Interspecies: Volume 1 (The Inlari Sagas)

by M. J. Kelley

“No. It would kill you. You’re not ready.” Ro closed her eyes. “I will find my own disciple. You may be a candidate for remembrance, but you know nothing of forgetting.” She smiled as if at a private joke and then opened her eyes and slowly turned toward him. “Tonight, you’ll finally be leaving Anthro. You always wanted to leave. Didn’t you?”

  “Not since I was a child.”

  “You still are a child.” Seriousness overtook Ro’s expression. “I’m now the Memoriam.”

  “You’ve had no training.”

  “I’ve had plenty.”

  “And Alta?”

  “Alta killed Palor with some device. I can see the memory clearly.” She gestured to a slate on her desk. Kene picked it up. A message from Naven expressed regret at Palor’s murder. In it, a decree granting permission to prosecute any human involved in a hope to show goodwill at the advent of peace. It also recognized Ro as the new Memoriam.

  He gazed up from the message. “What did you tell them?”

  Ro glanced away. “Alta will be executed.”

  Kene returned to his habitat and splashed his face with more cold water from the washing bowl, rinsing again as if to cleanse his thoughts, wash away his grief. Outside, everyone hurried to and fro, packing up supplies and dismantling their homes.

  What had she done? He peeked his head out and touched a passing child’s shoulder. “What’s happening?”

  The child cast her eyes to the dirt. “We've been disbanded.”

  “All of you?”

  The child nodded, and Kene waved her away.

  Was this all he’d earned? A Fugue’s disregard? There must be a way to protest, to fight back and retrieve what was rightfully his.

  In the afternoon, black figures appeared on the river trail. And soon twenty Parhata entered Anthro. Kene stood with the other onlookers as the soldiers passed them without acknowledgement. The Parhata marched straight to Deliz, who stood, arms crossed, at the town’s center.

  After watching the new soldiers situate themselves, Kene returned to his habitat to think. Could they mount a resistance? Would Palor agree? Was it worth the risk of life?

  But whatever the dangers, his mind always returned to the truth. Ro hadn’t been chosen. She was a Memoriam by circumstance. What right did she have to take away the remembrance? She hadn’t even completed her own training all those years ago.

  The Essariah. He lay back and stared at the ceiling, trying to suppress his fright. Had she delved that deeply into the memories yet? Did she know the ship’s hiding place? Did she plan to start a war with Naven, one they could finally win with that vessel?

  Throughout the afternoon, the people of Anthro stopped by his tent with food parcels, gifts, and well-wishes. He hugged them all. “Find us when you’re back in Lakarta,” many of them said. Tent flap pulled back, he watched as the biggest group hiked single-file over the river trail, leaving the valley.

  That night, Deliz came to his habitat. “Time to leave.”

  “You know the council won’t allow this.” Kene rolled his bedclothes so he could carry the bundle on his back.

  Deliz only stared at him.

  “Why are you helping her?”

  “She’s the new Memoriam. I’m sworn to protect her. The sooner you accept this, the sooner you’ll understand my actions. You’re no longer an apprentice. You’re not needed here.”

  “Where do I go?”

  “Go home.”

  “And these soldiers?”

  “Whatever Palor told you, you’re not in charge anymore.”

  “You’ve sworn to protect the Memoriam and his disciple—”

  “Enough.” Deliz stepped forward quickly. He towered over Kene. “Get up.”

  Outside, three Parhata pushed Alta’s hovercraft toward the forest. Kene chuckled, despite his sorrow. The craft housed ancient technology, yet too advanced for these soldiers to figure out. Perhaps the craft allowed only Alta to ride it.

  Kene strolled toward the ocean. Deliz followed him at a distance. How long would Deliz follow? Kene continued his hike, the sun setting before he reached the beach. When he finally turned, the trail behind him was empty.

  The Essariah flashed again into his mind. Ro would soon remember it if she hadn’t already. But if he secured the vessel first, how long could he keep it from her? He certainly did not know how to launch it. Without the complete remembrance as his guide, he could not expect to prevail. And if he secured the ship first, he might miss this chance to save the remembrance while Ro was still weak.

  Kene sprinted up the side of the hill, steep with rocks and unseen obstacles now that night had descended. He tripped, regained his footing, and then fell again. The sea air at his back, he stumbled farther up, high above the trail and river. He stepped cautiously through the brush on the slope, feeling his way toward the ridge. His knees and shins throbbed with cuts, and his ankles tightened with soreness. He could no longer see the trail below. The river’s rushing, its water flowing over rocks, concealed him.

  After an hour or so, a fire glow shimmered over the weeds as the final downslope lay ahead. There was only the steep descent between him and Anthro. He reclined on the hill, well out of the light, and observed dark figures pass to and fro in front of the fires. Only eight habitats remained, including two at the base of the hill, one each for Deliz, Elma, and Ro, and a large one for the twenty Parhata. Strangely enough, his former home had not been removed. He shivered, not so much from the cold, but from his resolution to go back down there.

  What was he thinking? He imagined having to fight the Parhata. Trained fighters, professional soldiers. But then, what else could he do? Let his species forget? Let Ro destroy the remembrance and the peace with Naven? This was the hardest part. Waiting. The doubts.

  He stopped shuddering and focused on the hill’s base and the quieting camp.

  He waited.

  Anthro’s firelights flickered out, one by one. As he stretched out his legs, he once more traced the perimeter of the town with his gaze, watching for movement. He descended, slowly and quietly, the wind and river still masking his movements. He stopped, and then he saw a figure moving between the tents. Kene lay in the grass, well out of sight. The figure passed him without stopping.

  Deliz? He didn’t wait for anyone else. He darted behind what used to be Gol’s home, using the tent’s bulk to conceal himself.

  He stepped very quietly, heading toward his former habitat. Faint, muffled crying emanated from inside. He crouched low and entered through the plastic flaps. Too dark to see. He searched around the floor, his hand fitting over a head, a human face, soft stubble on a hornless skull.

  “Alta.”

  She stopped squirming.

  He pulled the blindfold from her eyes. “Don’t scream.” He removed the gag from her mouth.

  Alta coughed and spit.

  Kene felt around for his water flute and poured the liquid into her mouth.

  “Thank you.”

  He touched her face with his hand.

  “I didn’t do it. You have to believe me. Whatever they tell you.” She coughed. “We need the peace.”

  He wanted to believe her. Even without proof, he wanted to believe her.

  “I’ll return for you.” He lifted the blindfold back up to her face.

  “No. What are you doing?”

  “Just in case they peek in here. Now lie down. It’s only for a little while. I’ll be back soon.”

  Alta nodded, biting her lip as Kene replaced the muzzle and tied it around her head. “Lie back now.” He guided her to the floor.

  Outside, he saw no one. Stepping through the tent flaps, he made his way toward Ro’s home. Many of the old habitats lay broken down and packed in piles. He cautiously stepped over them, Ro’s habitat just ahead. A yellow glow brightened its plastic walls. Was she still awake?

  Crouching low, he approached, close enough to peek under the entry flaps. Candlelight flickered inside. Ro’s limbs sprawled across the bed, resting. She faced away
from the entrance. The slate from Naven still lay on her desk.

  He withdrew his kin as low voices trickled in from behind.

  There wouldn’t be another chance.

  Ro rolled over and blinked, opening her eyes. Kene vaulted toward her as her lips parted. But he covered her mouth with his hand and forced her head back, placing the kin on her scar. Her arms and legs flailed, but, still weak from the imprint, she could do no more than paw at him. She forced her eyes open with a willpower that sent chills through him, her lids quivering with strain. He needed them closed. He brought his mouth close to her face, and, in one quick burst, blew air over her eyes.

  She blinked.

  His hand shot from her mouth to her lids, keeping them shut. He pressed his scar against the kin as she let out a half-yelp, her breath briefly hitting his face.

  He closed his eyes.

  Kene stumbled across Anthro’s empty home plots, dizzy, the kin in one hand and the messenger slate in the other. Memories welled up within him like bloated bodies drifting downriver, bobbing and rolling against rocks and currents—their dreams, hopes, and failures flooding his veins, shaking every nerve, increasing his pulse until his skin vibrated. The swollen river could not be dammed, and soon he could not bear the noise. Hands covering his ears, memories rushed freely, uncontrolled, drowning his senses.

  He tried to direct his path toward the tree line but collapsed. He crawled back to his own habitat, where Alta waited. Sick and weak, he pulled himself inside. Shivering against the habitat’s thin walls, he tried to focus on his own memories, the ones made when he first arrived here, but every time he grasped one, some foreign memory ripped through by association. Palor’s early memories filled Kene’s consciousness, and he saw Loy across a table, a small lamp casting his features in blue light. “Memoriams aren’t born; they’re created. That is the final secret I have for you.”

  His muscles shook with fierce spasms. Imprinting the remembrance was a mistake. He shouldn’t have tampered, shouldn’t have taken so much. Smells he did not recognize, sounds that he knew were not there overlaid his vision. The habitat melted, forming spirals, pulling him under like a whirlpool. His head throbbed, but when he closed his eyes, he was immersed in faces, worlds, lives not his own.

  No escape.

  Palor’s thoughts surfaced: He started too old. He will take it too hard. Then a thousand voices echoed in his skull. Kene grabbed his head, the voices clamoring for volume, all the memories from his predecessors invading. And then hiding beneath his hallucinations, for a brief moment, he discovered his own voice: You did not pass a test—you survived a procedure.

  The forty children’s names who had never come back from that final test . . .

  “We’re the only two,” Palor’s voice whispered.

  Because no other child had lived.

  Schematics, equations, and plans proliferated a flat surface. He was in front of a desk, in a female’s body. She constructed a small device—an explosive—then, with Elma’s help, coiled an old tunic around the small, round object. The memory shifted to another: while watching Naven’s gates open, she slid down a tree and rushed back into the encampment. She handed a small, cotton-wrapped package to Deliz.

  Deliz nodded and soon left, heading for Palor’s tent.

  The blast pierced his ears, but did not shake the ground.

  Kene opened his eyes. He still lay on the dirt floor, the space around him twisting and melting into rainbow streams of fading color overlaying the darkness. His heart pounded, screaming to break free. His fingers dug into his chest, unable to penetrate muscle and bone. The pressure. His body jolted as if being crushed under the flood-weight of memory.

  Ro and Deliz killed Palor.

  Alta’s muffled whispers came from somewhere to his side.

  His eyes. He could not hold them open.

  His lids fell shut.

  Ro’s despair bubbled in him, her hurt unraveling before him like a dying beast, its organs and insides laid bare. Special. Chosen. She believed this more than he had—still believed it—for she was not created but something different . . . an anomaly.

  A Fugue.

  In Lakarta, she travelled outside the cities, sleeping in valleys carved by fallen starships. She trained herself among the half-buried vessels peeking from their tombs. Derelict, molested by dirt and weeds, overhangs created by cockpits or engine casings kept her dry. She battled her fear and sorrow. She mastered the memories Loy had given her, the worst of the worst. She learned to control the power to forget and suppress. She could choose. She could determine a course for her people that wasn’t hampered by the past, by the knowledge of what had been. Her ability to forget their history, their pain, their staunch ethics, would give them freedom to make different choices. The right choices. She could edit the remembrance, passing on only what was useful for progress.

  The day she joined the Parhata swelled in him. Then the memory of an elegant figure standing on a balcony.

  The commander of the North, Valnia Alteiri, her jewelry lightly chiming, leaned in to whisper, “We need a strong Memoriam.”

  Ro bowed, kneeling before Alteiri.

  “Naven will collapse in time if left alone.” Alteiri held Ro’s shoulders, her lavender eyes somber, her face strong and exquisite. “You will make a fine Memoriam.”

  Kene opened his eyes again, the space around him now indiscernible, wrapped in some horrid unreality, his senses merging in confusion. He smelled the sounds of footsteps from centuries past and could hear the thump of starlight streaming in through the entry flap’s slits. Pain exploded through him. His spine heaved with a fierce spasm, arching his torso upward, his muscles screaming, begging for him to let go.

  The tent spun like a vortex.

  He struggled to inhale, but choked as if on his own throat flesh.

  I’m dying.

  And when he felt his body drained of its will, its strength, a face emerged from the spinning tent. A young bright face, one that could only belong to Palor. “You're ready.” Then he saw thousands of Memoriams standing like lit beacons in a thick, confused magma. Their lives injected meaning into the total of the past. Hope kindled within him. Perhaps, with their help, he could process the enormous imprint.

  Pink light seeped through slits in the plastic. Kene’s lids blinked, struggling to open. His head throbbed, his body sore all over as if he had been beaten.

  What happened?

  As he gained strength, he slowly recalled Palor’s young face, the words “You’re ready” still echoing in his head.

  Alta murmured next to him.

  Kene lifted the blindfold from her face and removed the gag.

  She jumped when she saw him. “I thought you were dead. I thought someone would hear you. You sounded in so much pain.” She stared up at him as he untied her.

  “I have a place to hide, up in the mountains, in the wilderness.”

  “Take me back to Naven.” Her voice cracked.

  “They’ll kill us.”

  “Why?”

  Kene shuffled the materials on the ground, looking for the message. He found the slate covered in dirt and handed it to her. “They agreed to your execution.”

  She studied the words, tears forming in her eyes. Then she let the slate tumble to the ground. “You trust me?”

  “You’re innocent.”

  “You trust me? A human? From Naven?”

  He gazed at her worn face, recalling their brief childhood together, remembering her hair draped at odd angles, her smile. “Come. We have to hurry.” He pushed her through first, then followed. They ran from Anthro, racing along the base of the hill.

  “Kene!” a voice called from behind.

  He glimpsed the medic, Elma, standing between two habitats, a witness to their escape.

  “What have you done to her?” Elma cried.

  Kene and Alta dashed past the last tents and raced down the slope to her hovercraft at the field’s edge. She reached the vehicle first and straddled t
he seat, slipping her legs into the troughs and her arms into the sleeves, the craft tightening around her muscles. She pushed her legs down and the fans hummed to life. Kene jumped on behind her. She lunged forward with her arms, and the craft launched.

  “Hold on.” Alta kicked back, stretching her body. The craft responded by accelerating and lengthening its own body in imitation.

  She curved the craft’s trajectory. “Where are we going?” she yelled.

  “Through the forest, up the trail.”

  They wove between trees, the sun flickering through the canopy and low-hanging branches. Kene held on to Alta, telling her the way. They accelerated under a stony mountaintop and then glided down to its base, where a little stream bordered the slopes and trickled over rocks. The hovercraft kicked up a fan of water as they passed.

  Soon they arrived at four rocks on a grassy knoll.

  “Here.” Kene slid off as Alta slowed the craft.

  He waved his hand over the rock like Loy had in the memory, hoping this was going to work. Nothing happened. Kene looked around the knoll for other rock formations, panic filling his head. But then the rock sank into the ground. He laughed and gripped Alta’s hand and led her down into the passageway. The entry closed behind them and a long corridor self-illuminated—a tunnel of curved light panels.

  “What is this?” Alta’s voice echoed in the strange hall.

  “You’ll see.”

  When they exited the tunnel into the storage bay, Kene, too tired for awe, watched Alta’s frame tense, her head tilting upward, as she stared in wonder at what lay before them. “That takes up the whole mountain.” She whispered.

  The curved fuselage occupied almost the entire bay, displaying no sharp angles or edges, like a giant porpoise’s rounded form. Blackened half-moon windows dappled its pearly skin in seemingly random arrangements, as the bay’s ceiling lights created shimmering reflections on the vessel’s surface.

  “Your people kept this?”

  He swallowed and then nodded. “A lifeboat.”

  “They lied.” Alta shook her head. “They said they’d trade all their technology to stay on Earth.”

  “We kept some . . . it was a long time ago.” Kene opened one of the hatches. “There are rooms inside. And food.”