by M. J. Kelley
She slid out the back door and through the same hole in the hedge she had entered through the previous day, pausing briefly to clip on the slave collar and pull the white tunic over her head. She took a breath, looked at the street in the early morning light, and quickly scrambled over the berm and onto the shoulder of the road, just another slave on her way to work. As she wound her way along the bay, Ān-tíng could feel the weight of worry beginning to rest on her shoulders, down into the pit of her stomach.
The two questions churned in her gut, roiling as if at full boil. Was the ansible technology a trap? And was Nate one of the few that had escaped alive?
Ān-tíng unhurriedly cut through the old reserve that the inlaris had decided to keep in Wellington to remind them of the native flora, just another slave making her way from a common bunk to her place of employment. Had it only been just over a day since she had sat with Nate on their rock in the slave park? The sensations of the new day were almost an assault on her senses, as if her world had been knocked slightly askew by the experiences of the past twenty-four hours, leaving her to consider everything in a fresh light.
After a quick check, she climbed into the storm drain, peeling off her slave tunic and tucking both it and the collar into her rucksack alongside the ansible device. She ran a path through the familiar underground passageways, scurrying to and fro like an animal, pausing every few meters out of habit to listen for other footsteps.
Even here, in the kilometers of passages that were as familiar to her as her own face, her senses felt as if they were on overload. The familiar smell of stale air and the fading scent of washed-away putrefaction almost made her gag at times. The shadows seemed to leer, sending her skittering to the dubious safety of side passages. Time seemed to stand still, and she ran almost aimlessly, her heart pumping hard the entire time.
Finally, she palmed her way into the corridor that led to Ànchù headquarters, stumbling through the convoluted corridor by sheer force of muscle memory before bursting into the large common room. It had been turned into a triage center, with the wounded strewn across the room haphazardly.
Nái saw her before anyone else, rising from where she had been comforting a teenager who was obviously in shock. A medic quickly took over as Nái, her dark, wavy hair pulled back into a rough twist, stepped toward Ān-tíng and pulled her into an uncharacteristic hug.
“Thank God you made it,” she said.
“I wasn’t on the Holden squad,” was all Ān-tíng could say.
“It doesn’t matter. The Parhata picked up anyone that looked suspicious, and some of those on other missions were stopped and questioned. We’re still not sure who was compromised.”
“It was a close call.” Ān-tíng looked around, scanning through the familiar faces. Some were ashen in pain, others were hidden under compresses and field dressings. “Has everyone returned?”
Nái glanced down and to the side for a moment. When her gaze returned to Ān-tíng, it was laden with the emotional fatigue of leading a company their size. Nái couldn’t have been more than thirty-five, but her unlined face, slashed as it was by a deep, white scar, showed a depth of pain that belied her years.
“No,” Nái finally replied. “I don’t think we’ll know who was lost in the blast for another three days, when the team that got Holden makes it to Australia.”
Ān-tíng swallowed. So there had been casualties. “Nate?”
Nái shook her head, then simply said, “We don’t know yet. He hasn’t made it back.” She paused, then replied, “Report to Yéh, and then go to bed. You look like hell warmed over.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
The older woman squeezed her shoulder and turned back to her original charge, settling the blanket closer around the teen’s shoulders.
Ān-tíng shuffled through the motions of writing a report, dumped the ansible into the hēi-kè lab, then ambled off to take a shower and collapse into her bunk. Her room was empty—surprising, due to the fact that she shared it with three other women. But perhaps, she thought morbidly, none of them had returned from their missions.
Her dreams tumbled through her mind vividly, a chaotic combination of images that mixed together in an almost incoherent stream. Nate hung from manacles in a dark chamber, screaming amidst the flash of an inlari whip. Opkith, his voice wise, murmured something about suffering and loss, his eyes hooded in the ambient light. Nái and Yéh struggled up a hill, bearing a heavy grandfather clock between them. And Ān-tíng, in a moment of silence, wiped the blood from Nate’s chest and cuddled against him as he groaned in pain, his arms wrapping around her in a gesture so natural it made her sob.
She awoke with a start, half sprawled out of the bunk, her weight shifting dangerously off the mattress. Ān-tíng glanced at her chrono. An hour until sunset; she had slept for four solid hours, but it felt like almost nothing. She hurriedly dressed and ran out to the common area.
“Any news?” she demanded of the first medic she saw.
“They’re still trickling in,” Carlo admitted, his young face drawn and tight.
“Nate?”
“Not that I know of,” he replied, shaking his head.
In the lab, she tried to focus on the ansible prototype. The cube fit in her hand comfortably, almost like a softball, her fingers just able to curve around its edges. But Ān-tíng knew she was distracted, unsettled emotionally. The encryption key had allowed her to download the documentation and code on the cube, but all she had been able to do was stare at the words on the screen.
Finally, she tossed the ansible on her desk, picked up her rucksack, packed herself some food, and walked out into the tunnels. She ignored the warnings of danger, knowing she would be perfectly safe in the slave park at night.
She retraced her steps out to the park, slipped on her slave clothing, and clipped the collar around her neck. Someday, she thought to herself, no one would ever need to wear the collar.
Ān-tíng clambered up the steps of the rock, winding her way around the familiar ledge until she reached their spot. She unpacked an apricot and broke it in two, sticking first one half into her mouth, then the other.
She remembered her last morning here with Nate, leaning against him, hands wrapped around a mug of coffee. He had wondered about peace. Was there something to that? Opkith had seemed to think so. She could almost imagine his voice in the liquid sounds of Anshahar as a whisper in the passing breeze:
As much as we like to pretend otherwise, there are many things about this universe we inlaris do not understand. Things we may need help with. Things, perhaps, that only humans can help us to grasp.
This tiny inkling of an idea quickly spiraled into a stream of memories. The quiet laughter she had shared with Opkith at his dining room table as they talked about a confusing phrase in Anshahar. The amazed look on his face as she talked about the conversations she had with slaves—both people who lived under indulgent masters and those who lived under cruel ones.
And then there was Nate, with his thoughtful responses to her emotional outbursts and the way he volunteered his own ideas and feelings in their early morning sessions. Theirs was a connection unlike any other she had experienced before.
But she had also connected with Opkith, she realized. And that, perhaps, was what the Ànchù could really be. Those, like her, who had been raised with the inlari culture, but as free humans, didn’t just have the capacity for being weapons. No, they were also capable of becoming bridges, spanning cultures and guiding understanding.
The identity settled onto her comfortably with a profound sense of rightness, as if it had always been a part of her. She stared in wonder at the apricot seed in her hand. The seed, like her, had the capacity to grow into something larger than itself. She was uniquely suited to change the world, one conversation at a time. She had found her inyata. Her soul’s purpose. Her life.
“Ting? I heard you were asking about me, so when I didn’t find you at headquarters, I figured you would come here.”
Breaking the kiss, Ān-tíng smiled at him gently, sliding her hand into his. “You won’t believe the day I had,” she said.
She could hear the wry humor in Nate’s voice, his blue-green eyes lighting up with true pleasure. “I can’t wait to hear about it.”
Ān-tíng leaned her head against Nate’s solid shoulder, staring out with an odd sense of peace at the first stars of the dusk as they twinkled over the water. She would tell Opkith later, and they would share a pot of tea, some conversation, and the sense of wonder that came from discovering something new. With her free hand, she slid the apricot pit into her rucksack as a reminder of the moment she discovered her inyata.
Transmission Interrupted
Dana Leipold
108 years AFC
Quinette stroked Zet’s hand with her long, thin fingers as she gazed out over the barren land, sprawling like an unfurled blanket toward the dusky horizon. His hands, so unlike hers, hard calluses against her smooth palm, clasped her fingers with a sense of urgency. His tanned, olive skin contrasted her pale luminescence. They languished as birds in the distance heralded another warm evening and the first stars made themselves known. These moments were precious and harder to steal away as each day passed.
“I wish we could stay here forever.”
“Me too.” She leaned against his shoulder, careful not to prod him with the elegant horns extending from the side of her head.
He lifted his hand to her cheek, his fingers touching the protruding bones on her face, then tucking stray strands of white hair behind her ear. Her family crest tattooed on his wrist and the silver collar around his neck were constant reminders that their future could never be more than that of a master and a slave. The fact that he had to wear the discipline ring around his neck made her cringe. If she could, she would remove it, but she didn’t want to think of what would happen if her mother found out.
She knew the risks when she pulled Zet with her into the pantry and kissed him deeply a mere two weeks ago. The Great Star Inlar must have been shining on her, even though what she had done, and continued to do, was forbidden. All she wanted was to feel something other than the hollow emptiness that had filled her days since her father disappeared. She never dreamed that kiss would evolve into something more, or that she would be sitting with Zet pondering their future.
“We could run away,” Zet said.
She lifted her head. “Zet . . .”
They’d had this conversation before, a few days earlier. It ended with both of them clinging to one another, hoping their separate worlds would fade away. Could she have found her inyata? Was it possible?
“I know.” He sulked.
She couldn’t stand seeing Zet so despondent, so she grabbed his face and kissed him hard, upsetting his balance and knocking him back. He wrapped his arms around her and rolled on top, not realizing they were at the edge of a ridge. They tumbled over the lip. Quinette closed her eyes but never let him go until they landed, and she felt something hard dig into her lower back.
“Kanmar!” Her face contorted in pain as she reached around to feel for whatever had jabbed her.
He sat up. “Are you all right?”
She noticed a silver object poking out from the dirt and picked it up. Adorned with peculiar markings and glistening like a multi-faceted jewel, it fascinated her as she turned the strange item over in her palm. It looked like a cube-shaped, crystal star that had fallen from the sky, and she stared in awe at the mysterious find.
“What is it?” Zet asked, keeping his distance.
“I don’t know, but it’s . . . beautiful.”
A raised hexagon engraved with rows of interlocking lines in the center caught her attention.
“Be careful. You don’t know what it does,” Zet cautioned.
“It looks harmless.”
She touched the shape, then pressed on the surface, and an indigo light emanated from the various markings. Quinette gazed up from the small object and took in Zet’s face. She smiled as the light danced across his features and his smooth scalp. He was both familiar and different. His intoxicating, musky scent made her head spin, giving her a dangerous escape from the loss of her father and a world filled with rules, responsibilities, and obligations. But did they have a future? She knew it was improbable but indulged in the moment as she traced the outline of his jaw with her stare in the azure glow. Then the light flickered off.
“We should get back. I need to prep the meals for tomorrow,” Zet said.
“Yes.” She sighed.
“What are you going to do with it?”
“I think I’ll keep it. It will remind me of beautiful nights with you.”
Zet beamed at her, then stood. She tucked the treasure into her satchel, making sure to hide it from view. He helped her up, and she kissed him one last time as they moved in separate directions. Clinging to each other’s fingers until the distance between them was too great, they reluctantly let go.
“Wait,” he said. “I’ll walk you back to the compound.”
“I can take care of myself, Zet.” She smiled mischievously.
“Yes, I know you are capable, but there have been rumblings in the Essor. I need to make sure you are safe.”
To ease his mind, she allowed him to walk behind her until they got to the compound’s edge. They had to part once they could be seen, since the risk was too great.
“Where have you been? I almost sent out a squad to look for you,” Madeer Valnia Alteiri’s tongue clicked against her palate.
Her mother’s hands clasped in front of her svelte body, her horns curled into the air like an extended crown, the tips glimmering beneath the hallway’s dim lights. She wore a traditional fitted white cassock-style tunic covered by a robe in safflower gold and tied at the waist by a leather weapon belt. An ornate scabbard, which t held her double-edged sword, adorned her belt, and various medals gleamed on her chest.
“Oh, I was . . . in the fields.”
Quinette noticed a twitch in Mother’s face and she hoped her lie wasn’t the reason. She couldn’t stand the idea of another long lecture about dedication to the inlari way of life, which was all Mother seemed to care about. Quinette usually asked her father for guidance when dealing with Valnia, but he had been gone for nearly three weeks, and Quinette had lost hope that Mother’s search squadrons would ever find him.
“Really? What about the Menktun? Do you feel prepared enough to be wasting time in the fields? You do know that this test will determine your future.” Her mother emphasized the last few words. “And what about the courting ceremony? Do you think it’s wise for a proper inlari to be gallivanting in the fields?”
She didn’t want to think about the Menktun, the ceremony, or the future. If the future meant becoming a Madeer like her mother, with endless military meetings, Governing Council negotiations, and slave entanglements, she didn’t want it. Even though she had grown up with slaves at her beck and call, somehow it felt unnatural. She had seen how intelligent and capable humans were at making the most labor-intensive tasks easier. Then there was Zet, deeply compassionate and loving in ways that contradicted the teachings of the Great Star Inlar. Besides, the way inlaris and free humans fought, she wondered if there would even be a future worth living. She constantly wondered why the two species couldn’t figure out a way to end the strife. She decided to change the subject.
“Have they found him?”
Mother’s face dropped, her round, lavender eyes brooding. Quinette knew she didn’t want to talk about Father.
“No.”
Mother turned to leave, then stopped and started to say something, her bare brows scrunched together as if she were in pain. She reached out and touched Quinette’s shoulder, bowed her head, and walked away.
&nb
sp; Bringing up father had worked, like she knew it would, but she didn’t expect such a somber reaction. Her intuition told her that Mother knew something about him that she wasn’t sharing. She hurried after Mother until her satchel vibrated. Reaching in, she felt the markings on the box buzzing in her hand. She had completely forgotten about her peculiar discovery, but she didn’t want her mother to know about it, so she turned around and trotted to her chamber, passing the porthole windows dotting the stark corridor.
“Mal? What are you doing in here? Shouldn’t you be preparing the bath?”
“Mistress!” The slave girl jumped back from behind Quinette’s desk. “I . . . I’m sorry. Yes, I was just straightening things.”
Quinette attempted to hide her vibrating satchel behind her back. Mal stared at her for a moment, her shaved head reflecting the light.
“Well! Get on with it then!”
As the girl trotted out of the room, her billowy white pants made a swooshing sound. Looking over her shoulder, Quinette pulled the box out of her satchel and threw the bag onto her sleek desk. She plopped onto her stomach on the bed and kicked off her boots. Turning the vibrating cube over in her hands, she wondered about its purpose. Dancing cerulean shapes on the ceiling illuminated from the small treasure once again, like when she had pressed on the hexagon earlier; but this time she hadn’t done anything.
Mesmerized, she hunched over it until an intense pulse throbbed deep in her head. It grew stronger, and she cupped her hands over her ears. The acute pulsation thudded all the way to the tips of her horns, and she dropped the cube and recoiled with pain. The glowing light pounded in time with the thumping. After a few minutes, she couldn’t take it anymore. She flung open the terrace doors, scooped up the object, and threw it, still glowing, into the night.