“Watching mere attractiveness transcend to beauty? Yes, it will.” Reynard whisked a black cape around her before wheeling a columnar piece of furniture behind her chair. With the tap of a button, the top retracted to reveal a sink. A moment later, she was leaned back with her neck resting on the curved sink edge. He wet down her hair, soaped it up, and began massaging.

  She melted instantly. “Fahla,” she mumbled. “Dr. Wells, this could count as a treatment.”

  Amusement brushed her senses. “I should have thought of that back when we were trying the massage therapists. Reynard has a special touch.”

  “What’s this?” Reynard wanted to know.

  “Rahel?”

  “You can tell him.” It was such common knowledge now that she no longer cared. She closed her eyes, sinking into the wondrous scalp massage while Dr. Wells explained how physical touch relieved the emotional pressure from a thousand unshielded minds.

  “The massage should have worked,” Dr. Wells concluded, “but we tried two therapists and neither could get past the fact that she’s not Gaian. They made it worse.”

  Indignation sparked through the fingers rubbing her scalp. “What kind of massage therapists were they? We’re out here to see new things, not cling to old.”

  “I like him,” Rahel said.

  “It’s mutual,” he assured her.

  He rinsed her hair, somehow combining a gentle touch with brisk efficiency, and Rahel thought she might come here just for this. Then he ran a dehumidifying comb through her hair, just enough to keep it from dripping, and set her upright again. A tap closed the sink, and a kick sent it rolling back to its spot along the wall.

  “Now,” he said, brandishing the scissors. “Watch an artist work.”

  The first few cuts were shocking. She had expected something more gradual, but within a few seconds, what looked like half her hair was lying on the floor in auburn coils.

  “That’s quite a difference already,” Dr. Wells remarked. “If you’re making this radical a change after your first war game, what will you do after the next one? Get a tattoo?”

  “I’ve thought about it,” she said honestly. “Since long before this. But I could never decide on a design.”

  “That’s the usual issue. If you do decide, get it done on Alsea or in my medbay. Not on a space station.”

  Rahel hummed agreement, watching Reynard carefully snip along his comb.

  “I mean it, Rahel. I’ve had to clean up too many messes. Allergic reactions to ink, skin infections, granulomas, keloids, blood-borne diseases from contaminated tools—”

  “You make it sound so cheery,” Reynard interjected. “I’m glad I only cut hair.”

  “We always prefer that crew members come to us.” Dr. Wells ignored the comment. “And you’re at additional risk given your different body chemistry. Promise me.”

  “I promise that if I ever get a tattoo, I won’t do it on a space station.” It was an easy assurance to make, but she was startled at the relief it engendered.

  “Thank you. Three of my nurses are licensed, just so you’re aware. So am I, of course.”

  “You are? How did I not know that?”

  Dr. Wells shrugged, a small smile giving away her satisfaction at this surprise. “I enjoy drawing. Skin is just another medium for making art.”

  “But it’s not, is it? You can’t make any mistakes.”

  Reynard chuckled. “She doesn’t make mistakes.”

  “And don’t you forget it.” Dr. Wells sat back, arms loose on the chair and a broader smile taking over her face. “This is looking good.”

  Rahel thought so, too. She was fascinated by the process as Reynard measured and cut, measured and cut, always using his fingers to feel the hair as if it were speaking to him. At times, the lopsided results were worrisome, but then he would come around and even things up, following a path only he could see. She had no idea where he was going until suddenly, there it was. He fluffed the hair over her forehead, pulled out the wisps in front of her ears and examined their length critically, then made a few adjustments so tiny that she thought they couldn’t possibly matter.

  After another rinse, a glorious scalp massage, and a bit of finger combing, he whisked away the cape with palpable pride. “What do you think?”

  “My sainted Shippers,” Dr. Wells said. “You weren’t kidding about beauty. Rahel, you look gorgeous.”

  She turned her head this way and that, startled by how light it felt without the weight of her braid. And how could something so simple as cutting hair change the shape of her face? Her eyes seemed larger and her cheekbone ridges more pronounced, while her forehead ridges were softened by the hair that curled down. Reynard had been correct; her hair had waves that went their own way. But he had made sure they settled in a pleasing manner.

  Experimentally, she ran her fingers through and watched the waves land precisely where they had been before. “Huh. This does look easy.”

  “Easy.” Dr. Wells snorted. “He made you into a recruitment poster for Fleet, and you’re thinking about simplicity. You really are a warrior.”

  “I never pretended to be anything else.” She experimented again, grinning as it became apparent that this would indeed be a matter of finger combing and going out the door. “Candini is going to birth a brick.”

  “So will most of the men and half the women on the crew,” Reynard said with satisfaction. “You’ll need to set up a waiting list.”

  “I’m asexual.”

  “In that case, you might consider putting out a ship-wide memo. It would save time.”

  Dr. Wells put on a look of wide-eyed interest. “I want a waiting list. Can you do that for me, too?”

  “I could, but first you’d have to stop making them terrified of you.”

  “Hm. No. Better just trim the ends.”

  19

  Connection

  Wearily, Ekatya walked through the door of her quarters and straight to her desk, where she removed a small device from the bottom drawer. It activated with a quiet hum, sweeping the vicinity for spy cams. After a minute, the hum ceased and a steady green light appeared.

  Safe for now. The confirmation brought less relief each day, as her anger deepened its roots and sent branches of resentment into every part of her shipboard life.

  She replaced the scanner and shut the drawer. “Phoenix, set display to Alsea One.”

  Across the room, the long wall between the entry and kitchen came awake, transforming from gray nothingness to a vibrant and achingly familiar scene. The Fahlinor River flowed across the foreground while verdant lawns and brilliant landscaping extended from the far bank to the forest beyond. Above the treetops, standing out against a clear blue sky, the colorful domes of Alsea’s six largest caste houses ringed the great glassed dome of Blacksun Temple and the imposing height of the State House.

  She dropped onto the sofa, lost in the view and a painful longing to be inside it. Lhyn was probably in the State House right now, reading some thousand-year-old book she’d gotten from Lanaril. Andira was with the war council at Blacksun Base, going over today’s results in preparation for the second, all-teams analysis tomorrow. And Salomen was at Hol-Opah for the nineday, burying herself in the work she loved. They were well into spring now, prime growing season and a time when Salomen was less the Bondlancer and more the head of Hol-Opah.

  All three of them knew who they were and who they should be. She was the only one who didn’t.

  She slumped back and closed her eyes, too tired to do anything but listen to the Fahlinor’s comforting song. She should be changing clothes, eating something, trying to relax enough to connect with Lhyn tonight. But moving off this couch was too great a task to consider at the moment.

  “I miss you,” she whispered, and fell through the door.

  “Fucking stars!” Lhyn jolted upright, nearly tipping out of the wooden deck chair in her surprise.

  Beside her, Salomen twitched violently, sloshing spirits from the half-full glass she held. “What? What happened?”

  “It’s Ekatya.” Lhyn scrambled to her feet and set her glass on the top railing of the deck. “You’re early. I haven’t even centered. How are we connecting?”

  Shocked by her sudden displacement, Ekatya turned in place, absorbing the peaceful scenery of Hol-Opah. They were alone on the back deck and had recently finished evenmeal, judging by the activity of Salomen’s family visible through the dining room windows. Though it was early afternoon in ship time, Blacksun Basin was shrouded in the shadows of dusk, both moons shining over the eastern mountains. She could see it all because Lhyn had been here a thousand times; the details were imprinted in her mind.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I’m as surprised as you are.”

  Salomen’s head jerked up from where she had been setting her wet glass on the deck. “Goddess above, I heard her!” Her gaze swept blindly past Ekatya. “I heard you. Where are you?”

  Lhyn pointed. “There.”

  She followed the pointing finger, frowning in concentration, then shook her head. “Ekatya, say something.”

  “I have no idea how this happened. I was sitting in my quarters, missing you. All of you. Then I was here.”

  Lhyn glanced at Salomen, whose face was a picture of awe. “You heard that?”

  “Fahla, yes. This is incredible.”

  “It is.” Lhyn reached out, her hand brushing through Ekatya’s shoulder. They could not touch in this telepathic link, but it never stopped them from trying. “It’s getting stronger.”

  “Exponentially. I wasn’t even close to relaxed. I haven’t had anything to drink. And I didn’t have the sensation of dropping through the tunnel. One piptick I was on the sofa, the next I was through the door into your mind.”

  “And mine,” Salomen said. “It’s like you’re truly here. I’ve heard whispers before—”

  Lhyn’s eyes rounded. “You have? Why didn’t you say something?”

  “I thought it was wishful thinking. I wanted to hear you, Ekatya. And see you. It was as if I simply didn’t know how. But this! I’d swear you’re standing next to me.”

  “I am standing next to you.” Ekatya looked toward the mountains, savoring their sharp beauty in the light of the moons and wishing she could smell the crisp air. “What a gorgeous evening. Is that why you’re here?” she asked, turning back to Lhyn. “I thought you’d be in the State House.”

  “I was, but Andira’s at Blacksun Base and Salomen was here. And you’re in orbit. Our quarters were too quiet, so I invited myself over.”

  “As if you ever have to do that.” Salomen brushed her hand against Lhyn’s, a gesture of affection that left Ekatya wanting. They could touch, but she could not.

  She was always removed, always apart.

  “I was hoping Andira would be here soon,” Salomen added. “But she’s stuck in the war council. They didn’t expect you to win. She’s half frustrated and half proud of you.”

  It was amazing how good that felt, knowing she had made Andira proud. She basked in the thought, her spirits rising enough that she could laugh at herself for her morose thoughts a moment ago.

  Lhyn was watching her thoughtfully. “Are you all right, tyrina?”

  “I am now.”

  “Oh, no.” Salomen rested her head against the back of her chair, eyes closed in what Ekatya guessed was an effort to focus on what she could hear inside her mind. “That’s not a good enough answer. Something pushed you to a new level in your connection, a level I can reach. You said you missed us. I cannot think that’s all of it.”

  “Does Andira get away with anything when you’re around?”

  “Only when I allow it.”

  “Poor woman.”

  Lhyn laughed. “You realize that being in a six-pointed bond means you’re never getting away with anything again. Tell us what’s going on.”

  Ekatya leaned against the railing—a mental construct, but one that felt comfortable nevertheless—and crossed her arms. “I think I’m losing my mind.”

  Salomen looked alarmed, but Lhyn knew her better. “Be more specific, please.”

  “I don’t know who I am anymore. Today I was a warship captain, a respected leader among other captains. One tick after that, I was a suspected traitor. Now I find I’m a tool Sholokhov kept around just to influence a negotiation.”

  “What?” Lhyn demanded. “What did he—”

  “Lhyn. Let her finish.”

  Ekatya had to smile at the interaction, so typical of them. Lhyn, rising swiftly to her defense and wanting facts, while Salomen recognized that those facts did not matter as much as the emotional truth.

  A well-rubbed memory rose, shiny with frequent use: the afternoon when she had confessed her envy and shame to all three of them, and Salomen had cracked her heart with three words.

  We see you.

  “I think that’s why I’m here,” she said. “I needed to be seen. I needed my anchor.”

  Lhyn’s mouth twisted in frustration. “I wish I could touch you.”

  “Do we ever connect this way and not say that? This is enough. Just being here helps.”

  “At least we can do that much. I hate the thought of you up there with that asshead grinding you down.”

  For some reason, hearing Lhyn call Greve an asshead lightened her heart. “Have you taught that word to Salomen?”

  “She tried,” Salomen said. “It didn’t take.”

  “Because you’re too proper,” Lhyn grumbled. “You never swear.”

  “I do when the occasion calls for it.”

  “Well, what if someone is always an asshead? When does the right occasion come along?”

  “When they’re enough of an asshead to send Ekatya down here looking for her sense of self.” Salomen pronounced the Common word precisely, leaving no doubt as to her own feelings. “I’m sorry, Ekatya. Of the four of us, you and Andira have the most difficult roles. And Andira isn’t being subjected to water wheel torture.”

  Ekatya bristled at the very idea of Andira being treated that way. But then, she wouldn’t let it grind her down. She’d either turn the tables on her tormenter or find a way to make him irrelevant.

  Irrelevant, she thought. Sholokhov’s hint about the gloves had indicated exactly that—Greve was irrelevant. He was depending on his rank to keep her cowed, not a power kept leashed only by Sholokhov’s temporary protection.

  With a smooth click, a puzzle piece fit into place.

  “Don’t be sorry,” she said. “You’re my power. All of you. This bond. As long as I have my anchor, I know who I am.”

  “Words for Fahla,” Salomen said with an approving nod.

  Lhyn beamed, her earlier frustration erased. “An extremely high-quality anchor at that. The best model available. Triple redundancy in case of stress fatigue of any single part.”

  “Scholars.” Salomen looked skyward with exaggerated patience. “Always complicating things. We’re an anchor with three flukes instead of one.”

  “Or four instead of two,” Lhyn shot back.

  Ekatya could easily visualize it, buried in the sandy sea bed. “Would that ever come loose?”

  “Not unless you wanted it to,” Salomen said.

  “Then no. Not ever.” She hadn’t planned or even imagined such an unorthodox personal life, but now that she had it, no power in this universe could make her give it up. Without a Sharing, without Andira or her own physical presence, her anchor was still powerful enough to neutralize the weary despair that had fueled this connection. Lhyn and Salomen had seen to that in ten minutes flat.

  Despite her interrupting them, she realized. The two forgotten spirit glasses loomed large in her vision, evidence that they had set aside their plans in favor of her need.

  “I’m having second thoughts about the physical aspects,” she said.

  “You’re ready?” Lhyn asked doubtfully.

  “No, but you are. I’m holding you back. I’m sick of being the one holding everyone back.”

  “For the love of Fahla,” Salomen said with a sigh. “If I’m not telling one of you this, I’m telling the other.”

  “They’re not fast learners, are they?” Lhyn asked.

  Their expressions spoke of an inside joke Ekatya was not privy to. “Is this a slur on warriors?” she asked.

  “Not a slur. An observation based on abundant evidence.”

  “Ekatya, did you not just agree that we’re your anchor?” Salomen asked.

  “Yes?”

  “What happens when the flukes of an anchor aren’t the same size? Does it hold as well?”

  She was silent, imagining the result.

  “We’re all connected. You cannot keep thinking of yourself as a separate piece somehow responsible for the rest. What we do, we all decide to do. Didn’t we agree on that after the uprising?”

  “That was seven moons ago.”

  “I didn’t know there was a time limit.”

  Ekatya gestured at the glasses, and though Salomen could not see, Lhyn could. “Lhyn came here because she was lonely and missed you. I’m here because I was lonely and missed all of you. We’ve acknowledged the bonds; we know where the threads are attached. It’s all getting stronger. It’s strong enough that I dropped in here without trying! If you don’t keep strengthening your part, don’t you think that will throw it out of balance?”

  “What makes you think we’re not strengthening it?” Salomen asked reasonably.

  While Ekatya stumbled over that, Lhyn said, “Remember when we met? We were in bed together before we knew each other’s names.”

  “That’s not true. I knew—” She stopped. “Your first name.”

  Salomen snickered.

  “Right. And I knew your rank and family name. We didn’t get around to more detailed conversation until later. We were driven by something we didn’t understand then, but we understand it better now.”

  “My first Sharing with Andira was physical and mental torment.” All traces of amusement had vanished from Salomen’s expression. “Our early courtship was conducted under pressure and with Andira’s government and life in the balance. Our later courtship was as public as it could be.”