Thanemonger: A SciFi Alien Romance (The Ladyships Book 1) Page 9

  Hyva, who had appeared to be lost in her own thoughts, provided the answer, inserting it smoothly. "Oh no, both are very much real. The names are caro and sard. Some people use the names interchangeably, because the boundary between them is inevitably blurred. Both are mined in the same locations. Colors of each can range from pale orange to almost-black coloration."

  "They are the same stone, just two different names?"

  "Bah, no," Vedma said. "They're both regal. Signets. But there is a difference."

  Seph sighed and guessed. "Value?"

  Vedma raised and swirled her left hand, mocking a dignified pageant queen wave. "With caro, you'd stamp your seal. Make your word binding edict throughout your lands."

  "And sard?"

  "With sard," Vedma raised her other hand, clenching her fingers, "you can knock a bloke on his arse. Enforce your will with your fist."

  Seph laughed despite her annoyance with Vedma's obvious grandstanding. "Ah, like the pen and the sword."

  Vedma's wrinkly faced wrinkled even further in confusion. Seph noticed her praal was intense, almost an electric blue. Perhaps with age the lines became more pronounced, which would explain why Arana wore foundation, to look younger, like Hyva.

  "Ech? What do penises have to do with anything?"

  Seph giggled. Only Rannik had given her any mirth. And now she had Vedma. "I misspoke. Please carry on."

  Vedma just side-eyed Seph until she stopped smiling.

  "The telling, between caro and sard, is in the cutting." Vedma leaned across the table. "I'd very much like to take a blade to you, girl."

  Seph stopped laughing. "But what if I'm neither?"

  "Then all them fancy MediCune scans were wrong and you're just a worthless rock."

  So Seph's regard of Vedma would be unrequited. She could live with that, just as long as Vedma kept her blade to herself.

  "So, ah, the cutting determines whether I am a caro or sard kind of Athela." She paused for dramatic effect. "The blood will tell."

  Vedma glared, not amused. "Another one of your daft sayings?"

  Hyva's face animated as she perked up. "Oh, I get it. With the blade. And the cutting. The blood would be the same color, like the caro and sard." Hyva paused, her eyes losing their focus again as her brain whirled. "Although, how is that a tell, precisely? Blood is blood, is it not?"

  "I don't want her to bleed. I want her to suffer through trials."

  "Oh, trials." Arana placed a protective hand on Seph's arm. "Here I thought you wanted to maim her, repeatedly, with sharp edges."

  "Oh, I'll cut her. Carve her out. Make something of her. But it won't be pleasant."

  Seph thought of the thane's armor—the armor she hadn't worn now, but would be certain to wear next time—so she grinned when she said, "Then I am very much not looking forward to it."

  "Hyva!" Vedma barked, eyes locked with Seph's. "I wanna see her MediCune files again. This one, she ain't right."

  Hyva pulled out a Cuneiform tablet from her satchel. "I anticipated this, Elder Vedma. Here you are. The scans from Deleo. But I'm sure you'll want to run more either on Ahkera or at the Athela Academe."

  To Seph's bemusement, Vedma shooed away the tablet with a dismissive wave. "Nah. Numbers. I wanna see what's under the skin."

  "We have internal scans. The MediCune team was quite extensive."

  "Dammit, Hyva. I'm talking about her gumption. I've yet to see anyone from Teras Ero calibrate a test of character."

  "By Direis," Arana said. "Here she goes again."

  "No gumption. No sarda." Vedma ranted, and Seph caught how sard morphed into the quality sarda. "Back in the day, Athela were hardstones. Commanding the spirenoughts and arming the turris moons single-handedly."

  Seph jerked to attention. "Excuse me, did you say spirenoughts, as in the spaceships?"

  "Yes, I said spaceships, caroa." Vedma narrowed her eyes at Seph. "Athela with a heart of sard flew those spaceships using nothing but grit."

  Seph was shocked. "So I can pilot the ship using my mind?"

  "No. She didn't say that at all," Hyva said and sniffed. "She means to test your level of technopathy, the degree to which you interact with the systems. But a spirenought processes 1.2 petaflops of instructions per second when fully operational. It would be impossible to engage with them all and successfully operate the ship."

  That number was big, scary big. Seph asked, "Why not?"

  "Terminal neuromuscular disjunction."

  She felt a chill move through her. "What?"

  "You'd fry your damn brain and die," Vedma said gruffly. "Ain't no way a single person can operate a spirenought all by themselves."

  Seph, clinging to that bit of hope, said, "But you just said that sardas in the past, they could. They did it, right?"

  Good god, was one thing on her list of nearly impossible tasks about to become possible?

  "Probably." Vedma shrugged.

  Arana sighed and placed her hand on Seph's. "An Athela fully interacting with all systems is a myth. Just a bunch of women bitching about who's the better technopath. What we do know, and I mean has been historically documented, is that Athela did command the ships."

  "Command. So I could tell it where to go."

  Arana smiled. "Yes. As an Athela, you could be given jurisdiction over a few ships to patrol and defend the Dominion."

  "I would be the captain, er, commander?" Seph asked.

  "Yes. That would be just one of your many duties."

  Seph took a moment and re-examined her situation. She could order a spaceship to take her back to Earth. "I'd have to test as a sard?"

  "Those are not true designations," Hyva informed her. "But completing courses with the Athela Academe would make you eligible to bind with a house."

  Seph tempered her excitement. She needed to fully understand what this meant. For all she knew, commanding a spaceship could be a ceremonial designation. Just because you threw the first pitch at a baseball game didn't mean you were a major league pitcher.

  "Eh, I say let her go," Vedma said, grumbling. "This one ain't nothing but a caroa."

  Arana tsked. "Stop saying caroa like it's an insult."

  "It is an insult."

  Seph just rolled her eyes. She and Vedma would have to iron things out another time. She turned to Arana, not bothering to curb the excitement in her voice. "But it doesn't matter if I'm more sard or caro. Right? I'm still eligible to be Athela."

  "Yes, dear," Arana said.

  Vedma scoffed. "Matters to the house that gets you. No one wants a dumb rock."

  "Zver! Good, found you!" Therion called out as he jogged toward Zver and his team of officers. "You started the tour already? Without me?"

  "We don't have a tour," Zver said to his brother. "I have a ship inspection and debrief with my officers."

  "Well, I'll join you then. Always fun to learn something new."

  "You're the damn cachemaster. Nothing on this ship should be new to you."

  "Acting Cachemaster. And besides, the best tour guides tell you where to look, they don't tell you what to see."

  Defeated, Zver just started walking, leaving his brother to do what he wanted. "It's not a tour. It's an inspection."

  "Keep an open mind, Zver," Therion said cheerfully as he tagged along beside him. "It's not like your brain's gonna fall out or anything."

  While Zver's team hovered around the backup navigation console, he turned to his brother and asked, "Do you think of me as old?"

  Therion stopped his fidgeting, folded his arms, and leaned away from him. "You? Old? No. I do not use that word, at all, when I complain about you."

  Fucking Therion.

  What did he think his brother would say, something with any godsdamn meaning? Disgusted with himself—for letting Seph's bizarre message irritate him and doubly so for turning to Therion for insight—he refocused his attention back to his team.

  "Another IT, Thane," Laptrin, his systemsmaster, said as he worked on the console.
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  Insidious Tampering. Another system rigged to fail. The twelfth instance his team had uncovered, and they'd been on Prykimis over forty hours and only had a fraction of the overall ship inspected. The major systems—propulsion, navigation, atmospheric scrubbers, water recycling, artificial gravity, and stabilizers—those were neglected, but unmolested. Once his team started into the system redundancies, the sabotage was evident.

  Fucking Jahat.

  "So far it's only been TTS installs," Furiero, his cachemaster, said with a deep scowl on his face. "Components we fully intended to replace anyway."

  Laptrin huffed in agreement. "Those arses could blow the ship if they mess with the Athelasan tech."

  Now that was an itchy notion.

  "Let's keep these thoughts to ourselves," he said. "Don't want to inspire anyone."

  His men grumbled grim ayes in return.

  "Though, strangely," Mernok, his engineermaster, sounded puzzled, "all systems routing to the cargo hold are solid."

  "Explain." Zver turned to the man.

  "The TTS parts are shit, but the Athelasan tech is chugging along."

  Zver turned to his brother, and they said in unison, "Seph."

  "Anywhere else?" he asked his team.

  "Nowhere else quite like the cargo hold," Mernok said.

  "Makes sense," Therion said, serious for once. "That was where she stayed when first on Prykimis."

  "Take another look at the Athel Hall and Chamber," he said. "Even if there is no change, at least we'll have a baseline."

  "Aye, Thane." Mernok turned to leave. "If it's the new Athela's doing, those systems may be running better than Vayant."

  All the men paused, horrified, and regarded Mernok's retreating back. Zver knew his officers’ thoughts. Vayant was House Borac's spirenought. She shone as the blazon of their house. She patrolled Bulan Ero's sector, keeping their homeworld safe. She was their battleship.

  "Ass," Therion said, displaying a rare solidarity for House Borac. "Where'd you get that guy?"

  "Barium mines. Best mechanic in my fleet."

  Therion grumbled and said, "Still an ass, though."

  "I've been hearing that word a lot lately," Zver said, musing before he caught himself.

  Unholde take him. Musing. He never mused. Not while he was on duty. And never over a woman. If he mused, he should muse over a ship. Not muse over a woman who made his cock harder than Prykimis's hull plating. A woman who claimed to swear herself to just one man. Dammit, Seph.

  "Is the tour over?" Therion asked anxiously.

  "No."

  "You're going to look at everything?" Therion sounded horrified. "Now?"

  Therion didn't truly understand Zver's technopathy, having not inherited the ability. Even while they spoke, Zver constantly streamed through the updates reported by his crew as they combed through Prykimis.

  "I personally review everything. It's my job and my duty. I don't take breaks for krope."

  "I was hoping we could meet Rannik in the mess," Therion said sullenly. "We three haven't gotten together since that time you beat the shit outta Grondin in the hangar." His brother hacked a few coughs, probably for sympathy.

  "That wasn't a get-together. That was an extraction."

  "Still, you could've invited me over to Deleo right after."

  No, he wouldn't have. Not while Therion wore the House Jahat crest on his uniform sleeve. Thane Jahat had pulled Rannik from Academe, and Therion did nothing to intervene.

  Rannik. He hadn't had a chance to speak with his son since returning to Prykimis. He wasn't in the Athel Chamber when he took Seph her WristCune and armor. The youth ran between Deleo and Prykimis, acting like a personal valet to Seph, procuring supplies to make her more comfortable. In some regard, it pleased him to see his son acting so honorably with his clutch duties. It gave him a glimpse of the man Rannik would grow to be. Rannik would never be House Borac's thane, which pained Zver, but he'd be a damn good man.

  If he dined with Rannik, he could avoid dinner with Lady Arana. She began messaging him when her cruiser, Ahkera, joined his flotilla. As caring as she seemed, she only ever showed a passing interest in Rannik. Seph, on the other hand, said that she valued him greatly, which gave him a fierce stab of pride.

  "Fine," he said thickly, then cleared his throat. "Go find Rannik. I'll meet you in the mess in an hour." Zver mentally consulted his data feeds. It was late in the cycle of the ship, evening if they'd been planet-side. "He's back at the Athel Chamber, with Seph."

  "Brilliant! I'll go get him. You, stop inspecting and get the tuck going. I think Prykimis's cook is in sickbay—food poisoning, of all things."

  As his brother departed, Zver turned back to his team, ready to resume their true business now that his core officers surrounded him. They'd bring Mernok up to speed later. Ideally, Lekar would also be present, but the medicmaster was needed on Deleo.

  "Give me your thoughts, fleetmen. Most of you either grew up wrestling with him or mustered with him in Academe. Did Therion do this?" He gestured toward the backup navigation console, but his officers knew he meant all of it. The sick men. The negligent repairs. The marauder scrum codes they'd been monitoring.

  Furiero, his second-in-commend, spoke first. "He's overly anxious, but not because he's hiding anything. Negligence is everywhere, out in the open. He's just waiting for your final assessment."

  He rubbed his thumbnail along his jaw. "So he's dreading my condemnation."

  Laptrin swiveled away from the console and went next. "He's been without oversight for over a year. He's resistant to the command chain or just rusty. Either way, he wasn't entirely negligent. TTS parts floundered, but were monitored. Without supplies, not much else he could do but keep eyes on problems."

  Vapen, his weaponsmaster, quoted Lekar's earlier medical report. "Sick men were given a bed and spacesuit rebreathers." Next he added his own thoughts. "Screwed himself when outer hull repairs were needed, but the sick grunts had the best air he could give them."

  Varlet, his personal aide, spoke last. "This is Therion, Thane. The closest he'd come to sabotage is spiking your drink."

  His men chuckled at that bit of wit, but not Zver. He couldn't afford to assume, even with Therion. He felt nothing but intense aggravation at his brother. If his officers had no other misgivings, well, he trusted each man to speak his mind. Therion was by no means a bastion. He was many things. His mother's darling, his father's hellion, his house's bane. As a fleetman, he was simply incompetent.

  Very well, then.

  Zver gave a brisk nod, signaling to his officers that he was moving on. "Vapen, status update on her weapons systems."

  Chapter Ten

  Seph lay flat on her back, wedged between the couch and the table, and gazed up at the stars.

  Rather, she gazed at a Cuneiform tablet that displayed a view of the stars. She had propped the tablet over herself, like a tiny bridge, precariously spanning the sofa and low table.

  "[Karvand Req System,]" Prykimis said.

  "Is that the Teras name for the Milky Way?" she asked. Oh god, if only it were that simple.

  Silence.

  "You are just a well of knowledge, aren't you, Prykimis? And your name fits, you know. Prying. Always prying."

  After her time with the Trine, she had found the tablet, along with a water canister, a clean bedroom, and crisply made bunk, plus what she assumed were the 'good' ration bars.

  While the Trine ladies were present, Rannik had stealthily come and gone, keeping his eyes averted as he passed through the Athel Hall. Vedma flat out ignored him. Hyva spared him one, and only one, glance before dismissing him. Arana's gaze lingered a few times. She eventually sidled up to Seph and promised to answer all her clutch-related questions privately. Seph greedily accepted her offer.

  When the Trine had left, Rannik's comings and goings ceased as well. Sneaky kid. She knew his scheme. She was an expert at it herself. Avoidance. He completed his tasks, cleverly using the Trine both as witn
esses to his fulfillment of obligations and as a barrier to prohibit interaction with Seph. Once the Trine departed, he'd made himself scarce, leaving—in theory—nothing for Seph to complain about.

  She knew this tactic. Had perfected it. Gave a damn three-day seminar on technique and execution. She would not be had by her own scheme.

  But she had no way to contact him. She only had contact information for the thane, and she didn't want to interrupt his thaning to locate Rannik.

  So she did what her parents had done: lie-in-wait until she'd climbed back through her bedroom window. There were a few nights she found her mother, sound asleep, with Teen People magazine tucked up under her chin. Back then, annoying. As she thought about it now, not so annoying.

  She didn't hear the hatch open—rascal must have space-aged oiled it or something for stealthy modus operandi—but the draft breezed over her prone position on the floor. Her heart raced. What if he saw her and just left without speaking to her? What if he just yelled and yelled at her? Good god, what if he cried?

  Is this what she had put her mother through?

  "Why are you on the floor?" Rannik said from somewhere above her.

  Her heart leaped. He stayed. He said something... not mean to her. Hope abounded!

  "Do you think I'm a dumb rock?" she asked him.

  "Because you're lying on the floor?"

  She conceded that she hadn't explained herself too well. "It’s just that, today, someone insinuated that I was going to be a disappointment."

  "Who said that?" He sounded mad, but not at her, so she'd take it.

  "No one."

  "Vedma." He huffed as he plopped down by her head.

  "Don't you have to call her 'Elder Vedma?’"

  "No. Do you?"

  "Well, now I won't, either."

  Rannik stretched out, his body angled away from her, but tucked his head close to her shoulder to get a glimpse of her tablet. "What are you doing?"

  "Stargazing."

  "You know, there are stars right out the port view."

  Seph shivered, reliving her few terrorizing transport rides. "I can't. That view just overwhelms me. I'm used to looking at stars like this."

  "On your back, looking at a screen?" He didn't sound convinced.