by R. C. Lewis
“Kal, quiet,” Tiav says. “I told you, you should be waiting outside.”
Kalkig slips into his native language. I may not know a word of Agnacki, but I strongly suspect some expletives are involved.
Tiav huffs and shakes his head, clenching one hand into a fist. “Fine, then we’re both leaving. Just one thing, Liddi. Is there any way you can tell us what you were trying to do out there?”
Not right now there isn’t. I stare at the wall, refusing to meet his eyes.
As quickly as they came, they leave again. I get the feeling Tiav would have said more if Kalkig hadn’t insisted on coming along. Maybe he would’ve explained why what I did is so terrible.
The lights dim, implying someone wants me to get some sleep. My body says yes but my mind says no. My mind is locked on what Jahmari said.
Communicate. Don’t succumb to mere recklessness.
Be strong, Liddi.
Emil’s words. I didn’t listen to them carefully enough before. In this case, being strong means being more patient.
If I learn how to write, I can explain what I need. If I’m patient enough to sift through the symbols to say something so complicated. Someone here might be able to help. No matter what my brothers say, I’m the one out here. I have to help, and it will be worth the time.
Just not too much time.
And that’s assuming a girl who can’t speak can still convince the authorities not to keep her locked up.
When my door opens in the morning, I expect either a keeper or Tiav. I get neither.
I get Shiin.
Looking at her is like seeing all the facets of a jewel simultaneously. A soft maternal expression balances with a firmness, making me certain that Tiav didn’t get away with white lies or troublemaking as a child. Calm while pressing. Patient with urgency. I can’t wrap my head around how she’s all those things at once, but she is. She stands in front of me with her hands clasped lightly, like she spends every morning talking to mute girls in detention facilities.
“We have a problem, Liddi,” she says. “You clearly have some kind of curiosity or fascination with the Khua. Understandable enough, given your people’s lack of knowledge, though I cannot fathom what you hoped to accomplish by anchoring yourself to Ferinne that way. You can’t speak, so you can’t explain it to us, and that’s unacceptable. We will continue to work with you.”
I look around the cell. The tiny space seems ill-equipped for writing lessons. No computer.
“No, you’re being released, though I hope your night here impressed the gravity of the situation. I convinced the Agnac Hierarchy that you can’t be held accountable for breaking a law you weren’t aware of. And the law is that only those authorized—only the Aelo with our methods—may interact directly with the Khua. Now you know.”
I guess so, except for the whole Khua part. Their word for the portals, I suppose.
Their word. Now that I know what to call them, maybe I can get some answers to avoid recklessness and inform my actions, like Jahmari suggested.
Shiin takes me back to the Nyum, back to the small office upstairs. Tiav isn’t there. I’m not sure whether that’s good or bad, but I sit at the desk and put in my earpiece. The keypad lights up across the desk surface—the “outer” symbols, the broader menu.
“Where would you like to start today, Liddi?”
She smiles, adding another dimension to my impression of her, and it brings a welcoming air to the room. She’s sticking around, even though she has better things to do than deal with the foreigner. Maybe no one else is willing to after what I did last night—whatever the big problem with it is. That would explain why Tiav isn’t here.
I touch the command for the computer to start sounding off the symbols, lighting each key as it does. When it reaches the k sound, I tap that key and get the submenu. It doesn’t take long to get to koo. Then I repeat the process to get from a to ah. It’s written, so I tap the command for it to read the word on the external sound system.
“Koo-ah.”
The smile fades, and Shiin sits in the chair opposite me. No smile, but I’m not sure what her expression is. Curious. Guarded. Conflicted.
“Yes, of course, we should talk about the Khua. The history between our peoples. We were one people once, long ago, as Tiav’elo may have told you. The Khua were discovered here, and we spread to other worlds, establishing the Eight Points on the planets most tightly connected. Your people believe the Khua are a natural phenomenon, correct?”
Yes. Certain planets are linked on a level beyond our own dimension, and portals are the energy-chains doing the linking. What else would they be?
“They’re natural, yes. But they’re not ‘phenomena.’ They’re beings. Alive.”
It’s like she heard about my checked genes and decided I was three levels past stupid. I’ve known the basics of biology since I was four. Rolling my eyes gets the message across clearly enough. Shiin looks angry as she shakes her head, but not at me.
“Exactly what I expect from the Lost Points. Assumptions about life requiring certain molecules. So many assumptions. So little interest in extraordinary truth, though I can’t say we’re entirely innocent of that on Ferinne. Before you came here, Liddi, didn’t you assume aliens were only in stories? Now you know there are Crimna, Haleians, Izim, and Agnac, and those are only the ones we’ve met so far, those who found us due to their own fainter connections to the Khua. If I ask you now, do you believe there are more aliens out there than those I’ve named?”
I haven’t thought about it before, but it makes sense. As big as the universe is, it’s hard to believe all forms of intelligent life have already converged on one planet. I nod, and my answer lights something in Shiin’s eyes.
“There might be hope for you. But the Lost Points as a whole think they’re the pinnacle of the universe’s achievements, so they never look beyond their own borders. Seeing only what they want to see.”
I make the computer say Khua again.
“We believe the Khua are alive, that they have consciousness and will. Your people believe they are not. We stayed here; they went to the other various Points and left us alone. Then we met people from other worlds, beginning with the Crimna, and the Agnac soon after. They knew about the Khua and believed as we did, that they are alive. Even more so. The Agnac worship the Khua, quite literally, and they take exception to the lack of belief in the Lost Points. You had erased us from your culture, relegating us to mythic afterlife, but to ensure it stayed that way, we cut you off from the Khua. We made sure your people couldn’t reach us, and it worked for centuries…until you arrived.”
So no Sentinel and no Wraith, just sparks of energy to be worshiped. I’m not sure which is worse.
Regardless of this the-Khua-are-alive insanity, the Ferinnes clearly know plenty about the portals. I feel like I do when a difficult concept my brothers try to explain finally starts to make sense. An excitement that the closed doors in front of me aren’t locked after all. Locked. I can use that to simplify my question for Shiin. It takes the better part of fifteen minutes to piece it together, even with the shortcut of already having Khua written in front of me.
“Kon-trole koo-ah lock koo-ah how?”
A smile returns to Shiin’s lips, but it’s a very different one. Small, with hints of mischief, reminding me of both Jahmari’s voice and Tiav’s eyes.
“Oh, you’re not going to like the answer to that, Liddi. Not when you roll your eyes because I say the Khua are alive.”
Okay, maybe the eye-rolling was rude, but I have to go with the most efficient communication I can. I lean forward and raise my eyebrows, urging her to answer anyway.
“How did we lock the Khua?” she says. “We simply asked them not to let you in.”
Facing the conduit terminal was the one thing that could dampen Liddi’s enthusiasm. Visiting one of the other Points, spending time with Luko and Vic, getting away from the old routine—those things sparked all the excitement a nine-year-old
could muster. Traveling by conduit made her a little nervous, though. It didn’t hurt, and all she had to do was stand on a platform while an attendant entered commands. A brief disconcerting moment of nothing-everything, and she’d be there. Her brothers assured her the mild fear that she’d disappear from one world and fail to reappear at the other was all in her head, and true enough, every trip by conduit had been smooth and predictable.
It just felt wrong, and she couldn’t figure out why.
She set it aside with everything else she didn’t understand.
The trip to Erkir ended up being one of the best Liddi could remember. The twins took her everywhere—flying a glider over the grassland prairies, snow-shoeing in the far south, and snorkeling in the tropics. A small contingent of vid-cams followed them everywhere, of course, but Liddi was proud of herself. She didn’t give the media-grubs a single negative thing to say. Not like the previous year’s briefer visit to the beach property on Pramadam.
On the last day, the three of them hiked up to the top of one of Erkir’s mountains. Nothing high enough to need special equipment or training, but still very high for Liddi. Her brothers offered more than once to carry her piggyback if she needed a rest, but she refused. She didn’t want to let the vid-cams see her give up.
Finally, they reached the top, and Liddi lost what little breath she had left. She could see everything. And everything didn’t include a single city.
“Erkir, it’s like…it’s the opposite,” she said.
“The opposite of what?” Luko asked.
“Of Sampati. We have all our cities, and just a few areas like our house or the little in-between places. They have all this space and just small settlements scattered around. I bet there are more animals on this mountain than people on the whole planet.”
Vic nodded. “That’s true. It fits our needs. Erkir is focused on the ecological sciences, so they need space for the plants and animals to have their habitat. Sampati’s main industry is technology, so we need the infrastructure to support that.”
Liddi didn’t know what “infrastructure” meant beyond some specific kind of structure, but she was pretty sure she understood. Something else about the situation puzzled her, though.
“It seems like when people have opposite ideas, they usually fight about it. But we don’t fight with Erkir or Neta or any of the other Points.”
Luko glanced at his brother. “It wasn’t always that way, I’ve heard. People had to learn a big lesson so all the Points could get along.”
“What lesson?”
Vic playfully tugged her ponytail before answering. “That just because something’s right for you doesn’t mean it’ll be right for me.”
WE ASKED THEM TO. The answer barely registers, it’s so absurd. My mind races with a return of the maybes.
Maybe the Ferinne who figured out how to lock the Khua wanted to keep the method a secret, so he made up a story about “asking.”
Maybe it was so long ago, the real event was lost and morphed into this legend.
Maybe the Ferinnes were afraid the hot-tempered Agnac would go to war if they didn’t go along with the aliens’ worship-the-living-sparks lifestyle.
“I knew you wouldn’t like the answer,” Shiin says. “You don’t believe me.”
No, I don’t, because I’ve been inside, and the inside fits my idea of “chaotic hyperdimensional energy phenomenon” a lot more than “living being that’ll do as you ask.” There’s no order, no reason, no anything there except a highly disturbing passage from one Point to another. Like ancient ocean crossings in a storm…a reality-bending, sanity-breaking storm. Instead of shaking my head, though, I start digging through the symbols again.
“Truh-bull wye?”
“Why were you in trouble yesterday?” Yes, that. “Tiav’elo tells me he hasn’t had a chance to explain our role as Aelo. We are…liaisons with the Khua, the only ones permitted to interact with them. It wasn’t always this way. Everyone used to be able to try but found it chaotic, painful, confusing. The most we could accomplish was travel between the Points. Then the Aelo developed the methods and skills necessary to understand the Khua. Later, when the Agnac came, they revered us for that understanding—they still do—and asked for a law preventing anyone but the Aelo from entering the Khua. We agreed because even without the law, it was the reality that only the Aelo went in. The law made no difference to us. But to the Agnac, the presence of one who doesn’t believe or understand defiles the Khua. It’s one of their deepest crimes.”
My muscles tighten and I scratch my arm. The same spot where the tether sliced into me. If the Agnac find out my non-believing brothers have been stuck even partially in the Khua for this long, how far beyond “defiling” would they claim it’s gone? And what would they do about it? New questions usually mean progress, but I don’t like these.
Shiin isn’t done. “Generally, it’s not a problem. As you know firsthand, without the Aelo methods, it’s painful, so no one bothers the Khua. Occasional accidental contact with small children, but that’s all. The Agnac believe using the Khua for travel between worlds is also a defilement, but no one here has any wish to go to the Lost Points. Asking the Khua to cut off the Points took care of that. But then you arrived.”
Right, I used the Khua to get here, somehow breaking through the age-old block, then sat around in one for several hours on purpose. That explains last night’s arrest. That would also explain why Kalkig hates me. I’m the ultimate Defiler.
“Hee-then?” I write out.
Her expression turns to one of distaste. “Has Kalkig been calling you that? I’ll speak to him about it. It’s an old word for an unbeliever, and I’m not surprised it’s fallen out of your vocabulary. It’s hardly fair to call you that when all you’ve ever had is what your culture taught you. But you’re here now and have a chance to learn more. I hope you’ll take advantage of that.”
Learning is exactly what I want to do. But I need to figure out what to learn, and how. Part of me says to spend the next three hours piecing together every word necessary to explain what Minali did. My own silence presses in on me, making me more alone than I’ve ever been. I need help.
The Agnac and their ideas of defilement keep me from finding a single word. I don’t know if they’ll listen, and I don’t know enough about this “worship” of theirs, other than that it makes Kalkig want to drop-kick me all the way back to Sampati. An unexpected wave of sympathy for Minali passes through me. Maybe this is how she feels about stabilizing the conduits, like no one understands, like she can’t trust anyone but herself to get it done.
There’s a difference. I’m not killing anyone—I’m trying to save lives.
Shiin can’t stay any longer, and I’m not surprised. In the days I’ve been here, she’s always busy. She doesn’t seem to spend all day “liaising” with the Khua—I don’t think—so there’s probably more to her role of primary Aelo. I also don’t think for a second that she’ll leave me alone. Not after what I did yesterday. It’s just a question of who’ll be stuck babysitting me.
Tiav arrives at the office and nods to his mother as she leaves.
He’s still mad. Definitely. I wonder if he got in trouble because I broke the law on his watch. The possibility sends another shudder of guilt through my bones. Maybe I should’ve thought about that before I ran off.
Billionaire-to-be Liddi Jantzen proved once again that the rest of us are mere insects to her—
Wait, that’s not fair. I don’t think Tiav’s an insect, or anyone else. I just wanted to help my brothers. I wanted to try.
Tiav keeps the chair on the other side of the desk, not pulling it around next to me like he has before, and crosses his arms. I’ve had eyes on me all my life, plenty of them judging me and plenty finding me lacking, but never a glare like this one. He doesn’t say a word, so I guess it’s up to me to break the silence.
“Yoo heer wye?”
“I’m the one who received the alert when you first arrived
, so like my mother said, you’re my responsibility…so much so that now my other duties have been reassigned.”
His words bring an unexpected wave of relief, even with the anger continuing to radiate from him. I’m not sure what that relief means. It’s tinged by embarrassment that I need a babysitter and he has to waste his time doing it. All together, it makes for a confusing knot of discomfort.
“You’re still not going to tell me what you were doing, are you?”
I’d been considering it, really…right up until the whole “defilement” issue. Bad enough that I defiled the Khua. To someone like Kalkig, my brothers might be infinitely worse. I have no idea what people here think of our conduits, attempts at artificial Khua, but I’m certain Kalkig would hate them like he hates me, and hate my brothers for their involvement with the conduits.
Tiav isn’t Kalkig, but he is an Aelo. I need more time to figure out what him being an Aelo really means, and whether it’ll make a difference to Tiav that my brothers didn’t choose to be where they are. Whether someone here has the power to do something about my brothers, to pull them free, or to remove the defilement by killing them.
I need to know no one will hurt my brothers as certainly as my speaking would.
It’s hard to explain without spending hours forming full sentences, but I piece together what I can. “See-krets dane-jer dont no.”
He presses his lips together and exhales sharply. “I don’t like that answer.”
I need him to understand this. I don’t know why, but I do, so I try again. “Rong choys pee-pull dye.”
The battle shows like explosions in his eyes. He still doesn’t like the answer but is trying to work a way through it. “If I can convince you—eventually—that telling me is the right choice, will you?”
“Hope soe. Meh-nee fak-tores.”
“Other people? The ones who could die.”
“And kill-er and pee-pull heer and dont no.”
“You’re saying you’re not at the top, the one running the game.”