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Authors: Karl Schroeder
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gravity.
He rolled over and pushed himself to his feet. “I guess I’ll take the floor,” he said.
She had her head buried in the closet. “What?”
Chaison cleared his throat. “I said, I guess I’ll take the floor.”
A sly smile played across her face as she leaned back to look. “No you don’t. You’ve been living weightless for months now. A night on wooden planks would put out all your joints, from spine to ribs to knees. Get on the bed.”
“Ah, well. It’s a bit narrow—”
Antaea made a face. “ I’m sleeping on the floor.”
“Yes of course.”
“Your gallantry is going to be the death of you, Admiral.” She pried off her toeless boots.
Chaison allowed gravity to guide him to the mattress. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, but he wasn’t really listening anymore. The sensation of lying down overwhelmed him. In less than a minute, he was asleep.
ANTAEA WATCHED THE admiral until she was sure he was asleep. Then she lay down beside him and turned away. She forced her breathing to slow and her limbs to relax, though her mind was buzzing with anxiety and plans, scenarios, disastrous possibilities. She needed this rest, at least as much as the man next to her. She closed her eyes.
Ten minutes later, she sat up and cursed under her breath. She rolled off the bed and went to sit in the room’s only armchair. She sat there for a long time, not moving, not seeing the wall her gaze was aimed at. Then, reluctantly, she dug in her jerkin for her locket. Unclasping it, she held the silver oval up to the shaft of sunlight canting through the window.
She flipped open the locket and gazed at the portrait inside it. Telen Argyre smiled out at her sister with a direct, clear gaze that spoke volumes about their childhood—how it had been spent in free airs, how she and Antaea had been encouraged by their parents to learn and explore as much and as often as they could. How they had learned courage, and when an extraordinary opportunity had presented itself, had jumped at it together.
After a moment Antaea pried at the edge of the portrait, and it swung out of the locket. On its back was another picture, this one a black-and-white photograph.
It would be hard to tell for somebody who didn’t know her, but this was also Telen. She sat in a straight-backed chair, her arms painfully stretched behind it and tied at the wrists. Her feet were similarly bound and there was a cloth gag in her mouth. She stared beseechingly at the camera.
Fingers trembling, Antaea restored the original picture. She glanced at the unmoving figure on the bed. She nodded to herself.
She would need every advantage she could get. And sympathy for this foreign admiral was the one thing she could not afford, if Telen was to survive.
4
CHAISON AWOKE GRADUALLY. He should have relished the feeling of freedom and gravity against his back; but instead he found himself immersed in sad doubt. As his eyes started to open he clenched them shut against the light, vision darting left and right at the roseate emptiness as he struggled to locate the source of the feeling.
There it was: last night he had fallen asleep to the feel of gravity pulling at him, and thought it wonderful. Now all he could think was that the last time he had lain so, Venera had been beside him.
He could see her face, her brave smile, as they’d parted for the last time. He was on his way to Falcon Formation in the Rook, she on her way into the blazing epicenter of Candesce. Chaison had known that she had been able to enter the sun of suns and that she had caused the outage, because the Rook ’s radar had operated flawlessly for twelve hours during his attack against Falcon’s fleet.
Chaison opened his eyes to behold the plank ceiling of the couple’s hostel. An unwaveringly steady wind rattled the windows. He let out a long, shuddering sigh.
Venera Fanning was cunning, ruthless, and pragmatic. In the heat of battle she had shot people without
He rolled over and pushed himself to his feet. “I guess I’ll take the floor,” he said.
She had her head buried in the closet. “What?”
Chaison cleared his throat. “I said, I guess I’ll take the floor.”
A sly smile played across her face as she leaned back to look. “No you don’t. You’ve been living weightless for months now. A night on wooden planks would put out all your joints, from spine to ribs to knees. Get on the bed.”
“Ah, well. It’s a bit narrow—”
Antaea made a face. “ I’m sleeping on the floor.”
“Yes of course.”
“Your gallantry is going to be the death of you, Admiral.” She pried off her toeless boots.
Chaison allowed gravity to guide him to the mattress. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, but he wasn’t really listening anymore. The sensation of lying down overwhelmed him. In less than a minute, he was asleep.
ANTAEA WATCHED THE admiral until she was sure he was asleep. Then she lay down beside him and turned away. She forced her breathing to slow and her limbs to relax, though her mind was buzzing with anxiety and plans, scenarios, disastrous possibilities. She needed this rest, at least as much as the man next to her. She closed her eyes.
Ten minutes later, she sat up and cursed under her breath. She rolled off the bed and went to sit in the room’s only armchair. She sat there for a long time, not moving, not seeing the wall her gaze was aimed at. Then, reluctantly, she dug in her jerkin for her locket. Unclasping it, she held the silver oval up to the shaft of sunlight canting through the window.
She flipped open the locket and gazed at the portrait inside it. Telen Argyre smiled out at her sister with a direct, clear gaze that spoke volumes about their childhood—how it had been spent in free airs, how she and Antaea had been encouraged by their parents to learn and explore as much and as often as they could. How they had learned courage, and when an extraordinary opportunity had presented itself, had jumped at it together.
After a moment Antaea pried at the edge of the portrait, and it swung out of the locket. On its back was another picture, this one a black-and-white photograph.
It would be hard to tell for somebody who didn’t know her, but this was also Telen. She sat in a straight-backed chair, her arms painfully stretched behind it and tied at the wrists. Her feet were similarly bound and there was a cloth gag in her mouth. She stared beseechingly at the camera.
Fingers trembling, Antaea restored the original picture. She glanced at the unmoving figure on the bed. She nodded to herself.
She would need every advantage she could get. And sympathy for this foreign admiral was the one thing she could not afford, if Telen was to survive.
4
CHAISON AWOKE GRADUALLY. He should have relished the feeling of freedom and gravity against his back; but instead he found himself immersed in sad doubt. As his eyes started to open he clenched them shut against the light, vision darting left and right at the roseate emptiness as he struggled to locate the source of the feeling.
There it was: last night he had fallen asleep to the feel of gravity pulling at him, and thought it wonderful. Now all he could think was that the last time he had lain so, Venera had been beside him.
He could see her face, her brave smile, as they’d parted for the last time. He was on his way to Falcon Formation in the Rook, she on her way into the blazing epicenter of Candesce. Chaison had known that she had been able to enter the sun of suns and that she had caused the outage, because the Rook ’s radar had operated flawlessly for twelve hours during his attack against Falcon’s fleet.
Chaison opened his eyes to behold the plank ceiling of the couple’s hostel. An unwaveringly steady wind rattled the windows. He let out a long, shuddering sigh.
Venera Fanning was cunning, ruthless, and pragmatic. In the heat of battle she had shot people without
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