I try to remember the man from my childhood, not just the man who grabbed me when I left the Room, but the man who took me and my mother on that trip, who let us go into the Room alone.
I cannot see that man’s face. It’s as if he doesn’t quite exist. He’s more of a sense than a person, or maybe a construct, someone I want him to be rather than who he was.
But the man I can see clearly, besides the one who traveled with us to the Room, is the one who came to my grandparents’ house on that last visit.
She’s always angry, my grandmother said to him that day. She’s sullen and sharp-tongued and not very nice at all.
My father answered, but I didn’t hear what he said.
Whatever it was, my grandmother didn’t like it. She’s your child. There’s nothing of my daughter in her. Find her someplace else to go. We don’t want her here.
I have no other place for her, my father said. You agreed to take her in.
When we thought she’d be normal, my grandmother said.
Normal. Whatever that meant.
Those raised voices caught my attention, and I slipped out of my room. I stood at the top of the stairs, waiting for my father to defend me.
I have no idea what I wanted him to say, only that I wanted him to say something. Something about me. Something that showed he cared. Or at least understood.
What he did say was, You signed a legal agreement, saying you would care for her until she came of age.
We want out, my grandmother said. We’re too old to take care of a child, particularly one as troubled as she is.
To this day, I do not know what those troubles were. I performed well in school. I had friends. Yes, I talked back to my grandparents, but I followed their rules. I lived as quietly in their house as I could.
They just expected me to be like my mother, and clearly, I was nothing like her. Maybe I had been my father’s daughter.
Or maybe I was a desperate, lonely child who had never come to terms with her mother’s horrible death.
A death I had witnessed.
A death no one else wanted to talk about.
I can’t take her with me, my father said. She’d just get in the way.
And that was the moment it all ended for me. Any idea of family, of love, of caring.
She’d just get in the way.
We thought she’d be normal.
I went back into my room and packed what few things I had. I took the money I had earned through odd jobs, and I sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for someone to come talk to me.
But my father left without a word. My grandmother didn’t come upstairs. Finally, I left my packed bag near the bed and went down.
Is Dad coming back? I asked.
Eventually, my grandmother said.
Tonight? I asked.
No, she said.
My heart twisted. I don’t know if she lied. I’ll never know. Later, I realized it was just like her. My anger was often provoked by her harsh words, her insensitivity. Sometimes I think she liked to poke at me to get the response she expected, something harsh or sullen or just plain mean, from me.
I’d like to see him, I said.
Well, she said, you missed your chance.
It seems I always missed my chance with my father. Or maybe I never really had one.
I left that night, and I never came back. For years, my family had no idea where I was. Odette was the one who convinced me I had to let them know I wasn’t dead, although I’m still not sure why. I wish I hadn’t now.
I wish I had truly let them go.
I know my decision to destroy the Dignity Vessel, as high-minded as I make it sound, is about my father. I want him to pay. Not just for ignoring me, although there’s a part of me—the young part, the girl who stood at the top of those stairs—who does want him to pay for that.
No, what I really want him to pay for is my mother’s death.
And Karl’s.
THIRTY-FIVE
We approach the wreck in stealth mode: lights and communications array off, sensors on alert for the military ships around the Dignity Vessel. I’ve never traveled in a convoy before, but I am doing so now. In addition to the Business, we have rented The Seeker again, and one other ship, the Space King.
The Seeker is a compact vessel that has maneuverability and some sophisticated systems. The Space King is a pleasure ship, designed for short luxurious travel from one part of the system to the other.
Mikk and Jennifer pilot The Seeker. They have their rented dive equipment, plus some salvage supplies. Turtle, Davida, and Bria are on the Space King, in the finest clothing we can afford. Their diving equipment is in storage on the Business; I doubt they’ll have any use for it.
But they do have weapons.
We all do.
And I’ve insisted that we learn how to use them.
Hurst pilots the Business. When he and Odette escort me onto the Dignity Vessel, Roderick will pilot the ship. Tamaz and Squishy will remain on board with him. Tamaz’s only job is to guard Squishy—something Squishy does not know.
Nor does she know that I will not be using the bomb she’s developed. I’ve decided to use the more powerful explosive Odette acquired at great expense.
I’ve done some research myself, and while I don’t understand the fledgling science of ancient stealth tech (not that the Empire has let much information out about it), I do know a bit about explosives.
The Dignity Vessel is old and large. The metal hull, with its rivets and its dents, is fragile compared with modern ships. But its very size makes it difficult to destroy completely.
That, more than anything, made me decide to go with Odette’s explosive. Hers is designed to obliterate. Squishy’s is targeted to the cockpit, designed to destroy the stealth tech and little else.
We spoke of it briefly when she finished. Apparently I had an odd expression on my face when she talked about the device’s subtleties.
I thought you’d be pleased, Boss, she said. You don’t like destroying historic things.
I don’t. If I could think of a way to keep the Dignity Vessel intact, I would. But sometimes, you have to make sacrifices for the greater good.
Or, at least, this is what I tell myself.
As we approach, I can’t tell if what I’m feeling are understandable nerves, regrets, or a desire to abort the entire mission. I pilot, thinking that being hands-on will calm me.
It does give me a chance to reflect: I actually think about how I would feel if we turned around right now and headed back to Longbow.
I think I would be relieved in the short term.
The long term would depend on a few things. If the military and my father’s people solve the mysteries of stealth tech and change the balance of power in the sector, then I will regret not taking advantage of this moment.
If they never solve it, then I might be all right with the decision to turn around.
Although once again, my father would continue to make a profit off death—my mother’s and Karl’s.
Karl. He would stand beside me urging caution. But he would go into the Dignity Vessel at my side, like he did when we searched for Junior. Karl had no qualms about taking care of threats.