by Elle Casey
Endi Webb is an experimental physicist and USA Today bestselling author living in Huntsville, Alabama.
To be notified of new releases from Endi Webb, sign up for his mailing list. The first book in the Pax Humana series is The Terran Gambit.
Little Blue
by Chris Reher
Funny how different things really are when you take a closer look. The most ordinary things, like her hand in the scanner, suddenly had bumps and ridges and tiny little holes that weren’t there before.
Cyann laughed when the man in the white coat changed the setting on the scanner so that only the bones of her hand showed beneath the glass. She grasped a pen lying on the table beside her and manipulated it below the viewscreen.
Someone entered the consultation room, and she looked up. “Jovie! Look at all the bones.”
Jovan smiled when he saw the child kneeling on the desk in earnest study of her slightly dirty hand in the scanner. She leaned close to him when he bent to take a look, reveling in the sheer delight of his presence.
“Lots of them,” he said. “I think you grew an extra finger. Good thing we’re at the clinic. They’ll have that chopped off in no time.”
She giggled and grasped the end of his long braid. He obliged her when she pulled him down a bit farther to inspect it through the screen.
“I’ve sent my report to her parents,” the doctor said to Jovan. “We’ll take another look in three months, but there’s still no need for concern. Her Human physiology seems not at all at odds with her Delphian heritage. Of course, we have no other hybrid for comparison. She is a unique opportunity for the entire xenobiology department.”
Jovan lifted Cyann off the desk and onto his hip to ruffle her wispy blue curls. “See? You’re a fine specimen, all ready for your big day.”
The doctor smiled. “Her naming day?”
“Yes. We’re heading back to Delphi now. Although it seems both Nova and Cyann are completely set on keeping her baby name.”
Cyann bounced around on his hip. “Cyann!” she crowed.
The doctor regarded her thoughtfully. “She continues to amaze. We’ll leave the matter of her neurological development to Delphi’s Shantirs, of course. But I hope they’ll share any new thoughts about her synaptic anomaly. Her speech is a little delayed, but I’m certain she understands far more than we assume.”
“Of course she does,” Jovan said, and planted a loud kiss on her cheek. “She’s my smart little Cyann.” He nodded toward the display screen on the wall. “Any new ideas from your team about those voices she hears?”
“Just the one voice, of course. But we’ve found nothing new. We’ve ruled out any type of Human mental illness. That doesn’t mean she’s not exhibiting something entirely new. But for now we’re hoping that she’s just feeling a little isolated. She tells us that Captain Whiteside and Major Tychon have been… absent.”
Jovan nodded. “The mess on Magra is…” He shifted his eyes to Cyann. “Well, it keeps them busy.”
“So it may well be that she’s inventing some friends to keep her busy while her parents are away. She’s a bright little girl. Likely capable of more than what’s expected of her and simply bored. Medically, she is perfectly fine.”
Cyann, definitely bored now, picked up Jovan’s blue braid and tried to wrap it around his head to cover his eyes.
He pulled it out of her hands. “Our Shantirs feel that this goes beyond imaginary friends. We all hope that being part Delphian means she’ll develop our telepathic abilities. Meanwhile, some believe she’s picking up random impressions from those around her.”
“Is that possible?”
“Not really,” Jovan admitted. “Even our greatest talents require some sort of physical contact to initiate the khamal, the mind link. It’s not something we do without knowledge or permission. And she’s not entirely Delphian. Making contact with her is a bit of a challenge, even for us Shantirs.”
“Makes your head hurt,” Cyann said as she traced her finger across his forehead.
“She doesn’t seem to remember what this voice says, anyway. At least not now. We hope she’ll be able to articulate her experiences more as she grows older. If they persist.”
The doctor nodded. “Of course. I keep forgetting that you, too, are trained as a Shantir.”
Jovan set her down. “So does her mother. Today I’m serving my mentor by acting as nursemaid. Ready to go, Cy? The whole clan’s waiting for us on Delphi.”
“Fly home on the Eagle?”
“No, just a commuter. You’ll sleep the whole way, anyway.” He checked his timepiece. “I have a surprise for you. Want to see?”
“A present?”
“Better!”
* * *
Cyann skipped ahead of him into the main corridor of Targon’s xenobiology center. The department made up only part of the Union’s city-sized installation on this planet. Astrobiology and a vast multi-species medical facility found a home here, along with academies and the Union’s military administration, all protected by a mammoth Air Command base. Targon’s deeply-fissured surface allowed for much of the installation to be housed securely below ground, safe from all but the most persistent of enemy attacks. Violent rebellions often sprang up against Union expansion on distant worlds, but even here, in the safest part of the sector, armed guards patrolled the halls, observing all visitors with suspicion.
Cyann’s yellow boots made squeaky sounds on the polished floor, and she careened from one wall to the opposite to make them squeak louder. Jovan caught up to her at the lift.
“What’s a hybrid?” she asked, standing on her toes to touch the elevator controls.
He picked her up again to enter the car. “Means you’re special.”
“Are you special?”
Jovan laughed. He always laughed. Much more than the endlessly serene people that surrounded her on Delphi. He smelled good and knew all the fun games and she wished he never left. But, as with her parents, his work took him away for days and weeks at a time, leaving her with the rest of the clan, who didn’t even know how to fly planes. “I’m not special at all,” he said.
She lifted the front flap of his jacket as if to look for something hidden in his pockets. “S’prise for me?”
“Yes, just wait.”
They stepped off the elevator into another hallway, this one not as shiny and quiet as the one above. Jovan lifted Cyann onto a trolley, and they shuttled downward along a chilly hallway. She tried to count the junctions leading to other sectors of Targon’s sprawling installation but then forgot what came after seven. Eventually the ground leveled out, and the vehicle entered one of five aircraft levels built into the side of the towering cliff beneath the base. They were deposited at a station where colored stripes on the floor showed the way for visitors.
Most of the people at this end of the base wore Air Command uniforms, and Cyann craned her neck with all the wide-eyed rudeness allowed small children as they observe and absorb. Many of the soldiers and pilots here were Centauri—the primary species inhabiting the sector. But she saw the patterned hides of the Caspians, the densely tattooed faces of the Feydans, the many shades that made up the Human species. No one but Jovan and herself was Delphian, and she, too, drew curious, if a little more polite, glances.
After passing the security check, Jovan took her hand and strolled with her along a green stripe and finally through a sliding door. She ran ahead of him through the lounge, to the transparent wall overlooking one of the vast underground hangars. “Planes!” she cried.
“You are your mother’s daughter, all right,” Jovan said. There was no one else using the lounge, one of several carved into the rock around the perimeter of the hangar, serving as ready room, break room, meeting space, and even quarantine area when necessary. He let her prattle on as she watched the activity below, counting fighter planes parked at the far edge of the field, trying to guess where service carts were going and what they might be doing.
“Incom
ing!” she yelled when the lights changed along some of the chutes leading into the massive hall. She was right. The beacons heralded the arrival of three of Air Command’s powerful fighter planes, returning from some duty and now ready for servicing. The streamlined Kites slowed to where the ground crew awaited, and the canopies opened to reveal the helmeted heads of their pilots.
“There’s your surprise,” Jovan said.
“That’s Dadda!” Cyann said when a tall figure emerged from one of the Kites and slid across the wing to the floor. He had removed his helmet, and the gray-blue of his hair was apparent even from up here. “Dadda’s here?”
“Yep. He works here, remember?”
She nodded. “Targon.” She bounced on the spot when her father looked up to the lounge and raised his hand.
Jovan grasped her arm when she started to run toward a door at the end of the lounge as if about to race out onto the runways. “You just wait. No little girls allowed out there.”
She hopped from one foot to the other until, ages later, the door opened to admit the tired pilot whose severe features transformed into an expression of joy when she flung herself at him.
Her father swung her over his head, nearly to the ceiling. “There’s my Little Blue,” he said, accepting her sloppy kiss with a smile. “Ready to go home?”
“To the party? Where’s Mommy?”
“Nova’s on her way, don’t worry.” He set her down again and pointed to the observation windows.
Cyann skipped to the window to resume her post, looking for her mother among the people below. The pilots that had landed with her father were Centauri, neither of them the red-headed Human she hadn’t seen in days and days. She kept her eyes on the tunnels leading outside while her father and Jovan talked about stuff. Something about the doctors.
You’re happy today.
Cyann smiled when the Friend touched her thoughts. There were no words, no pictures, as always, although that’s how she had tried to explain it to the others. She just knew what the Friend wanted to tell her. Of course, she never recalled afterward what he had said, which made her a little sad. But he had promised to come on her naming day, she remembered that now. And here he was.
“Dadda’s here,” she said softly to the glass wall, so softly that the two Delphians in the room heard nothing. The Friend had taught her to speak like that. The adults made too much fuss over these little visits, so it was best to just keep them to herself. “Jovie, too!” She glanced over to them so that the Friend could see them through her eyes.
That’s good, came the reply, but something about it seemed terribly wistful. She imagined a very good hug, and the Friend acknowledged it gratefully. You’re on Targon. I remember the place.
“Yes. Waiting for Nova.”
They’re talking about you. About us. Tychon is worried. He worries too much. Because of me.
She walked her fingers over the glass. “The doctor man said you’re make-believe. Like pretend. Imag… imanigery.”
Do you think that?
“No. I’m special.”
The Friend seemed amused. Yes, Little Blue. You are.
Another man arrived, and then a woman, both in uniform. They talked grown-up talk while her father peeled out of his flight suit and took his guns from the lieutenant. As always, their conversation was of no interest to Cyann, but the calm voices soothed and reassured even if the words meant nothing. The Friend was much more interesting and they huddled in silent conversation as they sometimes did when no one was paying attention. He seemed so lonely sometimes.
When the officers had left, her father came to stand beside her. “There’s Mommy,” he said when a runway lit up. This wasn’t one of the runways used by the fighter planes; instead a shuttle trundled into the space. “She’s bringing some people down from the big ship.”
Cyann watched the shuttle come to a halt. The ground crew had cleared the space, and now a few soldiers left the ship, their guns ready but pointed to the floor. The officer among them was her mother.
“Now we go home?” Cyann said.
“She has a little more work to do.” Her father turned to Jovan. “I’ll head down there, too. We’ll meet up at the transport when Cy’s tired of looking at planes.”
“As if that’s likely.”
Cyann watched her father leave the room and then reappear a moment later below her window, walking around the Kites toward the shuttle. His much-loved, familiar shape moved gracefully among this bustle of strangers, towering above the shorter species that shared both their world and—for reasons no one quite agreed upon—most of their DNA. Not many Delphians chose to enlist with Air Command, and her father’s long blue braid was the only one among the pilots and crew working here today.
The Human woman standing by the shuttle gate grinned broadly when he approached, not at all averse to greeting her mate and commanding officer in such an intimate fashion. Even Cyann knew that Delphians thought things like smiles and tears ought to be reserved for private moments.
She does that on purpose, you know?
“Huh?’
Teases him like that. She knows he thinks it’s undignified. Look how he pretends he didn’t see that.
Cyann giggled.
“Cy?” Jovan said behind her.
She looked around, suddenly feeling guilty.
Jovan slouched on a lounge, reading something on his data sleeve, but now observed her with concern. “What’s funny?” he said.
“Nothing.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Are you sure?”
She turned back to the window. “Nothing!”
A door to the network of underground levels below the Air Command base opened and Cyann saw another troop of soldiers enter from there, all of them armed. By now her mother’s team was herding some people out of the shuttle. Civilians, men, women, mostly Human. They looked around the vast hangar but stayed close together at some command from her mother.
Prisoners. Rebels, the Friend explained. Bad people from the Magran wars. Important ones.
Cyann watched her father speak to one of the bad people, detached and composed as always, although some of the other soldiers around them seemed less so.
Then something seemed to catch the Friend’s attention. She let him draw her focus away from her parents and to the arriving guard detail. Maybe they were going to put the bad people into prison. But the Friend’s sudden panic had nothing to do with the captives.
You have to leave! Now!
“What?”
The focus shifted to one of the guards, as if someone were holding a lens over him, just like the scanner in the doctor’s office. The Centauri soldier walked briskly, like the other men and women on his team, his eyes on the arriving captives. But he held his gun differently. And his step wasn’t the lithe stride of his fellow Centauri, whose long limbs sometimes made them seem strangely elegant. Whatever it was the Friend wanted her to see, he had made the guard so clear in her vision that she even saw the deep violet of his eyes.
“What?” she said again.
“Cyann?” Jovan said, coming to his feet.
The Friend had shown her stuff before. Stuff she needed to know, he reminded her, like the time she got stung by that beetle, and he told her to go see her aunt because it was poison and in the end it was.
She pressed her hands flat on the glass. It seemed to her that the soldiers suddenly scattered, their guns no longer pointing to the floor. The shuttle with the prisoners came apart in a storm of shrapnel that swept people and equipment, twisted and broken, across the runways. When another ship exploded, her parents disappeared in a massive flash of light and heat that she felt even here, through the bomb-proof window of the lounge.
“Dadda!” she cried.
Lights changed and alarms rang as the rest of the complex locked down, leaving the survivors below to look after themselves. Some of them escaped into the launch chutes, but those, too, would be sealed by now. A broken pipe delivering something from a lower level
had turned into a torch, spewing blue flames into the air.
Cyann slammed her hands against the glass. The heat of the flames on the other side hurt her fingers, so she closed them into fists. “Dadda! Bad man!”
Jovan crouched beside her. “Cyann! What is it? Your dadda is fine. Look!”
She stared at him, agape. Did he not see that woman running from the flames, the clothes burning from her back? Did he not hear the screams?
“Gods, you’re in shock!” he gasped. “Talk to me!”
“What’s a slam suit?”
Jovan blinked. “What?” He looked out over the placid end-of-shift routines of the hangar. “Where?”
She tried to talk, but the words wouldn’t come out. They were just too big. She flinched when a catwalk below the roof of the hangar disconnected from its supports and swung down to crash into a supply shed. Chunks of rock and torn cables rained down after it. Something else exploded, and bits of shrapnel ricocheted off the window.
Jovan grasped her head in his hands and concentrated in an effort to establish the khamal. All Delphians practiced the ancient techniques of attaining distinct levels of consciousness, ranging from a sleep-like trance to states of hyper-awareness that earned them their esteemed positions as navigators and engineers. One of these states also enabled a joining of minds for communication, a deeply personal experience not shared with outsiders.
Cyann felt his presence, as familiar and comforting as his voice, and reached for it in desperation. Her Human heritage resented the intrusion but gradually accepted the Shantir’s link. The Friend withdrew before Jovan spotted him, and she whimpered.
Jovan’s eyes widened when he found the horrific vision that tormented her mind, fading rapidly now in the absence of her tormentor. He rose and activated his com band, anxiously scanning the hangar for the Centauri he had seen in Cyann’s thoughts.
“Tychon,” he said. “Slammer attack. Centauri soldier by Door Three.”
Across the hall, Cyann’s father looked up to where they stood by the window of the lounge, then turned to the approaching prison guards. “Get Cy out of here,” he replied and then tapped his data sleeve.
