The Gate to Futures Past (14 page)

We came out of the accommodation into a buzz of activity. Everywhere I looked, people were doing what they could to dress for the occasion. Jewelry glinted, freed from wherever it had been tucked away. The M'hiray who'd arrived in formal wear were trading issa-silk wraps and gem-studded tops for colorful woven scarves or pieces of fine gauze from the Om'ray. Joy was blending us as I'd never expected.

We have to stop this,
I sent to Morgan, my heart sinking.
We can't spare the food. They have to know.
No doubt Barac had told Ruti; this wasn't a secret to keep from one's Chosen. Or great-grandmother. Aryl, having been told, stayed
near,
like an island of calm. The rest?

Calm wasn't the reaction I expected.

On the contrary, this is just what we need.
He took my hand as we walked through the crowds, exchanged smiles and nods.
Buys us time to find answers for them.
Aloud, “I'd say,” with a curious lightness to his voice, “a celebration does us all good right now.”

Those who heard him beamed their agreement.

I didn't. Postponing the inevitable wasn't my way of doing things. Cool-headed assessment, however, was Morgan's.

I resigned myself to patience. My hair, oblivious, rose in a cheerful cloud.

We hung back, waiting as everyone else began to leave the Core for the galley and the naming ceremony. I'd sent to Nik sud Prendolat, requesting she and her Chosen wait as well, as we'd a matter to discuss. If she'd thought it was about Andi—for Ruti had shared the situation with me at Gricel's bedside—she'd known better when I asked for our other two scientists as well.

Pretending to tidy a blanket, I turned my head to see Morgan, who wasn't pretending to shift the contents of his pack. “If it's answers we need, let me try asking the ship.” It had, I thought optimistically, to work eventually.

He didn't look up. “I thought we'd agreed to wait to Dream until tonight, while everyone's asleep.”

Well, yes, but tonight was so far away. “We could do something now.”

“If it is a malfunction,” my Human countered as he clipped the flap closed, “the wrong question could prompt an action we really don't want.”

I grabbed a pillow and sat, wrapping my arms around it to keep myself still. Nothing could settle my hair. “You're right. I'd just like to know why.” With perhaps too much emphasis.

>
Keeper. ‘Why?' is insufficient. Please elaborate.<

I spared a moment to think very unkindly of the
universe—especially one part of it—before admitting in a small voice. “
Sona
heard me.”

Morgan gave me that look.

“I'll have to say something back to it,” I retorted. “It's waiting.”

“I've known Skenkrans with more patience.”

The winged beings had an attention span measured in heartbeats. I lifted the pillow to throw at him.

He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Ask it this, then.” After my nod. “What is the status of our food supply?”

But we knew that—reading his face, I pressed my lips together and repeated the question word for word.

>Adequate nutrition has been provided, Keeper.<

A reply—and nothing, as far as I could tell, had changed around us. I gave a sigh of relief. “It says it's provided ‘adequate nutrition.'” I hugged the pillow again, this time to hold in hope. “Does that mean what I think it does?” That our journey was almost over, that we had “adequate nutrition” until we left the ship at last—

My Human shrugged, refusing to commit himself. “It means we need to talk to our scientists.”

“I expect you to do the talking.” They shared a common language, science and technology, as well as a similarly dim view of authority. Years doing forbidden research in a hidden lab did things to your trust. “You know how they are.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “I've a feeling what they'll have to say this time won't need any translation.”

Josa welcomed us to the portion of the Core I'd come to think of as the laboratory, the grouping of cluttered tables and beds he and his fellow scientists called home. It was well isolated from any others, having gained a reputation for strange smells and the occasional startling noise. Until I got a report of explosions, I wasn't worried.

I sat on a bed, easing between some disassembled equipment and a neatly folded lab coat; treasures, now. “Thanks for this.”

Holl sat on another bed; Leesems, her Chosen, perched on a
table. Their sons were absent; just as well. Josa joined Nik on their bed, faces solemn.

Because Morgan was present.

My Human squatted, as comfortable on his heels as sitting. Not by accident. It put him where all of us could see him and, more importantly in my opinion, he could do the same.

“We need you to run some numbers,” Morgan began without preamble. “Quick and quiet.”

Eyes gleamed with interest. Hands reached for devices; others for noteplas. When they were settled, Nik nodded. “Go on.”

“Two scenarios, based on the food packets in the galley. You did an inventory?”

“Of course.” The four exchanged glances.

“Give us your scenarios,” Leesems said, looking back at my Human. “We're ready.”

Morgan almost smiled. “Good. The first: time remaining if we ration to keep as many alive as possible, as long as possible. The second: time with normal meals.”

Holl set her noteplas aside. “This isn't hypothetical.”

“No. We have what
Sona
dumped this morning. That's it.”

Brutal, maybe, but facts, I reminded myself, were what these four preferred. “I tried a 'port,” I said, ignoring Morgan's frown. What he hadn't known, he couldn't stop. “The locate didn't work. The food room is gone.”

“Barac's checked the lift,” added my Chosen. “It no longer recognizes that level.”

“The ship.” Leesems leaned forward. “But why? Removing unnecessary space makes sense, but this?” He looked at me.

I looked at Morgan.

“Something we plan to ask.” He kept their focus, studying their faces; I saw the moment he came to some conclusion of his own. “We've very little time. By breakfast tomorrow, everyone on board will know our food supply is finite. It could be sooner.”

“Understood.” Holl drew her noteplas back on her lap, but didn't consult it. “Second scenario, maintaining normal rate of consumption, gives us one and a half shipdays of food.”

There were packets stacked ceiling-high in the galley—

As if she heard my protest, she continued, “That's a total of three meals, for one hundred and seventy-nine of us. The ship's been meticulous in its math. I've assumed we'll use the compromised packets as tonight's meal, at the party, rather than any intact ones.”

“Just as well,” Leesems pointed out. “If we'd thrown them down the waste chute, we'd be in worse shape.”

Assuming the “stew” was edible, I told myself. Then again, if it wasn't, we'd still need to eat it.

I'd just have to explain why.

“To continue.” Holl's fingers brushed the back of Nik's hand.

The other scientist rapidly entered something into the device she held, then went still. “First scenario—rationing as best we can—” Nik faltered and Morgan reached out, put his hand on her knee. She stared down at him. “Being Human, you'd outlive us, except—” Her eyes went to me.

This kept getting better, I thought, waving her past the obvious.

“Seven shipdays before we run out. Two after that, we start to die.”

Josa leaned forward. “You've assumed the ship doesn't turn off the water.”

“Correct,” Holl nodded. “And there's another factor beyond our control. We don't know how the packets were stored by the ship. If we ration those we have, some could spoil before we eat them.”

Lovely.

“Thank you. I ask you keep this to yourselves as long as possible.” Morgan stood, a signal bringing us all to our feet.

“That's it?” Leesems demanded, his eyes fierce.

“It can't be. What are we going to do?” Josa took Nik's hands in both of his, but her voice continued to tremble. “What do we tell— How do we—”

Holl shook her head. “That's not up to us.” She raised her eyes to mine. “Is it.”

“We have questions for the ship,” Morgan reminded them. Nothing but calm in his tone, nothing but confidence in his bearing. “It's kept us fed this long. For all we know there's another area with supplies. Give us time to find out what's really happening.”

An exchange of somber glances. They knew, likely better than I, how slim a hope this was, but Leesems gave a slow nod. “Agreed.”

Somber on the outside; inside, their
despair
was a weight on my heart.
We have to tell them about the landing,
I sent in desperation.
We have to give them some hope, or everyone will feel this.

And if I'm wrong?
If I'd thought their emotions a burden, it was nothing to the appalling
dread
Morgan allowed me to feel.
If that hope's a lie?

Peace, Morgan.
From Aryl.
Sira.

Guessing what she wanted, I held my hand, palm up, in the center of our group of six. One by one, they put their hands on mine, shields down.

Morgan last, his eyes still troubled.

Through that link poured Aryl, strong and vibrant; she might have stood with us.

Courage, heart-kin!
Her mindvoice swept us along like the beat of a drum.
Put aside your fear. Put your trust in each other.
With a swell of
pride. We will survive this as we have survived all else, one day at a time, and together.

For alone, we
fall.

Y
OU'RE SURE THIS IS A GOOD IDEA?

Sira insisted.
With Morgan's devious mind behind it, Barac thought as he surveyed the galley. Distraction. Delay. It seemed to be working. Om'ray mingled with M'hiray, voices rising and falling with the buzz of cheerful conversation; the occasional laugh rang out.

The di Eathems were the center of attention, their as-yet-unnamed daughter asleep in her mother's arms.

The only ones missing at the moment were his cousin, the Human, and the four M'hiray who might have answers.

He could use the distraction himself. Landing? Not his favorite aspect of space travel, plummeting down through an atmosphere, though it beat the alternatives.
Our job's to enjoy ourselves. Without
leaking
anything we shouldn't.

Speak for yourself.
Other than her sending, Ruti was virtually invisible to his inner sense.

Barac gave her a quick hug. “Speaking for myself,” he said with a smile, “I'm impressed with what you've done to the place, and so quickly.” The former Council Chamber, witness to the first mention of every name for its Clan, had been transformed.

She hugged him back. “Not alone.”

Oluk and his helpers had managed to create a naming cake—a colorful concoction layering every variety of sweet found in the
packets—along with their promised “stew,” warmed by the addition of heated water. The aroma filled the air, surprisingly appetizing; it could have been they'd gone too long without smelling cooking at all, but the cooks themselves had tasted the result and appeared pleased.

While this was going on, Ruti, along with the parents of the youngest children and those among the small ones able to sit still, had made decorations. Gauze strips tied into surprisingly lovely bows hung at the ends of benches, held in place by, yes, those were the fabric bags used by the children in their games. Emptied food packets had been sliced into strips, twisted, then tied along threads. The ceiling being out of reach, the threads were supported above the tables by columns of intact packets at each end.

The strips danced with the slightest bit of air, reflecting sparks of light.

“I told the others about our balloons,” Ruti said wistfully. “Only Risa knew what I meant—she said her foster sister could make them into animals. They were doing that together for Noson, before—” Her eyes filled with tears; she dashed them away impatiently with the back of her hand. “We could use some balloons.”

“I remember ours,” Barac answered, thinking of the round, floating balls of color, several proclaiming “Happy Anniversary.” Morgan had bought the silly things for their baby shower at the
Claws & Jaws.

Like Risa, he thought. Balloons to mark their last moment of peace and happiness.

A lifetime ago.

No so,
his Chosen sent firmly, drawing him close to the new, growing
awareness
within her.
Our daughter-to-be's started to laugh, Beloved. It won't be much longer before we
hear
her first words. On a new world!

His ever-practical Ruti knew the odds, knew their chances may have gone from slim to nonexistent, yet kept hope alive. More, she offered it to him.

Barac kissed the top of her head.
You're braver than I am.

Her small hand found his, laced fingers between his, squeezed with improbable strength.
It's all right. I'll hope for all of us.