by J. S. Fields
No response.
Salice? Emn asked again, sending her consciousness outward and into the ship. Salice was good at cutting herself off from the thin threads of perpetual telepathy that held most Ardulans together, even if they seldom used them, so Emn focused her efforts. Salice?
Emn couldn’t find her on the Lucidity. She broadened her search to the nearby berths, then to the commerce area, and then, finally, to the entire station. There was nothing. Not a hint of the disordered, sometimes-chaotic mind belonging to Salice.
The screaming started again.
“SHE JUST WASN’T there. I don’t know what else to tell you.” Emn blew hair from her face and slouched into the thick velvet pillow behind her. Salice sat to her left on the same oversized, garish couch in the Lucidity’s game room—of course it had a game room—and Atalant was in front of her, sitting far too upright in a bioplastic chair and staring at Emn like she was some strange perf flavor no one had ever tried before.
“But she’s here now, right?”
Salice rolled her eyes. Emn threw her hands up in exasperation. “Well, of course she’s here now. I’m not suggesting that she stopped existing for a few moments, just that she was…removed from the telepathic network for a short time. Or something was blocking her. Or overriding her. I don’t know.”
Atalant frowned. “Like what Corccinth did to me when we first arrived on Ardulum?”
“Sort of. Yeah, I suppose it was a lot like that. But I guess maybe I could have been the one removed from the network, although I don’t think you went missing at all, Atalant.”
“But would I?” Atalant pursed her lips. “Our connection has twin backups. I can hear you through a stuk connection, and we haven’t gone more than five minutes without touching one another since we arrived. We’re connected by the andal too, which does not require telepathy as we understand it. So, I’m not sure we can judge your telepathy through our own connection.”
“And I guess there is no shortage of people who’d want to mess with Emn,” Yorden noted as he entered the room, Nicholas trailing behind. They both looked grimy, and Emn wrinkled her nose at the smell of Terran sweat. Salice waved a hand in front of her face.
“Ugh, why, you two?” Atalant asked. She stood and backed farther away from the two men.
“Because football is fun and there is an excellent sports arena here,” Yorden answered. “I’d have invited you, but I assumed you and Emn had other strenuous exercise planned, and Salice has made her opinion on contact sports very clear. She also decided against getting her vocal cords repaired, if any of you are curious why she’s not talking after yesterday’s consult. She didn’t want to elaborate, but if she’s happy, I’m happy. Her body and all.”
Salice blew a raspberry at Yorden. He chuckled in response, but when he went to sit next to her, she shook her head and pointed to the door. Nicholas laughed.
“Seriously? It’s sweat. I’m a mammal.”
Salice’s finger stayed erect.
“Am I at least allowed to stand in the corner?”
Salice released a put-put sound.
“Fine.” Yorden clasped Nicholas on the shoulder, and the two walked to the far side of the room. “To the more pressing matter—”
“Says you.” Nicholas turned his head. “We’re right over the forced air. We do smell bad.” He tugged on Yorden’s shirt. “Shower. Junior officer mandate.”
Yorden rolled his eyes but followed Nicholas out into the hall. That left Atalant staring at Emn with another one of her Eld looks.
Emn cringed. “I’m not broken! Everything’s fine right now. When the screaming comes, I can still feel everything I’m supposed to. It’s not…it’s not like part of my mind is being shut down. It feels more like…like something is being superimposed.”
“We never said you were! Emn, I’m sorry,” Atalant said, face stricken. “So, it’s…just like telepathy, but telepathy that neither Salice nor I can hear, despite being genetically nearly identical to you?”
Emn did not like where this line of thinking would lead. “Atalant—”
Why?
Salice’s mental voice startled both Emn and Atalant. Salice so rarely communicated with words—preferring mental images or simple hand gestures—that for a moment, Emn wasn’t certain how to respond.
“I suppose that is the big question, isn’t it? Emn?” Atalant raised an eyebrow as her voice became far too formal. “Can you offer any suggestions about this or Salice’s ‘disappearance’?”
Emn tilted her head and frowned at Atalant. “Eld Atalant, if you’re insinuating that the screaming in my head is also related to Salice’s absence, or that this is all just in my head and not some rogue telepathy, then why don’t we take the Lucidity back to Ardulum and get me to a healer?”
Atalant sat back, visibly stung. Emn almost apologized for using Atalant’s title, but then thought better of it. Atalant had grown marvelously into her leadership role on Ardulum, but it meant that sometimes that unconscious authority seeped into their personal lives, too.
Atalant rubbed her temples. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m just trying to understand. Salice, like every Ardulan I know, is a constant buzzing in my head, along with about a billion andal trees. She’s always there. Vacation or not, we may have to turn back.”
I was sleeping when you tried to find me. Salice patted Emn’s knee, seemingly oblivious to the tension between the other two women. Perhaps I was deeply dreaming.
“That doesn’t remove you from our collective consciousness though,” Atalant said after a moment. “It just makes you harder to reach. And reach, for Emn, has never been a problem.”
“Well, maybe I am broken. Batteries only last so long, after all.” Emn stood and marched to the other side of the room. She took her steps a little too quickly and bashed her hip against the edge of a standing game board—some Keft strategy game none of them could figure out how to play.
“Fuck!”
“Hey.” Atalant slid in next to her, deftly avoiding the offending table. She put her hand over Emn’s, which was rubbing the soon-to-be bruise, and put her other hand on Emn’s shoulder. I don’t mean to be a titha, Atalant sent privately. I’m sorry. I just want us all to be able to relax and enjoy these two weeks. Whatever you want to do, whether it’s go back to Ardulum or stay here and hope things get better, I’m behind you.
Emn let her head loll back to stare at the textured ceiling. The attention to ridiculous detail on the Lucidity, a relic of its original owner, made the entire situation feel comical. “Do you think there’s something wrong with me, Atalant?”
“No.” Atalant’s answer was much more emphatic than Emn had expected. When Atalant didn’t continue and the silence stretched too long, Emn sighed and put her head on Atalant’s shoulder.
“But you still think I should see a healer.”
“Yes. No. Emn…” Atalant tangled a hand into Emn’s hair and pulled her into an embrace. “Maybe we should just tighten our link for a while. If I can hear it, too…I don’t know. Maybe it’ll be something I recognize.”
“Mm.” Emn kissed Atalant’s ear. Salice chortled. “And we’re supposed to be able to focus on everyone else how, with this open connection?”
“You were the one who suggested not leaving the ship for two weeks.”
“Yes, but Atalant, we have to eat, surely.”
That same pointed state returned to Atalant’s face. All Emn could think was that if her species still produced stuk, she’d be standing in a puddle of it right then. “That wasn’t what I meant.”
Atalant smirked.
EMN TRACED THE annual rings on the wooden bar top while sipping a fizzy juice whose name she couldn’t pronounce. Although she was wearing thin cotton pants and a short-sleeved shirt, she was pleasantly warm. Whether this was from the juice or because she and Atalant had done everything except sleep last night, Emn wasn’t sure. Atalant was soaking in the Lucidity’s giant jet bath now—alone, by request, so she could actu
ally get clean—so Emn had wandered to the nearest bar. Said bar, called Divorce Settlement II, was clean and well lit, and with Yorden and Nicholas playing a Terran game with balls and sticks on a table in the far corner, it felt downright comfortable. It smelled like Yorden’s coffee, which Emn did not care for, but the juice was good and the bartender didn’t try to make small talk.
“Would it be all right if I sat here?”
Emn swiveled on her chair to face…an Ardulan? She sucked in a deep breath and scanned the person’s exposed skin. Dark circles under the eyes. No Talent markings, but they had five fingers per hand, short and orange hair that curled in waves across their forehead, and pale skin—maybe not translucently pale, but it was hard to tell. However, there were a number of markings that could easily be covered by clothes. Curious, Emn mentally prodded the being, but there was no response. Not telepathic, then, or perhaps they had it blocked off. Emn was certainly capable of doing that, but she didn’t make a habit of it. Still, maybe a human?
“Uh, yes. Yes, of course.” Though, there were plenty of other stools at the bar, with no one else sitting on them. Emn’s stomach fluttered as she connected the dots. “Uh—”
“I’m August. I saw you looked a little confused. I’m Terran, and I fall into one of the minor gender categories. Nonbinary—and transmasculine, if you want to get technical about it.”
Emn blushed in embarrassment. “It wasn’t about that, really.”
August smiled brightly. Their cheeks dimpled, accentuating the smattering of freckles on their face that Emn had been too busy searching for Talent markings to notice before. “It’s all right. I’d be more upset if you were a Terran, but it’s clear you’re not. Where are you from? Your skin has an unusual opacity.”
That was one way to put it, Emn supposed. She had never actually been picked up in a bar before and had no idea how to respond. “I’m, uh—”
“My girlfriend.” Atalant came up beside her and slid two very suggestive fingers across Emn’s shoulders. With their connection so strong, it was impossible for Emn not to react, and the images her mind conjured—of Atalant flushed on their bed, of the way their mouths fit together—buoyed into Atalant’s mind and sent her stuk production into overdrive. Stickiness bled through Emn’s shirt and dribbled down her back, which helped cool her down.
“Oh!” August’s smile faltered as they took in Atalant’s appearance. “You’re… Of course. Excuse me, I didn’t realize.” They stood from the bench, turned, and then looked back over their shoulder. “Still, lot of redheads here today. It’s kind of fun. Since I’m supremely excellent at awkward flirting, I’ll probably see you two around again.” They grabbed a short glass of amber liquid from the bar and, much to Emn’s amazement, downed it in one gulp.
Emn giggled, and even Atalant let out a chortle. “See you around, then,” Emn said and waved as August moved to a bench near the door.
“Cute gatoi,” Atalant said coyly as she sat on the vacated chair. “Looking to branch out?”
“They weren’t gatoi, I don’t think. Nicholas told me once that there are way more than three genders on Earth. Anyway, I never thought you’d be jealous, Atalant.” Emn took Atalant’s hand in her own and kissed the top. “Especially after last night.”
Atalant’s smile faded. She stroked a thumb over Emn’s knuckles and looked over at Yorden and Nicholas, who were whooping over the sports game feed streaming on a wall-mounted biofilm. “I think, for a moment, I thought they were Ardulan. Maybe it’s silly to think about this now, but when we’re out here in the Systems, do you miss Ardulum? Miss Ardulans? I…realize we’ve never really talked about bringing a gatoi into the relationship, never thought to ask if you’d ever want to. Is that something you’d want?”
“Atalant, I barely have time to sleep with you. I don’t need a third person’s schedule to keep track of. And I can miss my people without wanting to sleep with the first one I meet. Besides, you’re my people. Or, did you forget already?”
A smile played at the corners of Atalant’s mouth. “No, love, I didn’t forget. The andal won’t let me forget.”
Emn leaned in and kissed her, lingering on still-swollen lips until she heard Yorden’s voice shout, “You two have a whole damn ship!” from across the bar. Grinning, Emn took Atalant’s hand and led her to the door, past August who winked conspiratorially at them, and into the corridor that led to the docking area. Seeing the redheaded Terran again pushed Emn’s thoughts away from Atalant and the Lucidity and towards a thought she’d often pondered, but never vocalized.
Do you ever think about them? she asked over their link, not wanting to speak lest the words sound silly. The other subspecies, like the Keft? Or even other sold flares? The Risalians can’t have been the only ones to score that deal. Would we recognize them, do you think, if we saw them? What if they weren’t telepathic? How would I tell a subspecies from a redheaded Terran and a Keft who didn’t have claws due to a genetic mutation?
Atalant paused as they neared the boarding ramp to the Lucidity and turned to face Emn. The smell of disinfectant and recycled air was stronger here than anywhere else on the station, and it stung Emn’s nose and made her eyes water.
“I don’t think the genetics work like that, Emn. Arik has been working with me on that, and Corccinth has done some fascinating research over the years. Telepathy is our common denominator, outside of being bipedal. There are other telepathic species, of course—and thousands, if not millions, of bipedal ones—but only those with telepathy can access telekinesis, on any level, and all the known species capable of that have some sort of relationship to stuk and variants on the genes that cause red hair. It’s a pretty unique set of traits, all put together. I don’t think anyone with them would just be wandering about.” Her voice dropped an octave as she put a hand on Emn’s shoulder. “What about the screaming? Have you heard it today yet?”
“No, not today.” Emn managed a smile. “Stop worrying, love. I’m okay. I’m sure it’s just stress.”
“Salice?” Atalant prodded. “Can you reach her?”
Emn fought the urge to roll her eyes. She reached out into the Lucidity and scanned the various rooms. Salice wasn’t in the room she shared with Yorden, but it was nearing dinnertime. Emn checked the galley next and then the cockpit. When she still couldn’t find the other Ardulan, she broadened her reach to the docking bay, the bar, and then across the station.
Salice? Emn broadcasted as loudly as she could, knowing Atalant would overhear. She tried to banish the panic churning in her stomach and pushed the call not just outward, but into her head, thinking it might better boost the signal. SALICE!
Who is Salice?
Emn’s breath caught. The voice was slow and lingered on the back of her neck like the sludge Yorden poured from the bottom of his coffee pot. It felt detached and had a surreal dream-like quality. Except, Emn was awake. Atalant was still staring at her expectantly, probably waiting for Emn to admit she couldn’t find Salice, that something was broken in her head, that this vacation had been doomed from the start and they all needed to pick up and go back to Ardulum so Emn could see a healer.
Atalant? Emn tried to aim the thought, keeping it private. She could still feel Atalant—her presence was a persistent, thin reed that fluttered in the back of Emn’s head—but her call rebounded to the back of Emn’s brain, following some neural pathway Emn didn’t recognize.
Atalant? the voice repeated, pondering. It didn’t seem to care for a response. And the being sounded…drunk? Well, maybe not drunk, but definitely tipsy.
“Atalant?” Emn said out loud. Her voice echoed oddly, and Atalant’s response, when it came, was like a bell sounding underwater.
“What’s wrong, Emn? She answered your call. I heard her. Can you not?”
Emn swallowed. She couldn’t hear anything right now, in fact, other than Atalant’s muted voice. The background din of the spaceport had dropped away. There was a swishing in her ears, the sound of low, shallow breat
hing, and a heartbeat—not hers. “Something’s wrong.”
Atalant’s brow furrowed. “Let’s get on the ship. We’re going to call Corccinth and a healer and see if they can diagnose from there or if we have to go back. Come on.” She offered Emn her hand, but Emn didn’t take it. Her limbs felt heavy, her breathing depressed.
“Atalant,” she began, her lips barely moving, “I think I’m in a lucid dream. Rather, I think I’m sharing someone else’s dream. Or maybe their hallucination.”
Atalant said something in response, but her voice dropped away. Emn’s vision, too, grayed, before darkening. She blinked furiously, still too heavy to bring up her hands to rub at her eyes, when the voice came again.
I didn’t think I was this drunk, but I’ve never had ‘bourbon’ before. Are you supposed to be here?
I don’t know. Who are you?
The voice paused, and confusion filtered into Emn’s head. This is my nightmare. Who are YOU?
Nightmare?
The warm sleepiness of Emn’s mind was whisked away, and sharp fear replaced it. The darkness bled into an agricultural scene, the sunset blood red, the fields flat and golden. Emn looked down to see her bare feet buried in dried husks of some plant material. The dirt felt dry under her feet, and the sun was too warm. There was no breeze. The hot air burned her lungs as she sucked in deep breaths. She heard no animal calls or insect hums. There was only the sun beating down on her, the ground leaching her sweat, and the dead fields that spanned past the horizon.
There used to be a library here, the voice said. And around it, andal plantations as far as you could see. I’ve seen the pictures. We have a recreation of the library on the system’s fifth planet.
Emn’s patience wore out. But what planet is this?
Here it comes, the voice said. A hand brushed the back of her own, and the alien presence seemed to fill up her mind. Emn felt shorter. She was sweating, the leather clothes she had on suddenly too restrictive, the hat on her head stifling. When she looked down, she realized she was in tight pants and her arms were free of markings. She looked up at the sun. Sweat or stuk—Emn couldn’t tell—beaded on her face, even under her oxygen mask, and the thick leathers she wore were stained dark. The hair on her shoulder was red—blood red, sun red—her skin the same golden brown as the desiccated stalks that covered Emn’s feet. Realization bubbled into Emn’s thoughts. She checked her hands. Five fingers per hand, each tipped with a delicate blue feather peppered with downy barbs.
