Spark and Tether, page 33
“I&R review is standardized and objective,” Gideon said. “Protocol—”
“We should have had that last I&R analysis back by now,” Phila said, glancing up at Jin with a wary look. “Perhaps your investigator is correct to have concerns.”
Tully assented with a curt nod.
“I object,” Adda said. “We don’t know what he’s carrying, or how infectious the mods might be.”
You probably do, Sacheri thought. “It can be relayed through the display,” he said. “No direct contact with my synplants required.”
“Vote,” Tully instructed the councilors. “Your anonymity will be preserved, of course.”
Four to three in favor.
Sacheri bowed low to the council and unfurled his synplants, connecting directly to the display. Every connection to the room could be modified and calibrated to each individual’s needs for delivery; he only had to allow the experience to move through him and into the requested distribution modes. Those who had voted to refuse would have access to a fully vetted evidence review; for the others, it would be an opportunity to see directly for themselves what he and Iola had contained.
You will have to trust that Iola knew what she was doing, Miriam had told him.
He leaned back from the table to stretch his legs, missing Paradis’s cushions and blankets. He could trust Iola; it was the rest of the room he was worried about.
Jin was watching him. He fought the impulse to shy away. They looked uncertain, but he could not read if it was of him or the process or the room. The guards against him were firm.
Trust me, he thought, but admitted to himself that he didn’t know what he was asking—he didn’t know what was in his own synplants’ memories, let alone Iola’s; this might damn them all to charges of interfering with council inquiries. And there was a risk, though neither he nor Miriam had discussed it, of another sabotage hidden within. He met Jin’s eyes anyway. If that was the case, at least Jin would be the last thing he saw.
The little lines at Jin’s temples relaxed and their eyes dilated ever so slightly as Sacheri’s synplants reached toward them. He hoped it meant they had heard him, somehow.
Sacheri closed his eyes.
It took no more than a heartbeat before his awareness was split and overlapping; he was on Orinus Station, acting as conduit between time and place, and he was on RE-371, following a beacon. He stood again in the dead stand of trees, the violet thread winding down the trail to the unmapped station outpost; another thread, this one faint and gray, wound around his wrists and up to his elbows. It did not restrain him, but he did not test it. He entered the outpost, noting the scavenged and reconstructed life supports, and stood before the panel.
Miriam, beside him, was explaining to the room who Iola was, and how she had been sent to 371. Iola was the first of their generation, and had been paired with the fai as her balance; the process had been costly and painful, and Oversight had abandoned it when she deteriorated. They had not known about the Dimmer infiltration until later, when the others began to experience similar symptoms, and by then, Iola and her balance had been sent away as part of the agreements with COR and Bolis.
In the station box, he was looking down at the smooth clear surface of the display and controls; on Orinus Station, he heard a Councilor make a sound of surprise, quickly shushed by another.
The display rose before him as he spread his hands over the controls. The violet lines wrapped around him, curling about his fingers and unfurling up to the gray, which recoiled at their approach; he paused—I don’t remember—and then the gray grew into ropes, lashing from both ends, up at him and down at the display at the same time, trapping him in place.
Sacheri waited, as Miriam had taught him, and his synplants unraveled the violet into the layers of code underneath. Iola’s voice translated: as life support systems began to fail and she realized no aid would come, she and the fai had isolated the dimmer code and reconstructed it, hopefully creating some piece that would survive a long hibernation, accessible only by another synchronist.
The first packet delivered was an acknowledgement of risk and request for consent, but Sacheri was carrying a hostile guard in the form of a modified dimmer and the convergence of the two had caused a surge which overwhelmed both the aged station system and his own synplants. Sacheri tried to pull back from both rooms as the memory progressed, but could not; he turned, and fell, and again, his last sight was of Jin.
The memory ended; he paused, holding both awarenesses as steadily as he could manage.
“Explain the interference,” Tully said.
They would not see it as colorful ties, of course. That was his preference. He wondered how Jin saw it, and if he would ever have the opportunity to ask them. Grief welled; he fought it back. The last thing he needed was to transmit heartbreak to a seated Council.
He settled into his synplants once more and redirected them, reversing memory until there was no trace of the gray around his arms. He was opening his eyes, depleted from too long on a draining connection, and his first sight was Jin. He did not quite catch the flare of feeling before his synplants shared it; he hoped he had at least been able to mask it. The ‘plants moved forward through the run, slowing down until he was alone in his bed, drinking the electrolyte mixes from Umair. He fell asleep.
Sacheri had been focusing on deciphering the memories stored in his synplants, but as he fell asleep on Adda’s ship, the council room shifted; they were not sure how to understand what was happening, and Miriam could not help. She had not been there. He had to find some way to translate for them, while maintaining his connections.
“This is Sacheri’s first run under Adda’s leadership,” Jin said. “She instructed several team members to remain active long past shift limits.” They reported the times for each of the crew, repeating some of what they had said in the earlier sessions.
Don’t cry, Sacheri told himself.
His door opened, and both Adda and Zain entered the small space. Zain stood frowning against the door, while Adda turned Sacheri’s arm to reveal the underside of his wrist. She placed a sensor and let the arm drop back to the bed.
“He’s fine,” she said.
“He should have been off duty three shifts ago,” Zain said in an uncertain voice.
“Hand me the rest.”
They did.
Another sensor behind his ear, under his hair. She frowned as she caught a stray lock of hair in her hand, pulling it free of the loose tie he’d used before falling asleep. “These’ll patch him right up,” she said. She watched dispassionately for a few moments, and pulled the sensors off.
“We’re done here,” she said, and they both left.
Gray threads grew from his wrist and neck, winding in loose chains from each point until they crossed at the crook of his elbows.
Sacheri pulled himself out of the memory.
“Thank you, Sacheri. We have seen enough.” Councilor Tully’s eyes were on Adda, who scowled defiantly back.
Tully sealed the Councilors from the rest of the room. Sacheri could see them gesturing and arguing, but could not make out their words. He looked at the Facilitator. Miriam had taken his hand, under the table. He clung to it, desperately trying not to look at Jin.
“Thank you, synchronist. You are free to return to your rooms until I call you again. Please take whatever you need to recover.”
He stood and bowed.
Miriam dropped his hand as she stood beside him. “We have more to discuss, you and I,” she said to Tully, who acknowledged it with a tilt of her head.
Jin was standing, also, and when Sacheri dared to look, they looked back. He remembered the joy he’d felt, opening his eyes on that first moon and seeing them there, and hoped that they had felt it, too, before he’d squashed it for the council.
“Thank you,” he said to them.
Jin left the room before he could say anything more.
Chapter 41
Sacheri spent the interim hours on his bed, reorganizing his memories and experiences in light of the day’s revelations. He reviewed, over and over and over, Jin’s description of the infector mod.
And then he remembered every time they had tried to guide him away from runs with Adda.
He wondered how many others were out there, how many crew Adda had used, how many others might be hidden in the far reaches of the void. How they could be found.
He remembered how their calm, focused tone shifted to icy rage when describing the dimmer mods and their effects. He imagined that tone aimed at him, and then imagined how it must have felt to know what the risk was when he left them.
He could send them a ping, through the station comms, if only to say thank you, and I’m sorry.
He could not imagine their response. He did not think they would welcome hearing from him.
And then Sacheri remembered the things he had said.
When Jin had opened the doors to allow Miriam to enter the council room, they’d leaned to take Miriam’s arm, and as they turned, Sacheri had seen a small, braided chain around their neck, tucked beneath the collar of the I&R jacket. He had recognized it at once.
He replayed the half-second in his mind, over and over, convincing himself it meant something and then re-convincing himself it did not.
Paradis called him to the Meritor docks to say goodbye to Miriam and Meri. She was sending them to Dorun; she would remain on Orinus Station until Sacheri’s review was finished.
Meri met them at the dock ramp, dressed in a new Meritor uniform and serious bearing. “They follow Oxalis like a pet,” Paradis whispered. Sacheri chuckled.
Meri bowed low over clasped hands, once Paradis had passed by them. Sacheri wondered who had taught them that, to behave like a skysider. It was probably wiser than risk being recognized as Repican.
Sacheri grinned and lifted them again. “You made it happen,” he said. “Enjoy life as a merchant.”
Meri hugged him, surprising them both. “You’ll visit?”
Sacheri’s synplants murmured. “I will. Watch out for Paradis. She eats new recruits.”
Meri snickered and let go.
Sacheri watched Miriam and Paradis come out of the ship. Miriam looked tired, and he asked Paradis through their shared channel if she was okay, only to be met with a stern look from the older woman.
“It was a long day, that’s all,” she said. “Thank you, Sacheri.”
He gratefully accepted her embrace. “It was the least I could do, Elder.”
Her eyes were teary as she released him. “I’d like a moment with him, if I may,” she said to the other two.
“Of course,” Paradis said. She kissed Sacheri’s cheek and reminded him to meet her for a meal later. Meri followed gave Sacheri a cheerful wave as they followed her inside.
“You’re going to have your hands full with them,” he said to Miriam.
“I met your person,” she said.
He hoped, for a wild second, that she would have a message for him, that there would be something to grasp at.
“They are very, very good at their work,” she said. “We were able to answer most of each other’s questions, for all the heartbreak the answers carried.”
He lowered his eyes.
“Oh, no, don’t feel bad for it,” she said. “There is much relief in knowing.”
Sacheri let her lift his hands between them.
“Visit us,” she said. Her eyes were bright and understanding.
“I will,” he said. He hoped Dorun was prepared for both Paradis and Miriam in one organization. Meri probably would warn him.
“And Sacheri, one more thing.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Mm?”
“They wear a pendant much like yours, do they not?”
Sacheri went still as the air caught in his lungs and his synplants snapped into focus. Miriam patted his shoulder. “I only noticed when they leaned over to whisper to me,” she said. “They wear it under their shirt, like you do, but they tap it when they’re thinking hard.”
Sacheri closed his eyes and tried to breathe again. “Thank you, Miriam,” he said.
She patted his arms as she kissed his cheek, and then she disappeared into the ship.
Paradis met him for dinner at a tiny place he’d found near his room. “You survived the afternoon,” she said, sliding into the seat across from him. “You seem to be good at that.”
“How is Miriam?” he said.
“Content on for now. The skysiders have offered her a home, should she want it. She is as safe as we can make her.”
He shook his head. “Thank you for that. And for all the rest, but especially that.”
Paradis nodded.
A drone slid their drinks across the table between them. Sacheri thanked it and drank deeply. “What happens next?”
Paradis stirred the tea he’d ordered for her. “There’s a lot to sort through. Watch out for Phila,” she said. “She’s going to be furious that we didn’t go to Oversight first.”
“You don’t trust anyone.”
“I trusted Jin,” she said into her mug.
“Look how that turned out,” he joked.
She stared him down.
At moments like this, the void threatened to overwhelm his senses; his synplants tried to hold him in place, even as they searched for Jin. Not once had it occurred to him while he was chasing ghosts across the Ring that eventually there would be an after and he would have to live through it by himself. He woke up more certain every day that he would continue to miss Jin for the rest of his life.
“I miss them,” he whispered. He had promised not to leave, and he had; they had told him quite clearly they would not come looking, if he did so. It was too late. They were gone.
Relenting, she took his hands in hers; his synplants calmed, and his pulse slowed, and his eyes filled with tears.
“We lied to each other,” he said. “And I left, after I swore to them I would not.” It did not help to admit it; the ache spread through his synplants until his entire being soaked in it. They had asked so few promises of him. What could he possibly say?
“We lied to each other too,” she said, and when he looked up at her, her eyes were as wet as his. “And yet here we are.”
Of course we are, he started to say, but then—they hadn’t had the synplants between them either, and it hadn’t mattered. “That’s not the same—”
Paradis pressed the tips of her fingers to her forehead, looking up at him through her lashes. “Sacheri. Everyone lies, when they need to. It’s not the basis for your attachment. But—consider this? COR protects itself, like any institution. Adda lied to keep control. I lied because I didn’t know how you’d react, and we needed you to get through the inquiry safely. You lied so you could follow the leads you had without us interfering.”
“Jin lied to protect you. Just trying to keep you safe—and they continued even after you left them. Even now. Do you even know how many council procedures they twisted out of shape today?”
His synplants settled, withdrawing from their seeking as he absorbed her words. She was not wrong. He wanted that to matter. He was not convinced it did. He fidgeted with his mug until a drone delivered their plates, and he took advantage of the distraction to gather himself again. “Tell me about Dorun.”
“Well,” Paradis said, her voice suddenly bright. “I decided I wasn’t going to throw away the love of my life because I was too afraid to talk to him about hard things.”
Sacheri glared at her from over his flatbread. “That’s the whole story.”
Paradis glared back as she lifted her soup to her lips. “That’s the whole story,” she said.
By the time he was recalled to the council rooms, he was wrung out.
He opened the doors to a room empty of observers, I&R agents, and most of the Council. Gideon, Phila, and Tully were seated at a small table, each wearing a solemn, worn expression.
“Welcome, Sacheri,” Tully said. “The Council has closed these proceedings, given what we have learned. It requires additional evaluation.”
He bowed in acknowledgment, unsure of what to say.
“Official findings will be released once they have been reviewed by Oversight. We wished to inform you directly, and personally, of some of them. We understand you were not aware of the specific dangers you were in.”
Jin tried to tell me. “I was not.”
Tully looked to Gideon, who spoke next. “You will receive more details once we have confirmed the accuracy of the reports. Evidence analysis will take a few cycles, at least.”
He wasn’t sure he wanted details. “Of course.”
“Our priority, of course, is to repair the harm done to those directly affected. You are not required to answer now, of course, but the Council will take your wishes and concerns seriously, if you choose to share them. Our understanding—and this was confirmed yesterday by the I&R medic you saw—is that you no longer carry any trace of the mods. It may be of little comfort—but the mods Adda infected you with were limited. They directed you to find traces like themselves, and lowered your resistance to her, but only in proximity,” Tully said. “You are free to return to service and cleared for all duties.”
Neither of the others looked entirely pleased with this decision, but his synplants hummed softly in anticipation. Some part of him was looking forward to working again. As for the rest…she was correct. It was little comfort, but it did explain some of his behavior. And the difference between his memories, and Jin’s. “That is…a relief. Thank you.”
“The subject—Adda— has been stripped of rank and barred from holding COR positions. She will remain in secured quarters pending further investigations.”
“There are others who may be infected,” he guessed aloud. It must have been what Jin had been doing while he was recovering on Semiz. Looking for others. Looking for a way to save him.
