CHAPTER TEN

MARA

The sanitation chambers needed to be flushed in preparation for how stagnant the plumbing would become during the shutdown. If they started with clean pipes, Haven could last longer without the service.

Mara and the others in the janitorial crew worked long hours, scrubbing the holding tanks, checking them for leaks, and ensuring that the seals on all the pipes were tight. Mara found she enjoyed donning the protective gear and stepping inside the massive holding tanks. She scrubbed with a bristled broom, cleaning the interior of the sewage tanks. With the breathing gear on, the stench was minimal, and they stepped through the decontamination foam before removing their masks.

In the morning, she would wake up aching, but a feeling of contentment began to grew in her heart. She saw the results of her work when the tanks gleamed, or when the pipes in the kitchen stopped rattling and gurgling. The gray water drained away to the gardens or to be cycled clean again for tomorrow’s meals.

More than those simple pleasures, she’d managed to break the ice. After sitting with the other women at their Casters game, she had become an accepted member of their crew. Luall gave her the final piece of the puzzle one morning, when she had thrown down her broom and complained that she was bored hearing about the Sapylex mission for the millionth time.

“We hear all the same damn stories every single day,” Luall said, her hands on her hips. Her little feet drummed on the floor in a beat. “I want something different.”

Mara kept scraping at a stubborn stain and ignored her outburst. Lately, Luall seemed discontent with everything. “Out, damned spot,” Mara muttered to the stain. “Out, I say!”

Clez, who had been telling the story, sneered. “Come up with your own story, then.”

“I have a story,” said Mara. She didn’t expect anyone to hear her, but heads turned in her direction.

“Tell us, then,” said Luall, picking her broom back up.

“Okay,” said Mara. “It’s about a Scottish warrior. His name is Macbeth.”

After Macbeth, she told them the story of Ebenezer Scrooge. The longer she spoke, the happier the workers around her became, and the happier they became, the surlier Clez became.

“Tell us another human story,” Gymari said.

Mara tilted her head. “Well-”

“I am done listening to human stories,” spat Clez. “Do all humans gab as much as you, worm-food?”

“Clez,” said Luall. “Behave.”

“No, she hasn’t shut up since she arrived.” Clez rubbed her eye with a knuckle. “Boo-hoo! I’m so sad! Waah!”

Mara hunched her shoulders, and she pulled the broom in front of her, shielding herself from Clez’s vitriol. Her eyes prickled from being singled out.

“There she goes again,” said Clez. She narrowed her eyes at Mara. “She’s a waste of space, like all those humans in the hold. They’re the reason why we’re scrubbing out the sewers!”

Mara blinked in confusion. “W-what?”

Gymari stepped forward. “Knock it off, Clez. Get back to work.”

“Work?” Clez’s voice rose as she faced Gymari. “Work? This is not the work I am built for! I’m too good for standing ankle deep in shit. If Syrek would get off his ass and turn off the PETL Cubes, we could be rolling in money.” She spun back around to Mara. “And then we would be short a couple dozen of your kind.”

Mara’s hands wrapped around the handle of the broom hard enough to make her fingers ache. Clez snarled at her one last time, and then stormed out of the tank.

“What a wretched creature,” puffed Oyoyoi.

“Get back to work,” ordered Gymari. “Everyone.”

Grumbling, the crew picked up their brooms and set back to scrubbing. All except Mara. She turned to Luall. “Is it true?”

“Is what true?” Luall asked.

“My people. They’re being kept alive by those cubes?”

“Well, yeah. They’re PETL Cells. They’re power sources.”

“Why did he take the cubes?”

Luall blinked at Mara. “We were hired to take them. The Ykine are going to pay well.”

“And what about my people?” Mara said.

Luall turned to Gymari for support, but the older woman simply shrugged. Licking her lips, Luall turned back to Mara. “I don’t know. But Syrek isn’t going to just-”

“Syrek,” Mara said, her chin lifting. “He’s in charge of the power cubes?”

“Yes, but-”

“Thanks, Luall. I gotta go.” Mara dropped the broom and marched out of the tank. She ignored Luall’s call and walked to the decontamination room. The floor was slick with foam from Clez passing through. Mara stood patiently while the jets reloaded and sprayed her down. The thick foam coated her suit, sloughing off grime and dirt. In the next room, the foam dried to a crust, which cracked off in decomposable chunks.

Shrugging out of the protective suit, Mara dressed in her overalls, brushed out her hair and braided it, and pulled on her boots. If Syrek was in charge of her friends’ fates, she needed to speak with him. She made her way to the bridge, only to be told by Ancain that Syrek rested in his rooms.

After her last visit to his room, she had found any excuse to leave any room he entered, even the galley. She blanched at the thought of being alone with him, but steeled herself to face the dragon in his den.

Though she couldn’t stop the trembling in her hands, she knocked firmly on his door. She sniffed her hair one last time for whiffs of sewage, and when he bid her enter, she braced herself and turned the handle.

She peered around the door and blinked into the darkness. Even the botanical wall remained unlit. “Hello?”

A figure on the bed stirred. Syrek’s rumbling voice held irritation. “What do you want?”

“Oh! Were you sleeping?”

“No,” he replied. “What do you want?”

“Are you sick?”

Syrek sighed and sat up. “No. Now, what do you want?”

Mara tapped her fingers on the door. “Can I turn on the light?”

With another sigh, Syrek leaned to the side. A panel in front of the habitat wall slid aside with a quite hum. Pale light from the interiors of the cubes washed over the room. Mara tried to avert her eyes when she noticed Syrek wasn’t wearing a shirt. His lower half was wrapped in the sheets.

“What,” Syrek said, in a growl, “do you want?”

She paused. She hadn’t expected to find Syrek in bed, and didn’t want to bother him. But could she wait to come back? Could her friends wait? This is important.

“May I please enter?”

“Suit yourself,” Syrek said. He rubbed a hand across his forehead. A few days’ worth of hair-growth showed along his skull, and his eyes were sunken in. The muscles in his arms flexed as he moved, and Mara couldn’t pull her eyes away.

When he raised an eyebrow, she coughed and averted her gaze. Mara stepped inside and closed the door behind her. She pressed her back to the metal, her heart pounding.

Be strong.

“I need to talk to you,” she said.

Syrek snorted. “I’ve been telling you to do so since you opened the door.”

“It’s about my friends. The humans.”

Syrek’s hand stopped and he looked up at her. “What of them?”

“Some of the others…” Her voice trailed off at Syrek’s stare. She wanted to run, but she wasn’t sure in which direction. Out the door or to the bed? She cleared her throat. “Some of the other workers said that the power cubes you stole-”

“Acquired,” Syrek corrected.

“-acquired from the Sykorian ship. They’re powering the cryo-beds.”

Syrek straightened, and his shoulders dropped. He tilted his head, and looked Mara up and down. “They are.”

Mara took a deep breath. “They’re keeping my people alive, right?”

“Correct.” Syrek swung his feet off the bed.

“Rumor has it that you’re selling the cubes.”

Syrek stood, and Mara held her breath while the sheets slid down his hips and back onto the bed. To her relief, he wore pants. To her discomfort, the look in his eye had switched from annoyed to predatory. “Where are you going with this, human?”

A bolt on the door dug into her shoulder, but she didn’t care. She ran her hands over the metal, letting its coolness sink into her body. Now that he stood, he seemed to fill the room.

He’s trying to bully me.

I hate bullies.

Her chin rose. “Mara. My name is Mara.”

“It’s a stupid name.”

“You’re being disrespectful.”

“Do you deserve respect?” His voice was soft.

“Everyone does,” she said. “Everyone has value.”

“Everyone?” He strolled toward her. “Do you really believe that?”

“Yes, don’t you?”

He stopped in front of her. “Only people who work on my ship have value. And their value lies in their work, not themselves.”

“That’s a cynical way to live.”

Syrek shrugged. “One might say it’s more realist than cynic.”

Mara took a deep breath. “I disagree. The world is better than that. My human friends might be sleeping right now, but I know them. They have value. You cannot turn off the cryo-beds.”

“Can I not?” He sounded amused.

“No, you can’t.”

He stretched out an arm and placed it beside her head, then leaned forward. The corner of his mouth twitched into a smirk. “If you honestly believe that I cannot, then you do not know me at all. I am Syrekayan Ar’Zathris, son of Zathlassan Ar’Zathris, the man known as The Ennoi Butcher. There is nothing of which I am incapable.”

Mara swallowed. At this distance, she could see the texture on his skin. His breath caressed her face, and she swore she felt the warmth of his skin on hers. She closed her eyes for a second, lost in the memory of their kiss.

It had been good. No, better than good.

Perfect.

She could have stayed there in his arms forever. Somehow, the strangeness of her life had melted away under their mutual desire. As out of place as she felt on Haven, she felt like she belonged in that moment when he had kissed her.

Except it was a kiss built on falsehood. She had thought he might have a heart underneath all that callousness, but his words right now told her that she was wrong. He could cast her aside without a second thought, and he could do the same for the sleeping humans.

Too much was at stake. She couldn’t afford to be distracted by what-ifs. Nobody would advocate for Dannica and the others if Mara didn’t pull her head out of the clouds.

Perfect lies. Perfect liar.

She opened her eyes, and gasped because Syrek had taken the opportunity to step closer. His elbow, now bent, rested against her head, and the heat of his skin warmed her ear. He watched her with languid eyes, like a predator stalking a tasty morsel.

“You were saying?”

He’s trying to throw you off your game.

He was using her attraction to him as a tool. The coil of desire in her belly sent up a shoot of outrage. He knew she wanted him, and he knew what effect he had on her.

And he was using it, the jerk.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I want you to let my people live.”

“How badly do you want them to live?” His words slid along her neck and sent a shiver down her spine. “What would you do to keep them alive?”

Against her better judgment, her eyes closed, and she turned to press her cheek against the cool metal behind her. “I would do anything.”

Syrek’s lips brushed her ear as he whispered. “Anything?”

Her fingers curled into a fist, and she opened her eyes. She turned her head, and he leaned back far enough so he could see her face. Her eyes met his.

“Anything,” she said.