by Trevor Wyatt
We’ve all felt the loss of war. Either a relative dead in a far flung colony, or knowing a soldier returning with hollowed-out eyes and a vacant stare. Food rations were decreased during the war and more than once the populace was told that protecting ourselves from the Terrans would mean that families would go hungry and cold.
The anger is real. It is stirring this shit that is hitting the fan.
And at the center of it is my colleague, Rosaline, a Terran, one whom I am beginning to hold in great esteem as she has shown such a keen interest and appreciation of our culture. Her earnest concern regarding this very issue of ascension has particularly made me look at Terrans in a whole new light.
I regret that my fellow Sonali have not had such an opportunity to get to know her. No, to them she is nothing more than an outsider. She is a threat and a danger. I would not put it past my fellow Origins members to justify holding her responsible for what happened to Yanik and condemning her of trying to sabotage our movement. I cannot even imagine Rosaline holding a gun. But just her presence here makes her a target. I feel like a fool for thinking it would be safe for her to be here. I need to get a handle on this situation before she gets hurt.
"Friends!" I shout to get the attention of the chanting room. "Please listen to me. Terrans are not our enemies.
No one is listening. Their hate is too strong.
I need to show them something. To give them an idea why they should not hate the Terrans. Something that I know that no one else does.
“Please give me a moment. There is something I must show you." The room has quieted. I can still feel the tension, but at the moment I have everyone's attention. I go to the locked case to the right of my desk. I key in the sequence that unlocks the cabinet containing many of the most recent relics I have unearthed. I have shared some of these with Rosaline, but have kept some of them hidden until a moment presented itself to reveal my findings to my fellow Sonali. I feel that now is the time to show them. I need to make them understand.
I pull out two artifacts. They are ancient crusted fossils, similar to the petrified matter on Terran world. I unwrap another fossil—this one is Terran. I turn to my desk placing each sample carefully side by side. I can tell that I have the room's interest and attention. Good, I need to be able to explain this in terms everyone can understand. As a scholar, I am used to speaking among peers, but right now I must make my speech readily understandable for all.
"My fellow Sonali, before you I have placed three fossils. Two are from Sonali Prime—I know this because I recovered them myself." I cannot help the bit of pride that seeps into my voice regarding these two pieces. They are among my prized possessions, though in truth I do not feel that they belong to me, they belong to all Sonali. This is a record of our past.
"The third was loaned to me to study at my request from the Terran Academy of Xenoarcheology. It is a Terran fossil." There are some slight grumblings when I mention this, but I continue. "As a xenoarchaeologist, I am curious regarding the origin of all species, not just ours, so I felt very fortunate to have been given a chance to contrast our ancestral lineage with that of Terrans."
I pick up two of the artifacts, careful to make it look at those I picked up both Sonali relics. "Friends, regard the indentions in these artifacts."
I hold up rocks of different hues and composition, but on the face of each is matching circular indentation with wide wavy lines. "The imprint on these finds are nearly identical. While it may look like an odd symbol carved into the rock, what you are looking at now is, in fact, a skeletal imprint of the first life form. The beginning of our species."
There are murmurs of awe. "Looking at these fossils, it is hard to imagine that we are looking at a precursor to our species. Our evolution has taken us far from being a simple prokaryote biomass, though I have a feeling our ancestors would still consider us to be primitive, evolutionary speaking." There are a few laughs, but I can tell the room is still tense. Which makes me anxious to continue, but I know I must.
"We have an advantage over Terran fossil dating. Since our atmosphere has more argon, we do not have to create simulated lab environments to measure fossil decay. We can use a spectrometer to directly assess the amount of argon within an artifact. This composition allows us to count backwards to the beginning of the fossil thus establishing its age with almost pinpoint accuracy." I hear polite murmurs, but I realize I need to speak plain regarding the true revelation of these relics.
"These two fossils come from the same period. They share similar mineral make-up and obvious visual similarities. They are not just cousins to one another; they are twins. Do you know what this means?" I ask eagerly.
There is a moment of silence, then a female Sonali member speaks, "Does it not make sense for them to share so many traits, even if they were found on opposite sides of Sonali—would not our fossil record be similar throughout?" Her observation and confusion are shared. She is not alone. I must make them see.
"This one was found a year ago by myself and my team," I place the lighter of the two fossils in my hands back on to the table. “And this one," I slowly lower the darker, reddish fossil on to the desk next to the other, "This one," I say, pausing to look at my audience, "This one is not from our planet. This one is Terran."
Silence shatters as shouts, screams and violent chaos break loose. Members begin tearing apart my office. Two members reach for the artifact to destroy them. Before I can reach it, the third relic—the other Sonali find—is snatched from the desk and thrown into the wall. It explodes into dust.
Horrified, I jump in front of my desk as two young male Sonali charge. I hear noise behind me. I turn, still fearful for the relics I am protecting. I'm shocked to see Rosaline gathering the remaining Sonali and Terran twin relics.
She turns to put them back into the locker. The door is ajar, and once she closes it, no one can get in without my code. She has both hands in the locker, setting the pieces down, when I see hands grab her shoulders. I watch helpless. The other relics will now be smashed as well.
Rosaline removes her hands from the relics, places her palms above the hands on her shoulders and then in a move so fast I barely see what she’s doing—twist-throws off her attacker's hands.
I watch as she closes the door. The lock sets to green. There is no way anyone can get to the relics now. I catch her eye as she turns away. I cannot read her expression, but regardless, I want to thank her. I nod at her and start to speak.
My voice rasps as I begin coughing. I feel like I'm suffocating.
The look on Rosaline's face tells me something is seriously wrong.
Suddenly, I feel something on my back.
I swat at it, hitting something cold and wet.
My hand comes up to my face. It is covered in blood—thick blue blood.
Sonali blood.
My blood.
I see Rosaline lean towards me. Her mouth is open, but I can't hear her words.
I can't hear anything.
There is a moment of fear as I fall.
Then—there is nothing at all.
Chapter 9
No-One
I hate hospitals. I mean, who doesn't?
Good thing I don't need to visit them too often. However, I send a lot of people there. I smirk on that thought until I remember why I took an air car to this one. Gresh.
He was stabbed—by one of his own.
These Sonali …they are just like humans.
By the time I got to him after he was stabbed, he was already falling unconscious. Luckily there was another Sonali who helped me load him into an aircar for emergency transport to a Sonali Renewal Center.
Given the glares I was receiving, I decided the best thing I could do is leave and let them work on saving Gresh. So here I am, stepping off an aircar to enter the Renewal Center to visit him a day later. I should’ve brought flowers. I wonder if they have a gift shop.
I wonder how Gresh is doing. He lost a lot of blood.
I hope h
e's all right.
Whoa, I catch myself mid-thought and stop mid-stride, why the hell am I worried about this guy? Of course; he's my best resource for getting information on the current political situation. That's true. But I also find myself generally concerned about his well-being. I feel another odd emotion.
Guilt.
Now that's weird.
A part of me wonders if things would have turned as ugly as they did have I left the meeting or not even showed up. I can't hold myself accountable for the actions of his comrades, but the feeling persists.
Well, fuck. I'll just have to deal with that introspection later. I've got a job to do. And independent of any of my feelings, Gresh is my best resource.
So I need to keep him alive.
I enter the Renewal Center. I gape because it has little in common with a Terran hospital. The building gleams white, but what really grabs my attention is all of the plants. The center is bursting with green. I even see a courtyard with a mini stream and a waterfall. There are bright flowers too. The center seems more like a spa retreat than a hospital.
Before me sits two Sonali, a male and a female, at a curved slab of a desk that seems to be built from the same material as the building.
I'm reminded of a paper that I—I mean Rosaline, wrote on regarding these hand-made Terran houses from hundreds of years ago. As part of my cover story, I needed some white papers to complement my fake accomplishments.
What were they called again? Cog houses? No, Cobb houses. That's right. They’re houses built with a mixture of sand, clay, and soil. I remember the interesting part was that you could sculpt your house anyway you want and build furniture from it too. Part of my paper included speculation on the current rumors that the colonies were trying to bring the tradition back.
Most folks involved were those who wanted total independence and were preparing for the long haul. And I do mean long, as those original Cobb houses are still standing, even after the environmental deterioration and Third World War of the twenty-first century. Not bad for a house made of mud.
First, concern and guilt—and now I'm thinking about ancient architecture? I need to get a hold of myself. This mission is fucking with me in ways I could never have anticipated.
I need to stay on track. I look at the two Sonali behind the desks. It pleases me that I’ve already calculated in my mind the speed, distance and strength I would need to use were I planning to take both of them out.
Fuck.
My mind has enough to think about to bother worrying about things like that. I smile at the two Sonali as I continue to catalogue ways to take them out. It's as natural for me as breathing.
I smile sweetly and demurely, "Hi,” I say with a squeak. “I'm looking for my colleague Gresh. He was brought in yesterday bleeding with a stab wound."
The Sonali female looks reluctant to help me. It hits me that after the assassination everyone is on edge. Right now she doesn’t see me as a concerned friend of Gresh. Instead, she's assessing me a possible threat to his health. For all she knows, I'm the one who hurt him.
But I need to see him, so I'll make this decision easier for her.
"You know this center is so big. I'm afraid I'll get lost even if you told me where he is. Do you think you could walk with me to his room?" I do my best to put on my most disarming smile, the one that says "Look at me, I'm a naive Terran. No threat here."
It must have worked because she says, "Yes," and gets up, turns and walks away quickly. I jog to catch up, putting some fake panting into my voice.
"Please slow down, I can't walk that fast." She stops walking, turning to me. She looks a bit annoyed, but not overly upset. I'm sure she's dealt with worse than me.
And as long as she keeps helping, then she won't have to deal with the worst of me.
I take a moment to "catch my breath", and to add some effect, I place my hands on my knees, coughing. Worry creases the Sonali's brow.
"Are you unwell? Do you need liquid nourishment?" I'm about to tell her that I'm fine until something on her uniform draws my attention. A key sequencer. The security systems most favored by the Sonali are sequence locks. There are two ways to open these locks: a keyed-in code or the same code embedded in a sequencer you can carry. The benefit of the latter is you can hand the compact key sequencer to someone instead of blurting out a number for them to memorize.
I have an idea.
I put my hand to my throat, coughing more. "Yes, please," I gasp. She disappears down the hall, returning moments later with a sloshing square cup of what I assume to be water. I reach for the cup, “accidently” sloshing it as I grab it so water splashes on her clothes. "Oh no!" I place my hand on her uniform pretending to wipe at the water spilled.
As she steps away quickly from my "help", I take a moment to snag her sequencer. She doesn't even notice. I'm not the best pickpocket (I prefer the direct approach to get things, with a weapon doing most of the talking). But this little trick comes in handy in situations where I need to keep a low profile. By overwhelming her body’s signals with the water and the pressure from my hands, she won't register the pressure and then the absence of it when I take the sequencer. I bunch my fist hiding it from view. I take a sip of water. It tastes fantastic, so refreshing. I wonder if I can get some of this bottled to take with me.
"Thank you," I say. She nods her head, distracted. She starts walking so I join her. A few minutes later, she stops.
"Wait here," she says. She steps through a doorway into a room. I can't see the room, but I hear the light tone of her voice followed by the low rumble of a male voice.
Gresh.
She steps out of the room, "You can see him now."
"Thank you," I repeat stepping past her into the room. She follows me inside before gesturing to Gresh. "Let me know if you need anything or any help," she says. She looks at me for a moment, unsmiling, and then leaves the room
.I watch her go then turn back to Gresh. His eyes are on the door; he looks angry. Then he looks at me. He is sitting with his back against the wall behind the bed. He smiles lightly.
"I'm glad you came, though I wonder if it is wise." I arch a brow at him.
"You think I'm in danger here?" I ask. I mean, we are in a hospital.
"I think," says Gresh with a deep sigh, "After the response to the revelation that Sonali and Terrans may have a shared ancestry, you need to be very cautious with anything you do or anywhere you go. I am one of the few left who does not wish to harm Terrans. Many Sonali who were Pro-Terran are no longer that way. They want violence. You are in danger. Can you get a security detail or officer to escort you?"
I laugh. I can't help it. Me needing a security team? Oh my, my cover must be really good.
"I just think you're taking this way too seriously," I say to cover why I'm laughing. "But," I say looking at Gresh, "Really, I'm being careful, and I'll let the Embassy know about my movements.
Ambassador Asis is great. He's said he'll help me. In fact, I'll probably go there next."
Luckily I'm a really good liar because I just fed Gresh some major bullshit. I'm not sharing anything with Asis.
Gresh looks less concerned, so I change the subject.
"I appreciate your worry about me, but I'm more concerned about you. How are you feeling?"
Gresh looks uncomfortable.
"As for my physical well-being, I am told the damage is static. It will not worsen or leave lasting issues other than a minor scar that even the healers say may fade in time." He pauses. "My mental well-being troubles me more. I have never experienced such violence within my own people. I have received injury from those I call friends. I do not know yet how I will reconcile this experience. I am afraid. Afraid for the first time in my life of my own people."
I have no idea what to say. I don't deal with touchy-feely shit. I deal with I-touch-you-now-you're-dead shit. I don't consider those two to be relative to each other, but then again...
"Gresh," I lean forward and let the full weigh
t of my life experience fill Rosaline' voice, "You can accept this shit happened and move on or you can let it rule you. Fear is a choice. You are here. You survived. That is the most important thing."
Gresh seems a bit taken aback. I can see he's thinking about what I said.
"Thank you for coming to see me," he says.
"We xenoarchologists have to stick together, especially when the shit hits the fan," I smile, my voice softened back into my faux self.
"Rosaline, would you mind answering me a question?" I tense. I'm really hoping that Gresh hasn't figured out my cover. I don't want to hurt him. I…like him.
"Sure," I say, uneasy. I hate questions. Unless I'm the one asking them. Then I wouldn’t be worried at all.
"How exactly does the shit hit the fan?"
I stare at Gresh, stunned.
Then I burst out laughing. Full-on belly laughs making me bend at the waist, catching hold of the side of his cot to hold myself up.
"No problem," I say once I get myself under control, "That, I can definitely tell you."
Minutes later I leave Gresh after a brief lesson on Terran slang. He was very appreciative. He even promised that he would return the favor, but I told him to rest. He could educate me on Sonali swear words later.
Once I leave his room, I make my way back down the corridors to the front area desk. The male Sonali is there, but the female is absent.
"Hello, could you answer me a question?" I borrow Gresh's wording. The Sonali male smiles back.
"What answer do you need?"
"I'm worried about my other friend who got hurt by the eye." I just leave it at that hoping he won't ask for more detail.
"Yes, she was treated. She was not admitted." He smiles at me.
"Thank you," I say.
A female Sonali with an eye injury. Has to be the sniper.
"I need to contact the Embassy—where can I do that?" He stands, then realizes he's alone so he can't walk me to where the communication equipment is located.
He points me down a different hall than the one that lead me to Gresh.
