The Dark Reaches (21 page)

“Only a few of them,” Hiso said.

“Only the children,” Iain said, anguished. “What is happening to them at this moment?”

Hiso shrugged with one shoulder. “Freedom has its price, Pilot sen Paolo.”

Iain gripped Hiso by the shoulders, shoved him back against the bulkhead. The smaller man looked up at him, unperturbed.

“You made a deal,” Iain said through clenched teeth. “A deal with those . . . things. Children sold for your safety—” His voice was not under his control. Years of practice, all his father’s training, and he
could not
keep control.

Hiso only smiled pityingly. “We’ve done what’s necessary to save our people. To build, to preserve all that you see in our city. Our own beloved children are safe because—”

“Because you sell deepsider children to be mutilated, to spend their lives encased in those Cold Minds ships,” Iain said. “And you call yourselves human!” His voice tore his throat.

“Those children are asleep,” Hiso said. “They’ll never know what happened to them. They simply won’t wake.”

“That’s a lie,” Iain said. “You know as well as I do that a pilot must be conscious, must be aware. Those children will know what is happening to them. They’ll remember their homes, their parents. They’ll know they will never be free and human again.” He took a shuddering breath. “They take out their eyes, Hiso! They neuter them. You’ve seen, and you can still—”

Hiso twisted out of Iain’s grip, stood with clenched fists facing him across the narrow space. “My people’s survival is the noble cause I am sworn to serve,” he said, his voice hard. “It demands a high price—and men with the courage to pay it. When your forefathers abandoned us here, they left only hard choices, and we made them. I am ashamed of nothing.”

“I won’t be a part of this,” Iain said.

Hiso laughed. “You already are a part of this. You’ve lived in our city, eaten our food, benefited from the safety that this arrangement buys for us, and for you, and for your woman Linnea.
You
are no better than any of us.” He slapped the control of the ship’s lock, and it irised open.

Men’s voices burst in from the docking bay, shouts and excited laughter. One of Hiso’s pilots leaned through the hatch, grinning. “Victory, Pilot Kimura! Our ships are safely in-system, towing the Cold Minds vessel to the study station.”

“Victory!” Hiso gave the man a tight smile. “Come, let’s drink to it, Abrak. Come, Pilot sen Paolo. Settle that mood with a little wine.”

“No, I thank you,” Iain said coldly.

“Pilot sen Paolo is sulky,” Hiso said to the other man, still with the same smile. “But he’ll come around, when he thinks matters through. Let’s go.”

As the hatch closed behind them, Iain shut his eyes and fought rage, nausea, fought to master his breathing.
Children. They are selling children, for their own safety.
After a moment, he took a long, shuddering breath, and with unsteady hands he began the familiar duties of docking and lockdown, tending to Linnea’s ship.

Linnea’s ship, now Hiso’s weapon.

As Iain himself had become.

Three days later, Iain watched as Hiso’s team of medtechs finished the last disconnection and prepared to lift the Cold Minds pilot from the shell where he had spent most of his life. Iain witnessed this by Hiso’s command, with Hiso and the young pilot who was his attendant today. They floated above a wide window of tough plastic. Three meters below was the maimed, hairless pilot—still in his shell, which had been removed whole from the Cold Minds ship on the second day.

Medtechs in protective gear had severed the support connections with the pilot’s shell one by one, replacing each with their own equipment. The tubes had been removed from the pilot’s toothless, distorted mouth, from his flattened nose, all but the one through which he had to be fed. Iain had seen images on the commscreen, but they had not prepared him for what he saw now. Looking down at the pilot, who lay bathed in a bright light that he had no eyes to see, Iain felt both nausea and pity—feelings he saw reflected on the face of the young pilot beside him. Hiso’s face showed only controlled eagerness.

The silver connecting leads had been removed from the pilot’s empty eye sockets, and the small wounds left behind wept a little, like a parody of tears; but otherwise, the smooth, pale skin of the pilot’s face conveyed no expression. Now and then a quick, rippling twitch ran across it.

Hiso nudged Iain. “You’re upset,” he said, eyebrows lifted.

“I still object to this,” Iain said coldly. “He’s a human being. A pilot. Our brother.”

“That thing is no longer human,” Hiso said. “And these studies might save us all.” He studied Iain for a moment, then turned his head dismissively, back to the viewing window. “Living in safety in the Hidden Worlds has weakened human bloodlines, I see. I’m glad my people still have the strength we need.”

The medtechs were lifting the twisted body out of its shell, the wasted limbs trailing through the cold air of the chamber below. The pilot’s blank face twitched again.

Iain’s view danced and shimmered through tears that would not fall. He smeared them out over his cheeks, felt them cool his skin as they dried.
My brother, I am sorry. I could have destroyed your ship, prevented this.

They secured the pilot’s body on a padded stretcher, the limbs tied down, even the head restrained. Below, one of the medtechs looked up at Hiso and nodded, his face expressionless behind the thick visor. “They’re withdrawing the drugs,” Hiso said, his voice tight with suppressed eagerness. “It should be conscious soon. As conscious as it can be.”

Iain made himself look at the pilot. The skin that had been attached to the life-support machinery was wet, pink, raw-looking. As Iain watched, the pilot’s blank face tightened, the forehead wrinkled.
Pain.
The drugs were trickling away, and he was in pain. Iain’s hands clenched in sympathy as the pilot’s hands twitched, fingers stiff, weak muscles straining against the straps that held him. Beside Iain, the young pilot’s hands tightened on his hold, and he started breathing steadily, clearly fighting to control nausea.

The voice of the attending physician—the best on Triton, Hiso had assured Iain—sounded worried. “It’s overreacting. I’m not sure it can handle the physiological stress. I’ll have to drug it again, and I don’t know how long I can sustain its functions under that treatment.”

“You blinded him,” Iain said, his voice rough. As Hiso turned to him in surprise, he coughed and said again, “You blinded him. You took away the only eyes he had. He doesn’t know where he is. Of course he’s afraid.”

“We can’t replace his eyes,” the doctor said sharply from below. “The optic nerves are absent—atrophied or removed. We can’t give him new ones.”

“Give him back the eyes he had,” Iain said. Hiso frowned, but Iain went on. “The leads from the ship. Reconnect them to his brain. Link them to a camera from the ship. If he can see, even a limited view, he won’t be so afraid.”

The doctor looked up at Hiso. “Pilot Kimura,” he said, “that’s several more hours of surgery to reimplant—”

“Do it,” Hiso said. “The longer we can keep this thing alive, the more we can learn.” He turned to Iain. “Thank you for your help.”

Iain fought back nausea. “It’s not you I’m helping.”

“Think of it that way,” Hiso said, “if it comforts you.” He smiled and turned back to watch the preparations for surgery below.

The young pilot on Iain’s other side flipped and shot out of the room. After a moment, hearing the sounds from the passageway outside, Iain turned away from the horror in the room below and followed him. The young man had managed to confine his retching to the refresher unit, and the system was containing it, but he floated limply beside it, looking utterly miserable.

Iain took hold beside him, pulled some absorbent paper from the dispenser by the refresher, and handed it to the young pilot. Not much more than a boy: late teens at the oldest, brown-skinned, with a close-cut cap of black hair. The boy nodded his thanks. “Forgive me. I didn’t think it would—look like that.”

“What did you think it would look like?” Iain kept his voice low, but he knew his anger was clear.
That’s the price of what you’ve built here,
he wanted to say.
Of the city, the happy schoolchildren, the gardens, the concerts, everything you’ve shown me so proudly. That is the price.

“I didn’t expect it to look—human,” the boy said, his voice unsteady.

He understands that this is wrong.
The thought stood clear in Iain’s mind. He said, still speaking quietly, “We don’t do such things, where I live.”

At that the boy lifted his chin and faced Iain. “It’s not my place to question,” he said. “I do my duty. I’m proud to.” He stuffed the soiled paper into a vacuum outlet, wiped his hand on his tunic, and held it out to Iain. “I’m named Gareth, of family Perrin.”

Iain took the hand firmly. “Sen Paolo—Iain. Is Madame Tereu a relative of yours?”

“My father’s cousin,” Gareth said, with a little obvious pride. “Pilot Kimura took notice of my test results after primary school, and here I am.” He closed the cover on the refresher and tugged his clothing straight. “Pilot Kimura says you have a ship like no other. I would—like very much to see it someday.”

“If you can get permission,” Iain said, “I’ll show it to you.”

“Thank you, Pilot,” Gareth said firmly. Then turned back toward the hatch. “I’d better get back in there. Kimura Hiso personally invited me to see this, as my cousin’s representative.”

Then he did you no favors.
“Surely you’ve seen enough,” Iain said. “For now.”

“I’m not weak,” Gareth said evenly. “I can handle this. It was just the, the shock of it.”

“I know,” Iain said. “I was about to throw up myself.” He set his hand on Gareth’s shoulder. “We could take our leave for a while, brother. What’s the use of being a pilot, having your own ship, if you don’t use your freedom?”

He saw the longing for escape in Gareth’s face. The boy glanced back toward the observation room. Then met Iain’s eyes and shook his head. “I can’t. I’m attending the First Pilot.”

“Then I’ll hope to see you at my ship soon,” Iain said. “This evening, perhaps?”

The boy looked doubtful. “Perhaps.” He half bowed and turned away to return to his post.

But Iain lingered where he was, in the shadowy passageway. The vague idea forming in the back of his mind took a clearer shape. Hope. Action.
Perhaps tonight, tomorrow, I can move.

Linnea emerged from the narrow docking tube leading from Esayeh’s little jumpship and looked around in awe. The docking bay formed a ring around the equator of the cylindrical habitat, and across from the docking tubes, wide windows overlooked the interior of the huge space inside. She hung back, nervous at the sheer
distance
visible through the window. She’d never seen so large a volume enclosed and under pressure in zero gee. And this place was to be her home for—how long, Pilang did not seem to know. “There’s work for you there” was all she would say.

A small figure shot out of the tube past Linnea, soared across the docking bay, and swung to a stop at one edge of the window. “Eh, Lin, come and look at this!”

“Mick,” Hana said reprovingly as she floated out of the tube, “city manners. Don’t bump people.” Pilang followed her, laughing.

The girl stuck out her tongue at Hana and turned back to the glass. “Don’t need to tell me all that,” she said. “I was born here in
Hestia
, you know. My mother worked in the power plant, don’t know if she’s still here—”

Linnea launched herself carefully past Hana and Pilang and took a place beside Mick in front of the thick glass, anchoring herself with one hand to another of the handholds that ringed the window. She breathed carefully, trying to keep her perceptions under control. If she let herself think of the view in just the wrong way, it would flick to a different orientation, becoming a pit below her. . . . She pushed the thought away and gripped more tightly. “How big is that space?” Linnea asked. “I can’t tell. I can’t even really
see
it, with the trees and the haze, and the light so bright.”