Читать книгу Sing Down The Stars - Nerine Dorman - Страница 12

5

“I agree to that,” had tumbled out of Nuri’s mouth before she could properly think about the potential fallout from her decision. Citizenship either way – no more Vadith sending her out on dangerous quests. She’d be a Citizen. Free.

Only later, while Fadhil and Alda were discussing the details of the contract, to which she only listened with half an ear, did Nuri fully begin to realise the depth of her situation.

Fadhil might be all smiles and niceties, but she’d played right into his hand. If she didn’t become an avatar, why would he bother to formally adopt her?

Vadith had taken an object of value from the man, and now Fadhil had struck back. And she’d handed herself over on a platter. She may as well have tied a bow around her neck and signed a greeting card while she was at it.

What about loyalty to her pack? The very loyalty that had kept her alive since Vadith had picked her up out of a literal garbage heap? And he’d seen to her growing up, that she’d had enough to eat and clothes to wear. Even if he had treated her as a prized pet capable of performing fantastic tricks.

Nuri’s simmering resentment surprised her, especially now she could so easily turn her back on her old life. Her loyalty to Vadith might earn her praise at first, but she’d still be a runner, risking her life and what freedom she had on his dangerous missions. There were no old runners in the pack, and now that she was nearly thirteen, Nuri was already heading towards whatever constituted an early “retirement”. The more she pushed herself, the more she embarked on hair-raising missions, the higher the chance she wouldn’t return one day.

They all knew this. She ran out of fingers when she counted pack members who’d either been caught and shipped off, or had fallen and splattered themselves. Theirs was not an easy life, even if it was the only life she knew.

Also, Fadhil might be taking care of her to spite Vadith, and without a doubt he must have ulterior motives in promising her a place in his household, as if she were his own daughter no less. Still, that was a better bet than the barrens. Even if her defection made her a spineless traitor who would be shunned or hunted should she ever return to her previous haunts. The pastries she’d eaten, though at first sweet and delicious, now became stones in her belly.

Yet Nuri couldn’t help but remember the girl in the photo screens in Fadhil’s study, and wonder.

The meeting lasted another hour or so, and Nuri was told most of what she’d go through – literacy, diplomacy, etiquette, basic combat skills. All foreign concepts to her, but she agreed. Right now, she’d agree to anything if it meant she had a chance to change her life.

Imagine that …

What must it be like to be bonded to a gigantic, living, space-faring entity?

None of it felt entirely real. Also, as Alda repeated several times during the discussion, nothing was guaranteed. She told Nuri about the star-jumper nymph on another planet half a galaxy away that had called not one but seven, and yet it had been one of the uncalled, a young Heran cleaner working in the facility, who’d ended up bonding during the emergence. In other words, Nuri should not let this incredible privilege go to her head.

Most importantly, she must not talk about her origins. They concocted a story for her, that she was the daughter of a Merchanter in service to Fadhil, and he’d taken her in as a favour to her parents, who even now were trading in a distant quadrant of the galaxy. Under no circumstances must she let on that she was an erstwhile barrens-dweller. The media would be all over it, and more status-proud patrons would pull their funding, along with their Chosen. Nuri wasn’t sure how she felt about this, but she agreed that it was for the best. Imagine the scions of some Elder family finding out that they were rubbing shoulders with scum. With space trash, as some would say. Ugh.

It was mid-afternoon when the meeting was over. Fadhil first shook Alda’s hand, then clasped Nuri’s.

“Whatever happens, you will do well. You will make me proud.”

“You are not my father,” Nuri said, withdrawing her hands from the man’s grasp while maintaining eye contact.

“I am aware of that fact, dear girl.” His smile told her that he wasn’t at all bothered by her attitude. To Alda, he said, “I bid you a good day, Facilitator.”

Alda inclined her head. “We will be in touch.”

“I look forward to it.” With that, he departed.

“Ah, Raphel, right on time,” Alda said as a grey-uniformed man entered in Fadhil’s wake.

Raphel wasn’t much taller than Nuri, but she estimated him to be in his mid-twenties or thereabouts with blue-black skin and close-cropped dark hair. What he lacked in height, he made up with energy. A smile transformed his angular features.

“And you must be our newest recruit.” It was not a question, and he had a way of looking right into her that made Nuri fix her gaze on the toes of her too-white sneakers.

“Yes,” Nuri mumbled.

The man’s honest regard of her was … It just felt weird not having everyone look at her as if she was less than the dirt underfoot.

“Raphel will settle you in. There’s quite a bit that needs to be done before you can get started,” Alda said. It was a clear dismissal, because the woman had fitted a slim set of lenses to her face, and was starting to scroll.

“C’mon then, luv,” said Raphel, gesturing to the door. “Let’s get the routine out of the way. I promise you it’s only a momentary inconvenience compared to what awaits you.”

While they traversed the passages and then crossed the grounds to another of the low-lying prefab buildings, Raphel kept up a constant stream of chatter about the facility. From what Nuri learnt in the ten or so minutes it took them to arrive at the clinic, this was a boot camp of sorts. Not all the Chosen would be selected to stand for the emergence. Only the best would have that honour, once they passed two winnowings. After all, the avatar of a star-jumper would have to be part-captain, part-diplomat and deal with whatever else the galaxy could throw at them, be it outsmarting pirates or negotiating a trade route through contested space.

Nuri grew dizzy trying to imagine all these scenarios. Who was she, a runner and thief, to even consider that she might cope? They passed recruits who were training, and they all looked so fit, well-muscled and … efficient. Next to them, she was a scrawny, pale and undersized thing, barely past her twelfth or thirteenth year, if Vadith’s pronouncement about her age was true. Even he wasn’t entirely sure.

“Here we are,” Raphel said as the door slid open and they were admitted to the clinic.

She was made to sit on a chair that reclined so far back she ended up staring at the ceiling, while technicians came in and fussed over her. They stuck needles into her to draw blood and tissue samples. Scanning devices whirred and hummed as the AI assessed whatever it needed to. Nuri didn’t ask. She scrunched her eyes shut during the worst of it, and tried to ignore the muttering of the technicians as they came back for a second and then a third round of tissue samples.

“What’s up?” Nuri eventually asked Raphel, who’d sat next to Nuri the entire time.

“It’s your DNA makeup, luv,” Raphel whispered. “They really haven’t seen anything quite like you.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“It means you’re special.” He actually winked at her.

Try as she might, Nuri couldn’t see what was funny about it, and she was entirely too glad when this part of the routine was done.

There it was – she was space trash. The technicians knew it, didn’t have to elaborate. Only half human and not quite enough of anything else. She could have looked in the mirror and told everyone that without having had all the tests done. There were dozens if not hundreds of humanoid races out in the galaxy, and it was hardly a surprise that another had popped out of a backwater solar system. Nuri had heard enough about how different races were often patrons for others, and how a sort of great-great-great-grandparent race had started it all – the fabled Progenitors, which no one had ever found. But it was all science and history stuff, and she’d never had a chance to learn about it properly. Maybe now she’d be able to … That would be awesome.

Nuri was sent to yet another room where a Heran woman dressed all in white injected her with a bunch of stuff.

“Never been vaccinated!” the technician exclaimed. “How you haven’t contracted half the bloody plagues out there, I don’t know!”

Nuri tried to explain that she never really got sick, but Raphel whisked her off to another room where an ancient human male shaved her hair to the scalp. She had to give up all her jewellery as well – every earring, nose ring, lip ring and even her belly-button ring.

When she protested, Raphel demonstrated what might happen if someone accidentally punched her in the face. Besides, he reminded her, after the emergence she was welcome to put all the jewellery back in. But he couldn’t tell her when the nymph would emerge. It could be tomorrow, two weeks from now, or even in six months. The only reason they knew it would be soon was that there were four star-jumpers currently in orbit, and communication was passing between the nymph and the vessels.

Then it was time for her implant.

Now this made her nervous.

The one mark of a Citizen was a legal implant, which meant she could use AR and access the Net without relying on an external device. She’d be recognised on the system and have an identity beyond the numbers and facial recognition that logged everyone else, and generally only when they’d committed a misdemeanour. The event should have been marked with more fanfare, but instead she was made to sit on an examining bed while the J’Veth female quickly sterilised the area behind Nuri’s right ear.

“Count to three,” the female said.

“One – ouch!”

The pain was brief before the area went cold and numb as the woman sprayed it with a topical analgesic. Her tentacles were feather light on Nuri’s skin while she was busy.

“There, it’s done. Now let’s see if it works. If this is your first time, close your eyes.”

Nuri did as she was told, and she felt … funny … for lack of better description. Like someone was opening their hand inside her head.

“Now, you’re going to need to get into this slowly, so I suggest you stay in your dorm room for a while, and only handle the apps and functions you need for your training. Besides, there is no full Net access here.”

The technician fiddled behind Nuri’s ear, which felt as if it had gone right into her skull, and there was a snick.

“Now, open your eyes.”

The room was there, as Nuri had expected, except there was a bar with buttons and scrolling text when she concentrated on a particular button. It was almost as if she was trawling the Net with a VR screen, except her home screen was superimposed over the real world. When she closed her eyes, it was as if the AR screen became the same as she’d expect with VR. Not that she’d done much VR. The other runners were always hogging the few sets they had at the Den.

The technician showed her the library access (not set up yet) and her document-editing apps, but then Nuri started sweating, and her stomach turned over on itself, so the woman showed her how to turn off the implant.

“Give it time to settle. Some folks do have a bit of AR sickness at first. Little bits every day. Stick with audio only at first if that’s better.”

Nuri nodded, swallowing down her nausea, then listened to all the instructions about how to care for a new implant, and what she must and must not do for the first two weeks, and what signs she should be aware of if her body was rejecting the device.

Raphel rose and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Done then?”

The technician said, “No hitches, just a little AR sickness, but I’m sure she’ll be just fine.”

Concern crinkled Raphel’s brow. “I’m sorry to hear that, luv. It happens to the best of us at first. Now, come, let’s go get your kit and go introduce you to your squad.”

“My squad?” Nuri squeaked. No one had said anything about her being part of a team, and Raphel’s unrelenting cheerfulness was beginning to make her teeth grit.

“Of course!” He smiled broadly. “They’re most probably dying to meet you.”

Nuri thought that was highly unlikely.