Ascending (The Vardeshi Saga Book One)

Chapter Nine

"I asked to see it," I said.

Hathan glanced at me, then returned his attention to his brother. "That was an ill-considered risk." Again the tone was mild, but the admonition was clear.

"Did anything happen?" Daskar inquired.

Zey hesitated, so I answered for him again. "I didn't have any kind of allergic reaction. But we didn't stay very long. We . . . thought better of it. I won't go there again until we know it's safe."

That answer seemed to be satisfactory, at least for the present. I hoped Zey wasn't going to be scolded again in private. The error in judgment had been mine as much as his, and I desperately needed him on my side.

The meeting adjourned, and Zey explained that there was an hour of recreation time allotted to all crew members before dinner. "I'm going to go work out," he said. "Will you be all right on your own?"

"Oh, yeah. Fine." I waved a hand airily. "Have a good workout. I'll see you later."

I watched him walk away. It was all I could do not to run after him. Where was I supposed to go? Not back to my quarters. I knew that if I went there, I wouldn't emerge again until tomorrow morning. I wandered around a little and eventually found my way to the lounge, a dark, intimate space that reminded me of Dr. Okoye's office. Its most striking feature was an enormous viewport running the entire length of one wall. A standing bar invited people to take in the view over their refreshment of choice. The opposite wall housed several little raised platforms screened by filmy hangings and scattered with colorful cushions and rugs. I settled myself down in one of them and attempted to read through my notes from the day. Concentration was elusive. My memory kept flinging random images from the preceding hours into the foreground of my mind. I abruptly gave up, tossed the notebook down, and went over to stand in front of the viewport, leaning my elbows on the bar. I had followed enough of Hathan's navigation report to know that we had already left Earth inconceivably far behind. All at once I felt utterly lost. There was nothing beyond the transparent barrier but featureless black and a distant impersonal glitter of stars. My world, my home, was gone as if it had never existed.

I took a deep breath. Then I went back to the platform where I'd left my things, retrieved my notebook and pencil, and carried them over to the viewport. I opened the notebook to a fresh page and wrote in Vardeshi, slowly and carefully, A story has a thousand beginnings, but only one ending. It was the opening line of Divided by Stars, my favorite late-90's Vardrama, the one I had quoted on Dr. Sawyer's patio. The expression had fascinated me in childhood because it was one of the only things we knew for sure that the Vardeshi actually said. I could vividly recall the triumph I had felt upon realizing, several months ago now, that I could translate it into the original without having to think about it. I wasn't sure why it had come to me now, but the words were comfortingly familiar.

From behind me came the metallic hiss of the door opening and closing, followed by the sound of footsteps. Expecting Zey, I turned around and was startled to see Hathan approaching instead. "Suvi," I said, and saluted. He did the same. We stood at an awkward impasse until it dawned on me that he was waiting for me to lower my hand. I dropped it hastily. "God. Sorry. I'm new to this."

"It's all right." He came over to stand beside me. "What do you think of the view?"

"It's, uh . . ." I tried and failed to find a tactful substitute for what I was actually thinking. "Empty."

"Yes." Hathan looked down at my notebook page. "There's a saying about that, actually, if you're starting a collection."

"Really? Do you mind?" I offered him my pencil.