The Pegasus, whatever the name might mean, was clearly not an ordinary cargo vessel. She carried human goods through interdicted space and evaded the most advanced shaauri striker as if it were a ceremonial barge.
Ronan had never been on such a vessel before. He studied every detail of the hold and the design of the doors as they passed into a narrow corridor. The bulkheads and hatches were clean and utilitarian, lacking the bold color of Line banners or even the subtler murals painted by ri’laik’i artisans to simulate worlds left behind. He noted the armed guards who stood before a wide door marked with bars of red and yellow, and he guessed that it must lead into the very heart of the ship and the unfamiliar drive that propelled the Pegasus at such extraordinary velocities.
Armed warriors protected secrets. Human secrets. But did the captain guard those secrets from an OutLine stranger, or from her own crew?
“Keep moving,” the young warrior said, prodding Ronan with the muzzle of his weapon. Ronan stopped and assumed the stance of Serene Preparation.
“It is not courteous to threaten one of undetermined Path,” he said, testing the human’s knowledge. “Do human ve’laik’i not learn such things before Selection?”
“Ve’lai is the warrior’s way, isn’t it?” Zheng asked, inserting herself between Ronan and the young guard. “What Path do you follow, Ser VelKalevi?”
“I will speak to your First, Healer Zheng. What she asks I will answer.”
Zheng looked away, though she showed no indication of fear or offense. Ronan felt the young warrior’s eyes burning into his back as they resumed their progress through the ship. The corridor widened and branched. A pair of crew members, male and female dressed in shipsuits much like those of the guards, stopped abruptly as Ronan approached. The male took a step back. The female’s nostrils flared in alarm. Both humans’ mingled fear and hostility set Ronan’s hair on end.
They could see he was like them, but they did not trust him any more than did the young warrior.
He did not feel one of them. Like a wraith, he circled the outer gates of House and Hearth, taking whatever scraps they saw fit to leave for him. He was too proud to beg.
“Pride,” Sihvaaro had said, “is your downfall, and it is nothing. There is no pride or shame. The Eightfold Way teaches that all Paths are One, as all Sentience is One. ”
Pride had won him nothing but pain among the shaauri, yet he could not abandon it even when he walked with those of his own species.
They reached another door and a lift that passed between decks. Four decks, to judge by the symbols on the lift’s controls. The upper decks would contain crew quarters, life support, and the bridge. It was to the uppermost deck that the lift carried them.
The two guards pressed in on Ronan, and Zheng took the lead as the lift opened onto another short corridor. It ended in double-wide doors marked with the first decoration Ronan had seen on the ship, scrolls and spirals reaching from top to bottom.
Zheng touched a panel hidden among the spirals, tapping out a code with her surprisingly nimble fingers. The doors retracted. Beyond lay an expanse crammed with consoles, where a number of humans moved from one post to another with measured proficiency. A wide viewport framed by screens looked out on the starless void of a wormhole, represented as an opalescent sphere. There was no sign of shaauri presence.
In the center of the bridge a single seat overlooked the rest, and beside the seat stood a tall female. She wore a ship-suit as austere as that of her crew, fitting close to her slender body. Her only ornamentation was a set of golden rings on her long fingers, but her carriage was all Will from her booted feet to the mane of red hair at her crown.
Red. Among humans, even Kinsmen, the color of body hair was random, unmarked by bars of Path or rank. Even without such identifying signs, Ronan knew instantly that this female was the one who had spoken to him aboard the darter with such impatient authority. She was First and master of the Pegasus.