No sword.
Kohl’s fist slammed into her stomach and she wanted to curl over, except she was pinned. Grace’s vision was going dark, she only had seconds with the force he was putting on her carotid artery before she blacked out. His face was right next to hers. “Who,” he hissed, teeth clenched together in anger, “is scared now?”
There was a click and a hiss, and Kohl’s fingers relaxed. His eyes lost some of their glare, and he stumbled back before he dropped onto his ass on the floor. Grace rubbed at her throat, coughing, then looked up. At Hope, and the hypo she held. She was pale, paler than a clear dawn just after the colors of the sun had fled before the coming light of day. She looked at the hypo, then at Kohl. “I don’t know what’s in this,” she said. Her voice sounded faint. “I don’t know why I did that.”
Grace looked at Nate, who was grayer than three-day-old oatmeal, then at Hope. “Thank you,” she said. It came out as a rasp, her throat burning. She turned to El. “El. Help me get Nate in the damn machine.”
“I’m not going anywhere near you,” said El.
“I’ll help,” said Hope.
“No,” said Grace. “I’ll do it myself. Then we’ll talk.”
• • •
“My father,” said Grace, “was one of the Emperor’s Intelligencers.” She said it without emotion, because this was a delicate time, and they needed to make up their own minds. If she was going to gain their trust—
Grace, Grace, Grace. It’s gone beyond that. You’ve taken their trust, broken it to a thousand pieces, and then tossed it into a star. They will never trust you again.
“An esper?” said El.
“An esper,” said Grace. “A strong one.” She looked around the sickbay; Hope and Nate had changed places, Hope on the ground, leaning against a wall, her eyes closed, but she was awake, mind firing and strong.
“They’re not allowed to have kids,” said El. “The Intelligencers were … experiments.”
“They were,” said Nate, his voice thick with the effects of drugs, “assholes.”
“If you can control people’s minds,” said Hope, “rules don’t really apply.”
“Rules didn’t apply to my father,” agreed Grace. Only to me. “He wanted his own empire.” She nudged Kohl with a foot. Hope had dosed him with a muscle relaxant, so he was awake and online, but unable to choke her out again. “He talked about a Republic of Equals.” She didn’t talk about her mother. Her mother had left her with a gentle name and a memory of tenderness before her father had taken over the controls. He’d wanted her to discard that tenderness like so much space junk. She wished she could still talk to her mother; Grace sent her holos but didn’t even know if her mother got them. That was all one-way. Just like her father. She clamped down on that thought. Not the time.
“No one was ever equal to the Intelligencers,” said El. She had her arms crossed. “No one.”
“He didn’t mean you,” said Grace. “He didn’t mean any of you. He meant others. Like him.”
“The not-breeding thing was supposed to stop humanity being ruled by mind-controlling overlords,” said Hope. “I guess I’m glad they all died in the revolution.”
“Dear ol’ Dad,” said Grace, “wanted me to be just like him.”
“Rule the world?” said Hope.
“Be an asshole?” said El.
“Be an esper,” said Grace. “Like you can be taught a thing like that.”
The room was silent, aside from Kohl who sounded like he was trying to say something. Grace didn’t want to hear anything that man had to say, so she nudged him harder with her boot. “Shut it, Kohl.”
“Are you … one of them?” said Hope.
“No,” said Nate. “She’s—”
“Yes,” said Grace. She put a hand on Nate’s shoulder. Rest. “And no. Not like what you think. My mother wasn’t an esper. It didn’t … I didn’t breed true.”
“De … formed,” choked out Kohl, then made a grating sound, like a tractor failing to start on a cold morning. Grace realized he was trying to laugh.
“You and my father would have so much to talk about,” said Grace, “if he didn’t turn your brain inside out in five seconds.”
“Have you been manipulating us?” said El.
“Sure,” said Grace. “I’ve manipulated this asshole,” and again, her toe into Kohl’s stomach, “into choking the life from me. I manipulated the Ravana’s reactor into blowing up. Hell, I manipulated an entire alien race into attacking us.” She sighed. “Try not to be as stupid as Kohl. He’s more than enough for one ship.”
The machine attached to Nate beeped, the display changing from red to amber. He opened his eyes. “What’s it say? Am I dying?”
“Yes,” said Grace, “but now at the same speed as the rest of us.”
“The same … what?”
“You’re fine,” said Grace. “You’ll be fine.” Not like me. You’ll either kill me, or leave me here. You’ve got to. You can’t make any other choice.
“Great,” said Nate. “Get me the fuck out of this thing. I’ve got a ship to fly.”
“So I was thinking,” said Grace. “It’d be great if you could just let me off somewhere. With people.” Please don’t leave me here. Not with them.
“What?” said Nate. “No.”
He’s going to leave me here. She could feel the sickness in her stomach return, and she bowed her head. “I understand. Because of what I am. What I’ve done.”
“Half right,” said Nate, levering himself up on one elbow. The machine emitted a harsh alarm, and he slapped at the console until it shut off. “What you’ve done? Sure, sure. You lied. Hell, you lied to all of us, and that’s a thing I can’t let slide.”
She nodded. “I understand. I’ll—”
“Haven’t finished,” said Nate. “It’ll cost you a completion bonus, best case scenario. Most of your share. Need to think about it.”
“What?” said Grace.
“I think that’s fair,” said Nate.
“Wait—” said El.
“Unngh,” said Kohl.
“Haven’t finished,” said Nate. “Y’all seem to forget who is the captain of the Tyche. It’s not any of you. If you don’t like it, airlock’s that way.” He pointed in the general direction of the aft of the ship. “Y’all also forget what’s happened so far. Hope would have been taken by the Navy if it weren’t for Grace.”
“But—” said El.
“Capnnn,” said Kohl.
“Still haven’t finished,” said Nate. He was zipping himself back into his flight suit. “Now Kohl, I know that you want Hope to be left out there as well. You share the Republic’s views on this sort of thing. That’s between you and them. On my ship, it doesn’t matter. Never has, and never will. And I’ll remind you, without Hope, and what she did, we’d be spread atom-thin in a part of space no one goes to. We’d all be dead, and no one would know what happened to us. Without Hope, the Tyche wouldn’t be flying. Isn’t that right, El?”
“But Captain,” said El. “We’re not talking about Hope—”
“Isn’t,” said Nate, his smile growing fixed, “that right, Helm?”
“Sir,” said El. “That’s right.”
“This is all about Grace,” said Nate. “Hell, the Republic are after her, but she still put herself in harm’s way to help me and mine. That makes her one of us, don’t you see? Don’t you all see?” He looked at the floor, then back up. “This isn’t hard unless you make it hard. Hope fixed the Tyche. Better than new.”