“Size and might are not interchangeable,” Sisterkin says, the bulge on her chest starting to regrow yet again. “I thought you’d figured that out by now. Just as humanity claimed control of a being the size of a moon, so shall these spores claim control of you.”
I start shaking, trembling with rage. I keep my eyes from turning back in Baradonna’s direction, because if I do, I know I’m going to lose it. I’ll rip every single scrap of flesh from Sisterkin’s bones. And what will that make me? A murderer? No. She’s already gone to us. Banished and forgotten. You can’t murder someone who never existed. I lunge for her.
“No!” Seske shouts, coming between us. “She is not the enemy.”
“You’re infected, too,” I tell her. “It must have gotten through your re-breather filters. Out of the way, or I’ll have to come through you, too.”
“You wouldn’t, Doka,” Seske says.
I wouldn’t? Wouldn’t I? Sisterkin poses a threat to every person on this Zenzee. Kallum. Kenzah. Everyone who I’ve ever loved. My fists clench, and it’s all I can do to swallow back the scream of pain I want to release. “Please move out of my way, Seske. I won’t ask again.”
“Look past her,” Seske says. “Listen to the words. She speaks for the Zenzee. It was with her help that we were able to stop the war. We’d all be dead by now if it wasn’t for her.”
I shake my head. “I’d rather be dead than have that happen to us.” I nod at Baradonna. She stands there like a husk. Eyes blank. Empty inside.
“So it’s okay if we control the Zenzee, but suddenly you’re all righteous when they start controlling us back? It’s fine for us to drive towering spikes into their brain and bend them to our will, but a fungus does the same thing, and it’s the Zenzee who are out of line?”
“I . . .” My mind flips back and forth, trying to justify the difference, but I’m coming up blank.
Seske steps closer to me. I bristle at her presence. “It’s okay,” she says calmly. “You don’t need to answer. You’ll understand. You just need to take the time to listen.”
My chest heaves. Alerts ping in my ear. I’m hyperventilating and my decades-old re-breather is having a hard time keeping up. I attempt to control my breath, metallic tasting air flowing in and out of my lungs. “Okay, I’m listening!” I say, turning to Sisterkin, but she doesn’t speak. I stare at her. Waiting. I have no idea of how to read her. No idea of what her posture means. She’s too much of a threat. Too unpredictable. I shake my head again. “We can’t trust her. She could say anything. We are completely vulnerable.”
“I trust her,” Seske says.
“But I don’t trust you!” Even when our world isn’t coming to an end, Seske hasn’t always made the best decisions. And, I guess, neither have I.
“I know,” she says sadly. “But you should. For Kallum. And Kenzah. For everyone. We’ve yearned for a chance to atone for our past sins. Now it’s time for us to take it.” Seske moves her hands to her re-breather.
“No!” I shout, but the seal pops and Seske breathes in the spores. Thinking quickly—or not thinking at all—I rip the orb from my satchel and conjure up a mirror that leads deep into space. The wind whips, and papers go flying along with everything else in the Senate chambers that isn’t nailed down. The air escapes into the void I’ve created, along with any remaining spores. But when I look up at Seske, she’s changed already. It’s too late.
I close the mirror. Sisterkin looks entirely at ease. She and Seske join hands, and the bulge on her chest stops pulsing.
“You see, we are learning again to trust,” Sisterkin says. “The Zenzee do not want to see humanity dead. You have made them stronger. You upset millennia-old ecosystems and challenged them to adapt. They did, taking their inspiration from you.”
“So now they’re going to domesticate us,” I spit back. “Turn us into mindless drones to tend their crops and do their bidding?”
“Domesticate? Perhaps. But they don’t need mindless drones. Your minds are what they value most. Does this anger you?”
“Yes, it angers me! You can’t take away our free will!” I shout but clap my hand over my mouth as soon as I’ve said it. Why can’t they? Isn’t this exactly what Seske accused me of? Don’t we deserve the exact same thing we’ve done to them? Yes, we’d apologized. We’d stripped our lives down to the bare minimum, tried to live as close to nature as we could, but had we actually made amends? Had we earned their trust? Could we ever?
“You still aren’t listening,” Sisterkin says. “You need to listen.”
“I’ve heard every single word you’ve said,” I scream.
She shakes her head. “Not my words. I haven’t the time to tell you all the things they want you to know.” Sisterkin raises her hands and all the doors in the chamber fling wide open. I stand in awe of her power. “Follow me.”
I look around at the remnants of chaos, the entire chamber littered with debris and ruined furniture, but all is completely silent. Each and every Senator stands in that odd-leaning way, jaws slack. Bella Roshaad, Tesaryn Wen. My mothers. Terror grips me hard, staring at the faces that either loved me or hated me, supported me or tried to have me killed. For the first time, they all look at me with the neutrality I craved so much, but now I’m wishing it could go back to bent brows and restrained resentment.
I have no choice than to comply with Sisterkin. Hand in hand, she and Seske walk briskly to the Uncommon Gardens. The sprawling vegetation looms over us, strange and scary and growing as if it’s been holding a grudge.
“Listen,” Sisterkin commands me.
I quiet my mind, maybe for the first time ever. I hear the splashing in the bog. The cry of the war lilies. The rustle of a coat. I look over and see the spores release from the silk cloak fungus. They are too far removed from their natural environment and will never reach the gall worms, their intended host. The worms will never be driven to burrow, and the wash hoglets will never feed on the infected carcass, and in turn will never perform whatever wonder they’d been doing for thousands of years. I see now that what we have created is only the facade of nature being restored. We didn’t want to truly live in symbiosis with our Zenzee. We’d worked so hard to mend her broken bones but had left the control nodes in her brain. We’d reintroduced vital native species but kept them from performing their intended functions. We’d embraced peaceful living but had left the cannons we’d mounted through her hide to protect ourselves, just in case. And once we had the opportunity to become self-sufficient, we gave all that up to try to take control of more Zenzee.
“We are bound by our nature,” I say to Sisterkin. “To control. To dominate.”
“You don’t have to be,” she says.
“But we are explorers. Scientists. Bakers. Lovers.”
“You can still be all those things. And more.” Sisterkin steps up to me, the bulge on her chest pulsing once more. “In your desire to control and dominate, you have forced us to better ourselves. Now it is time to let us return the favor.”
Let us return the favor.
I hear the voice, like an echo, but not. It is in the bugsong, in the rustle of leaves, in the creak of ancient bone. It is in my own breathing. It is a voice that’s always been there, but we’ve refused to listen. I’m listening now, though. Humans and the Zenzee are no longer two separate things. We are all parts of a whole. Slowly, I take off my re-breather, not just for me, but for all of us.
The spores rupture from Sisterkin’s chest. Air fills my lungs. I don’t feel much different at first. Then my brain starts to grow heavy. Pressure builds, and a headache rages, feeling as though it’s going to split me in two. Then it fades. And I feel normal. Better than normal.
Kallum looks at me, lets his re-breather drop from his face as well. Bakti follows suit.
“What is our Zenzee’s name?” I ask Sisterkin.
She pronounces it for me, the sounds in her throat wet gurgle that goes on for nearly minute, like the chorus of a song. “But you can call h
er Annacklo.”
The Zenzee graveyard fills up half the sky, a bright beacon that outshines the stars.
We are only a few weeks from reaching it now, where Annacklo and the others will pay their respects to the dead. We’ve seen the scans. The graveyard is massive, ancient. Our scientists say it has already started to accumulate its own atmosphere, and speculate that if it grows massive enough, it could actually become a star. I wonder what the Zenzee will do when that happens—start another graveyard? I wonder how many of the stars out there started the exact same way.
Our pod joined with the other Zenzee pod a little over a month ago, and they’ve all been fondling each other since. Tentacles shoved here and there and all over the place. I suspect there are quite a few new pregnancies. I also suspect our Zenzee have inoculated the others with spores, too, just in case we humans try to branch out again, and I cannot blame them for taking the precaution.
Kallum and I have come here nearly every day over the past two years to talk. Our Zenzee’s mouth has become our safe space, where we can leave the world behind and work things through. Kallum’s mind was ready to take me back, nearly from the start, but his heart is taking a lot more convincing. Though if there’s one thing Annacklo has taught me, it’s how to listen.
We stay pressed back, near the opening of a throat. Neither of us dares to move out toward the tentacles, especially with rogue ones whipping inside every so often. Whenever I even think about venturing forward, another Zenzee’s tentacles twists up with one of ours—just like one is doing right now.
Kallum and I watch, supple tentacle flesh pressing together. Rubbing. Undulating. I wonder what sound it would make if there were sound out there. Suddenly, the flesh all around us begins moving, and the aperture leading into space changes shape, narrowing from a near circle to an oval.
“Annacklo is smiling,” Kallum says to me, his voice metallic and reedy over the re-breather’s comm system.
“I wonder if she knows that Zenzee already,” I say. “Are they reuniting, or is she excited to meet someone new?”
“Reuniting, definitely,” Kallum says. “That kind of tentacle action says they’re more than friends.” We watch the tentacles slipping against each other. More have joined, and now we feel awkward, like we’re voyeurs.
“Should we give them some privacy?” I ask. Kallum nods, and we venture back into a throat. We take off our re-breathers and peel out of our suits. We’ve had to cut our session short, but we’ll go a little longer next time. Besides, we need to get back to work.
The spores have changed everything, and yet not much is different. They don’t control us, just help us to listen. Sometimes a whisper here, suggesting that we increase the heart murmur population. A whisper there, bidding us to wait a few more days before we harvest our crops. Sometimes it’s simply the feeling of euphoria when we watch the flowers of a bog melon bloom. But most of the time, our minds are our own. It was us who voted to bring an end to our harmful practices and silent genocides. It was us who chose to integrate the Klang fully into our world, to break down those barriers we’d erected—not the spores. All had become equal under Sisterkin’s rule, just as she promised. And Seske’s rule. They work well together. I never imagined they’d be able to heal the rift between them, but now they’ve become inseparable. Sometimes navigating the path to forgiveness seems insurmountable, but with enough time and patience and understanding, anything is possible.
Kallum taps me on the shoulder. I look up at him. He’s got that look on his face when he wants to tell me something important. No, it’s not that. I listen with my whole body. I hear the rasp of his breathing, catch the twinkle in his eyes, the slight pucker of his lips. His body leans into me, ever so slightly.
Next thing I know, his lips are upon mine. And it’s as if I’m diving into my favorite watering hole again for the first time. It lasts only a few short seconds before Kallum pulls away, taking a piece of me back with him. I look at him dizzily. He smiles.
“Annacklo made me do it,” he says with a mischievous grin. It is the same excuse that our son Kenzah gives us whenever he breaks a plate or gets caught shoving cheese cubes up his nose.
“Annacklo knows best,” I say. We twine our fingers together. Thousands of possible futures race through my mind, but they all start right here.
Acknowledgments
Phew.
2020.
If there were ever a year that drained my creativity, this was it. And yet, with a little (a lot of) help from my friends, I was able to pull through and finish this story. I am thankful for each and every one of my quarantine buddies, especially this bunch:
Myndi—BFF extraordinaire, sharpest wit and warmest heart—So thankful for our email chains that would probably reach the moon.
Edria—Captivating, innovating, fast talker and gentle soul—You built me back up, brick by brick, and helped me find my joy.
Elle—My partner in crime fighting and collector of misfortunate typos—our cowriting sessions kept me in stitches and (mostly) on deadline.
Ehigbor & Des—My Friday Nite Crew and bonnet pals—Our joy has been EARNED, and I’m so excited to see the greatness you’ll unleash into this world.
Yuki—Positive energy personified, thoughtful and giving—Our backyard yoga brought me balance and calm when both were in short supply.
Daniel—Blast from the past and more awesome than humanly possible—We built a few chapters together, and they were the exact ones I needed.
Ronnie—Dependable, chill, and the queen of sidestepping drama—I miss our coffee shop meetups terribly, but I’m happy we took them virtual.
Matthew—Funniest guy I know and also the nicest—Glad we finally get to see what happens when two of the weirdest minds in Austin meet.
Bad Roll Models—T.R.O.Y., Bitch Witch, Katya, and our ridiculously wonderful G.M. Oh, and Mollusk Man? Mollusk Master?—Thanks for hopping off this world with me and into one where the villains are a lot less scary.
Yase—Friendship forged in the dot com days, brilliant mind and mad baking skills—Thanks for the amazing tentacle cake and backyard chat.
Andrea—Undisputed best giggle in the galaxy, closest thing I have to a sister—The years and miles melt away whenever we chat.
Richard—Last, but in no way, shape, or form, least, wise beyond his years and always caught up in the best kind of mischief—Your voice in my ear smooths out the bumpiest of bumps.
We all leaned on one another, and I’m so grateful for the light you’ve all brought into my life, filling my cup, and allowing me the privilege to fill yours a bit too.
About the Author
NICKY DRAYDEN is a systems analyst living in Austin, Texas, and when she’s not debugging code, she’s detangling plotlines and mixing metaphors. Her award-winning debut novel, The Prey of Gods, is set in a futuristic South Africa brimming with demigods, robots, and hallucinogenic high jinks. Drayden’s sophomore novel, Temper, is touted as an exciting blend of Afrofuturism and New Weird. Her travels to South Africa as a college student influenced both of these works, and she enjoys blurring the lines between mythology, science fiction, fantasy, horror, and dark humor. See more of her work at nickydrayden.com or catch her on Twitter at @nickydrayden.
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Praise for Escaping Exodus
“Don’t be alarmed—that dizzy pleasurable sensation you’re experiencing is just your brain slowly exploding from all the wild magnificent world-building in Nicky Drayden’s Escaping Exodus. I loved these characters and this story, and so will you.”
—Sam J. Miller, Nebula Award–winning author of The Art of Starving and Blackfish City
“A sweeping, smart, stunning story that dazzles brighter than a star system [ . . . ] making Escaping Exodus a true gem to be treasured.”
—Booklist (starred review)
“Drayden’s new novel builds on the amazing strengths she’s shown before. If you can imagine a femin
ist, Afrocentric, queer Heinlein juvenile, with a strong discussion of class politics, then you might get close to what she’s doing here. I don’t think I could have imagined such a book before reading this one. This is something I’ve been missing.”
—Locus
“Everything about the Afrofuturistic world-building is exquisitely imaginative, and the characters are three-dimensional, occasionally offering flashes of dark humor. The spacefaring beast is a marvel, containing a whole ecosystem with microclimates and other organisms living within it alongside humans. Although the relationship between the two young women is perpetually hampered by circumstance, as most good love stories are, it’s palpable and vibrant.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“Escaping Exodus is another fine entry from a clearly talented writer. Read if you ever wondered what it would be like if the Millennium Falcon decided to live inside that asteroid worm.”
—Lightspeed
Praise for The Prey of Gods
Winner of the Compton Crook Award and the RT Reviewers’ Choice Award (Science Fiction)
“Fans of Nnedi Okorafor, Lauren Beukes, and Neil Gaiman better add The Prey of Gods to their reading lists! This addicting new novel combines all the best elements of science fiction and fantasy.”
—RT Book Reviews (June 2017 Seal of Excellence—Best of the Month)
“This dense and imaginative debut is [ . . . ] a book like no other, with a diverse cast that crosses the spectrum of genders and races, and a new idea (or four) in every chapter.”
—B&N Sci-Fi & Fantasy Blog (The Best Science Fiction & Fantasy Books of 2017 So Far)
“Drayden’s delivery of all this is subtly poignant and slap-in-the-face deadpan—perfect for this novel-length thought exercise about what kinds of gods a cynical, self-absorbed postmodern society really deserves. Lots of fun.”
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