by Lyn Gala
“He died in prison two years ago,” Spooner said.
“It couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy.” Luke pushed the vidpad back. “What does this have to do with Liam?”
Spooner’s gaze darted away. He took a deep breath before he refocused on Luke. “When you were seven, Telfer started paying half your mother’s rent.”
Luke shot out of his seat. “My mother had nothing to do with scum like that.” His heart pounded against his ribs, but he reined in his anger before he punched an officer and landed himself in jail.
Spooner held out his hands. “I never even considered the possibility. Your mom was a straight shooter.”
“She was.” Luke gripped the edge of the table. He’d expected to give this guy a few names, a story or two, and then walk away. If Spooner insulted his mother... he really would lose his temper.
“Was your father ever around?” Spooner asked.
“What the fuck do you want? Why are you bringing this up?” Luke pressed his lips together before he could say more.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you,” Spooner said quickly. “I want to show your family’s strength. I certainly don’t want to insult your mother, who sacrificed a lot to make a better life for her children.”
“Don’t act like you know my family.”
Spooner’s gaze traveled the length of the café before he focused on Luke again. “You’re right. I don’t. I know what the paperwork says. I just want people to know the truth about Liam.”
Liam. It was still about the sainted Liam. Luke’s coffee was getting cold, and he wouldn’t give up one drop. It wasn’t worth the sacrifice. He sat. “What exactly are you doing with this research?” He drank, focusing on the heavenly treat. That was real. Liam was a name on a form. He didn’t matter—not anymore.
Spooner smiled. “Like I said, I’m writing the story of the real Liam Munson. I have a lot of respect for him. His ability with language is amazing. Was he a good student as a kid?”
“Sure. Mom had a whole file full of his academic awards.” Luke kept his gaze on his coffee.
Spooner leaned forward. “Why did he quit school?”
Luke looked up. Spooner appeared serious and his datapad now had an official record displayed, but it had to be wrong. “He never quit.”
“School records show he last attended when he was fourteen years, eight months.”
If Liam had quit school, their mother would have killed him. Liam hadn’t been living with them by then, but he was around the house often enough for their mother to murder. Loudly. Luke would have remembered that fight. Besides, quitting would be stupid since education was one of the few ways to either delay mandatory military service or claim a spot in officer training. Liam wouldn’t have done that.
“You didn’t know,” Spooner whispered.
Luke shook his head. “He wouldn’t have. That would be stupid, and he wasn’t stupid. Hell, the military wouldn’t have promoted him to lieutenant without a college degree, so he must have been on the path before he joined up.”
Spooner dropped his gaze to the tabletop. Luke’s discomfort grew so intense that his chest felt as if it was in a vice.
“Before this book comes out, you should know the truth,” Spooner said, and the gentleness in his tone made Luke even more apprehensive. “Liam was a sergeant when I served with him, and he never would have risen any higher in the ranks if it wasn’t for the Rownt. He doesn’t even have a secondary school degree. That promotion is the military’s way of keeping some level of control. If he doesn’t give them some access to Rownt trading networks, they can cut off the money.”
That made no sense. “Couldn’t they order him back?”
Spooner’s laugh was dark and low. “He wouldn’t listen to Command. Not anymore. He left Earth, and after what happened to him at the front, after the abuse, I wouldn’t be surprised if he never wanted to have anything to do with the planet again. But he left money for you, for your siblings, for the families of the men and women who served with him at the front. He won’t screw them over, and Command knows that.”
“He never cared about me,” Luke said, but his mind was already racing in circles, putting patterns together. Liam was fourteen when that scumbag had started paying the rent. He’d dropped out months later. Mortimer Telfer had run a prostitution ring, and Dana had always said that the Munson men were cute as hell. Luke didn’t see himself that way, but he’d seen pictures of Liam at fourteen. His stomach churned and he slowly sat back down. The coffee pressed against the base of his throat until he thought he might vomit.
A warm hand pressed against his; Spooner pressed a tube of antacids into his palm. Luke took four.
“I didn’t know you’d never figured it out. Mr. Maylti said that Mortimer Telfer used to hang around the school, buy kids treats or listen to their woes. When he was a kid, Maylti had liked the man, but his mother ordered him to steer clear. I thought your family knew him too, and your mother had lost the fight to keep Liam away from the asshole. I didn’t mean to spring this on you. I’m sorry.”
Luke closed his eyes and thought about his mom dragging herself home after dark. When school was out of session, she would take them along to the houses and make them sit on the curb outside so they didn’t track dirt in. One summer when Liam had shown up again, Luke remembered her arguing with Liam, telling him he needed to come with her and watch the younger kids. Luke had resented that their mother hadn’t trusted him to be in charge. He’d always thought of Liam as selfish—as off having fun and leaving their mother to do all the work.
“I guess she didn’t know,” Luke said, but the truth was a sharp pain in his chest. He thought about the way their mother would sometimes sit in the dark staring at a picture of Liam. She’d aged twenty years the day she’d come home to find the military notice of Liam’s enlistment, but she refused to ever talk about it.
Even when she’d been dying and Luke had been so angry about Liam’s silence, she would catch Luke’s hands in her skeletal ones and tell him to be kind. It had made Luke angrier.
“Did he get any of our letters?” Luke asked.
“Uh, letters?” Spooner asked. That was an answer in itself. Spooner continued. “After Liam joined the Rownt, I went through his personal effects and accounts. I never found anything.”
Luke closed his eyes.
“Even before Liam joined the Rownt, he had a rare ability to get them to trade. Command wouldn’t have wanted him distracted. They would have done a lot to protect Liam’s position. Truth be told, when we got a new commander who verbally abused Liam, they probably would have pulled the commander even without the Rownt getting involved.”
The word finally penetrated Luke’s shock. Abuse. Liam had run away from abuse, but now this guy claimed he’d run into the arms of another abuser. “A commander abused him?” Luke sat up. “And what abuse happened at the front?”
Lieutenant Spooner sighed. “I liked Liam, and so did a lot of other people. But bullies... they were drawn to Liam like moths to a flame. He was gentle and when you hurt him, he showed every ounce of pain. If it weren’t for the fact he was gay, our head of security would have taken him into her bed and never let him out. I’ve never seen Gina adore someone quite as much as your brother. But bullies... they wanted Liam for a different reason.”
Luke thought about that huge alien and the way he had hovered over Liam. The images took on a more ominous meaning now. “The Rownt... are they bullies?” Luke braced himself.
“No,” Spooner nearly shouted before he lowered his voice. “No, not at all. In fact, Tuk-Ondry took custody of Liam because he saw abuse and he wouldn’t allow it to happen any longer. I saw them together both before and after Liam moved in with the Rownt, and Liam is safe with them.”
“But he wasn’t safe here.” Luke swallowed as a million facts slotted into place. The second he took his own distorted impressions out of the equation, he saw the data compiling like the moment an AI processor first self-arran
ged a dataset. Chak had told him that Liam wouldn’t come back, that he needed space. It hadn’t been space from his family—it had been from that monster. And his mother’s pain wasn’t anger at her oldest son, it had been guilt. And no one had ever told him anything. “You’re writing a book.”
“Yes.” Spooner sounded uncertain.
Luke looked the lieutenant in the eye. “I want to read it. I want to read all your raw research. I want everything.”
Spooner frowned. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“I have my mother’s datachip from when we were kids,” Luke said. “Every report card, every teacher or psychologist evaluation, every school award and discipline record. I’ll give them all to you if you let me see everything you have, whether it makes it into the final book or not.”
“There are things you don’t need to see.” Spooner appeared nauseated at the idea of Luke seeing his research. Luke’s stomach churned despite the antacids. Mortimer had run prostitution houses, so Luke could guess what he might see. But he was overwhelmed with a need to see it anyway. It was the penance he had to pay for never realizing his brother had needed him.
“Full disclosure or nothing,” Luke said firmly. There was no way that a stranger was going to know his brother better than he did.
Spooner nodded slowly. “Deal, but... Don’t judge your brother. He was a kid doing the best he could. He always did the best he could, even when he knew people would disapprove. It’s part of his charm.” There was a sadness that didn’t match the admiration of Spooner’s words.
“And he charmed you,” Luke guessed. That would explain why Spooner was so determined to make sure the real story got out in front of the government propaganda. Command certainly wouldn’t thank him for it. They were presenting Liam as a buttoned-up patriot who had cracked the Rownt language for his home planet. So this wasn’t some move calculated to get Spooner faster promotions.
“Yeah.” Spooner looked out the plate glass window. “We worked together for years, and when he would come back with a new Rownt recording or storyscroll, he would get so excited that he would light a room with his enthusiasm. Sometimes I wonder what might have happened if he wasn’t in my unit, but ethically, I wouldn’t go there—not when he worked for me.” Spooner shook himself and gave Luke a cocky grin. “Besides, he never looked at me twice. He was madly in love with Ondry. I am sorry Mortimer Telfer is dead though. I was looking forward to sending his information to the Rownt and letting them handle it. Sadly, the man got stabbed in prison before I could sell him out.”
“Would the Rownt care?” Luke asked. He hadn’t paid all that much attention to the Rownt gossip or government announcements because they reminded him too much of his brother.
Spooner’s smile was malicious. “They would have ripped his head off his body. Literally. I’m hoping to find one or two others, so there’s still a chance someone will pay for what happened to Liam.”
Luke felt better knowing that Liam had good friends in his corner, even if Luke had spent most of his life condemning his brother. “Do you want to go get my mother’s datachip or do you want to go back to your place and look through your research?”
“Why don’t you come to my place,” Spooner said. “I need to stop and pick up some alcohol before we go there.” Maybe Luke let his confusion show because Spooner added, “You’ll need it before we’re done, but remember. If Rownt rip a head off someone’s neck, it leads to diplomatic immunity warnings. You and I would go to prison.”
Luke had no words, especially since he didn’t know what he might see in those records. Clearly, Liam had been hurt far more than Luke had understood. Maybe their mother hadn’t even known the full story. But now Luke felt as if he had an obligation to get to know his brother. He wanted to know the sort of man who could inspire such loyalty.
Introduction to Xenolinguistics
Debbie studied the sea of fresh-faced neophytes. For a time, she panned the vid so her office screen would show her class. She could already divide them into rough camps based on their seat choices and expressions. Proxemics, oculesics, and kinesics weren’t covered until much later in their training, so right now they exerted absolutely no control over how their bodies were shouting without even using words.
The three young men and two women in front were either serious students or wanted to present themselves as serious students. They were busy with their tablets, and Debbie’s monitoring program reported that all five were reviewing the class text. A small group near the window chatted away, their bodies twitching with sexual interest. There was nothing wrong with that as long as they focused on the work once Debbie started the lecture.
A range of less confident students filled the middle section. Debbie groaned when she saw that two of them were reading Lost Words: The Unauthorized Biography of Lieutenant Liam Munson. That piece sensationalized Munson’s life—made him out to be some poor wounded soul abandoned by the system and abused by the authorities.
Debbie had no idea how anyone could fall for that crap. Munson was a linguistic genius who had made the rare leap out of his culturally enforced point of view into the Rownt perspective. Advances in translation could only be made after someone had navigated that chasm, and to reduce Munson’s contribution to luck and some lost puppy personality was incredibly offensive. The man had studied Rownt language before taking the post on Prarownt, and had then spent years working to collect language samples and form relationships with natives.
His willingness to immerse himself in a new culture opened opportunities for the entire human race. The populace might’ve been fascinated with the Rownt because of a few vid shots of a female visiting a hospital and the young male trying to protect Lieutenant Munson in a crowd. However, those involved in Command were more interested in the technology and raw materials the Rownt could provide. They were certainly better potential allies than the Anla. And Munson had made all that possible.
She made a note of which students were reading that trash in her classroom. They would have to show much more dedication to linguistics if they wanted to follow in Munson’s footsteps. Assuming that an alien species would feel sorry for someone and take him home was stupid. And Debbie did not like wasting her time on stupid students.
She turned her monitor off and sighed. It was time for one more semester of teaching people who could never hope to achieve the linguistic genius of Colonel Diallo or Lieutenant Munson. Sometimes she regretted ever becoming a teacher. However, someone had to set the next generation of linguists on the path, and that was her responsibility.
Kensho Part One
Colonel Haru Ito watched the security monitor as Liam Munson walked off the Rownt shuttle. He waited to see if the male Rownt would follow, but Munson appeared to be alone. Perhaps he planned to come to explain why Tuk-Ondry was unavailable to discuss the Tura Coalition trade. The osmium Ondry had offered was valuable, but not as critical as the alloys the Grandmothers could offer.
Haru had no doubt that Command had asked him to handle Ondry’s trade only because the generals chose to focus on the Grandmothers with their more extensive resources. The idea of allowing one gender to control all major sources of trade goods seemed ridiculous, but Haru would still take the Rownt with their odd gender beliefs over the treacherous Anla.
Munson walked up to the sergeant waiting at the vehicle, and Haru leaned closer to the screen. At first he thought the camera angle was somehow distorting the image, but then Munson stepped up to the sergeant driving the escort vehicle and towered over him. “Lieutenant?” he called to his aide.
Lieutenant Ratos appeared at the door. “Sir?”
Haru turned the monitor so Ratos could view it as well. “How tall is the sergeant you sent out to meet Munson and Ondry?”
“Sir?” Ratos stepped closer and peered at the screen for several seconds before he answered. “Sergeant Balza-Zavala has to be at least six-feet-tall.”
That was impossible. “Find me the records for how tall each of
them is,” Haru ordered as his comm began to flash.
“Yes, sir.” Ratos vanished, and Haru waited a second before answering his comm. “Colonel Haru Ito speaking.”
“Colonel,” a familiar voice said, “are you watching the disembarkment ?”
“Yes, sir,” Haru said. “My aide says the sergeant is at least six feet, but if that’s the case, Munson appears to have grown significantly.”
“The computer estimates height at seven-feet-three-inches, but there’s a two-inch margin of error.”
Haru blew out a breath. Munson didn’t appear malformed, so whatever had happened, his entire body had grown proportionally.
“Needless to say, we are interested in information,” General Dafaor said, “and Zach Mora has not yet made contact. If we want to know what’s going on, we may need to go through Ondry and Munson.”
“Sir, the Rownt doesn’t appear available to trade. I will attempt to draw Munson into a conversation and get information on what might have happened.” Haru let his tone communicate his doubt. Munson had no reason to engage in small talk, not given his background.
“Do what you can,” the general said before hanging up. Haru closed the connection and put his comm down. One of his monitors showed a newsvid reporter standing beside a small crowd of determined protesters with anti-Rownt signs. Every time the Rownt came to one of the human planets, they brought drama. The xenophobic churches had any number of conspiracy theories about the enormous ship the Rownt kept outside the moon’s orbit—the Calti.
Haru wasn’t sure what to think about a ship named for a philosophy that confirmed the inability of a sentient creature to understand the universe or the harm caused by that ignorance. The briefing he had read sounded entirely too much like the Buddhist concept of Avidya for him to believe it was coincidence. Perhaps Rownt were part of the tapestry of the moral universe in a way that Haru had trouble believing the Anla were.
