by J. S. Fields
“What now?” Neek asked the male guard. She began in an even tone, not wanting to escalate the situation, but was unable to keep the sarcasm from riding into her voice. “No parade?” She picked at the gold sleeve of the male’s robe, fingers stroking the green edge. “Shouldn’t you be bowing to Emn? That is your job, after all—searching for, protecting Ardulum.” Neek dropped the sleeve and wrapped her arm back around Emn’s shoulders. “You’ve got one right here, genius. Consider the implications.”
“Exile.” He nodded back towards the settee through the open door. “I fly your ship. Did you recognize her? They never bothered to remove your designation from the hull. When my old one needed too many repairs, this one was the only available.”
Neek’s eyes flicked to the hull where, just under the seam for the hatch door, three letters in gold paint—her unique Heaven Guard identifiers—reflected in the sunlight. She suppressed the impulse to run over and glide her fingers over the imprint. She’d never gotten to see it. The ship would have been given to her after the ceremony, had she actually made it through.
“It’s been ten years. I’d think you’d be more embarrassed to have a command position and still be flying a ship marked with a heretic’s lettering,” Neek said.
The guard’s lip twitched. “Better than not flying one at all, wouldn’t you say?” He looked to the gatoi guard, who looked away. “Why don’t you tell us about your tramp? I’ve heard that Terran shuttles can maneuver about as well as titha. Would you agree?”
She’d clearly hit a little too close to the mark. “I thought there would be testing,” she said, changing the subject. “Shouldn’t we be in a hospital, or maybe somewhere with more cellulose?”
“What we’re doing,” the gatoi said, placing a hand on Neek’s shoulder, zir fingers firmly pressing, “is waiting. I would prefer you did so quietly.”
Neek snorted but remained where she was. Instead of answering, she reached out to Emn, both with a hand and mentally. How are you doing? she asked.
The ship made me feel sick, Emn responded, and a pinch of nausea laced her next thought. Those ships fly a lot faster than the Pledge.
Yes, I know, Neek returned sullenly. We have much more stable access to andal here, so our ships—
There was a tap on the door in front of them. The large wooden handle turned, and with a slow creak the door swung inward. The cross-breeze formed instantaneously and pulled small strands from Neek’s braid, impairing her vision. She could, however, tell by the gait and the brilliant orange hair who was coming towards her. Neek rubbed at the crystalized stuk on her fingertips, peeling off the thin film, and sent a warning to Emn. There was no reason for the president of Neek to be doing the testing himself. Then again, there was no reason to do testing at sunbreak, either, even if the minister had come in the early morning once before. Something was wrong.
The president’s dress was formal today, his long, black tunic and pants trimmed on the edges with gold ribbon. On his left sleeve, five andal leaves were stitched in green thread—the mark of his office. He’d let his hair grow longer since Neek had last seen him, the bright curls now brushing his chin. He was within an arm span of her, his face radiating a sticky hubris, when the last puzzle piece fell into place.
Captain Ran came through the door, yellow tunic straight and bright, hands clasped behind hir back. After hir trailed someone Neek had not expected to see, and she hastily wiped the strands of hair from her face to make sure her vision was true. A woman followed Ran. She was tall, almost the height of the captain, with a thin frame. That alone wouldn’t have been enough to make her stand out, but her hair was just the right shade of dark red, her skin translucent, but brown instead of pale. There was no mistaking what she was, not after seeing Emn. The pilot pulled the girl closer to her and tensed as the guard’s hand on her shoulder began to dig in.
Neek tried to rationalize the presence of the Ardulan woman and Ran on her planet. Cell-Tal worked with the Neek government for andal exports. Ran was on the Cell-Tal board. That made sense, even if the Neek government seldom granted visas. To have Ran and the president together, however, with an Ardulan, was beyond plausibility. Her mind couldn’t wrap around another Ardulan. Intellectually, she knew there had to be others—she’d seen the images of Emn’s mother herself. But standing in front of one, seeing those same blank eyes look through her, was surreal.
Ran and the Ardulan woman stopped just behind the president. There was a cough—a pretentious, throaty cough that brought Neek’s attention back to the man in front of her. Deep-set green eyes stared, skin slack and marked near the edges of the lids. Jowls hung loose near a small mouth that was turned ever so slightly upwards. The air smelled stale and old, a tired circulation of clichéd governmental power grabs and Risalian meddling. Her breathing quickened. Small crystalline patches began to form on Neek’s skin. The long, slender fingers of the gatoi moved from her shoulder to her arm, encircling.
“Exile,” the president greeted her warmly, a ripe smile close to rotting on his face. His voice hadn’t changed, nor had her desire to grab a handful of those ridiculous tangerine curls and bash his head repeatedly into a wall. The male guard moved to stand next to Ran, the yellow tunic of the Risalian garish against the gold hues of the Guard robe.
“I’m delighted to see you again, of course. A decade is far too long for a politician to go without death threats.” The corners of his mouth twitched. Neek looked to his fingers, curious to read his underlying emotion, but the tips were dry.
The president noticed the direction of her gaze. “Only peasants and heretics can’t control their emotions. You should try breathing exercises. I’m sure the guard behind you would be happy to give you lessons. Zie is used to dealing with the uneducated.”
Neek took a step forward, but wet fingertips dug into her skin. “Don’t,” the gatoi whispered into her ear.
Neek stopped, but only because Emn tugged at her flight suit. Alone, she’d have taken her chances. With Emn, the risk was too high.
“So we are left, then, with what to do with you.” The president came forward until he was almost nose-to-nose with Neek. His breath coated her mouth in the smell of fermented bilaris. He reached a hand out and ran it from her shoulder to hip. Stuk, thick and beading, curled off the president’s fingertips and melded her flight suit to her waist. “You weren’t supposed to be here, but I’m not surprised.”
She’d been nineteen the last time the president had been this close, and last time, she’d still been too much in shock to know how to react. Her time with Yorden on the Pledge, however, had removed that particular hurdle.
Neek’s knee came up, ramming between the president’s legs. The gatoi guard had her on the ground, arms pinned behind her back, before she could follow through with a punch, but she was still able to watch the president fall to the floor, groaning. Pain in her tailbone aside, it was exactly as satisfying as she’d thought it would be.
Neek? Words lilted through her head. The male guard had the child by the hand, and while Emn clearly did not like the situation, the guard wasn’t doing anything more than holding on. She was probably safe. No Heaven Guard would actively harm an Ardulan, even a construct. She, on the other hand, was likely going to pay for that kick.
As the president recovered, Ran moved towards Emn and the guard. Neek pulled against the hands that held her, but the gatoi was stronger. Without access to weapons, she wasn’t getting free without help. “Stay away,” Neek warned, her voice low. “She’s not yours to take.”
Emn honked defiantly at Ran, twisting in hir arms as xe took her from the guard and secured her over hir shoulder. Her bare feet kicked, toenails raking across Ran’s tunic, but the Risalian held her in place.
Neek! This time it was a scream. Neek shifted her weight, moving her right leg under her left, and tried to slip beneath the guard’s arms. Her shoulders cleared one arm, and she flipped back onto her other hip, desperate to dislodge the rest of her torso, when a sharp blow
landed on her head.
White swam in front of her eyes. Memories from Emn slammed into Neek’s mind and intertwined with her own. Neek batted them away, desperate to keep her vision clear. Ran at her graduation. Neek’s mother held back while guards dragged Emn away. Emn screaming…
Neek pushed the jumbled memories down and focused on her vision. She was on her feet again, although when that had happened she was unsure. A guard was on either side of her, each pinning one of her arms painfully against her back. It was hard to see. Emn was still calling to her, and she could hear Ran’s grunts as Emn’s kicks hit sensitive areas, but without the support of the guards, she didn’t think she could stand on her own. Emn’s panic fed Neek’s disorientation, keeping the pilot off-balance, unsure how to break free.
“President, please.” Neek’s pleading grated against her ears, but she had no alternative. “Think of what she means for our people!”
The president’s face loomed over her then, bright curls of orange turning her stomach. There was a sharp, thin prick of pain in Neek’s right shoulder, and an image of a needle shot across her vision. Emn’s consciousness grew sluggish, and it took Neek a moment to realize it wasn’t she who had been drugged.
“We find ourselves here again, Exile,” the president said softly, his lips centimeters from her ear. Emn’s presence thinned, her panicked memories groggy.
Sleepy, Neek, Emn managed to send.
You have to stay awake. We can’t get out of here without you.
“What would your parents say, do you think?” the president continued. The male dug thick fingers into Neek’s braid and pulled, forcing her head up. “Your mother in particular,” the president breathed. He moved to face her. Two slippery fingers ran down the side of her face before tugging on her chin. The tension on her braid relaxed. “Mentioning an incident like this might put too much strain on her system. Her status has been critical for weeks. Did you know that?”
Words spun through her head but none reached Neek’s lips. She pulled against the guards, her teeth clenched in a rage to help her ignore the popping of her right shoulder and the nails that tore at her skin. She could no longer see Ran, but she could feel Emn bobbing in the back of her head, fighting unconsciousness. The president had no right to talk about her mother, had no right to bring her family into this again. She could end this ridiculous game right now if she could just pull free and get her hands around the bastard’s throat.
A blast hit Neek from behind, directly between her shoulder blades. Her muscles spasmed as the guards released her, and the president took three steps backwards. A mosaic of light and cellulose surrounded her, and Neek mentally cursed each tiny, shimmering microfibril as the pain in her shoulder caught up with her.
“That should give you some time to think.” The president nodded to the guards. “I appreciate your assistance. Please remember that I require a contingent of fifteen heaven guards tomorrow, at two hours past sunrise. Have them meet me in the lower medical bay in this facility.”
“She’s an Ardulan!” Neek yelled at the guards as they nodded and headed towards the door. “You’re supposed to protect her, not give her to the Risalians. Help her!” Emn’s presence had reduced to a whisper, but Neek couldn’t keep fighting the containment field, fighting to keep their connection, and fighting the damn president all at once. She needed help.
Emn, can you do anything? Manipulate something? Crush some bonds or bones or science us out of this? Emn struggled to respond, but the returned imagery barely formed.
Emn, please. You blew up the Pledge. Can a little sedative really be that effective?
A sharp image of andal clouded Neek’s vision, before deconstructing into a rolling hunger. Neek finally understood.
Do you have to eat the andal? I took a bite of that disgustingness early this morning. I’m sure it’s still around. Could you use it?
An incomprehensible jumble of images came from Emn, packed so tightly together that Neek couldn’t decipher any of it except the sharp warning that followed.
Just do it! We can worry about repercussions later.
That seemed to fix whatever held Emn back. Pressure built in Neek’s lower torso—a bloating, uncomfortable pressure that made her feel nauseous. She felt the skin over her stomach peel apart, internal organs shifting. Something warm that wasn’t stuk ran down Neek’s legs. The front of her flight suit shredded. The remains turned a copper color, and she could smell the metallic sweetness of blood. Of course Emn had to get at the cellulose somehow, but for some reason, Neek hadn’t envisioned such a direct approach.
The field around Neek grew brighter, bulged inward, and then burst apart. Neek sank to the floor, a sleepy, drugged stillness encroaching on her mind as her flight suit saturated and stuk seeped across her abdomen, attempting to close the wound. Emn’s presence dropped away.
Crazy science magic, Neek thought wanderingly. Emn was gone. Her mind was empty. Everything happening around her felt jagged. The edges of her world were blurring, her vision taking on a dreamlike quality. For a moment, she was certain it was she who was still struggling ineffectually against Captain Ran, not bleeding onto a dense wood floor. Her mind continued to wander. I wonder what Risalian soup tastes like? Do Risalians eat soup? Why don’t more people wear shoes in space?
Reality seeped back in. It was patchy at first—checkers of gold and green giving way to the president, his hands roaming across the front of the Ardulan woman and leaving stuk trails in their wake.
“Interesting display, but not very useful.” He turned the Ardulan around by the shoulders and inspected her back. “What do you think, Exile? We should be able to pass her off as Emn without too much of a problem. A little makeup and creative lighting should do wonders. We’ll get her a dress, too, just like your Emn. Adorable and yellow. The people will love it.”
That comment focused her mind a little. Neek would castrate the president. Castrate and remove his tongue. Maybe swap the two organs if she could figure out how.
“You’ll respond to ‘Emn’ now,” the president said to the Ardulan. The woman turned around slowly, each movement thick and deliberate, until she faced the president. “Nod your head if you understand.”
The woman brought her head down and up once, her auburn hair bobbing over her shoulders. Grinning, the president slapped the woman on the rear.
“Excellent! Go with the guards down to the infirmary. They’ll find you some clothes.” Neek followed the president’s gaze to the long geometric pattern on the woman’s side. “Lovely. Very lovely.”
I should have killed you when I had the chance, Neek thought vehemently right before she passed out.
* * *
“Come on,” the male guard said to the Ardulan woman, taking her arm and guiding her out the door. The woman followed, mind processing only the direction change, as the guards navigated several flights of stairs and entered the infirmary. On the nearest bed lay a yellow dress with strapped sleeves and a trim cut at the chest and skirt.
“Here,” he said, shoving the dress into the woman’s arms. “Put it on.”
Slowly, every moment deliberately debated before execution, the woman stepped into the dress and pulled the straps over her shoulders. The right side of the dress was open with a sheer mesh sewn in, allowing the markings to show.
“Fits,” the other guard said. “Now we just wait for the president.”
“What do you think we should do with her?” the male asked. “Doesn’t look like she’ll be causing much trouble.”
“You,” the other called, snapping zir fingers to get the woman’s attention. Zie waited until the Ardulan faced both of them. “Sit on that bed and stay quiet.”
The woman turned, this time taking in the length and height of the hospital bed. In a smooth and graceful movement, she hopped upon it, resuming her empty staring at the door. The thin, yellow dress clung strangely to her form and made the woman conscious of the material. The sensation of the fabric over her skin was unusual a
nd tickled, but she did not itch. She didn’t wonder about the not-itching. She didn’t wonder either about the sudden change in her surroundings, or the unfamiliar species giving her orders. Instead, she watched in her mind’s eye the child break the Dulan field. She remembered the feel of the snapped linkages and released energy. She remembered the clarity of thought and determination the girl didn’t realize she was broadcasting and felt again the waves of unfettered emotion hit her and seep through the dense fog of her mind.
Before she realized that she had instigated the motion, the woman brought her fingertips to the material hanging from her shoulders and pinched part of the dress together, running her fingers down the length to her hips. The fabric was smooth to her touch, and the tactile sensations traveled up her arm and into her mind. She liked the feeling. Touch was something new, something she hadn’t thought of before. It was hard to focus on the feeling of the dress, however. The deep fog in her mind made it impossible to focus on anything other than mechanical weapons, but there weren’t any weapons here. There were just new things to touch.
The woman ran shaky fingers through her hair, noting the texture and sensation from the strands. She felt the fabric covering of the hospital bed, running her hand along its length. Concepts of “coarse” and “soft” tugged at her, just beyond reach. She tried to focus, tried to chase the ideas down. When she pressed into the back of her mind, trying to penetrate, the fog rose up and covered the thoughts. It seeped from her skull through her body, where it chased the thoughts of texture and eradicated them. The feeling of the dress, the texture of the hospital bed, and the smoothness of her hair all disappeared.
When the fog finally subsided, the woman’s mind was once again empty, except for the persistent image of the girl and the snap hiss of energy, the tiny capillaries breaking just under the girl’s skin. She knew the signs, had seen them enough times in her own stolen offspring to never forget.