Thomas made one last adjustment to the autopilot interface. “You’ll be all right at the helm?” he asked Varktezo.

“Of course!” The adolescent ummin exuded confidence. “I remember everything.”

Thomas surveyed the glowing workstations which he’d grown so familiar with. In addition to learning how to navigate the control center of a colony class starship, he had absorbed the life history of every adolescent ummin in this room. He had taught this crew how to read relevant glyphs, and how to judge certain sliders and readouts.

Nothing had fallen apart during his naps.

As long as the crew stuck to their respective roles, and did not experiment with things they did not understand, he figured they could maintain the ship’s life support for many hours.

“We’ll be fine, Teacher,” Varktezo said. “How long will you be gone, anyway?”

Thomas had no idea what the revival of Ariock would entail. “Probably no longer than a nap. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

He floated toward the escort of nussians awaiting him.

Weptolyso was impatient, unfolding an oversized woolen blanket. “This will keep you safe.” He proceeded to cover Thomas, bunching and tenting the blanket in weird spots. The edges cascaded to the floor.

Thomas scanned his mind and approved. The blanket’s odd shape gave the impression that it concealed an exotic alien rather than a boy in a hoverchair.

Ten thorny nussians might arouse suspicion, but Thomas was not suicidal enough to risk floating through crowds without bodyguards. In an extreme situation, he could defend himself … but lashing out with pain seizures and wildfire would cause untenable complications. The last thing Thomas wanted was twelve million refugees mobbing up against one lone rekveh.

Besides, he was supposed to be at his full strength in order to help Ariock.

All the Yeresunsa warriors aboard the starship were now at their full strength, waiting for Evenjos to tell them what to do. They had spent three days doing practically nothing. They were unhappy about that—everyone was unhappy, thirsty and hungry and angry—but they had dutifully conserved their powers.

“Oh wait!” Varktezo dived behind a workstation and emerged with Thomas’s NAI-12 briefcase. “Just in case you’re not back in time for your dose.”

“Thanks.” Thomas’s next injection was due in eighty-five minutes. He was impressed that Varktezo remembered. His ummin assistant had plenty of responsibilities weighing on his mind.

Varktezo lifted the blanket and loaded the briefcase into the cargo compartment of the hoverchair.

Privately, sometimes, Thomas wondered if the hassle of NAI-12 was worth the few extra months of life it granted him. If he died tomorrow instead of three months from now, would anyone care? Varktezo could muddle through the starship controls, with input from Garrett. Many people would feel safer with one less rekveh aboard the starship.

But there was so much left to learn.

Thomas wanted to soak up Garret’s secrets, as well as everything Evenjos knew. He wanted to learn the prophecies of Ah Jun. He was going to die young, and he accepted that. But surely he could find a way to learn just a few more interesting secrets?

“Ready?” Weptolyso rumbled.

“Ready.” Thomas felt absurd, hidden under a blanket like a child playing at being a ghost.

“Good luck, Teacher!” That was Varktezo’s voice. “You can see without using your eyes, right?”

That was, of course, the case.

Thomas dipped into the minds of nearby nussians and created an accurate spatial map. All he could see with his own eyes was woolly darkness. Peering through nussian eyes was like wearing strange lenses. Their vantage points were higher than he was used to. They could see traces of infrared. The trade-off was lower contrast in terms of light and shadow.

Thomas followed Weptolyso into the corridor, easily avoiding the bodyguards who flanked him. He slowed when they slowed. He sped up when they did.

“How can the rekveh see through that blanket?” one of the nussians rumbled in a low tone, their version of a whisper.

“He is reading our minds.” That came from another unnerved nussian.

“Spooky,” another said.

Thomas wasn’t sure what made him more nervous: Evenjos or angry mobs. He sensed that these nussians resented acting as his bodyguards. The only reason they were here was because they respected Weptolyso.

“Hush.” Weptolyso glared at the cohort. “Never mind how he is navigating. He is an ally. He is going to help bring back the Son of Storms.”

The nussians grumbled. None of them really knew the so-called Son of Storms, but they were all too familiar with the critical shortages of food and water. They understood that the ship needed a miracle worker. Otherwise riots would break out and a lot of people would kill each other.

“Keep quiet.” Weptolyso loped into an overcrowded thoroughfare. “Try to remember who saved you.”

The cohort assumed that Weptolyso was referring to their savior, the Son of Storms. Only Thomas picked up the truth: it was an oblique reference to Thomas himself.

Weptolyso remembered that Garrett, Evenjos, and even Ariock had seemed ready to flee the Torth Homeworld and leave millions of people to die. Thomas was the one who had suggested a planetary evacuation. Thomas was the one who had architected this starship. Without it, Weptolyso knew, all of these refugees would be dead.

And before all of that? When Ariock was hanging helpless from a metal cross, Thomas was the one who had come to his rescue. Thomas had paved the way for Weptolyso, Kessa, and others to escape the dreariness of being a hall guard.

Weptolyso did not want to feel indebted to a mind reader who used to own slaves. Internally, he had played up Ariock’s heroic deeds while downplaying everything Thomas did.

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

But his loved one, Yuey, was alive thanks to this space ark. Even her parents were alive. So Weptolyso had reevaluated the gratitude he owed. Privately, he found that he respected Thomas even more than he respected the Son of Storms.

That was why he had volunteered to personally escort Thomas through the overcrowded decks.

Thomas withdrew from Weptolyso’s mind. He felt a little stunned, almost embarrassed. It was nice to be acknowledged. At the same time, he wasn’t sure he wanted fervent gratitude from a former slave. It felt a little too close to worship.

He didn’t want to feel like a Torth. Not ever again.

Even the respect from his ummin crew made him wary. What had he done to earn it? The super-genius mutation was just something he’d been born with. Had Kessa been born with such an advantage, then people would respect her in the exact same way. Probably even more so.

Thomas wanted to earn respect the way she did.

The nussians trooped across the deck, from one vast sector to the next. Camped-out onlookers blocked every window view of space. Weptolyso led Thomas and his escort past rationing queues, and past spiritual advisers who offered solace to crowds.

Thomas sensed ambient frustration. He overheard violent thoughts as well as reassurances. Refugees told each other that they had heard Kessa the Wise speak. She said that they were traveling to a better world.

This starship could have been its own version of a somewhat better world, with leafy boulevards, aquaponic lounges, and privacy pods. Instead, it was an industrial and barren slave zone. There hadn’t been enough time to finish it.

Thomas floated past a line of happily chatting aliens. He caught hints of what they were waiting for, and he glided to a stop.

Cherise?

Judging from nearby memories, these aliens were taking lessons from Cherise. She was applying the English alphabet to the slave tongue, giving them literacy.

And it seemed she had a knack for teaching. She made the lessons fun and relevant. She lost her shyness when she realized how much she was improving other people’s lives.

Amazing.

Literacy would not quite put non-telepaths on par with the Megacosm. But it was a huge step toward bridging the communications advantage which Torth had over slaves. It opened up a lot of possibilities.

Part of him yearned to glimpse Cherise with his own eyes. To speak with her.

Which was ridiculous. On Earth, Cherise’s supportive presence—her worship, really—had helped Thomas cope with his abandonment issues. But now he understood how unhealthy their friendship had been. He had been a sage and she had been his sidekick. It had been very similar to the unequal relationship between Torth and slaves.

Why did he still feel like he needed Cherise? Why was he tormented by fruitless wishes for her forgiveness?

Cherise might even feel pressured to forgive him, if she saw him. That would only pave the way for her to go back to living in his shadow. Then they would both regress. She would shrivel, returning to her self-hatred, and Thomas would start acting superior and egomaniacal again.

Enough of that.

Cherise was better off with Flen—or really, with anyone who wasn’t a telepath. She needed the freedom to develop her own counsel and her own wisdom. She had outgrown Thomas. What she needed him to do was to leave her alone.

Weptolyso backtracked to see why the blanketed hoverchair had stopped moving.

Thomas glided forward, woolen corners dragging along the floor.

They floated across a few more decks, up a ramp, and through more crowds. They finally arrived at a formidable wall of nussians.

“It is Weptolyso,” several of the nussians told each other.

The central guards shuffled aside, opening an aisle into a large room that was crowded with Yeresunsa. Floor-to-ceiling windows displayed real-time views of outer space.

“Thank you for continuing to stand guard,” Weptolyso said, moving past the nussians. His own cohort broke apart. Thomas floated onward alone, following Weptolyso.

A sense of potential thrummed inside him. There was a lot of power in this room. It pinged his Yeresunsa sense.

Thomas expanded his awareness. He could not identify individual life sparks. It was all one throbbing blaze of power.

Hundreds of albinos turned to study the floating blanket. Thomas saw them without seeing them. Their white hair was tightly curled, their shoulders draped in purple. He recognized Orla, Flen, Haz, and many others.

Weptolyso yanked the blanket away. “I have brought Thomas Hill,” he announced in his gravelly voice.

Thomas tried to look as harmless as possible. His thin blondish hair was mussed, and that probably helped. He was small and hunched.

Unfortunately, his slight shape allowed everyone to see the garish red hoverchair. Its backrest and armrests glittered with metallic red accents. The thing must have belonged to a Crimson Rank, or maybe to a Torth who’d idolized the military ranks. Not a good look.

“Excellent.” Garrett approached, his cloak wrapped across his chest and over his shoulders in imitation of a Yeresunsa mantle. “Thank you, Weptolyso. Now we’re all assembled.”

Ariock lay inert on a raised dais on the far side of the room. He was draped in blankets and surrounded by flickering candelabras. Dozens of Yeresunsa healers frowned around him.

Jinishta stepped away from the dais. “When will the Lady of Sorrow appear? Where is she?”

“I’m sure she will show up soon.” Garrett leaned on his silver staff.

Thomas sensed unspoken tension, like an ultra-concentrated version of the tensions throughout the starship’s population. Some of these Yeresunsa warriors had a problem with the command to conserve their powers. They would rather heal refugees who obviously needed help, instead of waiting for a nebulous shapeshifter who might or might not show up, in order to save a messiah who no longer seemed quite so dependably miraculous.

Jinishta and Garrett had persuaded everyone that Ariock, once revived, would magically produce water and food aplenty. According to them, this was not a matter of valuing the needs of one man above the needs of millions. This was about helping everyone.

At least, that was what Garrett—a rekveh—said. And Jinishta, who seemed uncommonly tolerant of rekvehs these days, supported him.

Thomas grimaced, because he half-agreed with the pragmatism on the other side of the argument. Had he been clueless about the larger picture … and if Ariock wasn’t a friend of his … well, then he would also hesitate to favor a comatose warrior over people who were dying from want. Ariock had very little chance of making a full recovery. Yet he was tying up all of the Yeresunsa power they had aboard this ship.

Heads turned and gasps resounded throughout the room as a sinuous cloud of glittering dust snaked through the air.

“Ah. Here she is.” Garrett sounded as if he’d never doubted that Evenjos would show up.

The dust poured into a feminine shape.

Evenjos, shining and regal, solidified near Garrett. She surveyed the room with purple eyes that matched her purple hair. “These are your most powerful Yeresunsa?”

“Yes, your eminence,” Garrett said.

“Hmm.” Evenjos sounded disappointed.

Thomas stretched his awareness toward Evenjos, curious about her life spark. He detected something like a live wire. The power in the room seemed overwhelming, impossible to differentiate or individualize. Perhaps his sphere of influence was engulfed within hers and others?

Evenjos scrutinized Garrett, and her contempt faded slightly. “You are a stormbringer,” she said with mild surprise.

“Yes, your eminence.” Garrett bowed his head as if bashful.

What a faker. If Evenjos bought his humble act, even for a second, then she must be a very handicapped mind reader indeed.

“Hmm.” Evenjos turned a critical gaze toward Thomas. “And his power is not trivial. I suppose…” She interrupted herself as Thomas floated forward. “Halt!”

Thomas stopped.

“Do not come near me!” Evenjos commanded him.

Thomas wasn’t going to fake subservience, but he showed his empty hands, heart pounding. “I’m on your side. I’m just here to help revive Ariock.”

“Stay out of my range.” Her voice trembled.

“Yeah, same here.” Garrett sounded vindicated. He gave Thomas a stare that echoed the regality of Evenjos. “Stay out of my range.”

Thomas tapped his fingers on the armrests. He had sipped a tiny amount of their knowledge, yet he craved so much more. He would shave off the remainder of his short lifespan if he could bask in Evenjos’s treasure trove of knowledge. He wanted to defy her.

Well, he would figure out a loophole. Or he would persuade her and Garrett. He just needed a bit of time.

He settled back in his hoverchair. “No problem.”

Excitement filled the air like exclamation points. Thomas could taste it. He felt some, himself. Ariock had been unconscious for four days. Everyone on this starship needed his power for some reason or other.

“Are we ready?” Garrett asked. Now that the moment was nigh, he seemed to have trouble hiding his eagerness.

“Yes.” Evenjos stepped onto the dais with swan-like grace.

“What do we do?” Garrett asked.

Evenjos stood behind Ariock’s head, serene. “It is simple.” She held her hands out to either side, like a mother expecting her children to grab on. “Anyone who wishes to join me will combine their spheres with mine. And then we will combine with Ariock.”