Tales from Ardulum

by J. S. Fields

  That last jab was useless, and Yorden regretted it the moment it left his mouth.

  “I was exiled,” she spat and pulled at her tattered shirt. “I’m a fine pilot. You can ask my current captain for a reference if you want. But this—” She kicked at the red soil. “—being here…none of this was by choice.”

  Yorden grunted in agreement because none of them were here by choice, just circumstance. No one came to a stinking bar on Mars because they wanted to. They were all inexorably wrapped in this whole “perfect peace” bullshit the Risalians were peddling.

  “Time to make a choice, then. Fuck the Risalians. Do things your way. Our way. See the galaxy through your own eyes.” He lowered his voice, trying to be comforting. “See your planet, Neek.”

  Neek sank to her knees into the red dirt, squelching into something wet. Yorden saw tears glisten in her eyes, and his stomach sank.

  “I’m not going to cry,” Neek hissed to herself, but Yorden heard her anyway. “There’s no reason to cry. I didn’t really like it there. It’s just a planet.”

  The tears came. They skirted around her cheeks, diverted by stuk trails as she tried to wipe her face clean. Yorden heard her stomach rumble. “How ridiculous is it to get on a ship with a man I barely know to live out the palest version of my dream, to torment myself with a planet I can see but never again touch?”

  “Better than kneeling in someone else’s vomit in an alley?” Yorden asked softly. “It’s safer for sure than working in mineral transport, wearing out the tendons in your hands, and spending shore leave begging for scraps in bars and spaceports. In another year, you won’t qualify as a Journey youth anymore. What then? You’ll be a dishwasher, maybe, in some restaurant, or have some equally lonely, soul-destroying job. You could be flying.”

  Neek’s eyes narrowed. “Screw Ardulum. I’m not that pathetic.” She stood, pulling her knees from the puddle with a slurping sound. She wiped her face again, further smearing her tears and stuk, and set her jaw.

  And there it was. There she was—a pilot who was looking more and more like a decent person to befriend, too. Bitterness loved company, especially on a derelict tramp. Yorden took three steps towards her, ignoring the filth that streamed around and over his bare feet. He held out one mammoth hand—not for her to take, but rather as a gesture of friendliness. An invitation. “C’mon, kid. You don’t belong here.”

  An aborted chuckle bubbled from Neek’s throat. Yorden chuckled as well. He couldn’t help it. Together, they walked out of the alley, onto the main road of dusty, red bricks, and towards the glistening field of spaceships on the city’s perimeter. Surprising warmth sparked across Yorden’s chest as he led her past cruisers, skiffs, dredgers, miners, and barges to his old Buran shuttle.

  The nose of the shuttle sagged precariously close to the ground, the armor plating was unevenly riveted, and its dorsal fins stuck out at weird angles; he still hadn’t even finished resecuring the antique laser turret to the hull. It was a cracked, dented, bent, off-white, antique monstrosity, but when Neek followed Yorden inside and saw the cockpit console with its old steering yoke and computer interface, she only smiled. She saw the same thing he did. The potential. The freedom.

  Without invitation, Neek sat in the pilot’s leather chair. The cushioning gave an audible sigh as her rear sank below the chair’s rim. Yorden knew how that seat felt. Worn in. Old. Comfortable. Like it knew you. She looked over at him, and Yorden nodded solemnly because years of Terran conditioning wouldn’t let him show he was as excited about this as she was.

  “The Pledge gets a vote in this too. So far, you’re passing.”

  Neek snorted in a nearly perfect imitation of him, splayed her left hand across the console, hooking her thumb and first two fingers around the yoke, and tapped on the computer with her remaining digits. Her stuk smeared across the controls. She flicked off the safeties, powered the thrusters, and edged the nose of the ship up, angling towards the atmosphere. Towards Neek, Yorden surmised. He understood completely.

  “Permission to launch, Captain?” Neek asked, breathless.

  “You got a name, kid? Other than that common name your people love to give yourselves?”

  Neek shook her head, keeping her eyes fixed on the sky. “Just Neek,” she murmured. “Just a Neek.”

  “All right then, Neek. How about you take us through the Terran Wormhole and head towards Baltec, in the Minoran System. There’s a haul I need to pick up there.” When that felt too callous for the moment, he added, “Glad to have you.”

  Neek’s hands shook, but only just. “I can call my former captain from here and let them know I’m not coming back, but don’t you need to file a petition with the Youth Journey offices for me to change my contract?”

  Yorden gave her a bland look. “Do I look like I care about Risalian rules? Are you my pilot, or aren’t you?”

  Neek closed her eyes and shook her head. A smile twitched at the corners of her mouth. “No, Captain. I’m all yours. I’m a pilot.”

  “Then, take us to Baltec, Neek.”

  Joy burst across her face, and Yorden felt it too—soaring through his chest and into a smile as wide as the horizon. Neek sent power to the thrusters and brought Mercy’s Pledge up, slowly at first, above the other ships, above the city. Building speed, it broke the bonds of the atmosphere and, finally, powered into space itself.

  Palace Politics

  SECOND MONTH OF ARATH, 16_15

  “You’re not supposed to be in the kitchens, Eki. You know that.”

  Ekimet shoved the remainder of a cinnamon-spiced andal twig into zir pocket and put zir hands on top of the counter. Zie wasn’t wearing a shirt but refused to blush. It was the kitchen and the middle of the night. Shirts were optional. “I got lost,” zie blurted out.

  Savath appeared at the doorway to the kitchens and frowned. “I doubt that very much.”

  Ekimet’s mind raced to find another plausible excuse. Zie was too tired for a lecture, and Savath’s serious expression was already making zir feel like an andal stump was pushing against zir chest. “Yeah, well, you’re the one who showed me how to sneak down here in the first place. Technically, this is your fault.”

  Savath held out zir hand, the sleeve of zir long, silver robe pooling onto the counter. “That was because it was your first night, and you needed something to distract you. Come on back. I know it’s a hard transition from living at home to living in the Eld Palace’s gatoi quarters, but it’s been almost three years. We’re second don now—both of us. You have to stop these nighttime wanderings.”

  Ekimet pushed Savath’s hand away. “So, why are you up?”

  Savath rolled zir eyes. “Because I’m responsible for you, titha head. If you get in trouble, it’s my fault.”

  “Oh. Right.” Ekimet looked at the grain of the countertop, wishing zie could fall into the earlywood and disappear. Zie had wanted a snack, but it wasn’t worth Savath getting yelled at by the Eld—especially since they would undoubtedly revoke Savath’s day pass into town. And if Savath didn’t get to leave the palace, then neither did Ekimet. Mentors like Savath only got a pass every other month. If Ekimet or Savath got caught tonight, then it would be some very depressing next few months.

  “I’m sorry, Savath. I wasn’t thinking.”

  Savath put a hand on Ekimet’s shoulder. “Lonely, still?”

  Ekimet snorted.

  “You know,” Savath said, moving away and leaning on the countertop, “it’s okay to be lonely, but you don’t have to be lonely alone. There are over one hundred of us here from all over Ardulum. Plus, you have me. You could have just knocked on my door.”

  Ekimet ignored the warm joviality of Savath’s words. Zie had been here a year longer than Ekimet. Zie had probably forgotten what it was like to run down a hill without someone screaming at you to be careful, forgotten what it was like to skin and clean a titha without someone taking the knife from your hands because one slip and you could cut yourself and—no. No, they c
ouldn’t have that. Couldn’t risk getting their precious gatois injured. No injuries. No risks. No life. Ekimet was sick of it all, and even more sick of the fact that no one seemed to miss their former lives except zir.

  Besides, Savath had plenty of other friends.

  “No one ever tells you what it’s going to be like after your metamorphosis,” Ekimet whispered. “Not for us, anyway. Doesn’t that ever bother you?”

  “It’s considered an honor to be chosen to be schooled here. Not every gatoi gets the opportunity. Some are asked to join families immediately. Some have Talents that are needed so badly that they start working directly. But some, like us, get to have a real education.” Savath slid closer to Ekimet and wrapped long fingers around Ekimet’s hand. Savath’s touch usually comforted, but tonight, Ekimet felt too wound up. A dream had woken zir, but zie couldn’t remember the specifics, just something about talking trees. Silly, of course, because andal couldn’t talk in the typical sense, but it had left Ekimet with an uneasy feeling zie couldn’t shake.

  “Yeah? You lost your apprenticeship on New Ubtarot because of this ‘opportunity.’ The Eld canceled all our second-don apprenticeships. How can you be okay with that?”

  “It is an opportunity, just a different one,” Savath chided. “Come on. Let me take you back to your room.”

  “It’d only be an opportunity if I was given a choice!” Ekimet pulled zir hand from Savath’s and stepped back, hitting the cooling unit. “You can pretend to not be upset about the apprenticeships being taken away, but I refuse to just be happy stewing in one place. Savath, I want to go home.” Zie pointed to the hexagons on zir left shoulder. “I’m a Hearth Talent, but even here they won’t let me into the kitchen, or the machine shop, or the livestock fields. All we do is read. I can already speak four languages. When am I going to get to do something?”

  Savath dropped zir arms to zir sides, studying Ekimet intently. Ekimet tried not to fidget under zir gaze, especially when zir eyes moved from zir Talent markings to Ekimet’s cropped, dark-auburn hair. Gatois usually had long hair, but Ekimet had been ready to run last week, too, and Savath had offered the haircut as a rebellion.

  It hadn’t been enough.

  “I’m leaving,” Ekimet said, zir voice low. “I want to file for dismissal from the program.”

  Savath bit zir lower lip before pulling over two hardwood chairs and motioning for Ekimet to sit. “Have any of that cinnamon andal left to share?” zie asked. “Last meal with your mentor? Friend?”

  A smile quirked at the corners of Ekimet’s mouth. Savath had been there for every meltdown, every triumph, every late-night wandering. They came from the same region, so Ekimet had at first assumed zir patience with zir was out of misplaced solidarity, but over the years, Savath had become someone more like a friend. Also, zie apparently wasn’t going to turn Ekimet in for swiping andal, so it was best to share the bounty.

  Ekimet unearthed the small twig from zir pocket, broke it in half, and handed the unchewed end to Savath. Their fingers brushed, but this time, the contact made Ekimet jump. Just a little.

  Savath had been assigned Ekimet’s mentor when zie had presented zirself at the Eld Palace in zir seventeenth year of life, as was customary for gatois. Male and female first dons got to have their full twenty years at home. Gatois only got seventeen, which had always seemed like an unfair amount of time. Savath was friendly and warm, much like all the gatois in their palatial “holding pens,” but every so often, Ekimet saw…a glimpse of someone else. Maybe it was a shadow of who Savath had been in zir first don. Maybe it was a glimmer of zir third don to come. Or, maybe it was the way Savath listened when Ekimet spoke, zir eye contact unrelenting, as if Ekimet were the only person that mattered on all of Ardulum. They weren’t the same type of gatoi—Savath was i-type intersex, born with gatoi-specific genitals, while Ekimet had been born presenting male and had chosen to transition to gatoi later—and sometimes that mattered. Sometimes, but not to Ekimet.

  Whatever it was, that other Savath was the reason Ekimet was still here, in the palace kitchens, instead of back in zir parents’ apartment in the crowded, noisy city of Ellthuy, the capital city of Ardulum’s only equatorial continent.

  Savath’s eyes were staring now, digging into Ekimet while they both ate. “It really is delicious,” Savath said as zie finished the twig and licked zir fingers clean. Still, zir eyes stayed on Ekimet’s.

  “We’re both fugitives,” Ekimet whispered conspiratorially. “Maybe they’ll lock us up in a dungeon. That’d at least be something new.”

  Savath laughed. “Well, then. If dungeons are already on the table, I say we go for it.” Zie pointed to the cooling unit. “I think this batch is for the Eld’s party tomorrow. They probably wouldn’t miss one more, right?”

  Ekimet grinned. “Do we care?”

  To Ekimet’s delight, Savath hopped from the chair and made an exaggerated show of tiptoeing to the unit, easing open the door, gently dragging a twig from the center of the stack, and then putting the door back into place. “Spoils of war,” zie said, breaking off half and handing it to Ekimet. “You’re going to get me in so much trouble.”

  Ekimet put the end of the twig in zir mouth and sucked at the seasoned sap. “Bet you’ve never been in trouble before, have you? Not in the years I’ve been here, and not before, either.”

  Savath’s gaze dropped unexpectedly to the counter, zir expression distant. Ekimet put the andal down, instantly regretting zir words. “Sorry, Savath. Did I say something wrong?”

  Savath shook zir head, and when zie looked back up, Savath was smiling, zir melancholy vanished. Ekimet once again felt like the center of zir world. The fragmented andal dreams, the anger over the rescinded apprenticeships, the loneliness…it all slipped from Ekimet’s mind.

  “What did you like to do before you came here? What were your dreams?” Savath asked. They’d never really talked about the “before,” because being in the palace was all about their futures, but the question seemed far from invasive.

  “I studied diplomacy, mostly,” Ekimet answered, sitting back in zir chair. If zir stomach had been fluttering moments ago, then it had at least settled. “I’d heard that it’s one of the best ways to get out of the palace early if you don’t want to head right for family life. Well, I studied flares a lot, too, at my grandmother’s insistence, but I don’t think there’s a future in that. But we haven’t been in the Alliance—well, the center of it—for that long, and the Keft thing was a disaster. Diplomats must be in high demand.”

  “Mm, I agree. That’s why they picked me to mentor you. I like the same stuff. Speaking of which, guess who finally got permission to work in the foundry?”

  Ekimet sprang to zir feet. “Wait, you get to work in the foundry?!”

  Savath’s eyes lit up as zie stuck out zir tongue. “Jealous?”

  Ekimet smacked zir on the shoulder. “Eternally.”

  “If you wanted to stay, I’m sure I could speak to the Eld and see if you could get in too.”

  Ekimet let zir head fall to one side as zie frowned. “You’ve resorted to bribery? Why? Even with the foundry, you’d still end up chasing me around this place, trying to get me to, I don’t know, wear silver robes and braid my hair.”

  Savath tugged Ekimet back down to the chair and leaned in towards zir ear. “I’m not hearing a no. Besides, I thought you liked it when I braided your hair.”

  Ekimet’s heart thumped against zir ribs. Home was great, and far less suffocating, but zir family didn’t have anything close to a blacksmith setup. That was one of the reasons Ekimet had first allowed zirself to be talked into being schooled at the palace. There were opportunities here that zie would never get anywhere else. Still…

  “Savath, I— I’d need something else. Plus, they’d never just let me walk in and—”

  Ekimet’s words stuttered to a stop as zie felt hands on zir shoulders. Between one moment and the next, there were lips on zir lips. Savath’s lips. Kissing Ekimet.
Zie had no idea how to respond, and Savath didn’t seem to know how to proceed, so they held the position for several heartbeats. Savath’s breath tasted like cinnamon. The smell filled Ekimet’s nose and sinuses and made zir throat feel tight. Zie tried to swallow, tried to think, but the only two thoughts zie could manage was that Savath’s lips were really smooth and that this was a lot different than the greeting kiss gatois normally used with each other. Ekimet liked it a lot more, and it made zir insides feel soft like springwood.

  Savath pulled back, finally, zir face lightly flushed, zir breath ragged.

  “You should have asked,” Ekimet said as zie, too, struggled for breath.

  “We never ask to kiss,” Savath returned. “We’re gatois.”

  Ekimet touched zir lips with two fingers. “That wasn’t a gatoi kiss.”

  “Do you want to end up assigned to a couple?” Savath suddenly demanded, zir fingers tightening on Ekimet’s shoulders. Zir words cut at Ekimet. What sort of conversation was this, anyway? First admonishment, then kissing—kissing—and then yelling? How was zie supposed to react? What was going on with Savath? Was this that other Savath Ekimet had only had glimpses of these past years?

  “No,” Ekimet answered, as evenly as zie could. “I don’t want another cage. I want a job, and I want it away from Eld influence.” Zie took Savath’s hands from zir shoulders and gripped them. I can break protocol, too, zie said, creating a mental connection. Not everyone is afraid to use telepathy. What do you want? Why are you here in the kitchens with me?

  Savath stared at Ekimet for a long moment before responding. I want a lot of things I’m not allowed to have. You’re not the only one who can’t sleep at night.

  Ekimet considered the words, tossing various bizarre explanations aside, but not coming up with any rational ones.