Thistle in the Sky | #NONC2022 | ✔

Chapter Twelve

Farah didn't sleep at all that night. It was a state of affairs that found her feigning sleep early in the morning, tense as a wire coil, raking the mindspace and waiting for the first moment someone wondered where Esfandiar was. Cahya puzzled briefly over his absence when she woke up, but she brushed the thought aside, assuming the man had simply woken earlier.

It was Endah who clued in first, in the end. She arrived with the intent to retrieve Esfandiar for watch, but upon finding his bed empty, she did not leave. Instead, she fixed the bed with narrowed eyes. Her attention swept it end to end as she took inventory of every turn of the blanket, every possession and bedding wrinkle still in the same place it had been when she'd left for her watch. Evidence that Esfandiar had never returned to his bunk the night before.

Farah fought the compulsion to burrow further into her blankets. Endah's thoughts, though, proved as blade-sharp as her observational skills. She would not tell the captain. Not yet. If there was one blessing in this, it was that she—like several others on the ship—hated Jhaṛa more than she hated the thistle on board. She had rarely spared Farah so much as a warning, and focused instead on things like getting into Baskoro's good books and conspiring with fellow crew members behind the captain's back.

She was about to do so now. Farah flinched as Endah snapped around on her heel and strode out of the crew's quarters in search of Cahya. They convened just at the edge of telepathic range, conferred briefly, then split up and began to search the ship. Endah returned to the gondola first. She told Jhaṛa they were looking for Esfandiar, but remained forcefully cheerful, and did not say why.

They didn't find Esfandiar. The two women's mental tones were urgent when they met again. Losing track of their compatriot, though, only served to solidify their distrust in Jhaṛa. Instead of taking the matter to the captain, they set out to find Baskoro. Farah slipped out of bed. The trio had moved out of range by the time she scrambled into her clothes and hit the catwalk at a fast sneak, but she found them again in the backup control room at the tail of the ship. Farah slowed well short of the room as an involuntary shiver tore through her. She scoured the three's minds for signs that they'd noticed signs of Esfandiar's searching the night before. None had. Or maybe he hadn't disturbed much. She hadn't checked.

Of the three minds, Endah's burned hottest. It jumped out in the mindspace like a fire-coal between Cahya's anxious sparks and Baskoro's even-keeled presence, and drew another shiver out of Farah. The ship's second pilot was a dangerous kind of angry.

He's gone, she snapped. Just like Arief, but without a rope, and he never even came back to his bed last night. We're being targeted by whatever wrecked that ship. There were no bodies there, either.

Cahya's mind was a mess. Her repertoire of superstitions had taken on a panicked edge, and she looked to Baskoro more than usual. Farah could feel it in her thoughts. She was looking for someone to follow, and it was no longer Jhaṛa.

Endah continued seething. This is suicide. We have to cut that ship loose before whatever this is takes anyone else. I'm not dying here.

Baskoro snuffed out that proposition. The ship stays for now. We do not have a majority yet; the others will rise in favor of Jhaṛa, and if that happens, we will lose. For now, continue to follow my orders. If I haven't given any, continue to follow Jhaṛa's. Do not let her suspect you.

We have Mega. And I said I could convince Dumadi to at least stand by. Who does that leave? Arief is gone. Gemi won't lift a finger. Kazem will try to intervene, but he's weak. He'll be easy to take care of.

Farah's hand gripped her knife handle as she crouched on the catwalk, her heart pounding. They were planning mutiny.

Do not touch Kazem, said Baskoro. The thistle attacks anyone who threatens him. She will never be on our side, but—