cheseia fell into doubt. Their relationship, her jealousy of Kivita, her incessant requests to meet with Navon and the Thede leadership. Always reminding Sar he possessed coordinates to their location.

Remembering how he'd handed Kivita over to her in those last moments over Tejuit.

Primal hate broiled in his heart. Sar punched the Proselyte in the face, but the man struck Sar three times in the chest. He teetered forward and grabbed the Proselyte's leg. As the man swung down, Sar rolled and kicked the Proselyte over, then rose and balled his fists.

Coils encircled his throat again.

Shekelor shoved him up against the wall. “Naxans and Aldaakians shall not save you from me this time.” His breath stank of the mildew Sar had once smelled aboard a Sarrhdtuu ship.

“You're mad,” Sar breathed. “This is the future you wanted for Byelor? You'll be next.”

“Play the patriotic fool to the end if you wish. I know how to survive.” He rammed an elbow into Sar's back. “That is for one of my ships shot down over Tejuit.”

“You're their slave! Their tool!” Sar pulled at the coils with all his strength. Sleek like wet leather yet hard as steel, they didn't budge.

“This is for losing Umiracan.” Shekelor backhanded Sar. Blood flew from Sar's busted lips.

Dunaar walked over, staff in both hands. “That is sufficient, Shekelor Thal.”

“Zhhl told me I would be allowed to have him. Redryll owes me restitution, shall we say?” Shekelor's coils wrapped around Sar's arms.

Dunaar regarded the pirate warlord as one would a slug. “Leave us. When I am finished with him, you shall have what remains.”

“And her?” Shekelor nodded at Zhara. “We had an agreement.”

“Yes, as well as the Ascali,” Dunaar said. “Her usefulness is at an end.”

The coils dumped Sar onto the floor. “I shall hold you to that agreement . . . Rector.” Shekelor kicked Sar's thigh and left the chamber.

“Such polite, fancy talk between you two. Doesn't change the fact you're both assholes.” Sar smirked.

Eyes narrowed to dangerous slits, Dunaar approached Sar. “Bring them.”

The two Proselytes hauled Sar to his feet and escorted him behind the Rector. Two others followed with Zhara. The group entered a wide corridor spaced with open doorways and hatches. Colored glass mosaics decorated the walls, and every ten feet a soldier stood at attention. Sar walked on his own, though the Proselytes held his arms above the elbow. A plush red carpet silenced his boot steps. He smelled the scent of clean-scrubbed air mixed with lotus oil fragrance. Gold-chased
sconces and painted Susuron shells hung near every door.

“Grown fat in more ways than one, Dunaar,” Sar said. “Too bad the Sarrhdtuu will take it all from you.”

Dunaar snapped his fingers, and a Proselyte shoved a pacifier gag into Sar's mouth. The rubber nipple filled his mouth and touched the rim of his throat. Sar steeled himself against the urge to retch.

They led him past a hall where cryopods contained hundreds of Inheritor soldiers. Another chamber housed a dozen gorgeous serving girls in cryostasis. Sar had heard of
Arcuri's Glory
, the flagship of the Rector, but never realized so much was wasted for one man. Each gold-trimmed piece of decor reminded him of the Freen workers who'd died producing it.

The group entered a narrow corridor branching off from the main hall. Soldiers in full polysuits guarded a barred and locked doorway. Dunaar drew the bar aside and keyed in the lock sequence. The door opened from the inside.

Three chairs fitted with flexi restraints and rusted iron clamps waited in a room lit by a single lamp. Six small cells held four men and two women. All wore evergreen bodygloves and had malnourished visages.

“Kivita sends,” one woman with large green eyes said. She gazed at Sar as if she knew him.

The Proselytes strapped Sar into the middle chair and removed the gag, while Dunaar sat on a stool opposite Sar. Zhara waited near the door, the two soldiers holding her. One of the imprisoned men whimpered.

“You think I am a cruel man, Sar. I did not harm Zhara to make Cheseia obey my commands. On the contrary, she willingly revealed your Thede allegiance
upon hearing Zhara had joined my serving staff.” Dunaar examined his fingernails.

“Get this over with. You know everything you want to know.” Sar braced himself. Proselytes were known torture specialists, zealous and nonempathic.

“Yet you want to take away from everyone else. Do you feel no shame?” Perspiration coursed down Dunaar's nose. “What gives you the right to make decisions for millions of others? Who asked you to rescue them from the light and offer them darkness?”

“Kivita sends . . . Rector, Rector? Hmm.” The green-eyed woman rocked back and forth in her cell, moaning. One Proselyte kicked the bars of her cell, and she quieted.

“You are the darkness,” Sar said.

Dunaar glared. “Time is running out, do you not see? We shall all starve and freeze on cold worlds unless we heed the Vim's holy call. Everything I do is for everyone's salvation. Even yours. And how do you reward this generosity?”

A Proselyte pinched Zhara's neck. She shrieked and her body spasmed, but the soldiers forced her to remain standing.

“By trying to destroy everything I, and generations of Rectors, have striven to build.”

The Proselyte jerked Zhara's head back by the hair and pressed a thumb into her temples. The Ascali grunted, gasped, then squalled in agony.

Sar wanted to kill them all. Cut up every last one of the bastards. Fists clenched, legs tensed, Sar remained silent. Everything would be in vain if he crumbled. All his life, all his struggles, had brought him to this moment. He would not fail Kivita.

“See? You do not care for others. One word from you, one piece of information, and this lovely creature would be free of pain.” Dunaar rose from the chair and swung the staff with both hands into Zhara's gut. She wheezed and went limp in the guard's arms, but her eyes dared Sar to speak.