As soon as those two words transmitted to him via thought, she realized what he’d been doing. In that moment a new channel opened between them and she experienced Ei’Brai on an entirely new level. The ship hummed through him—now through her as well. She could be aware of any part of it that she pleased at any given moment, through this connection with him. There were no walls between them anymore. She could see any part of his inner dialogue or memory that she might want. She could monitor any system or any individual.
In that moment, all Ei’Brai felt was raw relief. His bravado was instantly supplanted by a release of anxiety and a flood of reassurance and calm. So much so that it affected even her. That was a small comfort as she quickly uncovered the series of machinations he’d used to bring her to this point. His deceptions, which he deemed a series of necessary tests, were laid at her feet. He begged her forgiveness for them.
She looked over at him. His limbs were drawn together to a point and he had maneuvered his body so that he faced slightly away from her, more laterally than vertically at the moment. It was a form of submission.
She lowered her hand and intuitively used her new access to check on Alan. He slept peacefully. He hadn’t just gone through any kind of trauma. That had been a ruse.
She shook her head, utterly baffled. “You tricked me!”
“A regrettable and heinous act of subterfuge. It will not happen again—is not even possible now, as I’m certain you have ascertained. I am completely open to you, at your service.”
She staggered back a step as he revealed that the xenon gas…the transformation of the nepatrox…these were all carefully concocted tests to see how she would handle herself under pressure, to see where her loyalties would lie, to evaluate her sense of fairness, her self-control—all to see if she would measure up to his exacting standards. He wouldn’t serve just anyone, it seemed.
“Calculated risks,” he hummed deferentially.
That included the interlude with Alan—testing her ability to accept cultural differences and not put her own ego first when feeling affronted.
“I need to sit down.” She backed into the wall and slid down to the floor with a heavy clunk. Drawing her knees to her chest, she opened the helmet to rest her forehead on crossed arms.
“You put people’s lives at risk.” It was an accusation. That was the part that rankled the most.
He did not sound the least bit defensive. Instead, he resumed his patient, instructive air. “Normally, every potential leader among the Sectilius, myself included, is assessed in an academic setting under naturalistic, simulated conditions by accomplished proctors. This was not possible in your case. Therefore, I created a real-world scenario and endeavored to minimize risk, while keeping the overall goal of assessment within similar parameters, always with the goal to preserve life when possible. There is much at stake.”
After a moment, she raised her head. He was still respectfully floating horizontally, eyes averted from her.
“Stop that,” she said crossly.
“As you wish.” He came to vertical and relaxed his limbs. He exuded tranquility. It was infuriating.
“But why put anyone in danger at all? You’re certainly capable of creating any scenario you like, making it feel as real as…reality. Why do all of this?”
“I regret I do not posses the imaginative traits needed to endeavor to plot such a scenario. I am but a practical individual. I utilized what I had to hand, so to speak. It was imperative that your experience be heuristic in nature. I believe I accomplished that admirably, did I not?”
She drew her brows together. “But Compton really is infected then….”
“With the latent squillae that infected the Speroancora Community, yes. I had presumed them all uncovered and eliminated by now, but—”
“Clearly a few hid from your efforts,” she said dryly.
She could see in his mind that over the decades he had ordered his own cadres of squillae to comb the ship, seeking and destroying the rogue squillae that had lain dormant, unnoticed under their noses, biding their time until something triggered them, infecting everyone on board simultaneously. Only Ei’Brai was spared, because his environment was encapsulated, kept separate from the rest of the ship, impervious to infiltration.
“Agreed. They were programmed by a sophisticated and resourceful individual.”
“Who?”
“I regret I cannot say, but I am eager to take revenge in whatever manner you see fit, should we discover the perpetrator’s identity and whereabouts.”
She exhaled slowly, determined to come to terms with her new role as the Quasador Dux of the Speroancora. “Is there any hope for Compton?”
“Unknown. The Sanalabreum has declared him clear several times, but then another is found replicating elsewhere within his anatomy.”
“I see. They’re tenacious and not easy to detect. So, there is risk to Alan and myself and to Earth—if Walsh, Ajaya or Gibbs are infected with even one of them.”
“Regrettably, yes.”
“How do we get rid of them, once and for all?”
“That, Qua’dux Jane Holloway, I do not know.”
24
Bergen was paddling his ass off toward shore, building speed. He glanced back and could see the swell rising over his shoulder. He’d missed the last one. It broke sooner than he’d anticipated, but this one was his.
Today, the wave trains weren’t tremendous, but a good solid five feet, shoulder high, and perfect glass. He was starting to tire; he’d been at it for a while, and he should be heading back into the lab to get started on his day, but it was hard to say no to just one more wave.
Surfing was like a drug.
He huffed at that thought and paddled harder. Almost there.
Nope. Not a drug—it was like sex. You spend a lot of time working up to doing it, it’s mind-blowingly awesome for a few moments, then it’s over and you want to do it again. And again. Always good. Even if it wasn’t perfect. Still good.
He felt the wave catch his board and fought the urge to rush to his feet. He let the board match the momentum of the cresting wave, and pushed up slowly, keeping the board well-balanced as he got his feet under him and corrected his course.
Such a fucking rush. Nothing else like it. He knew intellectually that the energy pushing his board had been transmitted from wind to water, that the water molecules rotated in that energy, passing it on from molecule to molecule, forming the waves, moving relentlessly for thousands of miles before reaching shore, the energy slowly dissipating as it went.
A different kind of energy surged in him. Everything was right and good in this moment: the warm sun, the fine spray of the water on his exposed skin, the sounds of breaking waves and the raucous calls of gulls—the amazing feeling of disbelief that he was actually doing it—flying, skimming the sea, walking on water.
This was a pretty popular beach. Normally by now he’d be annoyed with the other people in the surf and on the beach, getting in his way when he’d caught the perfect wave, truncating the experience, spoiling it with buffoonery or ignorance. But today he was alone. It struck him as a rare pleasure. He didn’t dwell on his luck. He just savored it.
He scanned ahead. The wave was starting to break up. Something moved in his peripheral vision and he turned slightly to see what it was. It was probably just a gull, but something told him it was larger.
There it was again.
The thrust from the wave destabilized. He lost his balance and plunged into the water. Just before he went under, he got a decent look at it. It was long and thin, like an arm or a tentacle. An octopus this close to shore would be unusual on this beach and he was pretty sure the local octopi were supposed to be small and reddish.