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Authors: Sarah A. Hoyt
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space cruiser's disposal chute leading to recycling facilities. Something soft wiped at my mouth. A hand touched my hair, pulling the curls back. For a moment, in total confusion, I thought it was my mother. My mother was the only person who did that as I lay down. Mother.
My answer was a soft chuckle that sounded not at all feminine. I went into the darkness again.
I woke up in space. My first thought was that I was in Circum, that I'd somehow hallucinated the ambush and Father and the Morpheus and all that. But the artificial gravity of Circum Terra was almost like real gravity and didn't bother me. But then again, this didn't feel like the artificial gravity in Father's cruiser. This was a completely different quality of feeling, something that made me feel lightheaded, but not exactly nauseous.
Also, the bed beneath me did not feel like my bed in Daddy Dearest's Cruiser. It was firmer, and somehow cooler. A hand flung sideways felt a handful of silk, not the dimatough bed frame.
My head hurt like all the blazes, a rhythmic headache, concentrated on the top of my eyes, flashing, flaring, making me wish to whine with pain—only I had learned long ago not to whine. If you cry, if you give a sign of frailty, they pounce. It doesn't matter who they are. They are always there waiting to pounce. At the last instance, there was always Father, waiting for a weakness, ready to subdue me. I'd learned early and I'd learned well not to whimper, not to simper and not to cry. Unless of course it was to make someone think I was weak, just before I pounded them.
I forced my eyelids open against all my preservation instincts, making my eyes open, making . . .
There was no light. Or at least not the light I was fearing, the light I was sure would make my headache pound and make me throw up again. Instead, there was a soothing twilight, full of shadows. Shadows.
I started to sit up, and the round bed—like something from Decadent Earth—the cabinets, the straight-backed chair, all found a home in my memory. The darkship.
How and when had I come back here? Had he kidnapped me? Did he . . . ?
A memory of being ambushed, of Father or perhaps a hologram of Father being used to surprise me, to stop me long enough, made me flinch. If it wasn't Father, then his body guards had been set to capture me. And if it was Father. I didn't want to think about it. I couldn't think.
The door opened and closed softly, and there by it stood the strange ELF, staring at me. "Would you like light?" he asked, politely, like someone asking you if you wanted water, or perhaps food.
"A . . . little," I said. "But not if . . . not if it's going to blind you."
He slid his hand up the light switch. By the faint glow suffusing the room, I could see him smile, a tight smile, like he needed all his self-control to deal with me. The cat-like eyes were attentive. "It won't blind me," he said. "I have my lenses in." And then, to what must have been a look of incomprehension on my face. "I wear them when I'm not alone, and when I'm not harvesting. Most cats do. We can't ask our families to live in the dark, after all." The tight smile flashed again. "I am told it makes our vision almost normal, but that we don't see colors quite the way the rest of you do."
"Oh." And I supposed that was an explanation to the glaring colors everywhere, but I wasn't about to ask. "Where . . . We're not in the power tree ring."
"No."
"Earth orbit?" I asked hopefully.
He actually cackled. A short, dry cackle. "No."
"I . . . what are you . . . Where are you taking me?"
There was an hesitation. The generous lips tightened, and a wrinkle formed on his forehead. It made him, somehow, look more human. Also upset. "I only have one place to take you. Home with me."
The unsaid words but I don't have to like it hung in the air between us. I didn't ask for it to be made explicit. He didn't try to tell me, either. Just looked at me with the expression of someone who
My answer was a soft chuckle that sounded not at all feminine. I went into the darkness again.
I woke up in space. My first thought was that I was in Circum, that I'd somehow hallucinated the ambush and Father and the Morpheus and all that. But the artificial gravity of Circum Terra was almost like real gravity and didn't bother me. But then again, this didn't feel like the artificial gravity in Father's cruiser. This was a completely different quality of feeling, something that made me feel lightheaded, but not exactly nauseous.
Also, the bed beneath me did not feel like my bed in Daddy Dearest's Cruiser. It was firmer, and somehow cooler. A hand flung sideways felt a handful of silk, not the dimatough bed frame.
My head hurt like all the blazes, a rhythmic headache, concentrated on the top of my eyes, flashing, flaring, making me wish to whine with pain—only I had learned long ago not to whine. If you cry, if you give a sign of frailty, they pounce. It doesn't matter who they are. They are always there waiting to pounce. At the last instance, there was always Father, waiting for a weakness, ready to subdue me. I'd learned early and I'd learned well not to whimper, not to simper and not to cry. Unless of course it was to make someone think I was weak, just before I pounded them.
I forced my eyelids open against all my preservation instincts, making my eyes open, making . . .
There was no light. Or at least not the light I was fearing, the light I was sure would make my headache pound and make me throw up again. Instead, there was a soothing twilight, full of shadows. Shadows.
I started to sit up, and the round bed—like something from Decadent Earth—the cabinets, the straight-backed chair, all found a home in my memory. The darkship.
How and when had I come back here? Had he kidnapped me? Did he . . . ?
A memory of being ambushed, of Father or perhaps a hologram of Father being used to surprise me, to stop me long enough, made me flinch. If it wasn't Father, then his body guards had been set to capture me. And if it was Father. I didn't want to think about it. I couldn't think.
The door opened and closed softly, and there by it stood the strange ELF, staring at me. "Would you like light?" he asked, politely, like someone asking you if you wanted water, or perhaps food.
"A . . . little," I said. "But not if . . . not if it's going to blind you."
He slid his hand up the light switch. By the faint glow suffusing the room, I could see him smile, a tight smile, like he needed all his self-control to deal with me. The cat-like eyes were attentive. "It won't blind me," he said. "I have my lenses in." And then, to what must have been a look of incomprehension on my face. "I wear them when I'm not alone, and when I'm not harvesting. Most cats do. We can't ask our families to live in the dark, after all." The tight smile flashed again. "I am told it makes our vision almost normal, but that we don't see colors quite the way the rest of you do."
"Oh." And I supposed that was an explanation to the glaring colors everywhere, but I wasn't about to ask. "Where . . . We're not in the power tree ring."
"No."
"Earth orbit?" I asked hopefully.
He actually cackled. A short, dry cackle. "No."
"I . . . what are you . . . Where are you taking me?"
There was an hesitation. The generous lips tightened, and a wrinkle formed on his forehead. It made him, somehow, look more human. Also upset. "I only have one place to take you. Home with me."
The unsaid words but I don't have to like it hung in the air between us. I didn't ask for it to be made explicit. He didn't try to tell me, either. Just looked at me with the expression of someone who
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