Decrypted Page 3
As Tikaya followed the chief, she noticed her heavy Turgonian boots thudding on the bamboo floor. Sweat dampened the wool socks inside. A flutter of anticipation stirred in her breast. If the chief spoke truly, by that evening, she could be at home, wearing sandals and a light dress again, and enjoying a meal with her family.
The chief pushed open a door at the end of the hall. Rias stood inside, surrounded by men in white robes, the hems and sleeves adorned with gold stitching. Tikaya hesitated. At the least, they were science professors from the Polytechnic, but given the number of gray-haired heads, they might be members of the Council of Science Policies and Affairs.
Someone had taken Rias’s rucksack, jacket, and even his boots and belt. A seashell bracelet with a glowing red stone strapped his wrist. Beyond a brief meeting of her eyes, he did not react to Tikaya’s entrance.
She frowned at the chief and pointed at Rias’s wrist. “Is that a lizard tracking device?”
It was one of the professors who responded, a slight wiry man with gray hair. “It’s true the zoology department uses them for keeping track of rehabilitated predators to ensure they don’t attack people again, yes. This one has been modified for human use.”
“So Rias can be killed with a thought if some fallible controller thinks his behavior is questionable?” She searched Rias’s eyes, an apology in her own. Bringing him home had been a mistake. Had she truly thought it wouldn’t be misery—or worse—for him?
“Nobody’s going to kill anybody,” the professor said. “It’s to be used to render him insensate if he becomes violent.” His tone grew chillier. “And I’ll be the ‘fallible’ controller accompanying and observing you. Professor Yosis.” He turned a cool look of warning upon Rias. “My colleagues will serve as backup, in case something should happen to me. A death command could be given in response to such an event.”
Tikaya balled her hands into fists. “This is inhumane and unacceptable.”
“It’s the only way we’re letting him walk around the island,” the chief said.
“And he agreed to it,” Yosis added.
“You did?” Tikaya asked Rias, switching to Turgonian.
He nodded once.
She waited, expecting him to say more, to explain his thoughts, but he remained tightlipped. Like a prisoner of war not wanting to give anything away to the enemies holding him captive. And why shouldn’t he feel that way? Essentially, that’s what he was. She would have to get him alone to have an open conversation. But if Yosis was accompanying them, that might not be possible for a while. A long while.
CHAPTER 3
Humidity smothered fields green with new growth, but a pleasant breeze brought relief as it rustled through the coconut trees lining the road. A beach stretched along one side with gulls swooping and squawking over the waves.
The six-mile bicycle ride from the city to the plantation would have been pleasant if not for Professor Yosis pedaling behind Tikaya and Rias. Though more gray than blond marked his thinning hair, he wasn’t considerate enough to grow weary and fall behind.
“I’m sorry about the tracker,” Tikaya told Rias, feeling the need to apologize before they met her family—and she had more reasons to express regret to him.
“You needn’t be,” he said.
They spoke in his tongue, but the professor doubtlessly understood it.
Tikaya gave Rias a sad smile. “You won’t say that after you’ve felt the bite of... Ah, just don’t give our monitor back there a reason to use it.”
“I’ve felt its bite.”
Her hands tightened on the handlebars. “They used it on you?” She glared back at the professor.
“It is necessary for the subject to feel the pain that misrule elicits so as to fully realize the need to avoid it,” Yosis said, thus verifying he understood Turgonian. “Also, it is necessary for us to test the subject’s pain threshold in order to calibrate the device.”
“They used it on you a lot,” Tikaya whispered, horrified. She braked and dropped her boots to the ground. She wanted to kick the old man off his bicycle. “What gives you that right? He’s a human being. That’s torture.”
Yosis stopped beside her, while Rias waited a few paces ahead.
“Really, Ms. Komitopis.” Yosis regarded her mildly. “Do you believe he hasn’t done far worse to far more human beings?”
“I thought our people prided themselves on being more civilized than the Turgonians—than any of the more warlike cultures in the world.” Sweat dripped down Tikaya’s arms and splashed on the gravel. “Knowledge. Wisdom. Peace. Aren’t those words still engraved above the entrance to the Polytechnic?”
“Our way is more humane than theirs,” Yosis said. “Do you know how many of our people were maimed and disfigured, mentally and physically, when they returned after the treaty signings? Those who returned at all, that is. As you know, many were lost to us forever.”
Rias gazed at the sea. If the professor’s highhanded logic disturbed him, one would never know. His thoughts remained locked in his head. Tikaya wondered if he’d yet decided he’d made a mistake in coming here.
She returned to pedaling.
Before they had gone far, Rias nodded at a ridge across the field. Verdant ground sloped upward toward the top of the volcano that one could see from anywhere on the island.
“What’s up there?” he asked.
“Not much,” Tikaya said. “A few hunting cabins and campsites. The majority of our agriculture and settlements are down here in the flatlands.”
“I saw a reflection, like light striking glass. A spyglass, perhaps.”
Tikaya adjusted her spectacles, though she doubted she would see anything. It was miles to the base of the hills, and lush trees and foliage carpeted the slopes.
“Could be someone hiking or working,” she said. “I can ask later. It’s my family’s property, so only my kin or perhaps the neighbors would be wandering around up there.”
Rias cocked his head. “How much land does your family have?”
“I’m not sure exactly. It takes about a day to walk across it.”
He blinked. “So, forty miles? That’s huge on an island this size.”
“Probably closer to twenty,” Tikaya said. “My people have shorter legs than yours, and we rest a lot more often on a hike.”
Yosis snorted.
“Still, if that’s twenty on all sides,” Rias said, “you’ve more than two-hundred-and-fifty-thousand acres.”
“If you’re trying to impress me with your math skills,” Tikaya said, smiling, “it’ll take more than a simple square-miles-to-acres conversion.”
“Oh?” The corners of his eyes crinkled. “Perhaps you can show me the plat map later, and there’ll be ragged borders that require more sophisticated calculations.”
“Why do you care how much land her family has?” Professor Yosis asked, his tone cold.
Tikaya lost her smile. “I’m sure he’s only curious.”
“Doubtful,” Yosis said.
Rias returned his attention to scanning their surroundings. He would have stuck up for her, she had no doubt, but he seemed resigned to whatever fate her people had in mind for him. Well, she would stick up for him, even if he wouldn’t fight for himself.
“How much land did you walk away from,” Tikaya asked him, “when you chose to help me destroy those weapons and escape instead of turning them over to your emperor?”
“Not much,” he said. “I’m my father’s third son, so I wouldn’t have stood to inherit the family properties. I just had what my grandfather left me.”
“More or less than twenty square miles?” Tikaya said.
“Well, more, but Turgonia is huge, so proportionally, far less.”
“Uh huh. So, your family controls how many millions of acres?”
“A few million. But it’s largely undeveloped. Mostly mountains and trees.”
“Ore and timber?” Tikaya asked.
“That follows, I suppose.”
“Poi?” Rias’s lip twitched into a half smile. “Didn’t you promise me rum?”
“You are naive for your age, Ms. Komitopis,” Yosis said.
“Yes, I’m hearing that a lot today. I believe the consensus is that my years ensconced at the Polytechnic left me unwise to the workings of the world.” She titled her head toward Rias as they coasted down a slope. “Have you found me to be flawed in that manner, as well?”
“I’d call that trait more endearing than flawed. I’ve dealt with enough worldly and jaded people to have grown weary of them.” Rias didn’t glance back at Yosis—he didn’t have to.
“We’re almost to the main house,” Tikaya said to edge out any comment that might spring to the professor’s lips. “That building over there is—”
An explosion boomed, and an orange blaze erupted from the earth. Stunned, Tikaya almost fell off the bicycle.
“What was that?” Yosis asked.
“The pumping house,” Tikaya whispered.
Without thinking to tell them to follow, she veered off the road. She cut through the stubbled field, the bicycle bumping over the uneven earth. Though it jarred her to the bones, she pedaled faster, angling toward the source of the explosion. Rias appeared at her side, matching her pace.
“An attack?” he asked.
“Attack, no. An accident, must be. There’s a boiler in there. It might have exploded. Anyone nearby could be hurt or...” She drove her legs faster, not bothering to glance back to check if Yosis followed.
Sweat streamed down her face by the time they drew near the pumping house. The top of the earthen dome had been blown off. Brush fires burned in the nearby grass.
Her father lay by the door, blood soaking his gray hair.
Tikaya jumped off the bicycle. “Father!”
She sprinted to his side, barely noticing that Rias jogged into the structure. A clatter came from inside.
“Father?” Tikaya rested a hand on his chest.
He was breathing, but his eyes were closed. She removed the uniform jacket tied around her waist, wadded it up, and pressed it against the gash on his head. She patted him, checking for other wounds.
His blue eyes fluttered open, wide and dazed at first. Then they squinted shut as he grimaced in pain. His hand went to his head, and he bumped her arm. He opened his eyes again, focusing on her this time.
“Tikaya?” he whispered.
She gripped his bloody hand. “Yes, Father.”
He lifted his head, concentration on his face, as if he couldn’t understand her. The explosion must have stunned his ears.
“Dead?” he mouthed.
Not sure whether he had thought she was dead or maybe feared that he had died, Tikaya spoke again, more loudly this time. “Nobody’s dead. It’s me. I’m home. What happened? Are you all right?”
“Yes... That’s right. They said you... were coming.”
They who? The police? It didn’t matter, Tikaya told herself. When Father put a hand on the ground, she helped him sit up. Blood ran down the side of his round face and spattered his sweat-stained shirt. His gaze landed on Yosis, and his brow crinkled in confusion.
The professor straddled his bicycle a few meters away, fresh dust gathered on the hem of his white robe. He’d taken out a notepad and pencil—maybe that was his idea of being useful.
Father opened his mouth, but a shadow fell across him, and he said nothing, only gaped up at the source.
Rias had come out of the pumping house, sans shirt. “There are two more injured inside. I made makeshift bandages—” he gestured at his bare chest, “—but they need medical attention.”
Father didn’t seem to hear him. He lunged to his feet, staggering before catching his balance, and, instead of heading inside to check on the others, he stomped over to Rias and glared. His eyes didn’t even come to Rias’s collarbone, but that didn’t keep his shoulders from tensing, his eyes from turning icy, and his hands from curling into fists. His chest rose and fell in fast, deep breaths, as he ignored the blood dribbling into his eyes. This wasn’t how Tikaya had imagined Rias’s first meeting with her family going.
“Father.” She rested her hand on his forearm. “This is Rias. He’s—”
“One of those bloodthirsty barbarians who kidnapped you. What’re you doing here, Turg? Come to steal my grandchildren this time?”
“He brought me back,” Tikaya said. “He saved my life several times.”
Father shook her hand off his arm. “You can’t trust him. You can’t trust any of them. They’re godless heathens, girl.”
Rias clasped his hands behind his back. “You may want to attend to your workers, sir. And perhaps search your property for intruders. The failure originated in the feed water pump, a malfunctioning float switch. It may have been an accident, due to aged equipment, but it may have been sabotage as well.”
Father looked like he wanted to fight, not analyze the incident, but he pushed past Rias and stomped inside. Tikaya tried not to feel stung that she had been gone months, months when her parents must have wondered if she was even alive, and he hadn’t even given her a hug. She shook the thought away. It was more important to tend to the injured and find out what had happened to the pumping house.
She headed for the door and, though conscious of Yosis’s watching eyes, leaned her shoulder against Rias for a moment. He surprised her by slipping a folded piece of paper into her hand. She pocketed it and continued past him.
Inside, the air was cooler, though afternoon sun slanted through a gaping hole in the domed ceiling, the jagged edges smoldering. Warped machinery steamed, and the entire boiler was missing. The energy orb that heated the water lay cracked and dormant on the earthen floor amongst shattered bamboo pipes and ceramic shards. Father knelt beside two hired workers. Rias’s jacket, which bandaged one man’s leg, was already saturated with blood.
“Is this common here?” Rias touched a bamboo pipe running vertically into the ground. “Modiglar’s equations of state, and Fargot’s thermodynamics studies suggest this material isn’t viable. Copper, wrought iron, or sometimes steel are—”
“Turg barbarian,” Father growled over his shoulder. “Men are hurt, and you’re worried about our steam technology?”
Rias dropped his hand and winced. “My apologies, sir.”
Tikaya shared his wince. She understood getting caught up in musings related to one’s passion. Her father never would. He’d always been the practical sort, someone more flustered by than interested in his children’s fancies.
“Iron or steel has to be shipped in from Nuria or Turgonia,” Tikaya told Rias quietly. “It’s costly. For centuries, our people have been using the mental sciences to reinforce everything from bamboo to coconut husks.”
“I see,” Rias said. “Regardless, structural materials don’t seem to have caused the incident. The feed water pump dried up, which kept water from entering the boiler.”
“I doubt it was sabotage,” Tikaya said. “Who would bother out here?”
“What’s this place for? Irrigation of the fields?”
“That and supplying fresh water to the house and outbuildings. The well—”
“Tikaya,” Father growled, “stop sharing the workings of everything with him.”
Tikaya sighed. “Father, he’s not... He’s my...”
She studied the packed earth floor. By age thirty, it should be a simple thing to admit to one’s father that one had a lover, shouldn’t it?
He didn’t look at her, but tension hunched his shoulders. “Go to the house. Tell Telanae we need her healing skills.”
“Yes, Father.”
Tikaya almost crashed into the professor on the way out. Yosis stood in the doorway, scribbling in his notepad.
“Can you do anything useful,” she barked, “except stand back like an observer in a science experiment
?”
“I have no medical training, if that’s your inquiry.”
“So, the answer is no.” Tikaya brushed past him and strode to the bicycle.
Yosis bent his head and wrote something else. Rias followed Tikaya out, pausing to frown down at the professor. Unfortunately, Yosis did not notice. Even more unfortunately, his writing did not delay him from hopping astride his bicycle and keeping up as Tikaya led the way home. She wished she hadn’t snapped at him—he was doubtlessly there to observe her as much as Rias—but it was too late to do anything about it.
A bumpy dirt road led from the pumping station to the main house. Rias kept glancing toward the ridge as they pedaled down the slope.
“I’m sure it was an accident,” Tikaya said. “Maybe one of the hired hands removed something for maintenance and didn’t get it refastened properly.”
“An accident that happened as your father happened to be in the vicinity? And as we happened to be riding to your home?”
“You Turgonians are a suspicious folk.”
“One of my commanding officers used to say, ‘The paranoid survive.’”
“Pithy,” Tikaya said. “I wonder why Turgonia isn’t known for its poets.”
“It’s hard to compose poetry when you’re sharing the gun deck with two hundred rowdy, unwashed men.”
“Did you ever try?”
“That’s one of those questions a wise man doesn’t answer,” Rias said. “If I say yes, you’ll expect me to write you poetry. If I say no, you’ll think me an uncouth illiterate.”
“Maybe you could just compose me a nice math theorem sometime.”
Rias bit his bottom lip and gave her a shy-hopeful expression. “I’ve actually been working on something for you. My men used to call it Starcrestian Search Theory—I used Groatian Statistics to narrow possibilities in the search for missing vessels. I thought I could adapt it so we could hunt for historic wrecks, sunken ships, or maybe even thus-far mythical ruins with archaeological significance. Surely, the bottoms of the ocean hold all sorts of secrets, maybe even—”
Rias’s head jerked back. He gasped and tumbled backward off the bicycle.
Tikaya skidded to a stop amidst a cloud of dust. She lunged to Rias’s side. On his knees in the dirt, he clutched his head with both hands, his face to the earth.