by R. C. Lewis
“This is simply too complicated a matter to take action in such short order. Liddi will remain in the confines of the primary Aelo quarters here in Chalu until we can determine the best course. Tiav’elo, again, thank you. You are both excused.”
As Tiav takes me back out of the main hall, his eyes stay resolutely straight ahead. A twitch in his jaw tells me he’s holding something back. I wait until the door to the hall has closed behind us, then rub my thumb along his. He looks down at me and exhales some of the tension.
“It could’ve been worse, Liddi. A lot worse. They could’ve forced the Aelo out altogether, sent me home. But this still isn’t good.”
I keep the question in my eyes, asking him why.
“Because you can’t leave Chalu until the council makes a decision. How efficient is the government for the Seven Points?”
Now I know what he means.
I could easily be stuck here for the rest of my life. And that really isn’t going to work for me.
Liddi knew she shouldn’t have pitched a fit when it was time to leave their vacation at the beach. And she shouldn’t have been surprised when she turned on a media-cast the next day and found herself headlining it.
“Eight-year-old Liddi Jantzen was not happy about leaving the family’s Emerald Coast property yesterday.”
“And Vic Jantzen has the bruises to prove it.”
“This childish display certainly makes one wonder how she’ll handle the pressure of an entire—”
The voice-over cut off when Luko deactivated the screen. Liddi was going to tell him off and get him to turn it back on, but the look in his eyes stopped her. Sad and worried. So she stayed calm and asked a simple question when he sat next to her.
“What pressure do they mean?”
“Vic and Durant won’t be happy if I tell you,” he said. A long pause left Liddi thinking Luko wouldn’t risk his brothers’ wrath. Then he sighed. “But better me than the media-grubs. Dad’s company…when he died, he left it to you.”
His words twisted into an indecipherable knot in her gut. “Me? But Durant’s the oldest. I thought the oldest was supposed to get things. Or all of us.”
“We do all have a piece, but you have the biggest, the controlling share. The rest of us make a committee that’ll run things until you’re eighteen.”
She hugged her knees to her chest. She was too little to run a company, and she couldn’t conceive that even at eighteen she’d be big enough. “I still don’t get why.”
“Dad worried that if we all had an equal part, we’d compete for control, fight with each other. Or if he put one of us in charge, the others would resent it. He was probably right—you’ve seen how we go after each other.”
“You won’t resent me?”
“No, we could never resent you. You’re the one person we would all just want to help. And that’s what we’ll do.”
THE PRIMARY AELO QUARTERS turn out to be in the building where we dropped off Jahmari. It’s not quite the penthouse in Podra, but spacious and comfortable as temporary prisons go. Jahmari asks for the blow-by-blow as soon as we walk in. Tiav gives it to him while I work on spelling something out.
“Dee-sih-zhun kood bee wuht?”
“What could the council decide to do with you? Sparks, Liddi—argh, Jahmari, I know. ‘An Aelo shouldn’t use such language.’ Sorry.”
So I was right. Sparks is definitely swearing. Maybe a derogatory word for the Khua.
Tiav can’t stand still. He paces, runs a hand through his hair, a caged tiger ready to attack anything that gets too close. An instinct urges me to calm him down, but I don’t know how.
“They could force you back to Sampati,” he finally says. “Or keep you in confinement forever. Or leave you free, but never allow you to go home.”
The world turns to a winter freeze around me. Never go home? I don’t want to go now, with Minali threatening me, with my brothers trapped. But it’s always been in my mind that eventually I’ll go back. My brothers and I will find a way to free them and stop Minali and I’ll go home.
But Tiav’s home is here, and the thought of never seeing him again is almost as cold.
Nothing fits.
Jahmari sits calmly, the only calm thing left in the universe, I’m pretty sure. His eyes explore mine, find what they’re looking for. “There’s someone you care about on Sampati, someone you couldn’t bear to leave behind forever.”
Tiav’s tiger-trance breaks. He stops, looks at me with terror radiating from him. “Someone like…?”
Like Reb Vester wishes he could be? Definitely not. I shake my head, but Tiav and Jahmari both know there’s something. I can give them the tiniest piece of truth I dare.
“Bruh-therrs.”
“Liddi…you have family? They must be so worried about you.”
Not as worried as I am about them. I can’t keep that worry from my face, and Tiav can’t miss it.
“They’re the people in danger. The ones who could die if you don’t make the right choices.”
I glance at Jahmari, but if Tiav trusts him, so can I. I nod.
“How many?”
Eight fingers, and Tiav can’t completely hide his surprise. It’s a big family, I know. Explaining that a set of twins and one of triplets boosted our numbers would be too complicated.
He chooses not to say anything about it. Instead he crosses the room and wraps his arms around me. Steady and warm and safe. All the lies I need to tell myself to keep going another day. He doesn’t bother making empty promises. We both know there are no promises to be made. I can’t go home now; he doesn’t want me to leave. I can’t stay on Ferinne forever; I don’t want to leave him.
The contradictions and paradoxes tie themselves in knots around my gut.
“There’s another option the council could go with,” Jahmari says softly.
Tiav’s muscles tighten through his arms and back, holding me closer, and his voice matches. “They wouldn’t.” I look up, willing him to explain, but his eyes are locked on the Crimna physician. “There hasn’t been an execution in ages.”
My breath catches. I knew my life might be on the line with Minali, but not here.
“Yet the laws permitting them remain,” Jahmari says.
“She hasn’t done anything to warrant it.”
“If we can’t determine how she reached us from the Lost Points, an argument could be made.”
“Only by the Agnac. The others won’t allow it.”
Jahmari nods. “I hope you’re right.”
So do I. As little good as I’m doing my brothers now, I’ll do even less if I’m dead.
Waiting for the council to make up their minds means we have nothing better to do than continue working on gadgets and making small talk at the rate of three questions and answers per hour if I have to spell things out. Tiav generally sticks to things I can answer easily, or lets me ask my own questions. If I don’t, his anxiety returns. Then silence is Tiav’s companion as much as mine, the only words passing between us coded in the way he holds my hand.
I’m not sure what Tiav thinks about when silence fills the room, but I keep thoughts of the council far from my mind. If it comes down to it, I’ll escape, find a Khua, get back to one of the other Points. Somehow. Letting the council stand in my way isn’t an option.
I keep trying to find something in the gadgets, in the way the crystalline tech works, that’ll help free my brothers. The connections seem to click in my head one by one, but I can’t see where they’re going. Mostly I get distracted by the watch on my wrist, reminding me how time is ticking away. Time for Minali’s plan to move closer to completion, time for my brothers’ imprisonment to become irreversible.
Those things are much more important than anything the politicians might be saying.
He doesn’t say so, but I’m pretty sure Tiav has bigger things on his mind, too. Especially after a live-comm with Shiin. The conversation happens in another room and takes a very long time. When he comes
back out, he makes a bigger effort to hide the stress. He fails. I distract him with a wave scanner I took apart.
Jahmari, meanwhile, is much busier than we are. He flits in and out of the apartment several times. Most of his time with us is spent tapping away on a com-tablet of his own. While he’s gone again on the second day, I decide to take the time to ask Tiav a question.
“Juh-maw-ree im-pohr-tent wye?”
Tiav sits back in his chair and smiles—the first smile I’ve seen from him since before the street attack. “Ah, you noticed that. There are a couple of answers. He’s the top physician on all Ferinne. They’d like him to live here in the capital, but he chooses to live in Podra because our province has the largest concentration of Khua. He likes being close to them, and he’s supported my mother and her work for a long time. Without his influence, she might not have been chosen as primary Aelo. He travels wherever he’s needed, but he always comes back to Podra.”
That makes sense with what I’ve seen. The cuts on my arm definitely didn’t need the best doctor on the whole planet. Tiav said there were a couple of answers, though, and I’m pretty sure all that was just one of them.
“That’s why he’s important to Ferinnes, but for the Crimna there’s more. I don’t understand all of it, but I’m told if he stayed on their homeworld, he’d be their leader. He chose a different path. They call him something in their language, which is much more difficult to learn than Agnacki, by the way. The best translation they can give me is ‘Khua in Crimna form.’ Because he sees the heart of things, beyond the medical.”
I think back to my cell in the detention facility. The way he sat with me for just a few minutes and seemed to understand my impatience. My recklessness.
A man that perceptive, and he’s on my side. Yet it also sounds like he reveres the Khua. I wonder where he would stand on the “defilement” issue.
Maybe I’m better off not knowing.
Almost in answer to that dark thought, the door opens and Jahmari enters. He doesn’t go far, though, just stands there as the door closes behind him again.
“Tiav, the Izim are coming to Ferinne.”
The gravity of his statement is obvious, but I don’t feel it as much as Tiav does. He stands and approaches the doctor. “What do you mean? The Izim never come here, not in person.”
“Not never, but rarely,” Jahmari says. “You’re too young to remember the last time they visited.”
“Does my mother know?”
“Yes, she contacted me so I could relay the message to you.”
I get up and join them. Tiav looks down at me, and I try to make my questions clear. He takes a moment to make his guess, never in a hurry.
“Why don’t they ever come here? Besides not having much need to, the environment doesn’t suit them.”
“Indeed,” Jahmari adds. “Even when they do visit, they don’t typically come to the surface. They do better on planets like Crimna.”
Tiav’s still studying me. “You have another question. Why are they coming now?” I nod. “Good, because that’s my question, too.”
The doctor stretches his arms straight down. I think the gesture is the Crimna equivalent of a sigh. “Because of Liddi, of course. Don’t make that face, dear. You arrived, that event had consequences, which led to other events, so on and so on. You can’t help that.”
“But what do they want with Liddi?” Tiav asks.
“I suppose you can ask them yourself. They want to talk to you once their ship’s in orbit.”
“When will that be?”
“Any minute now, I believe.”
That soon? No, that doesn’t make any sense. None at all. I go back to the computer and activate the drawing program. I think I can draw this faster than I can piece together all the words. I slide the program to the largest screen on the wall, drawing a quick Eight Points icon on one end, then a general planet-looking thing on the other end. I look to Tiav and gesture at the distance between the two. He glances at Jahmari before answering.
“Yes, Izima is a long way from here, but their technology makes the distance less of a problem. That technology is how we’re all able to travel between planets. It…I’m sorry. I don’t think I’m allowed to talk about how it works.”
That makes sense. Someday I’ll return to the “heathens”—hopefully—and the Ferinnes don’t want me helping them get off Sampati and the other Points.
Sense or not, it stings. Because it means Tiav knows he can’t completely trust me, no matter how much he wants to.
The computer chimes, and Tiav taps some commands. My drawing disappears from the screen, replaced by a person’s face. I can’t say if it’s a man or woman. Maybe the Izim don’t even have gender the way we do. Either way, the suit the person wears obscures any hints. It’s metallic and includes a dark face shield, yet it doesn’t seem bulky or cumbersome. It’s sleek and beautiful, almost like an exoskeleton, fitting every edge and curve perfectly.
“You are the Aelo who found the visitor?” the Izim says. The voice is smooth and calm, a voice that could chase away nightmares.
“Yes. I’m Tiav’elo.”
“A pleasure, Tiav’elo. I am Quain. And this is the visitor?”
Tiav takes a half step closer to me. “Her name’s Liddi.”
“Liddi. An honor.”
Jahmari draws a sharp breath. I’m not sure why. Quain’s easy voice draws me back to the screen.
“We are very anxious to speak with you. To know of your life on Sampati and what brought you to Ferinne.”
“We’re all anxious for that, Quain,” Jahmari says. “But Liddi can’t speak. Working with writing frustrates her and takes a great deal of time.”
A gentle hiss comes either from Quain or the suit. “Unfortunate, indeed. Perhaps if you come aboard, we can find more efficient means.”
Just as I think that there’s something off in Quain’s extremely good manners, Tiav’s hand snaps around my wrist, too tight, like a reflex he isn’t controlling. I check his expression. Difficult to read. Maybe he’s anxious at the idea of going on an Izim ship. Maybe his heart just jumped at the idea of finally being able to communicate, to get answers.
Mine did. Actually, my heart split in half and jumped in two directions. One half leapt at the thought of finally getting around this barrier, this restraint. The other plummeted. Without the excuse of my silence, secrets will be much harder to keep. All this time, and I’m still not entirely sure what I should and shouldn’t tell Tiav. What might condemn my brothers and what might save them.
Instead of stinging, the thought aches. I guess I don’t trust him completely yet, either.
“I’m afraid it’s not an option,” Tiav says. “Liddi isn’t allowed to leave. House arrest, you could say.”
Quain’s faceplate is irritating. No eyes to read, no expression to decipher. The voice remains smooth, offering little. “Why is this?”
“It’s a condition of the Agnac Hierarchy.”
“Unacceptable.”
Two heartbeats pass, and suddenly the screen splits—Quain on one side, Oxurg from the Agnac on the other. Before anyone says anything, it splits again, bringing Voand and Ymana. No sign of the Haleian leader. Maybe he’s busy. Maybe no one cares because he never has anything to say.
“Oxurg, why are you punishing the visitor?” the Izim asks.
“She broke the law repeatedly, not least when she violated the Khua to come here in the first place. She has made continued attempts to interfere with them. We must protect the Khua from her, and if I had my way, we would kill her and be done.”
“Violated the Khua? How do you mean?”
Tiav uses his hold on my wrist to pull me a little closer. I remember one of the few things he’s said about the Izim so far, that their regard for the Khua is more like worship, the same as the Agnac. Oxurg’s intent is obvious. He wants Quain to take his side, to try to persuade the others that it’s dangerous to keep me around.
If two races push for my e
xecution, I’m not sure I like my chances.
“The Aelo ensured the heathens would be kept far from us, barred from the Khua, many years ago. This girl attacked the Khua, breached the seals. Her mere presence is an assault.”
Quain’s head tilts. “That is your interpretation? It is a puzzling one.”
Voand and Ymana have been silent, but the Ferinne leader speaks now. “How so, Quain?”
“Because it presupposes anyone could defy the Khua in such a manner, through sheer force.”
“She is not supposed to be here, yet she is,” Oxurg protests. “What other explanation is there?”
“A very simple one. The Khua allowed her to pass.”
Several months after meeting Joon at the Igara party, Liddi got an itchy, irksome feeling in her gut, like something was off. She’d hardly spent any time in the workshop lately, she was always so busy going out with her friend. At this rate, it would be another year with nothing to debut at the Tech Reveal. Anxiety gnawed at her, but no matter how she tried to set aside time to work, it just didn’t happen.
Then Liddi realized what it was. Every time Joon live-commed, she talked but didn’t listen. If Joon wanted to go shopping, they went. If Liddi said she was busy, Joon talked her out of being busy. If Joon came over, they spent all their time watching media-casts and trying on everything they’d ever bought during their shopping trips.
Being Joon’s friend was exhausting.
With the next live-comm, Liddi decided to put her foot down. “Sorry, I can’t,” she said. “I have to spend some time in the workshop. You should come over, though. I’ll show you what I’m working on.”
“Are any of your brothers home?”
Emil was just passing through with a sandwich from the kitchen, out of the live-comm’s visual range. His eyes widened and he shook his head.
The gnawing feeling twisted into a sharp-toothed growl. Liddi didn’t know how she’d missed it before. Joon always asked if her brothers were home. If Emil wasn’t, she didn’t bother coming.