The Citadel of Weeping Pearls by de Bodard Aliette;

Author:de Bodard, Aliette; [Bodard, Aliette de]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 4819549
Publisher: JABberwocky Literary Agency, Inc.
Published: 2017-06-30T16:00:00+00:00

The Younger Sister

Ngoc Ha had always felt ill at ease on The Turtle's Golden Claw. It was there that she'd given birth; panting and moaning like some animal, bottling in all the pain of contractions until a primal scream tore its way out of her like a spear point thrust through her lungs—and she'd lain, exhausted, amidst the smell of blood and machine-oil, while everyone else clustered around the Mind she'd borne—checking vitals and blood flow, and rushing her to the cradle in the heartroom.

Alone. On The Turtle's Golden Claw, Ngoc Ha would always be alone and vulnerable, abandoned by everyone else. It was a foolish, unsubstantiated fear; but she couldn't let go of it.

But Mother had ordered her to come, and of course her orders were law. Literally so, since she was the Empress. Ngoc Ha swallowed her fear until it was nothing more than a tiny, festering shard in her heart, and came onboard.

The Turtle's Golden Claw was pleased, of course—almost beyond words, her corridors lit with red, joyous light, the poems scrolling on the walls all about homecomings and the happiness of family reunions. She gave Ngoc Ha the best cabin, right next to the heartroom—grey walls with old-fashioned watercolours of starscapes. Clearly the ship been working on decorating it for a while; and Ngoc Ha felt, once more, obscurely guilty she couldn't give her daughter more than distant affection.

She had taken an escort with her; and her maid—she could have kept them with her; but they would have brought her no company—not onboard this ship. So she left them in a neighbouring room, and stared at the walls, trying to calm herself—as The Turtle's Golden Claw moved away from the First Planet; and plunged into deep spaces—the start of their week-long journey towards the Scattered Pearls belt.

An oily sheen spread over the watercolours and walls, and everything began throbbing on no rhythm Ngoc Ha could name.

She logged into the network, and spent the next day watching vids—operas and family sagas, and reality shows in which the contestants sang in five different harmonies, or designed increasingly bizarre rice and algae confections with the help of fine-tuned bots. That way, she didn't have to look at the walls; didn't have to see the shadowy shapes on them; to see them slowly turning—watching her, waiting...

“Mother?” A knock at the door, though the avatar could have dropped straight into her cabin. “May I come in?”

Ngoc Ha, too exhausted and drained to care, agreed.

The small avatar of The Turtle's Golden Claw materialised next to her, hovering over the bedside table. “Mother, you're not well.”

Really. Ngoc Ha bit off the sarcastic reply, and said instead, “I don't like deep spaces.” No one did. Unless they were Suu Nuoc, who seemed to have a stomach of iron to go with his blank face. And at least they were normal ones—not the other, higher-order ones the ship had accessed during her search for Ngoc Minh. “I need to stay busy.”

“You do,” a voice said, gravely.

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