Vel had sort of hoped he would say something cool when he woke up.

Instead he says "aaaaaaaaaaaa goddammit to hell aaaaaa."

"Be not alarmed," repeats the voice, and then the chamber makes a different whirring noise and a series of different lights come on inside it. "A hatch release device resteth above thy head."

There is, in fact, a handle above his head. 

Vel pulls it! 

The chamber opens up to the outside air, which is, in fact, something he can breathe. A light snaps on from below him, and then he'll be able to see three Alteri peering down at him.

"Don't move," says a young female voice. He won't be able to see its owner; she must be elsewhere in the room. "It'll be worse if you do."

Goddamn goddamn goddamn goddamn. 

So. Mission failed, Sher's probably dead, aaaand he's about to get murdered by a bunch of bug aliens. 

Vel holds very still. 

"Thank you," says the girl. "You'll only be killed if you're stupid. Where are you from?"

One of the Alteri points a weapon at his throat.

"Prithee, I do not know. I have lost my memory."

The bug holding the weapon chirps something unintelligible.

"You have one more chance," reports the girl. "I assume I don't need to explain that your companion can be tortured without being killed."

Companion? Who? Sher. 

Sher would want to be tortured to protect Elara.

"Again, mistress, I do not know what you are speaking of."

"Got it that time. Same name as the other. Niath."

Huh. That's interesting. Psyon, and she's helping them-- at least so far. 

He relaxes a minuscule fraction, but tenses his face as if his secret were discovered. 

"Mistress, pray, what is Niath? I have not heard of this place ere now."

"Can we do anything with a name?" blinks one of the Alteri, in Confederate One.

"It's not a planet. Likely a ship. If they kept the official name we can search the records - "

The Alteri switch languages and chirp at each other for several seconds, then appear to come to a consensus. The consensus involves stabbing Vel in the neck with a syringe. His vision goes dark and his limbs feel very heavy.

When Vel wakes up he is somewhat disappointed to discover that he is not dead. 

He is not dead! He's sitting in a chair in a different room, this one with horribly plain beige walls. His legs are strapped to the chair, but his hands are free. There's an Alte in front of him. Vel will be able to tell that the Alte is a krial. Vel probably can't tell that he's bored. There are two Liars sitting at a table off to the side. One of them is a teenage girl; her clouded, obviously blind eyes mark her as a psyon. The other is a man, maybe forty-five.

"Your implant has been replaced with a new one," blinks the Alte, with the panel of seven lights on its thorax. "You are being transferred to House Atekri. You will be given a number when you receive an assignment. It is in your interests to be honest about your capabilities. You may speak."

Goddamn goddamn goddamn. He thought he was free.

It was nice while it lasted. 

He wants to ask "where's Sher?", but his old instincts have come back to him. He asks, "What do you need from me, sir?"

"Do you have skills? I assume you had an assignment at your previous House?"

At his previous house he was ten and therefore spent half his time sorting garbage and the other half of his time learning about medicine, which he had very gratefully not studied for the past twenty-five years. 

His last job had been advising Ndongo. But no Alte would employ a Liar to do that.  

It would have been really convenient if that one nice psyon had told him what lies she had said so he could coordinate. 

"Garbage sorting," he says, because it seems safe enough and he does, in fact, have the requisite skills. 

He feels a brief stab of pain as he realizes he will probably never see Sher again.

"How impressive," blinks the Alte. "Well, if that's all you can do. Recommendation?"

"Spacer," she decides, signing Confederate One with her hands.

It's impossible to tell whether this psyon is the same one as the other, given that they all have the same face and the same voice, but she has the same tone.

"On what grounds?"

"Smart enough for it. Experience with tools. Engineering team needs people. If he flunks out you can always move him later; if you put him in waste disposal you'll never know whether you had something else."

Um. UM.

He thinks about his motion sickness as loudly as possible. And his lack of dexterity. And (--Sher doing somersaults in zero gee, Sher pushing aside a too-slow subordinate to fix a machine himself, holding on tightly to Sher as he kissed him so he didn't float away, Sher Sher Sher) his limited and failure-ridden experience in space.

"You sure?"

"Yup."