“I will be, soon enough. Finally, Jericho is with Basilisk and one of the Palatine teams in Jordan.”
“Why?” Cecily appeared confused by the question.
“You know why, Ambrose.”
“Ahh yes. Tell me, why can’t Jericho leave that poor boy alone? Hasn’t he been through enough?”
“Dio’s his son.”
“Yes, well. We all have family.” Cecily cocked her head.
“You don’t.” Ambrose looked off into the distance with an ambiguous shrug.
“Secrets. We all have those, too.”
“We certainly do.” Cecily acknowledged.
“And ‘Dio’, is it? First name basis? Tut, tut, Cecily.” Ambrose mocked, clicking his tongue. “Aren’t you the one constantly cautioning against intimacy with the lab-rats?”
“Kayla...Donohue...” She hissed out the bitter counterpoint.
“Do...not.” He warned. They paused for a moment before Ambrose turned to walk away: “‘Maud Namas’. Get Galt to reconsider the name, would you? It’s a complete joke.” Ambrose threw the words back over his shoulder as he walked away. For the entire conversation, he’d been fighting off wave after wave of nausea. He desperately needed to wash his hand.
Epilogue – 3623
~ Janissary ~
Date: Unknown
“Issa.” Myadir greeted Janissary as she materialised in the portal-way.
His shoulder-length blond hair, strong jaw, and ice-blue eyes mimicked the physicality of a Human; a tall, well-proportioned Scandinavian male, to be exact. He was swathed in a layered cloak of Riin linens. They were gauzy white; luminescent and pure...varying in length and shape, and covered in glyphs and symbols which changed colour as they refracted different kinds of light.
Janissary was still wearing the Human clothes she had been given on Earth: a tight, dark green tank-top, aesthetically faded denim jeans, knee-high leather boots, and a light brown suede coat which fell to just above her knees. The coat, in particular, she had developed something of a romantic attachment to, resolving to have other garments from her home planet fabricated whenever she was able. Her hair was slightly dishevelled, and her cheeks were still flushed with light pink. Her skin also seemed faintly infused with a luxuriant glow. Myadir smiled at her affectionately. And knowingly.
“How did you find the hospitality of Aesuulya?” He asked.
“Pleasant. As ever.” She smiled back weakly, stepping forward to wrap her arms around him. After a few seconds she let go, looking up. At almost six feet high, the Human form he currently resided in towered over her. Momentarily, Janissary wondered why, even when she had first encountered the Riin, their ability to take any form they chose had never disconcerted her. It was probably the juxtaposition between the forms they chose to take and their natural forms, she surmised.
“Shall we depart?” Myadir asked.
“I guess we really better had.” Janissary nodded reluctantly. “How are the survivors?” Myadir’s expression melded into one of abstract – almost haunted – uncertainty.
“The Humans appear to lack an ability to exercise even the most simplistic objectivism in attempting to craft an understanding of the circumstances in which they find themselves. That they are safe...is apparently in question. That we are friends to them...is apparently in question. For some...the interpretability of their newfound context has metastasised towards a state of apparent delirium. That they are even alive, is, it would appear: is in question.”
“Some of them think this is Heaven?” Janissary smirked. Myadir’s dark, brooding expression refused to cede territory.
“Many of them believe it to be ‘Hell’. Many, as well, exhibit hostility towards us; some have hypothesised as to our motivations, and will not be diverted from the understanding that, in saving them, we have exhibited ill will of some variety. The logic escapes me: I am forced to conclude that many – if not the majority – of ‘your people’ are in what appears to be a state of deep and malignant psychological shock.”
“Yes, well...I could’ve called that one.”
“We’ve relocated all Humans – as their physiological requirements dictated was the most efficacious approach to the longer-term maintenance of their wellbeing – to the habitation zone. Agitation has been an...unpredictable variable. Some are refusing sustenance.”
“Hunger strikes. Original.” Janissary drawled. “Have you shown them how to use the doors?” Myadir nodded curtly.
“They have been informed that the habitation zone is theirs to use as they wish.”
“That’ll be the problem. Well...one of the problems, anyhow.” She rolled her eyes. Myadir looked confused.
“The habitation zone is very extensive. You know this.”
“I do know this. But they’re Human. If you tell them they can go anywhere they want within specific parameters, their first thought is going to be ‘why can’t I go outside those parameters? What are you hiding?’. When dealing with Humans, it helps to always imagine bars. They do.”
“Bars?”
“Metal bars. I’m talking about cages.”
“Illogical.”
“No, it’s just...a different perspective. And the way Human society functions, it makes sense. All the laws...the unspoken social codes, and the rituals and traditions...they all play a part in making a person feel...claustrophobic, at best. You remember what I was like when you found me, right?” He glanced down at her. His eyes seemed to be saying: ‘don’t remind me’.
“It is, nonetheless, difficult to comprehend.”
“Of course it is. Because you’re Riin. You wouldn’t see a reason to be suspicious, so you wouldn’t be. Simple as that. But Humans aren’t like that. They also tend to overestimate their own importance, so it’s not unusual for them to respond to the unknown with suspicion. Unless they’re stupid.” She paused, considering. “But, sometimes, especially when they’re stupid.”
“I see.” Myadir intoned. His voice was deeply serious, as if Janissary had just shared information of the gravest importance.
“Look, do you want me to speak to them?” She asked, doubting it would do much good, but feeling compelled to try – for Myadir’s sake, if for no other reason – all the same. Myadir nodded. Janissary smiled reassuringly at him. She was aware that the entire situation made him deeply uncomfortable.
Together, they walked silently toward the habitation area. The interior of the ship was – as far as the cognitive capabilities of most species would have been concerned – incomprehensibly vast. But the control hub was, thankfully, close enough to the habitation area that they didn’t need to use a transport gate. Janissary considered this to be a very good thing. She didn’t imagine that seeing Myadir and herself materialise from out of nowhere in a haze of blue-white fog would do much to make the Humans feel more at ease.
Around them, the cavernous compartments that ran the length of the ship stretched...each as high and wide as aircraft hangars. These staggering, expansive spaces were a staple of Epv’aab Riin ships: hemispheric halls of seamless metal sheeting, polished to a brilliant finish of subtly reflective chromatic silver. They were each lined – a consistent, unbroken five feet from the floor – with long, crystal insets...saturated with a warm, natural light which spilled out into the spartan emptiness around them. Janissary had always admired the simplicity and openness of Epv’aab ship design. The ships of the other Riin – the Ekt’ax – were less uniform: full of colour and diverse, idiosyncratic aestheticism...including abrupt shifts in focus from the sterile and mechanical, to the organic and free-growing. Janissary liked spaceships to look like...well...spaceships.
That said, the Epv’aab Riin – like virtually all space-faring species – did make room for ecology. Even from simply a practical point of view, large ships generally required enough of it that some or all of the benefits of a functioning planetary biome could be replicated: sustainably and without interruption. The organic, as well, had numerous advantages over the mechanical.
As Myadir was fond of saying: ‘the purpose-built holds at its core a desire to regress...correspondent in nature to the natural state of the materials which comprise such objects’. According to this understanding: the mechanical longed to return to inert sleepfulness, and constant vigilance was required to inhibit its success. The organic, conversely, would fight to grow and thrive; the challenge there was not to inhibit its success, but to direct and shape it...or, in some cases, to ensure it was not too successful.
The ‘atrium’ of the habitation zone was one of the more artistic examples of the Epv’aab Riin’s acknowledgement of the importance of ecology. As the translucent panels slid away to the side and Janissary entered through the crystalline arch, she breathed a deep lungful of crisp, fresh air.
The atrium was, structurally, identical to the other hemispheric caverns that comprised the ship. Its interior, however, was covered in a mesh of contiguous panels, installed flush with the dome – like a membrane – and glowing with near-perfect representations of sky, cloud, and sunlight. This – as it was designed to – helped a range of exotic plants from numerous different worlds to grow. From memory, Janissary recalled, the space had a basic microclimate...potentiated and tweaked to allow self-regulating processes of evaporation, condensation, and precipitation.
On and around a hillock of soft, purple-flecked green grass – native to Phaeriin, the Riin home-world – a group of several dozen Humans waited...speaking amongst themselves in hushed voices. As Janissary approached, the most confident ones, apparently – two small blond women and a taller, deeply serious and slightly older Black woman – got to their feet, approaching Janissary and Myadir. The front-most blonde woman and the Black woman both wore smart, no-nonsense suits; the blonde’s grey and white...the Black woman’s navy blue over a white blouse. The blonde’s suit was slightly soiled around the knees, calves and elbows. The Black woman’s clothes were conspicuously immaculate. The third woman – bright-eyed and tight-jawed – wore jeans and a ragged T-shirt, torn across the mid-section; a shallow scar evident across the skin beneath. The sliced flesh dragged ten or eleven uneven inches across her belly, and was edged with crimson-brown flecks of dried blood. Blood also stained her shirt and jeans. Enough blood, spread liberally enough, that Janissary couldn’t help but suspect that it wasn’t all from the scratch-esque scar across her midsection. The immediate and obvious conclusion was that much of the blood was not the blonde’s own.
The other Humans – still sitting atop the hill – fell silent, watching the new arrivals cautiously as they approached their self-elected representatives.
“What’s going on? Where the fuck are we?” the more formally attired blonde woman demanded.
“You’re on a space-ship.” Janissary stated simply. Her expression remained stony and unreadable...though she did enjoy the corresponding expressions suddenly twisting at –contorting – the faces of the three Human women in front of her.
“Bullshit.” The blonde with the torn shirt and blood-stained clothes scoffed.
“‘Bull-shit’?” Myadir queried. Janissary nodded, folding her arms.
“It’s what’s known as a ‘swear word’. You’re actually already familiar with a number of them; just not ones from Earth.” Janissary clarified for him: “They’re used to convey strong emotion – usually negative – or profound disbelief. In this case, I assume, it’s the latter. Yes?” She inclined her head toward the blonde.
“Um...yes? Actually...” The blonde reached up to scratch at her scalp, before folding one arm over the other...mirroring Janissary’s posture. “Probably a bit of both?” Janissary smiled wanly.
“Sorry, but it isn’t bullshit. I know it’d be easier if it was.” She turned to Myadir: “Did you actually tell them?” He nodded.
“We have, in addition, provided them with evidence to this effect.” Janissary shrugged, looking back to the three women.
“Did you not believe him?”
“It’s a bit much to just...believe. Just like that...” The Black woman frowned.
“I’ve been there. I really have.” Janissary assured her: “First you think they’re crazy, then you think you’re crazy, and you never really get around to actually believing it, so much as simply getting used to not believing it.” Janissary shifted uncomfortably, not really knowing how to proceed. “So...do you have names?”
“Why wouldn’t we have names?” The blonde with the belly-scar asked. Janissary shrugged.
“Not everyone does. The Torbn of Veshak use the conspicuous absence of names in place of names.” The blonde woman’s eyes narrowed as Myadir looked downward, shaking his head.
“That has to be bullshit.” Janissary raised an eyebrow.
“Well of course it’s bullshit. It makes no sense whatsoever. I’ve heard names that sound like bursts of music; names that sound like gusts of wind or rushing water; mathematical equations as names; names expressed through dance; names that you can’t say without the help of organs, limbs, or other body parts that species like ours don’t even have; names where the correct pronunciation depends on how fast you say it; single names shared by the population of entire planets; names that, in full, would take hours to say; names expressed through pheromones; names that vary based on time of day, activity engaged in, current relationship status, and current mood. The one kind of name I’ve never heard of sentient beings having, are non-existent names.”
“So do you have names?” The midriff-mutilated blonde queried.
“This is my friend, Myadir, and my name is Janissary.”
“Lorrel Smith.” The Black woman volunteered, holding out her right hand, which Janissary slowly reached for: pumping her way through an awkward shake. “Your first time?” Janissary nodded.
“We did greetings a little differently, back when I lived on Earth.” Janissary explained, before turning her attention to the other two women. Reluctantly, the business-wear sporting blonde sighed:
“I’m Aviary. Aviary Black.” Neither Aviary nor Janissary made any attempt to shake hands. Janissary merely raised an appraising eyebrow as she scanned the woman in front of her. Barely perceptibly, she nodded.
“Military?” Aviary scowled.
“Yes...” She said slowly, ending the word with a long, distended, snake-like hiss that rose sharply just before it ended...as if asking the question: ‘and what does that have to do with anything?’.
“Just...funny how you can always tell. A hundred different species; a thousand different worlds, and, somehow, the ones who’ve been trained to fight and kill just...stick out. No matter how hard they try not to.” Aviary’s eyes narrowed.
“Who says I’m trying to hide it?” Janissary smirked, shaking her head.
“For reference? It helps if you don’t try quite so hard to look like you aren’t standing to attention.” Janissary’s attention drifted away from Aviary, and towards the last unnamed member of their gathering.
“I’m Kayla Donohue.” Kayla concluded the roll call. Her eyes cautiously grazed Janissary’s, locking onto them...until Kayla looked downward, towards her feet. She reminded Janissary of someone. Someone lifetimes away and long forgotten. Janissary brushed the recognition to the side, unable to properly place it.
“Good. So...do you want to introduce me to some of your people?” Lorrel nodded, leading Janissary back towards the hill. Aviary and Kayla wordlessly fell in behind them; trailing silently...a strange wall of ambiguous tension having grown up between the two.
Myadir stayed put...silently observing the unfolding tableau from a distance. Janissary may not have remembered: Human minds were, after all, prone to a variety of manipulations and deficiencies, as were those of all Ara’ghetn. His own mind – unfortunately – suffered from no such fallibilities.
The past and the present had finally aligned. There was much to prepare.
TBC.
Backmatter
Dedications and Acknowledgements
This thing’s been a long time coming. In the end, a cou
ple of lines just wasn’t enough for me. None of this would have happened without the combined efforts of all of the following people. So, without further ado...
This is for my loving wife, Victoria.
You really are my very most favourite thing. I love you. Always will.
§
This is for Kat, my best friend.
<3xd8
§
This is for my wonderful friends, and my ever-supportive family.
I know I’m not always the easiest person in the world to deal with.
§
And in a weird, roundabout way, this is also for a bunch of dead white guys with stupid hair.
Particularly Sartre. Thanks for all the existential crisis, you ass.
§
This is for my characters. Each and every. Next time it’ll be easier. Promise.
...Yeah, yeah. I know. I’m probably lying.
§§§
And finishing with an acknowledgement: fonts used in the original final draft of this novel and in accompanying graphic content were made available by the League of Moveable Type (‘Goudy Bookletter 1911’, ‘Junction’, and ‘League Gothic’), and by font designer Lukasz Dziedzic (‘Lato’) under SIL Open Font Licenses. Not even sure I have to credit, here, but I’d like to, as all their all their hard work and generosity is deeply appreciated.
https://www.theleagueofmoveabletype.com/
http://www.latofonts.com/
Abyss (Songs of Megiddo) Page 29