Interspecies: Volume 1 (The Inlari Sagas)

by M. J. Kelley

  She couldn’t sleep. Tossing and turning, she thought of Father—his gentle laughter riding the breeze on their daily walks, his encouraging words whenever she felt inferior, and his dark, violet eyes that held her in such high regard. Why hadn’t Mother’s search squadron found him? He might be captured and enduring horrific torture. Would she ever see him again?

  She rolled over, pulling the sheets tight as she curled into a ball. Then she imagined Zet’s soft face, not hard with edges like her own. Such an exhilarating distraction. His inviting lips, his arms enveloping her like a warm pool of water, filling her with a sense of excitement where there had been dread. But he was a human. She couldn’t pair with Zet—that was forbidden. Inlar would not approve. Quinette imagined the wrath that would come down on her from the Black Star, Rordorah, the bringer of death. Perhaps this was why Father hadn’t been found? Was he sacrificed for her misdeeds?

  Quinette whipped back the sheets and walked to the terrace. The gloomy sky hung heavy over the compound that was now flecked with large torch-like candles along the pathways. Lakarta had been saving energy resources in response to a command by her mother. Most of the energy cubes were now being used to develop weapons and more sophisticated communications aimed at thwarting potential attacks by human armies. Mother had been tied up in strategic meetings with the Governing Council about some underground resistance threat. Quinette found it hard to keep up, so she tuned out instead. She could never imagine herself as Madeer.

  Glancing across the horizon, she saw a faint blue glow in the distance: the strange, silver object. It called to her the same way Zet’s eyes had the day she kissed him. Would the Parhata find it? If so, they would likely hand it over to Mother. Quinette’s chest tightened. She found it, and she would be the one to unlock its mysteries, not Mother. She ran to grab her communicator and satchel, then slipped her feet into sandals. Creeping out of her chamber and onto the terrace, she climbed down the twisting vines.

  She stayed on the perimeter of Lakarta, using the thick weeds and shrubs as cover. A warm wind blew through her sleeveless nightgown, making the silk billow like a cloud. The Parhata strictly enforced curfew at 2100 due to unrest in the Essor, so she had to be careful.

  The light from her communicator illuminated her steps in the dark. She froze when a shadow wobbled off to her right in the dense red shrub. An animal wandered across her path, stopped and stared at Quinette, then trotted off in the opposite direction. Catching her breath, she glimpsed the fuzzy blue light like a beacon up ahead. Jogging over, she crouched down and reached in, relieved that the pulsing had stopped. She held the silver cube in her palm. Somehow she would figure out what it was and where it came from. Then she would tell Mother, but not before.

  In the distance, a thunderous crunching approached. The Parhata. Stuffing the container into her satchel, she climbed into the shrub. Branches scratched her bare arms and shoulders, but she curled her body around the bag to hide the blue light.

  The massive all-terrain vehicle came to a stop beside the foliage where Quinette hid. The heat emanating from the vehicle almost made her pass out. A few moments later, a squadron of berserkers followed. The gargantuan beasts stood a full two meters, with tusks protruding from their lower lips, making them appear brutish and menacing. They snorted as they each clutched a snapper gun and stood at attention, ready for orders. Seeing them, Quinette shivered. They did the dirty work the soldiers felt too superior to do, which usually meant ripping enemies’ limbs off. She held her breath when a berserker sniffed around the shrub. A thin bead of sweat inched from her forehead to her nose, and she willed herself not to move a muscle.

  “All clear on the perimeter,” a guttural voice shouted above the engine’s idle.

  “Affirmative. Move on to the west gate,” another voice responded.

  The berserker huffed, then turned its hulking head toward the ATV. Soon after, the vehicle’s tires dug into the dusty earth and sped away as the berserkers shuffled after. Once the squadron was a good distance away, Quinette clawed her way through the prickly branches. She couldn’t head west—back to the main compound—and risk getting caught, so she went east toward the Essor. Father had insisted on setting aside land for slaves who didn’t live with the inlari. Mother had been against it, arguing that it would give humans the opportunity to congregate, but Father’s plan for the Essor had been approved by the Governing Council. Quinette had been there only once, when she accompanied her father on a good-will visit to bring fruits and linens to the slaves.

  Small shacks stood in rows, well past the perimeter of the inlari compound. Thousands of them, each no bigger than Quinette’s chamber, had been built out of broken-down buildings and whatever the humans could scavenge off the land. Some shacks looked like piles of garbage so fragile, Quinette wondered how they weathered the storms each year.

  Tiptoeing through the slums in the darkness, she stopped to check her satchel. The cube lay dormant, making her wonder what had caused the pulsing and why it had stopped illuminating. After a moment, she continued on and hid behind a large boulder outside the shack she hoped was Zet’s. He had told her where it was, but now, in the middle of the night, she wasn’t sure. Taking a deep breath, she grabbed a handful of pebbles and flung them at the door. She waited. No response, so she picked up a rock a little smaller than her palm and threw it at the door. Lights flickered on inside, outlining two silhouettes against the plastic windows.

  “I’ll check on it,” Zet said from inside the shack.

  He opened the door, and the glow from inside outlined his form. As he stepped into the night, a slight breeze pressed his smock against his lean, muscular frame and Quinette’s insides fluttered at the sight of him.

  Quinette whistled, a code melody they worked out. He turned his head toward her, then went back inside and shut the door. A few moments later, the inside of the shack went black. Maybe he hadn’t heard her? She whistled again. Then the door opened and closed. Footsteps approached, and she peeked around the boulder. Before he could speak, she embraced him and smothered him with kisses. He returned her kisses, then pulled away, holding her at arm’s length.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Oh Zet, I don’t know . . .”

  She reached for him, and he took her in his arms. No matter what inlari law stated, there was something more to humans. Zet was proof. He listened to her laments, he offered hope, and he calmed the angry sea of her mind. A mere bellogan could never do that. For a brief moment, she felt at peace, as if all the strife filling her world simply floated away.

  Her satchel vibrated once again, but a high-pitched screeching made her fling it to the ground. Zet grabbed his ears and hunched over, protecting himself from the sound. The pounding in her head had also returned. Fearing that they would soon be discovered, Quinette reached inside the satchel and pulled out the cube, which illuminated with blue light, brightening the world around them like the midday sun. She frantically pushed on the box in an attempt to stop it.

  “What’s going on out here?”

  “My father!” Zet gasped.

  Uri appeared from around the boulder, his white eyebrows raised. Then a deafening silence fell like an ominous veil over the group. Uri opened his palms, as though pleading for a reasonable explanation.

  “I can explain . . .” Quinette started, but her mind was a blur, so she held out the cube for him to see, “It’s this.”

  He stared for a moment.

  “Forgive me, mistress, but I fear for your safety.” He bowed, then he turned to his son. “Zet, what are you thinking?”

  “Don’t punish him. I commanded him to help me,” Quinette said.

  An ear-splitting shrill came from the cube in her hand, making both Quinette and Zet flinch. Uri fell back and held his hands in the air.

  “We must make this stop!” he yelled.

  As the screeching continued, lights popped on inside the surrounding shacks, and alarmed faces peeked through windows. The pain in Quinet
te’s head intensified.

  “I don’t know how to stop it!” she responded.

  “Destroy it.” Zet reached for the cube.

  “Zet, leave it be.” Uri rushed over and seized his son’s arm, tugging him away from Quinette. “Get inside.”

  Quinette grabbed Zet’s arm and was about to tell Uri that she would handle this, when the rumbling of massive tires announced the Parhata rounding the bend. Blazing headlights cut through the night, and the group was temporarily blinded. She heard the metallic bursts of a snapper gun, and, a second later, Uri lurched. Convulsing, his face contorted as he released his hold on Zet. Time seemed to move like a frozen river as blood splattered Quinette’s cheek; Uri slumped to the ground, and Zet’s face twisted as he cried out. The mysterious cube, now silent, fell from her trembling hand.

  “If you do not want to end up with the same fate, bellogan, step away from our sister,” a voice boomed.

  Four berserkers stomped in front of the headlights, clutching snapper guns, their brawny masses casting intimidating silhouettes. The doors on either side of the ATV opened. Two lanky inlari soldiers jumped out, weaving their way around the line of berserkers.

  “Mistress, what are you doing in the Essor? Were you assaulted?” a soldier asked.

  Zet ran to his father’s side. The soldier aimed his weapon and was about to fire, when Quinette rushed in front of the gun.

  “I was not assaulted!” She could hear Zet’s sobs behind her.

  “Get into the vehicle. We’ll take you back to the Madeer.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.” She balled her hands into fists.

  The soldier stared at Quinette for a moment, then he held up his wrist and flicked on his communicator. How was she going to explain this to Mother?

  “What happened to you?” Madeer Alteiri sighed, crossing her arms, then uncrossing them to wipe the blood from Quinette’s cheek. “You used to take pride in yourself and your family. You were honorable and devoted—now you’re neglecting responsibilities to spend time in the Essor, past curfew, with bellogans. Bellogans!”

  Quinette sat stiffly in the austere briefing room. She couldn’t form the words to answer. Not to Madeer Valnia Alteiri, who honored her family and the Great Star with her skill and intelligence. She wouldn’t understand. Now Quinette had blood on her hands. She caused Uri’s death, and now Zet was without a father. She leaned forward, catching her head in her hands, trying to hold back the tears.

  “It’s been difficult,” Mother said, putting her hand on Quinette’s back. “But we will prove how resilient we are. We have to, Quinette. There is no other way.”

  She felt her mother remove her hand and heard the heels of her mother’s boots clacking against the floor.

  “However, I cannot continue to allow you to dishonor the Alteiri legacy.”

  Quinette lifted her head. “Mother—”

  “Stryoth,” Mother ignored her and pointed to one of the soldiers.

  “Madeer.” He stepped up and saluted, crossing his right hand to his left shoulder. He wore the ornate scabbard and sword high-ranking soldiers proudly donned. His horns curled out from his forehead and swirled under his ears, almost like the noble rams that grazed in the fields. His eyes, purple almond shapes, focused on some unknown point in the distance as he stood at attention.

  “I should have done this weeks ago,” Mother said to Quinette. “Stryoth, my most trusted Prala.” Stryoth bowed his head. “You are going to serve as Quinette’s full-time escort. You will report to me on the hour of her comings and goings.”

  “Thank you, Madeer.” Stryoth bowed his head again.

  “No!” Quinette bolted up from her chair, “I do not need a babysitter. I am sixteen. Did you know that Uri is dead?! The Parhata killed him! He did nothing to provoke it.”

  “It’s unfortunate.” Mother held up her hand.

  “What will happen to Zet?” Quinette cried.

  “The bellogan who prepares our meals?” Mother’s brow furrowed.

  “Yes! He lost his father!”

  “You need to remember how many we have lost!” Mother moved toward Quinette, her aquiline nose mere inches from Quinette’s face. “Including your grandfather!”

  Mother collected herself and stood up straight, taking in a deep breath then exhaling slowly. “Did you know that your father left us for a bellogan?”

  “What? What do you mean?”

  “My search squadron found him in Victoria. He didn’t want to return, because he’s chosen to stay with a female bellogan . . . who is pregnant with his blasphemous offspring.”

  Mother’s last words struck Quinette like a snapper gun to her heart, “No.”

  “I know you idolized him, but he’s committed the ultimate heresy. He’s not who I thought he was, even though he came from a respectable family. It’s despicable.” Mother leaned over and put her arm around Quinette in an awkward embrace. “So you see, my child, we’ve all lost our fathers.”

  Quinette stared at the floor, numb.

  Mother released her arm and stood again. She paced the room.

  “Bellogans are here to serve us! Every day we dishonor the Great Star Inlar when we allow these creatures to keep us from our work. We are the generation tasked with making up for our ancestors’ transgressions and winning the favor of our life-giver star, so maybe one day we can return to the star of our origin and be accepted back with open arms.” Mother continued her tirade, “I will not stand by and watch you flounder because of your father’s downfall. He is dead to us. What’s important now, more than ever, is to continue creating one, peaceful society on Earth that pleases Inlar. One culture, one vision for peace. You see that, don’t you?”

  Quinette still stared at the floor, but she raised her head in the silence that followed her mother’s diatribe. She met her mother’s eyes and nodded.

  “Stryoth, take my daughter back to her chamber. She must prepare for the courting ceremony tomorrow.”

  Quinette hung her head as tears freely rolled down her cheeks.

  “One day you’ll see that everything I do is for your benefit. My actions may not make much sense to you now, but you must trust me.”

  The next morning, Quinette lay in bed, her head feeling like a massive boulder that she could not lift. Images from the night before plagued her mind. Flashes of snapper guns, berserkers, blood, her mother’s scowl, her father’s tender face. She wished she were in Zet’s arms, but she knew she would likely never see him again.

  Then it struck her. She was like her father: a blasphemer.

  Her shoulders shook as she wept.

  “It’s time for you to prepare, mistress.”

  Mal bowed at the foot of the bed, breaking Quinette’s lament. She turned away, moaning.

  “Are you feeling ill?” Mal asked.

  Quinette didn’t answer, hoping Mal would go away. She stared out the large window to the side of her bed, looking into the compound where other inlaris went about their business, humming along as if the Great Star were shining down on them, none of them aware of her many torments: her father gone, Zet grieving because of her actions, her unwanted destiny laid out before her. Perhaps if she stayed in this bed, her troubles would drift by like a fast-moving storm.

  “Mistress, you have less than thirty minutes. I suggest you prepare,” Stryoth spoke. He must have been standing outside her door.

  “I’m not going.”

  A momentary silence had Quinette thinking her wish would be granted, until she felt the sheets whip off her body. She turned over to see Stryoth standing over the bed.

  “My orders are clear. You will prepare and you will be at the ceremony on time,” he glowered.

  Quinette rolled off the bed, slumping like a sack of dried vegetables. Stryoth nodded to Mal and returned to his post outside the door. The slave girl gathered the traditional courting ceremony garments: a violet robe and a golden belt adorned with intricate symbols in Anshahar. Jewels, one white and one purple, designed to fit
into two holes they would drill into Quinette’s horns, lay on the table near the cabinet. Each jewel symbolized one of the two moons of Inlarah. Mal laid the garments on the bed and went back to the cabinet to prepare a tray of scents to rub over Quinette’s body: glurone for the cheeks to encourage a fresh complexion, eruperi for the neck to give off a pungent sense of power, zumbeiak for the abdomen to stimulate the sexual senses, and biloxia for the ankles to evoke stability.

  “Your suitor will be pleased.”

  “I hope not,” Quinette blurted.

  Mal drew in her breath, paused for a moment, then continued working with the scent bottles.

  “I see you’re ready,” Stryoth said, surprising Mal. She turned, knocking one of the bottles onto the floor. The glass shattered into tiny pieces, and the contents splashed Stryoth’s boots.

  “Kanmar!” Stryoth hissed.

  The discipline ring around Mal’s neck buzzed, her body shaking as she fell to her knees. He held a silver remote control up to administer another shock.

  “No! It was an accident,” Quinette commanded.

  Stryoth glared at Quinette, slowly lowering his hand. “It’s time for you to meet your suitor, mistress,” he said.

  Mal picked herself up off the floor as Quinette moved for the door. “Thank you, mistress,” she whispered. Quinette nodded and dragged her feet as she followed Stryoth.

  As they approached the receiving room, a heated discussion echoed off the marble walls.

  Prala Theede Fendo, from Rimeusha on South Island, sat on one of four kathedras. The small stools had been arranged in a circle to the left of her mother. As Theede popped grapes into his mouth, his son scratched the back of his neck, looking stiff and uncomfortable in his ceremonial robe. The younger Fendo’s horns were more twisted than hers, the contours of his face more severe. She couldn’t name the color of his eyes—they were much lighter than the dark violet of her own. He wasn’t as hideous looking as she’d imagined. Several slaves hustled about, delivering traditional fruits on the small silver tables next to each kathedra.

  “Peace is not possible with creatures who can’t even achieve it with their own species.” Mother waved her slender hand in the air at Theede. Quinette and Stryoth stood outside the door, waiting for a pause in the conversation.