Page 26 of Cage of Starlight
“Thirty percent. You want to play with those odds?”
Kirlov spears a baby carrot. “It’s not my game, Doctor. Or yours.”
“It should be!” A blotchy flush crawls up Helner’s neck. “This is ridiculous. Sena, isn’t this the biggest farce you’ve ever seen? You know it, too. I saw you.”
Vantaras turns away and says nothing.
Kirlov taps his watch again. “Yes, Lieutenant. I’d be interested to hear your answer.”
This is so much better than Tory could have hoped for. He tosses a bite of thick-cut bacon in his mouth and chews with relish.
“I—I don’t—” Vantaras’ left hand snags his right sleeve, and he rubs his thumb in circles over the textured fabric, fast enough to burn the skin off. “I believe the Grand General has his reasons.”
“Coward,” Helner spits. “And they call me a traitor.”
Kirlov ignores her. To Tory, he says, “You’ll sit in on CFR type-training this afternoon.” Then he turns to Vantaras, cold eyes reflecting no light. “Lieutenant, I know you will not make mistakes like these again. Report to me when you’ve settled Mr. Arknett in, and we will review your duties toward your supervisee. I willnottolerate delay.”
“Of course, Sir.”
Tory digs into everything that remains on his plate with gusto.
Vantaras goes at his with calculated slowness, lining up the steamed carrots before eating them like they’re his personal firingsquad. Despite his smaller portion, he finishes shortly after Tory and stands up. “I’ll take you to get bedding.”
Tory almost has to run to keep up with Vantaras’ inhumanly long strides. The way he glances back, lip curling, Tory’s certain he’s doing it on purpose.
When they arrive in residence quarters, Vantaras tugs from his breast pocket a milky-pale slice of stone enclosed in a metal setting and attached to a chain. Stellite? It looks like it, but it’s faint and flawed. Whatever it is, it responds to the corresponding sliver above the door’s knob with a brief pulse of light, and the lock on the supply closet clicks open. In short order, Vantaras shoves a pile of linen into Tory’s arms. “One bedsheet, one fitted sheet, one blanket, and a pillow. You’ll receive new bedding on a weekly basis and must make your bed each morning. Uncleanliness may result in penalties or withdrawal of privileges.” He pulls something from his pocket, another slice of stone like the one on his ring. “This is your tab. Keep it with you. It has been keyed to your blood, which is now keyed to your room and all doors that have been marked as public access. Do not lose it. Do you have any questions?”
Vantaras drops the stone slice on top of the bedding in Tory’s arms.
Itisstellite, but even from this close—close enough to press the tip of his nose to it with little effort—there’s barely any of the crushing strangeness he’s learned to associate with the stone. Like the lights, it feels ruined. Dead.
“I said, do you have anyquestions?” Impatient.
Ah. The Kirlov guy said he wouldn’t tolerate delay. Ever so slowly, Tory tries out the strange tab on his door. It does, indeed, unlock it. “Let me think,” he says.
Vantaras taps a finger against his opposite wrist in an agitated rhythm while Tory flips his crusty mattress—he’d have done it last night if he’d had his head on straight—and puts the bedding on.
“What’s next for me, then?” Tory finally drawls.
“You’ll attend basic training after breakfast each morning, though you’ll be missing it today. Type-training—which we’ll observe today—follows lunch. You’ll have maneuvers after that. Trainees receive meal tokens for compliance or find them withheld for lack thereof, but given the higher-ups’ interest in your abilities, they will be motivated to keep you healthy. You’ll face other penalties for noncompliance.”
“Looking forward to it.”
“You shouldn’t. Will that be all?”
But he’s already walking away.
“Hey!” Tory calls, and Vantaras clicks to a stop, shoulders taut. “That blond guy seems like a real piece of work. Why do you listen to him?”
“That blond guyis Colonel Kirlov. You’d do well to call him by his rank.”
Social niceties serve only the strong. He’d do well to have given up on them years ago.
He hates this place, hates this man, hates being trapped here. Tory’s body has never been less free, but there’s still something thrilling about not having to gulp down ugly words.
His mom was wrong. Silence never saved him. Or if it did, it carved other, deeper wounds.
He sneers at Vantaras. “You don’t want me making waves, you should have thought of that before dragging me here.”
