As Gael ran, Aavi’s scream burned a path along his synapses, igniting fear and memory. When he reached the tunnel entrance, he heard things crashing behind him. Not stopping to see what he’d knocked askew, Gael followed the echo of Aavi’s distress up the looping tunnel until he rounded the corner into the workshop. The sight of her huddled on the floor in front of one of the benches slammed into him like an invisible wall. Gael stopped in the doorway.
Bram smacked into him from behind, nearly knocking him down. “What happened? Where’s Aavi?” he said, somehow pulling Gael upright as he pushed through the door.
Aavi’s whimper drew them both into the workshop, Gael falling to his knees as he approached her. She had one arm cradled against her chest, and her new tunic, one he’d just finished stitching the night before with fanciful sun patterns, was dark with blood.
“What happened?” Bram asked.
Terror had nearly frozen Gael in place. Blood didn’t belong here, on Alkirak. Surely they’d left violence back on Zhemosen?
“Get it off. Get it off,” Aavi moaned.
From his crouch in front of her, Bram reached forward. “Let me see, sweetheart.”
Still moaning, Aavi curled herself tighter.
Gael thought he might throw up. All that wet and glimmering red. He sat back on his knees and drew in long, slow drafts of air until his head stopped spinning.
“Shh, shh.” Bram was patting Aavi’s hair. “It’s going to be okay.”
How does Bram know that?
“Let me see your arm.”
Keening softly, Aavi extended her arm. The source of all the blood wasn’t visible for a moment, just dark and darker streaks, then a deep, ragged gash across the meatiest part of her forearm.
Bram muttered something that sounded like a curse and grasped Aavi’s other hand. “Gael, help her keep pressure on this. Sweetheart, hold your arm tight, okay? Real tight. You hear me?”
“I want it off,” Aavi moaned.
What, her arm?”
Bram grabbed Gael’s hand and clamped his fingers around those smaller and slicker than his. Bile burned a path up the back of Gael’s throat as the smell of the blood seeping between his fingers wafted upward. Not metal. Warmer than that, richer—like turned soil.
“Tighter, Gael.”
Gael squeezed his eyes shut and his fingers down.
A vacuum opened next to him—Bram’s absence as he rose and searched the workbench. Then there was a ripping sound. Gael opened his eyes. Bram had his shirt off and was tearing it into strips. Then he was beside them again, wrapping Aavi’s arm.
“Move your fingers.”
Gael did so.
Bram wrapped his makeshift bandage all the way along Aavi’s forearm, tied it off, and bent down to scoop the girl into his arms. “Let’s get her inside. Kitchen. First-aid kit is next to the cool room.”
“Okay.” As soon as Gael stood, the world swayed again. A saw blade rested on the workbench, the serrated edge glistening with smears of blood. Now the scent of metal hit him. He swallowed and swallowed again. Not now, Gael. Not now. Aavi needed him. Bram needed him to be sensible.
Somehow, he got his feet moving. The nausea had faded by the time he reached the kitchen, but not his panic. And questions were piling up, one after the other.
Bram dropped Aavi into one of the chairs facing the table and pulled her arm out, away from her body. “Okay, the bleeding is slowing down. Aavi, honey? You still with us? Can you tell us what happened?”
“She was using one of the saws,” Gael said.
“What?”
Gael located the big blue plastic box on the shelves next to the cool room, pulled it down, and carried it to the table. “A small saw, I saw it on the bench.” His brain and his stomach wouldn’t be able to cope with the idea of Aavi near one of the machine blades. He set the first-aid kit in front of Bram and flipped it open. “Wh-what do we need?”
“Water, disinfectant, new skin patches. I think the cut is too wide for stitch tabs or glue.”
Aavi had started crying in hiccupping sobs.
Bram stroked her hair, leaving a bloody thumbprint on her forehead. “What happened?”
“I was trying to cut my bracelet off.”
“But why? Doesn’t it have a release?”
“No. It’s not mine. He put it on me, and it keeps buzzing. Ow, ow, ow.”
Bram was unwinding the dark-stained strip of shirt. “Who, Gael?”
Gael felt faint again and not because of all the blood. He’d asked Aavi about the Band, but he hadn’t pressed. Could it contain some sort of tracking device? If so, how far would it reach? Would the signal extend as far as orbit?
“Water, Gael.”
Startling at Bram’s harsh tone, Gael moved to the sink, where he filled a basin with water and grabbed the box of disposable cloths.
Bram cleaned the wound, applied disinfectant spray and a skin patch, and wrapped her arm in a new bandage. Then he pulled her wrist a little closer and studied the bracelet a moment before glancing up at Gael. “What is this?”
Gael pulled out a chair and bent his shaking legs until his butt touched the seat. “I don’t know. I thought it was a Band. Aavi, have you received any messages since we’ve been here?”
She nodded.
Gael’s skin prickled.
“Have you answered them?”
“No.”
Oh, thank the sun.
He turned to Bram. “We should, um, probably get it off her.”
“Why?”
Gael drew in a deep and not-at-all-fortifying breath and said, “Aavi isn’t really my sister.”
Bram’s eyebrows flew up and his mouth dropped open as Aavi shrieked, “Gael!”
Gael took Aavi’s hand and squeezed tight, absurdly grateful to be doing the calming this time. It wasn’t that hour before dawn when he woke up fighting with a pillow, yelling, blinking away visions of blood and brains and the horrible weight of a gun in his hands. With that deep dragging loss in his chest, the hole Aavi could never fill but tried to.
“It’s okay,” he murmured, sure his words were a lie. “I won’t send you away. You’re my responsibility now.” That at least was the truth. He didn’t dare look at Bram. “Where I go, you go.” Aavi nodded, and the tears brimming in her eyes rolled down her cheeks. “But you’re going to have to tell me what’s going on.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Aavi, sweetheart.” Bram smoothed her hair back again, his thumb moving over the smudge he’d left before. “We can’t help you if we don’t know what’s going on.”
Gael’s pulse kicked up at the sound of that we.
Aavi’s story tumbled out in a chorus of hiccups, quiet words, and tears. “I am—was owned by the Vorss family.”
“Owned?” Bram asked.
Gael’s stomach turned over. “She was a slave.”
His worst fear. The fate he’d fought against since he was eight years old—for himself and his brother.
“Slavery is illegal in—” Bram’s thoughts seemed to catch up with his tongue, for he finished more quietly “—Muedini space.”
Gael gave something between a headshake and a nod. “The Bhotan system is in Commonwealth space.”
His stomach continued making odd gestures in his middle. Aavi was a slave and he’d killed—no, he’d witnessed the execution of a family member. He’d suspected the visitor was important. Rivalry between undercity families was a well-established fact. The bald man would be more than simply missed, then. Burning sun. And Aavi?
“Were you also a slave?” Bram asked.
Gael shook his head. “Generally, it’s something you’re born into. Or fall into if you can’t find an indenture or accumulate too much debt. The family I worked for had slaves, but I wasn’t one of them.” Yet.
Relief lightened Bram’s expression briefly before a bitter look replaced it. “Did you have family, Aavi?”
Aavi’s eyes filled with fresh tears. “My mama died giving birth to me.”
And her father could have been any of the number of men either employed or owned by the Vorss family. A glance at Bram showed he’d probably arrived at the same conclusion. “How do you two know each other, then?” he asked.
“I saw Gael in an alley one day and followed him,” Aavi said.
“Simple as that, huh?” Bram’s eyebrows rose in skeptical arches.
“Not exactly,” Gael put in. “I didn’t know she was following me.” A shiver worked its way out from the core of fear he carried inside, and it was with some trepidation that he waited for Aavi to explain what had happened before she jumped down from the balcony. Or why she’d been on the balcony. In the alley.
Aavi only sniffled quietly.
Bram moved on. “You just, what, walked away?”
“I didn’t like being a slave.”
“Does . . . Holy hands, what do I call them, this Vorss family? These people who owned you. Do they know where you are?”
Aavi’s voice quavered. “I don’t think so.”
Bram leaned back, the chair creaking under him. “I wish you two had told me all of this the day you arrived.”
“I didn’t know most of it,” Gael said. But he could have guessed.
Bram scowled at him. “A girl wraps herself around your waist, calls herself your sister, and you just roll with it?”
“I remembered her from the alley. From that day. She asked for help, and I brushed her off. It’s different down there. I had worries enough of my own without a kid following me around. I didn’t know what sort of trouble she was in.” May he burn on the untended sands of an equatorial island for that lie.
He hadn’t wanted to know who Aavi was and where she’d come from. This had been his fresh start, damn it. He’d left Zhemosen behind! That should mean they’d left the ugliness of the undercity behind as well.
Bram was shaking his head.
“Can we get the bracelet off her?” Gael bit his lip. “Should we even try? Do you think it could be tracked this far?”
“Yes, yes, and I don’t think so.” Bram pushed up out of his seat. “Wait here.”
He ducked back into the tunnel, leaving another of those odd vacuums behind. When had Bram acquired such a presence? Maybe the weight of him—as a person—increased the longer Gael knew him, which was an unsettling thought on top of everything else. Surely Bram would ask them to leave now.
“I don’t want to go back to the city.” Aavi sniffled. “I want to stay with you and Bram.”
“I want that too,” Gael murmured, leaning forward to squeeze her hand. “It’s good here.”
Her gaze met his, and he saw his own longing—for a home and a family. For something good. For life not to be confusing and shitty and scary.
Bram returned with a pair of wire cutters. He secured them around the bracelet and chose a setting. Seconds later, the bracelet fell away with a small wisp of smoke. Gael eyed it for a second, almost expecting the broken twist of metal and circuitry to bounce off the table and bite him. Then he snatched it up and ran for the door.
“Gael, wait!”
He kept running, through the open airlock and across the lower terrace. He stopped half a meter away from the edge, still wary of the long drop into nothingness, and tossed the Band as far as he could. The sun had just passed over the near edge of the crevasse, but enough light remained to glint dully against the metal before the bracelet dropped out of sight.
He hoped it would miss every ledge on the way down and end up at the bottom of a mined-out pit, corroding in the poison mists—its signal cut off, leaving a blank space in the universe where Aavi had once been. He hoped it would take every horrible thought, feeling, and memory with it.
But even he wasn’t that naïve.
Bram watched from the shadow of the terrace door as Gael flung the bracelet into the crevasse and then leaned away from the edge of the terrace as though afraid the thing would fly back up again. He looked so small out there against the void—but defiant at the same time. It was the same posture he wore around Aavi sometimes. Even though Bram had suspected that Gael and Aavi were not related by blood, there was a bond between the two that went beyond a chance encounter in an alleyway.
He also knew Gael was hiding something. A lot of somethings. He was quite open about many aspects of his past, but always trailed off when the conversation veered toward family.
Bram didn’t know if he was any sort of judge of character, but he liked to think he could tell a rotten egg. Gael didn’t stink. More, he came across as abandoned, and that thought inspired a protectiveness Bram strived to keep under control. He hadn’t invited Gael out here to be a project or a ward. He wanted a companion. A lover. A partner.
Bram left the doorway and moved quietly across the terrace, stepping around the small plot Aavi had started tilling for a kitchen garden. He paused just behind Gael, thought about what to say for a beat or two, then simply touched the back of Gael’s shoulder. Only as his fingers landed did he consider the folly of his gesture. But Gael didn’t jerk forward or lose his balance. He seemed to have expected the touch. Had been aware of Bram’s presence.
Another fact floated to the surface: Gael always seemed aware. No, alert.
Gael half turned. Tragedy and fear painted his face, and without wasting any more thought, Bram pulled him in. Now Gael stiffened, but only briefly, before clutching at Bram, his fingers curling into Bram’s bare back.
“I’m sorry,” he said against Bram’s shoulder. He started to tremble. “We’ll go. As soon as you’re free to take us back to Landing, we’ll be gone.”
Bram indulged in a gesture he’d wanted to make since they’d first met. He cupped the back of Gael’s head, fingers moving into soft brown curls, and held him close. “Shh. Shh.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Stop.”
“We’ll—”
“You’re not going anywhere.” Bram winced at the neediness in his tone. “Unless . . .” The hair along his arms rose up with a sudden prickle. What if Gael wanted to go? Bram leaned back, making it easier for Gael to disengage, if he wanted to, and talked himself out of imagining one step now being the first of Gael’s journey away from him.
Gael glanced up, obviously upset, but not enough to cry. He’d hit that verge a few times since landing on Alkirak, but never seemed to slip over it. Why?
Bram wanted to kiss him. Wanted to return to that moment on the sofa where their hands had brushed, when Gael had looked at him with something other than fear and distress. But before he could lower his head, light flashed through the darkening sky and the prickle along his arms became an entirely different sensation.
Cursing, Bram loosened his grip on Gael, but kept hold of one arm. “We need to get inside. There’s a storm coming.” Bram tugged him back across the terrace. “Go check on Aavi, make sure she doesn’t come outside. Seal the door after you.”
“Where are you going?”
“I need to make sure the animals are all right.”
“Do you need help?”
“Check on Aavi first.”
Gael gave a quick nod and ran inside. Bram followed him in and waited for the door to the living quarters to seal before turning off toward the ramp that led up to the working level and farm. He tapped his Band as he went, checking for the alert that should have come down the pipeline from the sensors he’d placed northward along the crevasse.
Storms swept down the long, deep canyons with a measurable frequency. They were a mark of the changing atmosphere and would probably worsen before the terraforming efforts on Alkirak stabilized. They’d all been warned to build accordingly. A mild storm meant lightning, wind, and little risk of poison clouds. He might even get some rain. If it was a bad storm, he’d pray the deflector field over his crops didn’t fail and that the rising mist didn’t corrode his turbines.
The field had already activated—triggered by the change in barometric pressure. It wouldn’t stop a high wind, but should protect his crops in the instance of mist and poison rain. Bram quickly scanned the terrace to make sure nothing had been left lying around. He couldn’t afford for tools and equipment to be blown away. The darkening night showed only regular rows of soybeans and corn. The dark cluster of the experimental patch at the end. As he moved, he checked the turbines, cycling through the readout on his Band for each one. All functioning normally, but there was something odd about the power signature from the bank of batteries he used to store electricity.
Check the batteries first or the cabling at the base of each turbine?
Seeing as he was already out here . . .
Wind buffeted him as he started back across the terrace. He really should have grabbed a rebreather from the rover. Bram checked his Band again. The display wavered, making the numbers hard to read, but they were all green. If he hurried, he should be fine. The shield protecting his crops would protect him too—if the batteries didn’t fail.
The cable housing at the base of the first two turbines was intact and a quick check of the power signature showed nothing amiss. An intense gust of wind dropped him to his knees and a new fear crawled along his back. The turbines were designed to withstand greater storms than this, but he’d never be complacent about a wind that could knock him down. He half ran, half crawled to the third turbine.
The cable housing banged against the base of the mast, the clang barely audible against the rising storm. Thunder cracked overhead again, and lightning arced through the ever-present clouds, throwing the problem into stark relief. Shiny divots peppered the shielding. None of the cables were loose, but the wind was doing its best to tug them free.
Bram reached in and tightened every cable and then bent the flexible housing back against the base of the turbine. He needed to fasten it back in place. What could have caused those shallow dents? Dusting hell. Peck marks. He’d collected two of the hens from the garden surrounding this turbine.
Rising to a crouch, he ran back across the terrace and ducked inside the garage, meeting Gael in the workshop.
“Aavi’s asleep,” Gael said.
“In this noise?” Thunder cracked overhead.
“It’s been a long day.”
Bram gave an absent nod. The hike to the cloud garden wasn’t an easy one, and trying to cut your arm off could be exhausting. He started searching his workbench for something to lock the cable housing down.
“What are you looking for?”
“I need to fix the base of one of the turbines.”
“Now?”
“It’s either that or watch one of my batteries explode, and they ain’t cheap.”
“I’ll help.”
“You can help by staying—”
“With you. That wind sounds fierce. I’m not letting you go out there alone.”
Bram picked up the appropriate tool, pocketed a handful of hardware, then beckoned Gael to follow him. Two had an easier time getting across the terrace—they were able to brace each other against the wind. Lightning arced overhead and the shield flashed and sizzled. Thunder rumbled underneath it all. With Gael’s help, Bram got the cover secured, and they started back toward the garage. They were halfway there when the shield lit up with a sudden eerie glow. Then the sky hissed—or the shield did, sputtering between them and the howling storm. Gael said something, probably asked a question, but the wind snatched his words away. Bram gestured toward the garage.
Bram had become so used to leaning into the wind that when the outer garage door finally sealed, he had to reach for the wall or fall down.
Gael slumped to the floor next to him. “I . . .” He lifted his hands, which were shaking. “How often do you have storms like this?”
“This is a pretty bad one. It’s the wind. If there’s this much wind, you know the storm is going to be bad.” Idly, he wondered if the wind might have knocked some of his sensors loose. Another thing to add to the to-do list.
“What was that hissing sound?” Gael asked.
“That was mist coming up out of the crevasse.”
“That’s not good, is it?”
“No.”
“Will the shield hold?”
“So long as I have enough juice in the batteries.” And he needed to check them now.
Gael pushed to his feet. “I’m coming with you.”
“I’m not going outside again.”
“Okay.” Gael moved to his side and jerked his chin up, as if to say, Let’s go.
The batteries were stored in a large cavern behind the workshop. Bram called the space Power Central as all of his pumps and power cables terminated here. Water tanks lined the inside wall, and the batteries sat behind a protective shield in an alcove on the opposite side. The middle of the cavern was filled with the primary plumbing and electrical systems that sent power and water to every corner of his farm.
Gael stood in the doorway, mouth open, eyes wide. “This wasn’t on the tour.”
“I keep the door sealed.” It was one of the few internal rooms with a proper hatch. “It’s not a safe place for Aavi to accidently wander into.”
One of his batteries was dead. Another battery was on the verge of failure, and that was the source of the fluctuating readings. A loose cable had caused a short somewhere in the converter. Bram disconnected it. The rest of the pack should be able to handle the current load. He had learned early to build redundancy into every system.
If the storm didn’t worsen, they’d survive the night.
“Are we going to be okay?” Gael asked.
“We’ll be fine. If the shield fails, I’ll lose this crop, though.” Which would put a serious dent in their future. “But we’ll be fine in here.”
“Will the shield fail?”
Bram shook his head. “Not tonight.” Was he reassuring Gael or himself?
“But your crops—”
“I’d get by, Gael. I always have.” Bram offered a quick smile that felt somewhat pasted on. “I think that’s something we have in common.”
Gael didn’t answer, but his short nod said enough.