The kidnapper had been Massassi, large, heavily tattooed, rough but not cruel. He'd taken Merion's cultic robes and left him suspended in a forcefield in what looked like a ritual chamber aboard an unfamiliar starship. A few months ago — before Kiev'ara and the Prism, before the Aing-Tii expedition's phenomena, and especially before the Silent Mirror — Merion would have been terrified. He was still terrified, of course, but there was a cold, angry, analytical voice behind that terror, and he could speak with that voice. So he waited and listened to his instincts, and waited some more.
The woman who came down through the chamber door was nobody he knew well, but he'd seen her face on Eshan at the palace. Echani and of a certain age, and wearing fine simple clothes like a palace servant. She walked with a cane. That Massassi lurked at the door.
"I have questions," the Echani woman said. "Will you answer them?"
There were games he could play in situations like this but only in the abstract; he didn't trust himself to get it right. "Within reason," he said.
The Echani unfolded a seat from the chamber wall and settled into it with her cane across her knees. "Merion Oreno Varanin, youngest prince of Eshan, now an astronavigator for the Diarchy's commerce ministry, and for the past two years a death cultist of the Central Isopter. Is my information current?"
So she knew all three off his lives. Not ideal but it wasn't like any of them were secrets, not exactly.
"We're not a death cult." He stuck with familiar territory to feel better. "We don't seek death out."
"You're not overly enamored of shield generators either. How many times did you die in the Silent Mirror space pocket aboard the central derelict?"
"A few." Many. Very many.
"Because you sought death or because you raced ahead?"
"I was the first to the Echo Resonator — and the second, and the third." Pride, too, helped him calm himself, floating there in the air surrounded by what was clearly a serious Dark Side practitioner's ritual chamber. "I may not be great at self-preservation but I was there to solve the puzzle."
"Did you get the death out of your system?"
The dry tone set off warning flags in his head, though he couldn't say why. The situation was somewhat distracting.
"I'm not done solving this. The ship you took me from—"
"—had Echo Resonator technology aboard, yes. It's being installed in this ship, the Lanvarok Whisper. You've already met my pilot, and he's excellent, but I want a hyperspace navigator who can use that technology to get me past the starweird incident zones."
"I have other commitments."
"Reconnecting random worlds for the Diarchy. Supply runs."
"It's meaningful to me. It's a better sense of purpose than the palace or the cult ever gave me. I think I could be good at it."
"Possibly, as long as you don't lean too hard on the prism artifact we found with you. But possibly. Instinctive astrogation isn't often a power that Darksiders value or care to cultivate. Of the ten best modern Force-sensitive astrogators, living and dead, I can't think of one who wasn't Jedi or a Warden of the Sky — and I flew with the Vagrant Fleet. Out to play dark Starchaser, are we?"
"I value it. It's what I want. I'm good at it. What else is there?"
The Echani woman paused. "That," she said, "is a downright Vectivan perspective. Darth Vectivus, I mean. I think you might be someone I can work with."
"I have commitments."
"One mission for your freedom. One mission that's very much in the interests of your goal. You'll get your fill of disaster tourism in the process. All the anecdotes and recordings you need to, say, help the cult get past your shift of allegiances. And you'll learn more about high-stakes astrogation from this than anything you've ever done."
Given his options... "One mission," he said. "What is it?"
Her face shifted into a human woman, pale, dark-haired — one of his grandmothers, in fact, the chillier one — and he jolted against the force field.
"I plan to kill Calladene. It'll be nice to spend some time with you, dear."
The woman who came down through the chamber door was nobody he knew well, but he'd seen her face on Eshan at the palace. Echani and of a certain age, and wearing fine simple clothes like a palace servant. She walked with a cane. That Massassi lurked at the door.
"I have questions," the Echani woman said. "Will you answer them?"
There were games he could play in situations like this but only in the abstract; he didn't trust himself to get it right. "Within reason," he said.
The Echani unfolded a seat from the chamber wall and settled into it with her cane across her knees. "Merion Oreno Varanin, youngest prince of Eshan, now an astronavigator for the Diarchy's commerce ministry, and for the past two years a death cultist of the Central Isopter. Is my information current?"
So she knew all three off his lives. Not ideal but it wasn't like any of them were secrets, not exactly.
"We're not a death cult." He stuck with familiar territory to feel better. "We don't seek death out."
"You're not overly enamored of shield generators either. How many times did you die in the Silent Mirror space pocket aboard the central derelict?"
"A few." Many. Very many.
"Because you sought death or because you raced ahead?"
"I was the first to the Echo Resonator — and the second, and the third." Pride, too, helped him calm himself, floating there in the air surrounded by what was clearly a serious Dark Side practitioner's ritual chamber. "I may not be great at self-preservation but I was there to solve the puzzle."
"Did you get the death out of your system?"
The dry tone set off warning flags in his head, though he couldn't say why. The situation was somewhat distracting.
"I'm not done solving this. The ship you took me from—"
"—had Echo Resonator technology aboard, yes. It's being installed in this ship, the Lanvarok Whisper. You've already met my pilot, and he's excellent, but I want a hyperspace navigator who can use that technology to get me past the starweird incident zones."
"I have other commitments."
"Reconnecting random worlds for the Diarchy. Supply runs."
"It's meaningful to me. It's a better sense of purpose than the palace or the cult ever gave me. I think I could be good at it."
"Possibly, as long as you don't lean too hard on the prism artifact we found with you. But possibly. Instinctive astrogation isn't often a power that Darksiders value or care to cultivate. Of the ten best modern Force-sensitive astrogators, living and dead, I can't think of one who wasn't Jedi or a Warden of the Sky — and I flew with the Vagrant Fleet. Out to play dark Starchaser, are we?"
"I value it. It's what I want. I'm good at it. What else is there?"
The Echani woman paused. "That," she said, "is a downright Vectivan perspective. Darth Vectivus, I mean. I think you might be someone I can work with."
"I have commitments."
"One mission for your freedom. One mission that's very much in the interests of your goal. You'll get your fill of disaster tourism in the process. All the anecdotes and recordings you need to, say, help the cult get past your shift of allegiances. And you'll learn more about high-stakes astrogation from this than anything you've ever done."
Given his options... "One mission," he said. "What is it?"
Her face shifted into a human woman, pale, dark-haired — one of his grandmothers, in fact, the chillier one — and he jolted against the force field.
"I plan to kill Calladene. It'll be nice to spend some time with you, dear."
