Fighting Gravity (31 page)

So it was hard, as I got ready that morning, not to think of Pete just outside, wonder if he was showering when I was, or sitting down to breakfast at the same time I did.

As for breakfast, my stomach was a gnarled, twisted thing inside me and I only downed several cups of coffee and ate nothing. I wondered if Pete was eating anything.

I couldn’t have done anything special with my appearance even if I’d been able to get past my disgust at the thought. I put on my dress uniform, just like everyone else.

I was wearing his ring, but I always did that. I hadn’t removed it voluntarily since Pete had put it on my finger. What a sentimental sap I was turning out to be.

When I left my room for the Great Hall, I felt like a man approaching his own gallows—and I did know something about what that feels like.

Most everyone was already assembled, arranged in loose groupings where they would soon stand in rows to receive the emperor. I made my way over to where Kirti and Chuck waited for me.

As before, we had been organized into five rows of seventy-five people each, ranked according to age and seniority. This arrangement left me squarely in the middle of the third row. I couldn’t have been in a more anonymous, unimportant position. I didn’t even have the distinction of being made to go to the back. I was simply hidden away in the middle of the crowd.

I had not been standing there long, brooding while Kirti and Chuck exchanged worried glances, when a palace functionary entered from the lobby area and spoke with Director Harris. We were called to order. Chuck fell in beside me on my left, Kirti on my right. According to the protocol, Chuck’s positioning beside me could—with a loose interpretation of the instructions to group according to specialty—be justified, in that we were both in the sciences. Kirti’s position, not at all. No one said anything to her about it. I wondered if Director Harris had anything to do with that.

It seemed we stood there much longer than normal waiting for the emperor to enter. I had to remind myself that I’d been on this side of things only once and for the several dozen times I was basing my estimation of “normal” on, I’d been with Pete. My anxious dread probably didn’t help.

But eventually there was a small but perceptible change in the group of dignitaries waiting to meet the emperor. They all stood a bit straighter, smoothed hair or clothes. I noted with amusement that in a ripple effect, the entire crowd mimicked the greeting committee’s unconscious preparations. I caught myself doing it, as well.

A figure appeared in the doorway and Pete was announced.

And he was there.

His hair was longer. I’d forgotten how intensely blue his eyes were. He was different, and the same, and
right there
. My heart passed through my throat and soared, took a sickening drop, and clenched painfully in my chest. He took a few steps into the room and turned to face the crowd. His eyes found mine like magnets drawn together. I felt the blood drain from my face and then flood it again in an excess of incompatible emotions. My view of him was cut off as I was jerked halfway into a bow by Chuck’s hand on my sleeve. I finished the bow out of reflex and ahead of the others. I sought Pete again but he had turned away.

He began greeting and accepting the greetings of the director and heads of departments. After completing the well-choreographed scene, Pete turned to address the spectators. I couldn’t breathe from anticipation. These opening words were where he would say something to me. It would be so simple for him to say something that would sound completely benign, but would have meaning for him and me alone.

He began to speak, to say what he’d said hundreds of times and would say again hundreds more: thanks and praise and some few words specific to the day’s crowd or occasion. He delivered it as if he were saying this for the first time.

That was one of the things I loved about Pete. Under and among the layers of ceremony and formalities and repetitious audiences, he cared about these people. And while the words may have been the same as they were the day before, it wasn’t the same for Pete. He meant them today as he’d meant them every time he’d spoken them.

The thoughts were fleeting, though, and intrusive because I couldn’t allow myself to miss whatever he would say, however small, to me alone.

The stock speech concluded, he turned to the director and began to chat with him as he approached the first display.

Nothing. He’d said nothing to me. It would have been so easy. There had been no risk. Nothing.

I felt sick.

I didn’t realize I was trembling until Kirti reached over and took my hand. She gave me a worried look. Of course, she couldn’t have known exactly what I was reacting to, but they’d all been expecting me to react badly in some way. Did the exact reason matter?

I was lost in pain and confusion as I watched him tour the exhibit. More than an hour into the morning he came to my first display. I was confident, now, that he would find some opportunity to acknowledge me here.

Both the experiments I had put on display had been born of work he and I had done together aboard ship. He wouldn’t fail to notice. I had referenced that in the timeline, and included him in the list of contributors. Now he would say something to me, do something to send me a message, even just look in my direction.

I watched in breathless anticipation as he began to examine the display. After a couple of minutes he turned to Dr. Bartel and began to talk with him. My heart clenched. Wouldn’t this have been a perfect opportunity for him to send for me, to discuss the work with me? They spoke, examining the display, for several minutes.

And then he moved on.

I couldn’t breathe.

I lost sense of time or where I was for so long that I was still awash in brutal emotions when I realized that the next display in the exhibit was also mine.

He approached the display and began to examine it, chatting with Dr. Bartel as he did. A full five minutes had passed. More. I was going to be sick, I was sure of it.

fg
35

Mr. Dawes.” I nearly jumped out of my skin.

I didn’t turn. I knew the voice, and I wasn’t prepared for how to respond to Jonathan.

“Mr. Dawes,” he began again, “His Excellence commands you to attend him immediately.”

Commands
?
Immediately
? As Pete-protocol went, he couldn’t have summoned me in a way that was any more insulting and belittling unless he’d sent guards to drag me over without even asking. All the nausea and hurt swimming in my gut boiled into a slow, hot anger.

I turned to Jonathan. He looked like he was in pain.

I was afraid that if I opened my mouth I’d scream, or cry, or throw up, or maybe all three. So I said nothing, only gestured for him to lead the way. He gave me one long, meaningful look before he returned to Pete and I followed.

Jonathan waited until Pete finished what he was saying to Dr. Bartel, then whispered his announcement of me. Pete nodded his head in distracted acknowledgement and returned to his conversation with my department head. Dr. Bartel cast a glance in my direction before answering.

With an exaggerated, casual air, Pete finally turned to me.

“Mr. Dawes,” he said.

I bowed low, nearly prostrating myself. “Your Excellence.” He wilted a little, and I bit back a sudden urge to apologize.

He recovered quickly. “I recognize this experiment,” he said, gesturing toward the display.

“Of course. This one was your idea. I began the initial work on it at the palace.” The pained expression was just a flicker on his face, a tightening of his eyes, but I knew those eyes too well to miss it.

Sam shifted at the emperor’s side; the same guard captain with whom I had a very unfortunate acquaintance. He glowered at me, but I turned back to Pete.

“Of course, I remember,” Pete answered. “I also remember that, because it was my idea and my request, you assured me that you wouldn’t work on this project unless I was able to join you. I see you decided not to honor that.”

I stared at him, dumbfounded. He was going to make an issue about
that
? Was it just that he just wanted something, anything, to pick a fight with me about? After all my hope, my daydreams about the subtle ways he could have acknowledged me, this was how he’d chosen to break his silence? The faltering burn in my chest flared in a rush of anger. “If you mean I decided not to abandon the project entirely then, yes,” I snapped.

Pete hesitated only a moment. “Strange that I never realized your word meant so little,” he said.

I sucked in a loud, angry breath. “And I never realized you were so petty!”

He took two quick steps toward me, his eyes flashing. He was so close that I felt the harsh rush of his breath against my cheek. “Take care, Mr. Dawes,” he said, his voice low. “I have my limits.” He stepped back, his face hard. I watched him deliberately relax hands that had clenched into fists. He took a deep breath and turned his back on me, wandering back over to the display.

“This is the second of your displays I’ve seen, Mr. Dawes, in as many hours. Is this to be like it was the last time I came? The entire physics section a tribute to the
genius
of Jacob Dawes?”

“You needn’t worry about that, Your Excellence. You may remember, I spent most of the last five years away from the IIC.” He turned away and I didn’t see his reaction to that.

“Of course,” he replied, still angled away. Then, waving his hand in my direction he said, “You may go.”

I stiffened. Pete didn’t dismiss the lowest servant so rudely. My hands balled into fists. The entire group was still, watching, breathless when I didn’t do as he’d commanded.

“You know,” I snapped, my voice loud and hard, “most cowards have to run away from their problems. Aren’t you fortunate that you can make your problems run away from you?”

Pete turned on his heel and was in my face before I could blink. “You never learn, do you?” he hissed. “Have you forgotten all the trouble your mouth gets you into? What I am? What I can do to you?”

“I haven’t forgotten anything,” I said, half choking on the many meanings of that. “But I’m not afraid of you.”

“Oh, I know you’re not.” He coughed a rude laugh. “You’re not as bright as people give you credit for. So let me help you.” He lowered his voice and spoke with exaggerated slowness. “Go away, as you were told, and save yourself the embarrassment of being dragged out of here.” He turned his back on me, returning to the display and those waiting for him there.

I quivered with rage, and grief, and the overwhelming need to punch something. “You can kiss my ass, Peter Killearn!”

He rounded on me, but checked himself a couple of feet away. “Sam,” he said, finishing his sentence with a gesture in my direction. Two guards flanked me. Their hands clamped down on my arms. He held my gaze. “It never occurred to me that I’d need a brig on my personal transport.”

To the guard captain he said, “Confine him in one of the unused servants’ quarters.”

“Yes, Your Excellence.”

Pete turned away. As if an afterthought he added, “Sam, I won’t overlook you doing him any harm…yet.”

Sam’s smile was his only answer. He led the way out through the lobby and to the transport. The guards followed behind, hauling me with jerks and thrusts so that I stumbled along between them. They steered me aboard and down a small corridor to a nondescript door. Sam pushed me inside the small bedroom with so much force that I landed on the floor in front of the bed. I got to my feet. Sam was still in the doorway, examining me.

He was struggling with something—apparently, his self-control. He drew in a breath and, closing on me, threw his fist into my stomach. My knees buckled.

I gasped, struggling for air. Breathing like a fish on land, I stood in a rush of fury. “You’ve only got that one trick, don’t you?” I croaked.

His face screwed up in confusion.

“The punch in the stomach. It seems like every time I see you, that’s how you greet me.”

I saw his fist spasm, but he held himself back. “You going to tattle on me again?” he growled.

“I didn’t tattle on you last time.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, sorry, I forgot you have the IQ of my little toe. I was covered in bruises and you brought me to the emperor yourself. He’s not as dumb as you. When he saw them, he actually figured out what happened all by himself.”

He stepped closer and loomed over me. “If you’re lucky,” he said, “when the emperor gives me my head with you, I’ll beat you with only the few men I have here, rather than waiting until we’re back at the palace with my entire squad.”

“Generous of you,” I quipped. He smiled.

“But you’re not really a lucky one, are you?”

I just held his gaze, not answering. He made a disgusted noise and stormed out.

I slumped down to sit on the bed, cradling my aching gut and drooping over my knees, cursing Sam, myself, Pete; myself, mostly.

I couldn’t stay still. I paced around the small room, taking the opportunity every now and then to bang my stupid head against the wall, only to sink back down to the bed for a time, cradling my stupid head in my hands, before I’d be back up again, pacing. Anger didn’t wane but I layered guilt and fear and self-loathing on top of it.

More than an hour passed before the door opened. Pete entered and the door closed behind him. I froze like a startled rabbit. We stood, him just inside the doorway, me motionless where I’d been pacing, staring at each other. His face was unreadable, passing too quickly through the barely perceptible emotions behind his emperor’s mask. The silence became unbearable.

“Look—” I said.

But he was there, pressing against me. He grabbed my head and kissed me. I melted into him, pulling him closer, moaning. He only kissed harder. I tangled a hand in his hair.

He pushed me backward and we fell onto the bed together. There was a tearing of clothes in a desperate rush. Somewhere in the feel of his skin on my fingertips, his long body beneath me, and the smell that was overwhelmingly
him
, I forgot who I was, where, or why this was such a bad idea. We were together, and for the first time in two years I felt whole.