Rift (36 page)

“One week, I figure.”

Reeve turned to find Marie standing next to him. Her face had finally shed its awful peeling, and a healthy sun- and windburn brought a flush of color to her skin.

“One week?”

“To the Rift Valley. With good winds. Westerlies will
go better with us once we’re headed north up the Gandhi.”

“I suppose.” Reeve gazed out at the cliffs, dented here and there with nooks, crannies, and a few great caves.

“There a problem?” she asked. Marie was the only one among them who seemed impervious to the somber mood brought on by Isis’ death and the dark skies. He attributed her constancy to the wisdom of age. Marie was always Marie, unflappable, steady, and contained.

“
Yes
, there’s a problem.” His annoyance surprised him. “These people have become our friends, Marie. Doesn’t that bother you?”

One eyebrow arched. “
These people
made us captives, slaughter with the ease of leopards, and keep dungeons of scientists. They’d kill us in an instant if we tried to go our own way. Some friends.”

Her tone infuriated him. “Lord of Worlds, Marie! There’s Dante, but then there’s Kalid. And Isis. Didn’t her death bother you? We dragged her out here on this farce of a mission, and she died.”

“She was a dead woman anyway.”

He stared at her. “And what about Kalid?”

“He’s a killer, same as the rest. Charming, I grant you. But charm doesn’t buy much in this world.”

“This world! Exactly. This is their world, Marie. How would we be in their place? Without Station, we’d be exactly like them!”

She sighed in exasperation. “Yes, and without fur, the lion would be a pig! What’s the point, here, Reeve? You want to tell these folks we lied about fixing the dome? Tell them King Gabriel isn’t interested in a gang of barbarians, but thanks for the ride?”

Reeve looked around to see who might be close enough to listen. A nearby jinn noticed their sharp words, but went back hastily to his scrubbing.

“I don’t know,” he said miserably. “I just never betrayed anyone before.”

“Well, you’re young.”

He caught her eye for a moment, then stared out at the damn pink canyon walls.

She continued: “Don’t be asking to bring Kalid along, if that’s what you’re thinking. Take Spar and Loon if you insist, but I draw the line at Dante’s chief thug!”

With the story of Willa Achebe hanging on, the name
deserter
seemed apt indeed. If he wasn’t born a zerter then he would soon become one in earnest. Worse, he would betray a new group of friends in order to betray the remnant of his clave. If a shuttleful of murderers could be considered a clave.

“Marie,” he said at last. “Tell me about my father.”

Her hand covered his on the rail. She looked out, summoning her thoughts. “Cyrus was an idealist. He gave his life over to the dream of Voyaging On, every minute of his waking life, despite the mockery.”

“Why didn’t Bonhert support him, if he really thought terraforming wouldn’t work?”

“I don’t know. Your father had a dogged faith that we could build a starship. I believed that as well, but I had some doubts about finding a home. We never found another decent planet, in all our astronomical surveys. That’s what his enemies ridiculed, and maybe it’s what kept Bonhert from going over to your father’s side. But Cyrus kept on searching to the end.”

“I never much understood all that.” His voice sounded thin and reedy, even to himself. “I just missed him.”

“For some people, Reeve, their work is everything. They don’t have time for other people’s feelings. Try not to hate him.”

“Hate him?” Reeve frowned. “I don’t hate him.”

She patted his hand. “No, of course you don’t.”

A bird lighted on the ship rail nearby. Its wings and
feet were tipped in red, as though it had walked through a pool of blood. After a moment he asked: “Were we selfish, do you think, to keep Station for ourselves?” He knew what she would say. Practical Marie.

“I guess everybody has to decide when it’s right to be selfish and when it isn’t. It’s a dilemma.”

“Like whether to abandon this ship and its crew?”

As the bird took flight and soared skyward, she squinted up at the sun, a faded blossom of light poised above the canyon. “No. This one’s clear as day.”

Reeve lay awake that night thinking about Station, about Cyrus and Marie. The ship rocked at anchor, and the noises of the crew sleeping in the next cabin reminded him of being in his cubicle at home, amid the cozy, tubular corridors and the sounds of a hundred people above you, below you, and on every side. Could it be that just three weeks ago he had suited up and crept out on the Station hull to spy on Lithia? How could everything change so utterly, so fast? It was like a giant fist had crushed through his life, inverting it, leaving everything opposite to what it was.

He closed his eyes again, listening to the creaks and muffled groans of the ship. By now Tina Valejo was dead, just a husk cartwheeling through the dark—face plate glinting now and then from a stray photon of light. It helped that she was dead. It was her being
alive
that had disturbed him.

Finally Reeve cursed and sat up in bed. It was the middle of the night. He thrust his feet into his boots and grabbed an overcoat from the peg on the door.

His door flew open, nearly hitting him. Loon stood there, panting. “The echoes are coming,” she said.

As he stood, frowning in confusion, she repeated, “They are coming.”

Taking the stairs two at a time, he burst onto the
deck, startling the night watch. He spun, looking for something amiss. Nearby, a rock cascaded down the canyon wall.

One of the jinn guards strode to the rail and looked out at the moonless night. A slither of rock and sand sounded from another direction. When Reeve squinted in that direction, he discerned shapes on the rock face, slinking down.

Reeve was at the guard’s side in an instant. “Attack. Alert everyone, quietly!”

“Where?” the jinn said, surly.

He grabbed the man by the collar. “Call your men, silently! Run!” He shoved him backward, and the man raced to the foredeck.

Reeve was down the stairs, banging on doors. “Attack!” he called. Kalid burst into the corridor from his cabin. “Down from the cliffs!” Reeve spat out. “Clavers!”

Kalid raced for the bridge, sending Reeve to rouse Dante. Reeve flew to Spar’s cabin and met him at his door, finding Spar already buckling his sword belt. “Where is Mam?” Spar asked.

“Awake. That direction.” He nodded to the foot of the stairs, then sped off to get Marie. Shaking her awake, he cried, “We’re under attack. Get up!” As she struggled into her clothes, he said, “Any weapons in here?”

“Dante,” she said. “Dante keeps knives.”

Together they ran for Dante’s quarters. His door was already thrown open and Dante was bellowing in rage. He pushed past his guards and Reeve, carrying a sword nearly as big as he was. His attendants cowered near a bulkhead as sounds of fighting erupted on deck. Marie and Reeve found the cache of swords and armed themselves as best they could, then followed a stream of jinn up to the deck.

The fury of the fight met them as soon as they stepped outside. Marie ducked as a man with a head
like a tree bole swiped a sword at them. Reeve was forced back down the stairs, crashing into jinn just coming up. The press of bodies finally brought him back to the head of the stairs, where two attackers thrust their swords at him.

Howls of wounded and dying jinn filled the air. Someone engaged one of the swordsmen from behind, evening the odds for Reeve, who burst through from the hold, followed by a dozen jinn. Many black shapes jostled and danced in the dark. Close by, he caught a glimpse of a demon with one long arm and one short. The creature thrust forward with his long arm, skewering his opponent. The enemy were pouring over the rails, screaming with a mixture of rage and glee.

Reeve was exchanging blows with a woman whose sword flew at him as though under some machine power. He hacked at her, a killing blow—then watched in horror as she sank to the deck, spouting blood.
I killed her
, he thought, and turned to kill again.

He found himself facing Spar. They soon found better targets and battled three invaders back to the rail, with Reeve forgetting everything he’d learned from Kalid, and barely holding his own. Blood flew like spittle through the air, greasing the deck. Dante’s roars made his the only single discernible voice.
Loon
, Reeve kept thinking.
Loon
.

The man with the huge head was backing him toward the aft mast. Reeve’s heart raced at the sight of this apparition with bulges for a cranium. Behind the creature, Reeve saw Kalid fighting like one possessed, roaring orders to his men, who rallied to his side. Kalid glimpsed him and shouted, “No fire, Spaceman! Kill with ice!”

Reeve saw that his opponent was full of fire, rushing him. Reeve dodged as the man lunged past him, tripping but knocking the sword out of Reeve’s hand on the way down. Savagely, Reeve kicked the preposterous head, following it up with a booted toe in the
man’s kidneys. Beyond his fallen opponent, he spied Loon beset by two attackers. Desperate, Reeve wove through the melee to reach her even as they carried her to the rail and muscled her over it. A flash of a small knife riveted his attention as someone lunged at him. Reeve had lost his sword, but managed to slam the attacker against the mast by grabbing his forearm and yanking with his full strength. The man’s head struck the mast with force, and as he dropped his knife, Reeve snatched it from the deck.

Now armed, Reeve rushed to the rail, where Loon had disappeared. Then the world blanked out as, from behind, a cloth was slipped over his head and crushing arms came around him, hoisting him off his feet. He felt himself lifted up and grabbed from below, despite his wildly kicking legs. He landed in a boat next to the ship, where a daunting thud on his back pushed his face painfully into the wooden slats. Working the hood off his face as the boat jostled and rocked, he found himself among several prisoners, anonymous in their hooded state. Amid the slap of oars, he called out for Loon until a claver sat on his back, driving the breath from him.

He heard Spar cursing in the back of the boat, and the cry of someone wounded. At last the oaf on top of him left his perch, and Reeve rolled onto his back. The waters glittered, reflecting fires in many small boats and shedding an infernal light on the battle for the great ship. From the decks, its crew still repelled attackers, casting them into the glowing river and turning to meet the next wave.

But the
Cleopatra
was under way. Its great sails had unfurled and took the wind into them with a smack. What clavers still clung to the ship’s sides were beaten back by a rally from Dante’s jinn. From the crow’s nest someone was shooting flares at the smaller boats, searing the air with crackling arcs. Though he would not
have wished the
Cleopatra
defeat, Reeve was bitter to see it pull away, leaving him behind.

“Reeeeeeve!” He heard his name called in the distance, once, twice. It was Marie. He thought he saw her leaning out over the ship’s rail.

The ship was under way. In the brimstone light, Reeve saw Dante standing at the back of the ship. His booming voice carried plainly: “Farewell! Farewell!” He waved wildly as the ship detached itself from the invaders’ boats. As the great ship sliced through the flotsam of battle, Dante’s jubilant voice came from the middle of the river: “Die bravely, my friends! With style!”

For many minutes afterward, as the dinghy jostled on the waves, he could hear the distant echoes of Marie’s plaintive calls, jumbling his name: “Ree, Ree, eeeeeeeeve!”

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