Kristine Rusch - City of Ruins

I say, “You have no idea what the Empire can do.”

“If what you tell me is true,” he says, “then we have nothing to worry about from your Empire. My ship can take care of itself.”

I flush. What I’m telling him is true, and something I said made him leave. Not, then, that the Empire would try to take his ship. Something about stealth technology.

“What did I say earlier that caused this decision?” I ask.

He tilts his head slightly. I can see him thinking about how to answer me. He’s weighing a few options. Then his mouth tightens and he nods, as if he’s picked an option.

He says in Standard, his words so clear the translator is redundant. “Five thousand years.”

There is an honesty to those words. I probably would have believed him even if I hadn’t seen his reaction to that number earlier. In spite of myself, I understand. I remember finding the first Dignity Vessel, not believing that it was what my eyes and my computer told me. No Dignity Vessel could have been in our sector of space, and yet there it was.

This captain doesn’t believe me in the same way I did not believe in that Dignity Vessel. He needs to know, and he will not stop until he gets answers.

Only he wants to do it right.

I understand that, too.

I also understand that I will not be able to change his mind.

I sigh.

“Give me five hours,” I say. “I need to get my people off Wyr before you get to the surface.”

“You have two,” he says, through the translator. “And I would like you and Al-Nasir to stay as we prepare.”

Even though the lieutenant couched that as a request, it is clearly not a request. We must stay. He doesn’t trust us, yet he needs us. We’re his guides to the surface.

“I will get you off planet if there is trouble,” he says.

“In your damaged ship?” I ask.

“The damage is repaired,” he says.

“There will be trouble,” I say. “So let Al-Nasir leave, too.”

“No, Boss,” Al-Nasir says. “You need me.”

“I can survive,” I say.

“It’s all right,” Al-Nasir says, even though we both know it is not. I had thought so little of him, and here he is, trying to protect me. He shouldn’t protect me. I need to take care of my people.

“Let me go to the room, at least, to get my people out of Vaycehn,” I say. “It would be better if you give us more time.”

“I am giving you as much time as I can,” the captain says. “And even that is too much if you are untrustworthy.”

I stare at him. I hate understanding this. I hate the realization that I would make the same requests.

“All right,” I say because I have no real choice. “Two hours. And this better work.”

I don’t look at anyone as I leave that room. I know my way out of this ship.

I’ve been inside several Dignity Vessels, and the structure of this one is no different from the others. I know my way to the door as if I had marked it in my diving suit.

The guards look alarmed, and I don’t care. Nor do I care if anyone is following me. I expect Al-Nasir to keep up. I’m sure we’re going to pick up other handlers along the way.

I reach the main door in only a few minutes. My hair flies around my face, and my breath is coming in rapid gasps. There are two female guards in front of the door, and a team of people talking to one side. They appear to be gathering equipment.

“Let me out,” I say to the guard in Standard. I don’t care that they can’t speak my language. They should understand my tone.

They answer with a phrase that I now know means “What?” or its equivalent.

I slam my hand against the door. “Out,” I say in what I think is Old Earth Standard.

The smaller guard looks at the other. She nods once and hits the release beside the door. It slides open, and I hurry into the airlock before the guards change their minds. I hear a commotion behind me, Al-Nasir yelling “Wait!” and against my better judgment, I do.

He’s running, and he finally reaches me, sweat pouring off his face, his shirt drenched. He’s not in the right kind of shape to keep up with me.

The door closes behind him, and the exterior door opens. I hurry down the steps.

The room is transformed. Dozens of people are inside, all wearing the black uniform of the Dignity Vessel. They’re underneath consoles, around consoles, near the back walls. In the very middle, a crowd has gathered, and something has risen out of the floor. They seem to be taking it apart.

My team is separate from all of the action, watching but not touching. Rea and DeVries are the deepest into the room, looking at that middle section as if they’ve never seen anything like it. Seager is near the door, and Quinte has moved toward the original console, the one that we had initially touched, her hands behind her back, staring at the blank screen.

All of the screens are off. In fact, it looks like the consoles are off as well. And the hum I’ve come to recognize as stealth tech is gone.

Kersting is the only member of my team who I don’t see immediately, but when I shout “Hey!” he appears from beside the ship.

“I need my team now! Right now!” I yell as I get close to the main door. A few people stop work and look over their shoulders at me. None of the rest of the ship’s people bother with me at all.

Seager looks alarmed, but doesn’t move since we’re coming to her. Quinte comes over, as does DeVries. Rea seems reluctant to leave the middle of the room.

“Now!” I yell again. I don’t think I’ve ever sounded this shrill in my life.

“Hurry!” Al-Nasir adds.

We gather near the door. If I look anything like Al-Nasir, I look panicked. His hair falls all over his face, his clothes are sweat-stained, and his face is flushed.

I wait until everyone is within hearing distance.

“The captain of this ship is sending a team to the surface in two hours, and we can’t stop them.”

“Oh, my God,” Quinte says.

“He can’t,” Kersting says at the same time.

“Doesn’t he know—?” Seager starts.

“Yes, he knows,” I snap. “He doesn’t care. I’ve already argued with him. They’re going. He gave us the gift of two hours. He could have gone right now.”

Al-Nasir looks at me in surprise at my use of the word “gift.” Apparently he thought I was angry about the two hours.

“I’m evoking our emergency procedures,” I say. “You have to get out of here now, and after you get out of the stealth-tech field, you need to contact all of our people on the surface. Tell them to drop whatever they’re doing, gather the equipment, and get the hell off Wyr. As soon as a group is assembled, take a ship and go to the Business. Make sure everyone is out of here. If you have to leave equipment behind, then do it. People are more important.’

“What about you?” Rea asks.

“I’m staying,” I say. “I’m going to escort them to the surface, and try to minimize this thing. After you’ve gotten out, send the hovercarts back down for us. We need to get to the surface, and I don’t think they’ll be using their own equipment to get us there. At least I hope not. So go, and don’t assume you have more than the two hours he gave us.”

“I’m staying, too,” Al-Nasir says. “She needs a translator.”

I shake my head but don’t argue.

Kersting frowns. “What about you and Fahd? Will we ever see you again?”

“The captain assures us he can get us to the Business. Pull out of orbit and wait for us at the rendezvous spot. If we haven’t arrived in three days, head home.”

Rea is shaking his head. “But—”