Raystar of Terra: Book 1

by Kurt Johnson

  Synths?

  I paused by the pile of school-owned synthetic attendants. Not all personal synths were compatible with the school’s computers. Some didn’t have enough memory or some other issue, so the school maintained these spares to augment our studies. If it weren’t for the locators built into each device, I would have taken one to compensate for the loss of AI.

  I found Nonch curled into a ball in front of a vid-screen. The workstation cluster he’d chosen was a bit away from a light column. The shadows he cast were dark, tall, and exaggerated against the shelves around us. Soft blue light reflected on his dark, armored form and lit his orange eyes in iridescent shimmers. His six arms were swiping, poking, and scrolling with blinding speed. Without pausing, he turned his head to me and nodded. Crynits were the elite marines of the Convergence Navy; given this impressive display of multitasking, it was apparent why. But despite how sharp and knifey my friend was, I couldn’t imagine him harming any sentient.

  “Showoff,” I said, approaching. He tilted his head, uncurled, and, with his hindmost legs, activated another vid-screen. I laughed and sat down next to him. He re-curled and faced me. “Shells, thanks for helping me.” I paused to consider for a moment. “Why are you helping me? You don’t even know what I need help with!”

  He stopped his search. “My people have been on Nem’ since the end of the war. We saw Humans leave. Now, things—machines, dormant for thousands of years—are waking up.

  “In contrast with the stories we have been told and the Recorded History, I have only seen honesty and kindness from you. You are in need. I cannot believe that the ‘awakening’ and your troubles are unrelated, Raystar.”

  His empathy released waves of emotion. The last few days’ events had blown up, one by one, each core belief I’d had about security, family, the sanity of the universe.

  His simple act of compassion meant the world to me, and my chest threatened to burst. Nonch reached a sensor stalk to my face. His touch felt like a feather duster as he gently traced the wet line down my cheek. Which I promptly wiped away with the back of my sleeve.

  “Sodium.”

  “It’s a tear,” I sniffed.

  “Perhaps,” he said, touching the moisture with his hand claw. I suspected he sensed it on a chemical level and wondered what he was getting from my tear. “Or maybe it is called life.”

  “Pfffft!” I huffed, turning to the vid-screens lest I leak any more. I told him about the battle in the field with IT-ME, Godwill’s home invasion, and flushing AI. And Alar.

  “Your experiences are,” he paused, “varied.” I snorted and started researching Nem’s history. There had to be something about the Mesas I could use. “My experiences are not so diverse,” he continued.

  I stopped and peered at him, sensing something different. His face was colored by the blue-shadow of screen lights. “Uh.”

  “You are aware that Crynits are feared?” He registered my raised eyebrow and encouraging nod to continue. “Are we only weapons? Humans have created things, protected their allies. Lethians have united and ruled. Gleans have loved and nurtured. Each race is known positively. Not us. No, Crynits are destroyers. Not known for intelligence. We are destroyers, not creators.”

  “Hey,” I said, pulling his blade arm toward me. “What’s going on?”

  “I do not like being a Crynit.”

  I froze and looked into his giant orange eyes. After a moment, he continued. “I feel we could be more; we could be lights and leaders, not the fear in the darkness. ”

  Nonch met my dropped jaw with an impassive face. The smell of fresh rain expanded around us. It was the memory of sunshine on a stormy day, when the fun is nowhere to be had. He saw me breathe in and nodded.

  “Nonch, you are my light in the darkness. I’m sorry you feel this way. I have only seen you as strength and inspiration.”

  “I have sodium too.”

  “Oh, Nonch.” I reached out to hug my friend, trying to find an unarmed part so he could get the best part of a hug—the friendly pressure. The scent of rain grew sharper, and after a moment he pulled me off him. “But I don’t understand why you feel this way? Your people are vibrant. Important.”

  “We dig. We hunt. Broodmother says it is how we have stayed safe since integrating into the Convergence millennia ago.”

  I blinked. How unexpected, coming from a Crynit. Safe from what?

  “I have a request of you, Raystar. Please, tell no one my thoughts.” I nodded solemnly.

  “Telling no one. That is not the favor I ask,” he added, studying me. “When the time comes, I will ask my favor of you. Will you do your best to grant my request?”

  I swallowed. Open-ended favor granting invited a lot into my future. “If I’m able,” I said in a tiny voice, concerned about my promise and ability to follow through on my commitment. “I will, Nonch.”

  My friend’s segmented body lowered, visibly relaxed with gratitude.

  “Thank you, friend! When the time is right, Raystar, I will ask. Prior to your arrival in the Library, I started a general search on ‘Humans.’” An arm blade swiped at two images. The floating pages condensed into balls of pale blue light. He flicked the first one toward me. The headline hovered, slightly transparent, above the light-ball. It read, “Foundationalist Movement Pushes for Full Integration of Humans into Weapon Reclamation Project.”

  I grabbed it and, with a flick, cast the image in front of me. I snuck a glance back at my armored friend. It had never occurred to me to wonder what life was like back at his hive. I was full of questions. Did they play? Have friends? What did Crynits do after school for fun? Did I know anything about anyone around me? Auuugh!!

  This favor, it was important to him. Which meant, of course, that it was probably impossibly hard. Yay. As much my own chaos was screaming for my mental attention, I wasn’t going to leave him hanging. I’d already flushed AI out of my life.

  Let yet another friend down? I would not do that.

  I squeezed his sword arm, sucked in a breath as I committed myself to my promise, and turned back to the news images. Ships, people, places I’d never seen blurred across my screen as I sifted through the data Nonch had collected.

  The Foundationalist Movement came up again and again, in increasingly disturbing ways. There were more videos than I had time to go through from hundreds of worlds where there were Human populations. They showed Humans—millions of “us”—being lined up and loaded onto titanic transports. My people all had purple hair, but I didn’t see any with hair as loud or vibrant as mine. Were my ancestors such idiots that they had all their hopes colored a recognizable purple? Maybe it was simply the age of the vids—somehow time had faded the color? It was a hopeful yet impossible thought. One headline from fourteen years ago caught my attention: “Foundationalist Movement Announces Major Breakthrough in the Human Technology Reclamation Project!”

  The Convergence was, or perhaps the Lethians were, fixated on the concept of getting access to Human tech. I frowned as I read further, correlating the information there with what Mom, Dad, and AI had told me over the past day. The concept was this: Through extraction of Human DNA, a key could be created that would allow the Convergence to make use of the ancient Human tech that was nearly everywhere and learn what my ancestors knew. It wasn’t clear why we needed to be collected though. The Humans in the vids looked panicked. I read on.

  A more recent headline read, “Previously Unknown Human Base in the Elios System Discovered!” My questions were having whole question families. The baby questions were then growing up and raising more questions.

  Human technology was clearly a priority for these “Foundationalists.” Were the Foundationalists behind the fleets? Were these fleets coming here for me? I couldn’t possibly be the reason. And how were the Elios involved in this?

  Further into the article, I spied a youthful image of Kaleren and Freela Asrigard. They were holding hands and standing on a massive, worn bridge that arched over a bottomless,
jagged-cliffed canyon. The background was foreboding: storm-grey clouds, ice-covered mountains, and lots of wind-swept snow. Behind the Asrigards, rows of Elions in battle armor, lined up in four-soldier-abreast columns, stretched back to the beginning of their half of the bridge.

  Alar was cute and fluffy. Grownup Elions were huge. Not pillow-like at all. These Elions were armed, mountainous, stick-legged spiders covered in white fur. Each had eight legs, with six arm appendages covered in armor and weapons of various shapes and colors. Behind the Elions, blanketed in snow and ice, I could barely make out a time-worn installation. I squinted at the pixilated images and realized that they were Human structures!

  A column of Convergence troops, at full attention, stood facing the Asrigards, the Elions, and the Human base. One figure, covered in its own combat armor, stood at the head—apparently trying to negotiate access to the Human installation. The Asrigards and the Elions were clearly blocking the way.

  Wait. I started making connections. Kaleren and Freela were Co-Governors of Quadrant Four. This quadrant. They led the Integration Party movement, which favored improving Human integration into the Convergence. The Party argued that peaceful dialogue would provide more willing access to currently inaccessible Human technology; thankfully, the Integration Party controlled a majority of the government across the Convergence.

  I paused. Asrigard? Mieant’s parents managed a quarter of Convergence space? Why would they be stationed here on Nem’, in this great green expanse of ‘natch? How in the Architect’s gravity wells could I be so flipping ignorant about everyone around me?

  “Shells. Wow. Thanks!” I lifted my head from the news feeds and focused on him. “Broodmother has talked about the Awakening, the attacks on people here in Blue River. She believes somehow this is linked to Humans. How?” I took two of his blade arms in my hands.

  “You.”

  “Yes, help me…uh. What?”

  “She believes the end of the Human winter is linked to you.” I looked into his eyes, waiting for him to continue. “You are the only Human on this planet. Long ago, Nem’ was a key Human world.”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “Our hive is under the city. Under Blue River. Even under this library.” He poked the carpeting with his blade claws. “The planet has become noisy. Our rangers, the ones who patrol our hive, see machines, for lack of a better word. Things that WERE rocks are growing legs and move toward the Mesa Ruins. Things that were metal scrap are reforming into discs and flying off in apparently random directions. These devices move with purpose. My Queen’s thought is that now that you are becoming a mature Human, something inside of you is triggering their awakening.”

  “These…” he paused, “things are attracted to Galactic material. Energy sources. Entire farm compounds are vanishing. High-end equipment—simply gone. People, too.”

  I thought about the controller incident. About the GNN news reports.

  “I need information, Nonch.” And maybe protection, I thought silently. “May I meet Broodmother?”

  He faced me—black eyes underlining two giant orange orbs, mandibles, claws, all sharp edges, all pointing toward me—and became still. Without changing his gaze, he reached a blade arm out and nudged the other newsball, floating it off to one side. At his touch, it drifted through the distance toward me.

  “What?”

  “Read.”

  It was a roster of Nem’s military and police command. It showed all the government employees in a tree format—where and how people were connected to their bosses, and their bosses to their bosses, and so on.

  “Gee. It’s an organizational chart. That’s great. So what?” I shrugged, nonplussed.

  He pointed to a name, listed as the head of the Nem’ Planetary Defense: Jurisdictor Xzaris Alenion of Broodmother Krig. A Crynit. There was no Jurisdictor Godwill. None at all.

  “Move!” I pushed him aside and expanded the news vid to full size. “Where! Where did you find this?”

  “I accessed the Convergence archives instead of the local files on Nem’. Godwill does not exist.”

  “What of Jurisdictor Xzaris?”

  “We do not know.” His head dipped, and his chitin-plates rippled down the length of his body, “Broodmother knows where all of her Crynits are on Nem’. Xzaris disappeared two weeks ago. She fears the implication.” His sensor stalks waved.

  We looked at each other with big eyes. Well, his were always big.

  “Nonch. My mom comes back from Ever tonight. I’ll have more information from, uh,” I thought of Mom’s Brother. “…other sources. Would Broodmother help me? Us? Would she meet my parents?”

  His arms spread wide and he wrapped them around me, pulling me close in a hug.

  “It is a curious thing, this hugging, that you do. Broodmother is amused by this habit I have taken from you. She says we should only ‘hug’ when we are hunting.”

  He released me and uncurled from his ball. I turned my head up to look at him from where I was sitting, now suddenly below him. “Crynits have long memories. Broodmother has always been convinced that Humans, even with your scattered numbers, are dangerous. Your kind destroyed untold millions of us. My Mother feels this awakening heralds a new time of destruction.”

  “Shells,” I whispered. “It’s me. Raystar. I haven’t done anything.”

  He put a blade arm on my shoulder. “You are my best friend, Raystar. It is a secret the Recorders do not reveal that during the War, Lethia held our hives hostage to ensure we fought Humanity and its allies with commitment. They placed ‘planet-buster’ devices across our worlds, even in our hive ships. It is a fact conveniently overlooked by the Convergence.”

  “Nonch! Listen! Ask Broodmother if she’ll meet me and my parents! An information exchange. We will help each other.”

  “Gleans. They fought us too.”

  “Shells! Stop with this ‘we fought, they fought.’ Augh. We have things in front of us, right now, that we need to do something about. Our now is not our history!”

  “Raystar, our history is why everything is happening right now.” He dipped his head and spread his arms wide and low. “History is why you and I are friends. Our past is ours to curse and to thank for our today.” He raised himself again and stared down at me. I puffed purple hair out of my face and slouched.

  I was out of ideas. Waiting for Mom, I guess, was all I could do.

  “But I will see if Broodmother will meet you and your parents.”

  “Yeah! Nonch!” I sprung up and smacked him on the back.

  “Silent about this we must be.”

  I nodded, grabbed the news orbs, and threw them into the information recycler on the desk. Next to the recycler was one of the sphere-shaped library synths I’d seen before. I blinked at the beginning of a plan and pocketed the synth.

  Nonch gently and firmly held me by my shoulders, turning me to face him.

  “To clarify, Raystar-Friend. My intention, my hope, is that we must be silent about what I said. About me not wanting to be a Crynit. About the favor I will ask of you.”

  Things were looking up. Given my parents’ Ascendant status, a meeting with Broodmother gave me hope we might find an ally. I had taken action and had caused something to happen instead of the reverse—being happened to. While I didn’t have anything close to the answers I needed, the answers were out there, and I was a tiny step closer to them. We do our best with what we have. There’s no going back.

  I gulped, looked up into my friend’s orange orb-eyes, and nodded.

  The lunch bell chimed. Nonch and I left the library separately.

  20

  In addition to the pain, I get nauseous during my headache episodes. Like now. No, this was worse. Boiled ’natch. Warm, soggy, green, and stringy, it oozed from between the two pieces of bread that I was holding.

  Raw ’natch has the smell of earth, forest, life, summer. What wafted from the grey plasti-wrapper was dirt-like, for sure—dead dirt. The smell curled fingers of nausea around
my belly and crawled up my spine with a shiver. Imagine the piles of decaying plants we recycled at the farm’s gardens after a long summer of sitting in the sun. Now mix that with gratcher manure.

  I had a sandwich full of it.

  Jenna gasped as the smell reached her; it seemed even her multi-colored beaded braids shook in disgust.

  Startled at my lunch destiny, I fumbled my sandwich. It pancaked on the cafeteria table with a wet smack and ended up half outside its wrapper. As one, my friends and I stared, horrified, at the green rivulets that trickled across the white tabletop. They moved tentatively, as if they were exploring their best path from the table to the floor.

  Jenna covered her face with her upper hands, moved her lunch tray away from mine with one of her lower hands, and stretched out her fourth hand, fingers spread and palm toward me. Nonch wrapped his appendages around his head so only his eyes were visible and flattened his sensor stalks along his back.

  Mieant scowled and raised an eyebrow imperiously in my direction. “No wonder Humans lost the War.” Ha, ha, never heard that one before. But I agreed with him. Today he wore frayed dark blue pants, a rough-spun manila tunic, and big, industrial, stompy, leather boots. The sleeves flared out slightly, giving him a farm boy look despite his aristocratic bearing. He pulled his nearest sleeve clear of a green river that was heading from my sandwich toward his fashion statement. I grabbed a napkin and wiped the ’natch juice into larger smears, all in a futile attempt to do something about the smell. It was a losing battle.

  We scuttled to a different table to escape the ’natch spill. Hunger makes me irrational. I salvaged what I could of my lunch and brought it with me to the new, clean table. I was ravenous.