by J. S. Fields
“Which won’t work unless she gets it,” Ukie snapped back.
“Agreed.” Arik moved next to Emn and took her hands in his. “We need them to bring you in, need them to actually seek you out. It forces action on their part, shakes them up, takes them out of their comfort zone.”
“It puts them off-balance,” Ukie added wryly. She smiled at Emn. “Think how out of sorts you feel here, in a world you should belong to. They can’t have all the power in this. You are an unknown commodity, and they don’t know yet what to do with you. You can’t be seen as passive, or even willing to play by the rules.”
Arik nodded and squeezed her hands. “All right? The less they know about your motivations and goals, the more mysterious you are, the better.”
Emn felt Arik at the edges of her mind. She touched his consciousness with her own, sinking into the hope and warm belonging that Arik projected. They would talk to the Eld. The Eld would see that Emn could control her Talents. That all the flares could control their Talents. They’d be welcomed back into society. Emn would really, truly, be an Ardulan.
It was an idealized scenario. Emn pulled from the warmth and sighed.
“What happens if they decide to lock us all up?” she asked, looking at each of the flares in turn. “You don’t have high opinions of them, so why should my presence change ancient mores? Why should they listen to me? What happens if they don’t?”
A curling tendril of energy twined from Kisak’s fingertips and ran along the floor of the gazebo. When it hit the wooden rail of the archway, it sparked and puffed into a small column of smoke, leaving a black char on the wood and the faint smell of burning.
“I’m not interested in killing anyone.” Emn took her hands back and crossed them over her chest.
“What do you suggest we do then, Emn, if they try to put us back in the compound?” Arik sent several images of his previous accommodations. “Do you want to be separated from your friends? What about your Neek that you spoke so fondly of earlier?” He smacked his upper arm with his hand. “We are experiments. Rejects. If diplomacy fails, you have to be ready to take the next step. Failure to make that choice means all your future choices will be taken from you.”
“You’ll doom us, too,” Ukie added, her voice soft. “We have to work together on this, or we will all likely die.”
Emn let her head fall to her knees. She was tired of the constant life-or-death dynamic. Why did everything have to be so binary? Why did she relentlessly have to fight just for the basic right to live as a sentient being, for the right to belong?
“Emn?” Ukie prodded. Emn raised her head and looked at the other woman. She was tall, like Emn, with a more muscular build in her shoulders and chest. Her skin was a little darker, too—more olive in its translucency. Her hair was clipped short to just above her ears, although whether that was how she preferred it cut or whether that was done to her, Emn didn’t have the courage to ask. Noting the usual genetic variations across a species, they could have been cousins. Their noses were the same shape, their mouths had the same bow lip. Maybe they were cousins, genetically—and Emn wondered briefly if she could snag the genome analyzer from the ship and get the flares to consent to a test.
“You’re powerful,” Ukie continued carefully, pointing to the veins on Emn’s palm. “You’re experienced. I’m sure you can make the Eld see reason, and the Ardulan populace after that.”
Emotions followed. There were thoughts of friendship. Of family. Of stability. Images of Emn’s mother floated in her vision. Warm arms were around her shoulders—her mother’s or Ukie’s, she wasn’t sure. Emn relaxed into the embrace, let Ukie’s mind wash away her fears.
“Ardulum is my home,” Emn whispered, lingering on the last word as the breeze picked up and carried the sound away from the gazebo. She repeated herself, putting authority into the words and feeling surer of her decision, “Ardulum is my home. I’m ready to help my family.”
Chapter 22: Sekreth, Ardulum
I had a bark doll as a child, made from an old-growth andal from my uncle’s land. She was my confidant in all things. When I gave up my child-name, I gave her up, too, to a little neighbor boy who had no doll of his own. His older brother stole her not long after and used her to start a cooking fire. The boy came to me in tears, and we rushed to the fire, hoping to salvage some remains of the doll. We were unsuccessful, but I remember how much the smoke stung my eyes, how dried my skin became. I had intense dreams from that moment onwards, about trees, forests, andal. I used to think the doll was the catalyst—some shattered remnant of my childhood self burning in the fire. I wonder often, these days, if that’s all it was.
—Excerpt from Atalant’s Awakening, published in the Charted Systems, 235 AA
EMN SAT ALONE on a narrow wooden platform in the examination room and tried not to look nervous. She’d been ushered inside with whispers and stares after her sudden appearance at the Central Sekreth Clinic, where she’d gone immediately after getting off the transport from Thannon. She knew she should have contacted the rest of the crew first—Atalant especially—but couldn’t shake the discomfort from the makeup and the biofilms she’d read. She couldn’t hide anymore. Wouldn’t hide. The flares shouldn’t have to, either. She could rendezvous with Atalant and Nicholas in the palace if the Eld took her there. Their tour was supposed to include a dinner, and it was getting on towards evening. The timing would work out well.
The room’s interior lighting was completely synthetic, which contrasted with every other building Emn had so far visited on Ardulum. Everything smelled sterile, the wood surfaces so highly polished that a visible finish could be seen. There were no wall decorations and no windows, containing nothing but what was absolutely necessary. The room itself looked so small that it might only accommodate two people—the patient and the doctor.
Emn began to tap her bare feet on the floor, toes gliding over the smooth wood surface. She pulled irritably at the flight suit, the tightness on her chest and hips increasingly uncomfortable in the warmth of the building. Was it a good thing or a bad thing that the doctor was taking so long? She shifted her position on the bench and started wondering what the Ardulan medical staff had against comfortable seating.
Finally, a short Ardulan in a thick, brown smock walked in. She was struggling to hold the three rolled tablets in her hands, which led to her kicking the door shut with a loud bang.
“So sorry,” she said in hurried Common. “Sorry about the wait. Your visit was a bit of a shock. Actually, I would have been in to see you an hour ago, but then the Eld called and there had to be a conference.”
“Oh?” Emn replied cautiously, hoping that she sounded surprised. “Is everything all right?”
“I don’t know, really,” the woman responded. She gave Emn a light tap on the knee, recoiled, and turned away. She moved to a table pushed up against the opposite wall and carefully unrolled the tablets. Bright text began to scroll across the surface in a language Emn couldn’t read.
“My condition can’t be unique, right?” Emn caught a toe on a small raised section of the floor and winced. “Right?”
“In that you are correct.” The doctor turned back around and gave a tight smile. “Your condition is known as flare disease, or flaring, which manifests at the onset of one’s second don, and for which there is no cure. Currently it afflicts zero point one percent of the Ardulan population. How you have it—and your relationship to native Ardulans—is still under some discussion.”
Emn had a decent idea what those discussions probably entailed and hoped she would get to have them in person with the Eld soon. When the doctor continued to just stare at her instead of providing more information, Emn decided to prod a bit more. “Am I dangerous? Am I contagious?”
The doctor shuddered and ran her hands down her sides, straightening her smock. “Yes and no. The medical literature indicates that you are incapable of focus, as you have no directed Talent structure. Training you, as would normally be done in seco
nd don, is impossible.” She shifted her eyes from Emn and stared at the wall instead. “Flares are housed with other flares, away from the general populace, to avoid potential accidents and to allow our scientists as much time as possible to study and advance a cure.”
Emn lost her patience, which she hadn’t even realized had worn thin. “You think flares can’t use their Talents?” she demanded.
The doctor took a step back and smacked into the rear wall. “Well, I suppose they can, theoretically, but not in the same way an Ardulan could. There is less focus, less ability to hone. Conversely, the reach is greater. It is a great danger to the general populace.”
“I don’t think I believe that,” Emn said staunchly. “Sounds like conjecture to me. Do you even know what causes it?” She slid from the platform and stood, arms crossed over her chest. The fabric of the flight suit pulled tightly across her shoulders, but she ignored it.
“Ah.” Without moving her eyes off Emn, the doctor reached for a tablet. It rolled into a cylinder, which she began to tap against her thigh. “It could be different with you, of course. I’m going to take a genetic sample shortly to determine just what the Risalians managed to do.”
Emn tried to stifle her desire to strangle the doctor and decided to try a new line of questioning. “How did Ardulans get into Risalian hands? Were we captured? If you knew about us, why weren’t we rescued?”
“Capture is probably the wrong word,” a new voice said as the door opened. An old Ardulan, older than Emn had yet seen, shuffled into the room. Zir build looked similar to their breakfast server, so Emn assumed zie was gatoi, but the shocking mop of white hair and intense eyes made the hairs on her arm stand at attention.
The doctor dropped to one knee and bowed her head, the relief evident in her voice when she spoke. “It is an honor, Eld.”
“Of course.” The maybe-gatoi eld waved a hand dismissively, not bothering to look away from Emn. Zir stare was intense, and Emn shivered.
“You are dismissed, doctor. Leave the tablets, please.” The doctor nodded, bowed stiffly, and hurriedly exited the room. The eld shuffled inside, moving as close to Emn as possible while zir eyes raked Emn from her head to her feet.
Zir presence was even more disconcerting up close. The maybe-gatoi eld brought a sort of bright fog with zir that fuzzed the edges of Emn’s mind. The fog felt tangy, as if it were laced with raw energy. Emn tried to seal her mind to the fog, but it permeated and persisted. It didn’t seem to interfere with her thinking, for which Emn was glad, but its presence made her nervous nonetheless.
“Eld.” Emn clasped her hands behind her back and straightened her posture. “I’m sorry, but I’m unsure of the protocol for greeting you. It is an honor.”
The eld offered zir right hand, palm up, to Emn, who placed her left hand in it. Short, stubby fingers curled around Emn’s in a firm grip. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Emn. I am Eld Adzeek, the male representative. Your communication from the Lucidity came as quite a shock. We’ve been awaiting your arrival.”
Now she was even more nervous—helped, no doubt, by her gender assumption. Ukie had tried to show her how to clamp down on the broadcasting before Emn left Thannon, but she doubted the trick would work on an eld. It would be better as an emotional cover. Of course she would be nervous meeting an eld for the first time. Who wouldn’t be? The trick was going to be to maintain nervous and reverent, instead of nervous and angry, which was where she was heading.
“You have a most interesting history,” Adzeek continued. “We have copies of the Risalian reports, of course. You are welcome to read them if you desire. They were very detailed. You might find information about your mother.”
Hope flared inside Emn for a moment, but then extinguished. Was that the bait? Was that supposed to be what lured her to the palace? According to the other flares, the Eld gave nothing without demanding something in return.
“We would like to run some tests. You can understand why. I’m especially curious as to your capacity for speech, as our flares are incapable and, according to your oral account, you have not had time for extended surgery.” The male eld smiled, white teeth gleaming in the bright lighting. The fog around Emn’s consciousness thickened for a moment before receding.
“I did it myself,” Emn said defiantly. “None of the Risalian Ardulans could speak, not even the normal ones. I, well—I copied the pattern of a throat belonging to a human friend of mine. It wasn’t too difficult.”
Adzeek rubbed his chin and nodded. “Telekinesis, I assume? Do you often heal things with intent?”
“I suppose so.” Emn pursed her lips, unsure how much of her Talent she should disclose to an eld. “Though, I healed Atalant—a Neek—but that was by accident, or at least I didn’t consciously do it.”
Adzeek continued to nod. “This all seems in line with what we understand of flares. I do have many more questions though, and it is almost dinnertime. Would you care to accompany me to the palace? The staff has prepared a lovely meal, and we could spend some more time getting to know one another.”
Dinner. She supposed that was a logical step, and she was hungry. Emn forced a smile as the male eld placed a hand on her elbow and escorted her out of the room. She could do this. She just had to keep her patience through dinner, and then the flares would have their chance at reconciliation.
ATALANT DROPPED TO her knees in the middle of the evening market. Around her, shoppers muttered and juked, trying to avoid her suddenly stationary form.
Nicholas had caught the movement in his periphery. He sidestepped two quadrupeds and ducked underneath the basket of a tall Ardulan male to reach Atalant, who was teetering dangerously close to the sharp edge of a stall. Her eyelids fluttered as she covered them with her palms, rubbing away something Nicholas couldn’t see.
He caught her as an Ardulan knocked her over. “What’s going on?” he asked. She was heavier than he expected and, with her height, surprisingly hard to hold upright. More concerning, however, were her eyes, which were now red and secreting what he hoped was stuk from the tear ducts.
The crowd pushed at them, threatening Nicholas’s tenuous hold on her. It was quickly approaching late evening, and the square in front of the Eld Palace bustled with last-minute sales. After declining the dinner at the end of the tour, they’d milled around the market for over an hour, waiting for some word from Emn.
“Hey,” Nicholas said, pulling Atalant’s hands from her eyes when she didn’t respond to his question. “They’re irritated enough. Doing that will only make it worse. What is going on?”
Atalant swayed again, so Nicholas braced her with an arm around her shoulder. “I…” Her voice was as unsteady as her legs. “I’m not entirely sure. My vision has gone foggy, and I’ve completely lost my equilibrium.” She wiped the side of her right eye on her shoulder. “My eyes burn, too, like I’m too close to fire.”
“Emn?” Nicholas asked. “She get lost on her way back from the tour? Is she in trouble?” Atalant had been right, of course. They never should have split up. But if he had discovered his ancestral homeworld, he might have wanted some alone time, too, despite being treated like a leper by the locals. Maybe just not with a war brewing.
Atalant shook her head. “This isn’t Emn, although my connection to her is thinner now—but that might just be because I can’t seem to think straight.” She blinked a few times at Nicholas and then squinted. “Our connection is too frayed to work. I want to try someplace quiet. Can you get me out of this crowd and back to the inn?”
“On it.” Nicholas moved his arm under Atalant’s shoulder and half dragged, half carried her from the square. Twice, he almost lost her as shops began to close and the owners jostled through evening strollers with their perishable wares. The pilot sagged more and more as they moved on, her head bobbing down onto her chest and back again as they approached the inn.
Atalant was nearly on her knees despite Nicholas’s best efforts to keep her upright when they crossed the threshold.
Nicholas waved to Kallum, who was bringing a steaming bowl of andal to another set of guests. The bar had filled considerably since breakfast, and now patrons sat not only at the tables, but at the area close to the computer screens as well. Nicholas was pleased to see a septped family in the far corner. At least they weren’t the only tourists cutting it close. The planet would move in, what, a few hours? Hopefully not until daybreak? The market had slowly emptied of other species during the day. They’d all have to leave tonight, whether they wanted to or not.
“What happened?” Kallum asked, rushing over. Zie propped up Atalant’s other side, and the two moved Atalant to a long, wooden bench. She sat and managed a short “thanks” before groaning and curling into a fetal position on her side.
“She ran into some bad telepathy. I think. I don’t really know.” Nicholas had thought to launch into more of an explanation, but in the dimmer lighting of the inn, Kallum looked much younger. The bright silhouette of morning had given zir a more commanding presence, but now zie seemed more like Emn had in her first don—uncertain and wary.
Atalant muttered something into the bench as she struggled to keep her eyes open.
“Is there a healer nearby, maybe? Could we take her to the hospital?” Nicholas regretted asking the moment it came out of his mouth. Good things did not happen to them in hospitals. “Maybe a Science Talent who doesn’t ask too many questions? This doesn’t have to be an interplanetary incident. Maybe her telepathy and Ardulan telepathy just aren’t compatible on a large scale.”
Kallum looked confusedly from Atalant to Nicholas and backed away. “If you did something to get invasive telepathy, you are in some real trouble. Bad trouble.” Zie bit zir lower lip. “We have a boarder on the third floor, second door on the right. Retired woman who used to sit on the Eld council. She’s of Science, but I don’t remember her specialty. Maybe you could ask her?”
How was he going to get Atalant up three flights of stairs? She’d started to shiver, stuk now beading across her brow. It was like some sort of strange Neek fever, but one that was progressing way too fast to be natural. The mysterious Science Talent on the third floor would have to do.
