Spinning Starlight

by R. C. Lewis

  Why would anyone want to do something slower? Wasting time isn’t efficient. I should know. I’ve wasted plenty and have zero appearances at the Tech Reveal to show for it.

  Tiav seems to understand what I’m thinking, even without knowing the specifics. “Slower doesn’t sound better, but really, sometimes it is. If you give your mind a quiet moment, that’s when the best ideas come. Trying to write frustrates you, Liddi. I can see that. It takes a long time to say not very much. But you’ll learn. It’ll get easier, and it’ll be worth it.”

  He might be overestimating the mental capacity of my checked genes. And he has no way of knowing I don’t have an infinite amount of time to work in.

  We eat lunch, where Tiav tells me about Ferinne’s first encounter with aliens—the Crimna. How both sides had to be patient until they learned enough of each other’s language to get a point across…namely that the Crimna were just looking to make friends and the Ferinnes were happy to do the same as long as everyone kept some ground rules.

  I get it. He wants me to be patient. He doesn’t get why I can’t, and I can’t explain it to him, and that just makes me more impatient and frustrated.

  Back in the office upstairs, I still feel like punching the computer. Before that happens, an elderly woman comes to the door.

  “Aelo, Shiin’alo needs you.”

  Tiav looks at the clock, which presumably makes sense to him. “Right, almost forgot. This might take a while. Listen, Liddi, you’ll have the room to yourself, no pressure. Take the time to write whatever it is you want to say. Okay?”

  I nod, and he smiles before following the old woman to wherever his mother is.

  It takes several minutes, but I do take the time to write what I want to say.

  “Saw-ree. Im-pohr-tent.”

  And I leave.

  It’s another of the strangest things I’ve ever experienced, walking down a busy street without a single vid-cam tailing me. People glance my way, but a glance is all it is before they move on. I look normal enough for a Ferinne, and with the Agnac, Haleians, and Crimna mixing it up, I’m downright boring. Tiav mentioned something called Izim, but maybe they look similar to one of the other races, or I haven’t seen any yet. Either way, without Tiav, I’m background noise.

  Tiav, who’s busy with his mother and thinks I’m busy with the computer.

  The guilt squirms around in my bones. I lock it down and shove it away. This feeling as I walk through town is too precious. It’s liberating—a word I’m not sure I’ve ever really understood until now. Here, I can be anyone. I can be no one. I can disappear.

  Except that’s a lie. It doesn’t matter whether anyone knows who I am. I know I’m Liddi Jantzen. I have eight brothers, and I won’t let Minali keep them trapped forever to lock in her fix of the conduits.

  I came out here for a reason.

  Back at the Aelo residence, I find Tiav’s streamer. It has no security lockouts, just as I thought when he brought me in days ago. I may not be able to read the symbols marking most of the control surface, but I don’t need to. The main control is a touchscreen, and I caught the icon signifying the portal earlier. It might take a minute to locate it on the map, but I have time.

  Maybe I won’t need it. I drag the map just a bit to the left of Podra’s border, and there it is.

  Or is it? I drag up a little bit more and find another one. Either I’m wrong about the icon, or finding a portal around here isn’t that much of a challenge.

  If you found a portal high, if you found a portal low…

  One way to find out. I tap one of the icons, brace myself, and close my eyes for the moving-fast-but-slow ride. It doesn’t take long, and I open my eyes again once the vehicle stops. I can’t see the portal from here, but that’s no surprise. Not like the road is going to run right up to it. After double-checking the map for the general direction, I get out and start walking.

  I reach it easily enough. It’s not the same portal I arrived at—not the same bowl of hills, and there’s a small stream winding nearby. Doesn’t matter. The crystal spires, the spark of energy hovering peacefully between them…it’s definitely a portal.

  It’s so strange, the way the portals here are small, almost gentle-looking, compared to the terrifying maelstrom on Sampati. Part of me wonders why it’s so different, if it’s to do with the spires or something else, but I don’t have any way of asking the Ferinnes. Even if I had the patience to piece together the words, I’m not sure I dare. Asking for details like that could be a major mistake.

  Someone’s always listening. Or in this case, something sitting in my throat is listening. Maybe.

  If this works, it won’t matter. Once I get my brothers out, we’ll go home and deal with Minali. Curiosity will have to wait until later.

  The portal may look tame, but the feeling as I approach puts the lie to that. I thought before maybe it was because I’d just traveled through it and was experiencing the aftereffects. It’s still there, though, even now. The sensation of a sleeping giant, ready with a fist the size of a mountain if it’s disturbed.

  And I’m about to disturb it.

  First, I take the coiled tether from my pocket. One end gets wrapped around a spire and clipped onto itself. The other latches on to my belt. The strength of the portal might break it, but it’s worth a shot.

  The first time around, the what-to-do was obvious—run into the scariest thing I’ve ever seen as though I’ve completely disconnected from my brain. This time, it’s just that little spark, and I’m not sure how to handle it. I step closer and reach toward the mote of light.

  It flies to my hand, but rather than draw back, instinct spurs me to grab hold.

  A sharp warmth charges from my palm through my arm and shoulder until it reaches my brain. More instincts emerge, only now I’m certain they’re not coming from inside me. They’re coming from outside, going through my insides, telling me what to do. I need to think about what I want.

  To get inside the portal just far enough to find one of my brothers. Not go anywhere. Just inside.

  The thought only has to half-form, and I’m there. Back in chaotic death, back to having my molecules wrung out, back to the most pain I’ve ever known in my life.

  And I stay there and I stay, floating and sinking with the pain, dying and waking and waiting, waiting, waiting.

  Forever. A few minutes. A little longer.

  “Liddi!”

  It’s Marek. He’s still alive, and if he is, so are the others. He’s found me, and just like before, his presence shields me from some of the pain. But he looks as worn as Emil did. That was days ago, and my brothers are still weak.

  It might be because of the effort it took to bring me to Ferinne. It might be because Minali’s plan to make them a permanent part of the conduits is progressing. It might be both, or it might be something else.

  “What are you doing here?” he asks. “You can’t go home. Blake is dangerous, and she can’t find out about Ferinne. The people there know things about the portals. You can’t let Blake find them. Be patient—we still have time. We know what she did to you. If you don’t speak, you’ll be safe—just don’t speak. She won’t find you, and you’ll be okay. We’re learning things, things that might get us out.”

  Get them out—that’s why I’m here. I don’t care what he says. We don’t have time for learning and deciphering and doing things carefully, and there’s no point in me being safe if they’re not.

  I wrap one arm around Marek and reach to my waist with my other hand. The cord is still there, solid and real. With an iron grip on my brother, I square all my thoughts on going back to Ferinne and pull on the cord. Or try to. It slips along my hand. I can’t get any traction.

  The pain Marek was blocking from me breaks through, redoubled and retripled. Lightning strikes my body, cutting me apart at the joints. Needles sprout from my spine and pierce me in all directions. His muscles tense, holding tighter, and a new thought occurs to me.

  Have my br
others been feeling this pain ever since they were trapped? Is every second I delay an eternity of agony for them?

  “I—I can’t,” Marek forces out. “Not strong enough—others—too far. Can’t push you back myself.”

  No, it’s not about him pushing me back. I have to pull him.

  More focus. That’s what I need. I wind the cord around my forearm and yank. It slices through, cutting flesh, but we also move a little. I have no visual references to confirm that, but I feel it, so I pull again.

  It’s not enough. Ferinne is miles and light-years away. So are the other Points. We are Nowhere.

  Marek tries to push me away, but I’m stronger than he is—a clear sign that he’s hurting. “Let me go, Liddi. It won’t work. You have to go back.”

  Not an option. I have him and I won’t let go. Then I’ll come back for them one by one until all eight are free.

  The cord moves, tugging me. More than tugging. Like the great mouth of the universe has decided to devour me and draws me in. The barrier to Ferinne looms closer, but we don’t stop. It shatters under the force pulling me, and the pressure in my throat is barely enough reminder to keep me from crying out.

  The same pain but worse. The same crash to the ground but different. Different because I’m not alone. I look up to see if Marek is all right, but it’s not Marek.

  It’s Tiav. And Kalkig. And a woman and two men I don’t recognize—one a Haleian. Night’s fallen, and I have no idea how long I was in the portal. About ten feet beyond the others, I see my brother reach out to me before fading from this reality.

  Someone’s talking, but I don’t care. The Seven Points media has never caught me crying, not once, but I burst into tears in front of these strangers. Partly from the pain—my arm is a slashed, bloody mess—but mostly they’re tears of failure. Of course it wouldn’t be as easy as brute-forcing my brothers out, but if that won’t work, what will? Something brilliant and complicated. Something that only someone smarter than Minali could figure out.

  I’m the wrong Jantzen to get the job done. But I’m the only one there is.

  Just like every other spring, once the snow melted and the ground dried so it wasn’t too muddy, one of the Jantzens made the suggestion. The year Liddi turned twelve, it was Fabin’s idea.

  “Okay, guys, time for some stickball.”

  The twins had come by the house, which meant they had everyone except Durant. That was enough for a pretty good round, so everyone trekked out to a meadow across the river where there was enough space to play.

  Liddi’s brothers had the advantage in most of the games they played, being bigger, stronger, and more experienced. They always let her play, and she usually found an advantage of her own. With hide-and-seek, she was small enough to fit in hiding spots the boys might not think of. With tag, being small and quick helped her evade her larger brothers.

  Stickball, however, was a hard game. She had to develop the coordination to hit the ball with the heavy stick, and she just wasn’t strong enough to hit it as far as the boys did. It was the one game where they went a little easy on her. Slower pitches, less effort to field the ball, pretty much always letting her get on base. As Anton pitched to her for some warm-up hits, she saw it was going to be the same.

  “Stop it,” she said, lowering the stick.

  “Stop what?” Anton asked.

  “Going easy. I’m twelve, not two. Let me play. If I’m out, I’m out.”

  Anton nodded and easily caught the ball Ciro tossed back to him. “If you say so. Let’s try a few more.”

  He really pitched it, fast enough that Liddi’s swing of the stick whiffed through empty air.

  “Again,” she insisted.

  He did, and again she missed. And a third time.

  It’s not that difficult, she thought. Just anticipate more. React faster.

  On the fourth try, stick and ball connected, jarring her all the way up to her shoulders. The ball glided in a clean arc, past where Emil stood so he had to chase it. Farther than Ciro’s practice hits had gone.

  “That’ll teach us,” Luko said.

  Liddi put down the stick. “Teach you what?”

  “To think our little sister needs to take the easy version of anything.”

  I’M UNDER ARREST.

  Those are the words I hear when I finally stop crying enough to listen. The three strangers are Ferinne’s version of police—“keepers,” Tiav calls them. Kalkig is furious again. That’s nothing new, but Tiav isn’t far behind. His eyes burn and his posture is rigid, but I think my tears make it more difficult for him.

  “Liddi, you can’t do things like this,” he says as the keepers guide me to the streamers. “Your people may have no respect for the Khua, but when you’re here, you will respect our laws.”

  I don’t know what he’s talking about, so I give no response, and he falls silent. The aftereffects of the portal make it hard to walk, let alone focus. My arm is wrapped but hasn’t been treated yet. The keepers said a doctor would see me at the detention facility. I have only a few minutes to wonder what the facility will be like before we arrive. It’s a low, wide building with glass doors leading to a simple but comfortable lobby. A standing desk with a single attendant, several chairs—none occupied—arranged artfully on the other side of the room, and even a green-and-yellow potted plant by the door.

  An image pops into my head of the media-cast that would go with this.

  The Jantzen girl strayed one step too far from her brothers’ path today, offending several cultures and getting arrested by an alien police officer with muscles so solid, she doubts he needs bones. While Ferinne fashion leaves something to be desired, Liddi made do with the basics—functional brown pants and a blue shirt…nice color on that one. In related news, white arm wraps splashed with red will be available from the following designers by morning.

  The female keeper speaks to the attendant at the desk. “Found her right where the alarm said but tricky business getting her out. Definitely not the usual wayward toddler. A doctor should be on the way. They can meet us at her cell.”

  From there it’s a quick walking tour of the facility. Through a set of double-doors, down one long door-lined hallway and around a corner, then down another hall that looks just the same. Tiav and Kalkig trail behind every step without a word, until finally the Haleian keeper takes a glass chip from his pocket and slides it into a slot next to one of the cell doors. The door opens, and I’m ushered in.

  The room is tiny, just enough space for a bed on one side. There’s a closet-sized lavatory on the other side, and a small window on the wall opposite the entrance. My weary legs gratefully lower me to sit on the bed. There’s no point in putting up a fuss. The sooner they leave me alone, the sooner I can start thinking through this mess. Besides, sitting on the soft surface feels better on my aching body.

  “Someone said she was injured, yes?” says a voice from the hallway. It has a musical lilt that hints strangely at mischief.

  “Right, but it’s beneath your concern, Jahmari,” someone replies—maybe the non-alien male keeper.

  “And what precisely do you know of my concerns, Luo? Out of my way. Ah, there she is.”

  The newcomer—Jahmari—is a Crimna. Old, judging by the small crinkles around his eyes, but young by the light and life in them. He’s small, shorter than I am, but with a willowy grace that makes him seem tall like the gallery dancers on Yishu. Juxtaposing that grace is a sharpness and precision of movement that echoes in his eyes. He sets a case next to me on the bed and opens it. Sleek equipment of some kind, probably medical devices.

  “I hear from dear Tiav that I shouldn’t expect a pip or whistle from you,” he says. “No matter, no matter. The injury is clear enough. May I see your arm?”

  I hold it out to him, and he carefully unwraps the temporary bandage, revealing the cuts. “A bit nasty, aren’t they? Not to worry, mended easily.”

  And he does, but in the strangest way. He holds two small metal rods to eit
her side of my forearm and nudges a switch to activate. An energy field bridges the space between them, glittering more than the clothes from Pinnacle’s fashion district on a sunny day. Jahmari lowers his hands so the field rests lightly on my arm, and it sparks more than glitters. It tingles and tickles and itches and hurts but just a little bit compared to how it already felt.

  My skin is stitching itself back together, all on its own. No binders or sealants, just the energy from the field accelerating the healing process. It’s simple and obvious and brilliant. Effective, too. When he turns off the device, my arm is perfect, with just the itchiness left behind.

  “Anything else need tending to?” Jahmari asks.

  I shake my head. The pain of having my body torn apart must be mostly in my mind, not physical. That’s how it was when I first came through the portal to Ferinne. I’ll sleep it off.

  He touches my face, an unexpectedly kind gesture from an unexpectedly smooth, soft hand. I can’t help meeting his eyes. They’re dark violet, startling against the glow of his pale skin.

  “Communicate, my friend,” he says softly. “You can’t speak? Fine. There are other ways, but they will take time. I see that something is important to you. Whatever it is, you do it a disservice if you succumb to mere recklessness, I think. Informed action will serve you better.”

  A variation on what Tiav tried to tell me. Marek told me to be patient, too. Everyone keeps telling me to take my time when I just want my brothers safe now.

  But they want me safe, and my null-skull ideas haven’t helped them any.

  Jahmari pats my cheek, stands, and leaves. The door doesn’t close behind him. It closes behind Tiav and Kalkig after they come in. I swing my legs up to occupy the space where Jahmari sat. They can stand. Tiav is glaring at his friend, who’s glaring at me.

  “If I had my way, heathen, you’d be back on your twisted world right now,” Kalkig says. It’s getting easier to understand him through the heavy accent. I don’t have to watch his lips this time.