Читать книгу Sing Down The Stars - Nerine Dorman - Страница 9

Stars above, everything hurt.

Nuri came to in a tiny, windowless room. She’d been laid down on a blanket that was folded over twice, but the ceramic floor was cold and hard beneath her, so she sat up.

Crippling pain pried at her skull with the sharpest blades every time she tilted her head, and her stomach felt as though it was full of acid eating at her insides. She dry-retched a few times until she got her breathing under control. Her mouth tasted weird and metallic, and her memories wriggled out of her grasp. Ancestors, what had happened?

Bit by bit she recalled her journey through fen and forest. Scraps of vegetation and dried weed were encrusted in her clothes. Dried mud flaked off her tights and her grip-boots looked like even a good scrub wouldn’t lift the dirt.

An inescapable siren song had brought her here, and she cursed herself roundly for allowing her curiosity free rein. It had been like a weird, twisted dream. Only now, the dream was over, and she was here in what was little more than a broom closet, wherever that was.

She didn’t get much more time to wonder, because a door opened, and two humans entered. Both wore the dark-grey uniforms she’d seen the security guards wearing, and they went to stand on either side of the entrance. A Heran stood on the lintel, a positively ancient individual, judging by his wrinkles. He was garbed in a black formal suit and sported an elaborate AR unit that fit his head almost like a visor.

Nuri had no words. He stared at her, and was most likely scanning her, so she stared back. Not that it did her any good. The silence was awkward.

“Ah,” he said with a sharp nod. The Heran snapped his long fingers. “Bring her,” he instructed the guards, and then he turned and departed before Nuri could even consider what question she wanted to ask.

The female of the pair of guards pointed her stunner at Nuri. “C’mon, you heard the facilitator.”

Facilitator?

With a groan, Nuri rose. Every bone and muscle ached, but she wasn’t in the mood for a second dose of shock therapy, so she allowed the guards to herd her along the passage behind the facilitator.

“What’s going to happen to me?” she called after the Heran.

He didn’t answer, and one of the guards behind her jabbed her in the small of the back with the muzzle of their stunner, and growled, “Shurrup, you.”

Nuri bit back the retort that she wanted to fling at the guard. Until she had a better idea of how much trouble she was in, she’d do best to keep her mouth shut.

Keep calm. Keep calm.

She’d experienced worse. There was that time she’d spent a long weekend in juvie until her pack had sprung her just before she was admitted to an off-planet detention facility. Nuri would have figure something out by herself now. No one knew she was here. Cursing herself wouldn’t achieve anything.

One passage led into another, the same unpainted pale ceramic walls set with featureless doors. They climbed into a lift, which, by her estimation, descended about six floors, underground most likely. Because there were no ancestors-damned windows anywhere that she could see.

A bunker then?

Nuri could almost imagine the weight of the earth pressing down from above, and the mere thought of so much mass made her chest tight. She concentrated on breathing, on giving the appearance of being calm at least.

The Heran had his back to her, and the moment the lift doors sliced open, he swept along, and she was prodded out into a reception area.

The same unfinished ceramic walls. A row of benches down one side that seemed an afterthought to all the bareness. She was ushered through the door directly before her into an unfurnished office and made to sit down on a broken chair at a plastic table covered in singe marks. Three chairs had been positioned facing her, on the other side of the table, and she could only assume this was where her interrogators would be seated. Because, oh, something gave her the feeling there would be many, many questions. Nuri sighed deeply and clutched at her sides. If only she’d headed straight to her hammock instead of going for that run. If only she’d not climbed the stupid aerial. If only she could touch the stars …

She allowed herself a bitter smile.

Maybe that siren call would’ve hit her anyway, even while she was sleeping. Impossible to refuse. Maybe she should’ve practised her psi-shielding a little more when Vadith had suggested it, and she wouldn’t be in this mess.

The two guards stood behind her, while she waited for the ancestors alone knew how long.

The cameras were easy to spot – one in the corner of the ceiling to her right, and another diagonally behind her, in the other corner.

“I’m thirsty,” she said after some time had passed.

“Shut your mouth,” snapped the woman guard.

“I know I’m in the wrong, but if you don’t want me dead, can I at least have some water? You don’t want me to get sick on your lovely floor now, do you?” Her stomach was still rebelling. Whatever they’d knocked her out with had nasty side-effects.

“Eric?” the woman said.

“Fine.” The door opened and the male guard stomped out, returning shortly with a disposable plastic cup half-full of water that smelt faintly of chemicals.

Water was water, and anything to quench her raging thirst would work.

She’d barely slugged back most of the foul-tasting liquid when three people bustled in. One was the wrinkled old Heran, another was a pinch-faced human woman whose black hair was scraped back into a severe bun, and the last was a J’Veth drone whose skin was stained dark with anger. The slit pupil of his red-orange eyes was tiny, and his facial tentacles fair quivered as he regarded her.

“This is the cause of all our troubles?”

Ugh. What a way to start her interrogation.

“T’Atmar,” the old woman chided as she seated herself in the middle. “That is unworthy of you.” Then she smiled at Nuri, her features transformed. “Don’t mind that grumpy old drone. He’s just annoyed because he was rudely interrupted from his slumber.”

“As we all were,” said the wrinkled Heran, settling himself on the chair to Nuri’s left.

“A little bit of excitement would do you well,” the woman said. “Get your ichor flowing.”

T’Atmar sat down so hard his chair squeaked alarmingly, and he rearranged his voluminous navy-blue robes. “A little bit of excitement will be the death of us all.”

“We don’t need any more excitement than we’ve already got,” said the Heran male.

Nuri sipped the last of the water from the cup. Merely having an object to hold, no matter how flimsy, gave a degree of comfort as she searched the faces before her. Her heart beat so wildly she feared it might explode. Exactly how much trouble was she in?

“Right,” said the old woman. “What is your name, child? You are not a Citizen, and according to city records you have a list of misdemeanours longer than your arm. Why you haven’t been shipped off-planet yet is anyone’s guess.”

Next to her, the Heran male frowned ferociously.

Nuri sighed. “My name … is Nuri.”

“And?”

“I run for one of the bosses in the north-west barrens.”

“A career criminal!” the grumpy old drone snarked.

“Peace, T’Atmar,” the woman said, holding out a hand. “I will ask the questions. You and Katha are merely observers.”

She then looked Nuri. “I am Alda Valeni, and I am a spokesperson and chief facilitator for this facility. We would like to understand why you felt the need to trespass, and indeed how it is that you managed to penetrate as far as you did without tripping the alarms. And how by the ancestors’ souls did you bypass security to the hangar?”

The woman didn’t sound angry, which was more than Nuri could’ve hoped for. She wasn’t sure if she could cope with angry adults shouting and waving their arms about, although Alda’s two companions didn’t look as if they had any patience for a story.

When Nuri didn’t immediately reply, Alda said, “You can speak, child. We are, naturally, concerned for the security breach, but we will not hurt you.”

Nuri drew a deep breath. How much could she say? “You’re not going to believe me.”

“Try us.”

“Okay. I heard a siren song. A strong psi-call.” She waited for the angry outburst that didn’t come.

The adults turned to each other, Katha’s large oval eyes becoming even more bulbous. The J’Veth drone paled to a stone colour before returning to his dark emotive state. He splayed one hand on the table top, truly agitated judging by how none of the eight tentacles could stop squirming over each other. Alda, however, sat a little straighter and locked her gaze with Nuri’s.

“How did you enter the hangar? The locks were all activated.”

“They’d been overridden. Like a system’s glitch.”

“Impossible!” the J’Veth drone burst out. “The system was updated only three days ago. She must’ve done something.”

“Peace.” Alda held out her hand again and then turned back to Nuri. “I believe you, child. But now we sit with a conundrum. We cannot let you go, even into the care of an authority. At least not until the emergence.”

“Ma’am,” Nuri started. “What’s in the hangar?” She might as well ask. And emergence? What was that? And this business of not letting her go until then? That pressure was back in her chest but she daren’t let the adults see how much their words upset her.

“She might as well be told,” Katha said.

Alda’s lips puckered and she shut her eyes for a few heartbeats before looking at Nuri again. “Very well. How much do you know about the seed?”

“The seed?” The way the woman had said “seed” made it sound important, but no recognition was sparked.

Alda sighed. “Twelve years ago, one of the star-jumpers left a seed here. A highly unconventional, unexpected act. The first in recorded history of this sector in the galaxy. There have been cases before elsewhere, but knowledge has mostly been suppressed. And we suppressed the media until we were certain it would take.”

A gasp escaped Nuri, and a ghost of the psi-call that had brought her this far echoed in her heart. What did this mean exactly? She knew next to nothing about star-jumpers and hadn’t been paying attention to the news recently.

Alda frowned and turned to T’Atmar. “She heard the call. You can see it writ all over her face.”

He grumbled in J’Veth, the words too slurred for Nuri to follow, but it sounded like an insult.

Nuri steeled herself, determined not to let it show that his attitude towards her stung.

Alda turned back to Nuri. “The short version of this story is that for some reason unknown to us, the star-jumpers have decided to allow this planet an opportunity to bond with one of their own. Each star-jumper is more than just a vessel to jump between stars – ancestors above, perhaps even between galaxies. We simply don’t know. What we do know, and what isn’t common knowledge, is that each of these ships is a sentient, living being, represented by an avatar. And each star-jumper requires an avatar. Which brings us to you.” Alda exhaled enough to make her shoulders slump. “It would appear that it has called you.”

“If word gets out about this, our patrons will not be happy,” Katha murmured. “This is a PR disaster.”

“You don’t think I know this?” Alda snapped at him.

“It’s unconscionable,” T’Atmar said. “We cannot allow her to stand. We should keep her secured until this is over, then have her mind-wiped.”

“And if the nymph rejects all the others?” Alda asked. “What then? We’ll lose a valuable opportunity!”

“She has no patron,” Katha said.

“Is that even necessary?”

“You forget who funds this initiative,” said T’Atmar. “Most certainly not fresh air and star shine.”

“How poetic of you.” The woman turned her gaze to Nuri again. “But I suppose if the right patron can be found, it will provide this wee mite with a modicum of legitimacy.”

“Who are your parents?”

“You’ve never received a formal education?”

“Have you ever killed anyone?”

“Are you sure you don’t know who your parents are?”

On and on the questions came, until Nuri lost track.

One of the guards brought her water again, and when her yawning became uncontrollable, she was taken to another level and what she assumed might be living quarters. A camping cot with blankets that smelt new had been set up for her.

No windows, of course, and the floor-to-ceiling monitor on the largest wall was blank, so it felt as if everything was closing in on her. The door was locked and then it was just Nuri, on her own, in a tiny room with its own en-suite bathroom. The guards had provided her with a flask of liquid that tasted almost like apple juice, as well as a pre-packed meal of weird, unidentifiable pastes and bars. These she bolted down with shaking hands, not knowing when she’d have anything to eat again.

She paced the bare room like a wild animal for a bit, but there was no way out except for the door, and the ventilation grate had been sealed down so well, she’d need explosives to get it open. All that she’d learnt spun around in her head – she’d been called by a star-jumper. Nuri, a nobody who didn’t know who her parents were. What did it mean to be an avatar? Would this be freedom, of sorts? Or would she be a slave to this mysterious living vessel? She’d never thought of them as living. Just weird. And more than just a little bit awe-inspiring.

Vadith would be furious when she didn’t return to the Den. Ancestors, he was most likely already incandescent. No one ran away from Vadith. If she was ever freed, she’d be cleaning bathrooms for a year once he laid his paws on her. Nuri’s skills were far too valuable for him to cast her off. Yet oddly, she almost felt something like relief that she’d been taken from him, that she was no longer his possession. A useful tool, and nothing more. Lately, things with the pack hadn’t been all that great. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

Tired and frustrated, Nuri did the only thing she could in her predicament. She curled up on the cot with its chemical-scented blankets and went to sleep. No dreams came to her, which was a mercy.