Alliance of Exiles

by Caitlin Demaris McKenna

  Pri goes straight to one of the airlocks and stops before it. There is a small control panel in the wall next to it, with a tiny screen showing functions and the time. The numbers are meaningless to Mose, but he can tell from Pri’s excitement that the time is drawing near. In a few minutes, she will press the button to unlock and cycle the outer airlock. She hovers a tendril over the panel. As the last digit ticks over to mark the appointed hour, she considers walking away, not letting her guest in, abandoning the whole ridiculous idea. None of her previous attempts have succeeded; why should this one be any different?

  Then she senses something. The briefest touch of a mind, an unaware, non-Drevl Char mind, outside the lock. It doesn’t know she’s on the other side listening in, so she probes deeper.

  On the surface, the mind exhibits expectation, with maybe a touch of impatience as the appointed time passes. But under that, there is a curiosity so intense it is almost hunger. A need to know Pri hasn’t encountered in two hundred years, since her truncated scientific partnership with Delicia Baker.

  Hope surges in her, and she presses the cycle button before she can change her mind. Agonizing seconds pass as the airlock flushes its methane, then slowly pumps it back in once the outer door has sealed.

  There is no quiet way to open an airlock. Pri unseals her side of the door with movements as delicate as she can make them, but there’s still a squeal of parting rubber as the door unseals. She feels one or two minds behind her stir, then slip back under the dark waves of sleep. She chose the middle of their usual sleep cycle for just this reason. If this doesn’t work, there will be no need for any of her People to know she’s failed them again.

  When she enters the airlock, Pri half expects it to be empty.

  A part of her is surprised to see the figure standing inside it. So is Mose. Though she wears a half-mask rebreather that covers her snout, he still recognizes Shomoro Lacharoksa. Her white mane is unmistakable. Other than the rebreather, she wears no environment suit in the warm atmosphere, only the armor underlayer sheath from Pri’s mental projection of her. They’re not on Charel, then.

  «I didn’t think you’d come,» Pri says, surprising herself. It’s been a while since she’s been honest with non-Drevl Char.

  Shomoro gives an Osk shrug, dipping her upper body. “I almost didn’t. Your story defies belief, I hope you know that.”

  «I know.» Pri’s thought tone is bitter. Why else have her attempts to tell others the truth the People have discovered about Rosetta, at the expense of their lives and the life of their planet, met with stone silence and incredulity? Unless it’s rooted in fear of Terran reprisal should the truth become known. Given how the past couple of centuries have unfolded, that is equally likely.

  “However, I believe you.”

  Taken aback, Pri dips into the Osk’s mind before she can check the impulse. Shomoro’s words are sincere. Still, Pri can’t believe the evidence of her own telepathy. «You do?»

  Shomoro jabs in answer.

  «I . . . thank you,» Pri says. She feels as though a heavy stone has been lifted from her, only to be dropped again from a greater height, leaving her stunned and breathless.

  “It’s Daikar you should thank,” Shomoro says, sending a frisson of recognition through Mose. He knows that name.

  “He flagged your message for me to see. This meeting would not be happening if he hadn’t.”

  «But there are thousands of messages posted to the datanet every day,» Pri protests. Her disbelief won’t rest until she’s explored every way she might still be disappointed. «And I’m aware that my claim is somewhat . . . unusual.»

  “On the contrary,” Shomoro says, sounding amused. “There are dozens like it posted every day. They’re called conspiracy theories.” Pri winces, but before she can respond, Shomoro has taken out a hand tablet and begun to read from it.

  “ ‘I, Pri of the Refugee Contingent of the People of the Sand, possess information vitally important to the continued safety of non-Terran space. The Expansion has been lying to us all.

  They claim to have reaped their advanced technologies from a dead world, the archaeological curiosity they call Rosetta. This is untrue. Rosetta was a living civilization when the Terrans arrived. Either by accident or intentionally, they destroyed it.

  I know this because I and other Drevl Char alive at the time of their expedition to our own world shared the memories of Terrans, including Science Director Delicia Baker and military liaison Major Henry Kincaid, who were there and had contact with living Rosettans.

  ‘The People of the Sand have already paid for this knowledge with the loss of our world. As long as they are protecting this lie, the Terrans are a danger to us all. If action is not taken to confront them with the truth, other worlds could well be in danger. I humbly request that any who read this message contact me for more information.’ ” Shomoro looks up from the tablet. “Why post this on Skraal-Teklan’s datanet?” A location at last, Mose thinks. “Why not take it straight to the city magistrate, or journalistic outlets?”

  «You think I haven’t tried?» Pri asks. «You think that after waiting centuries to get off our ruined world, that once free, we wouldn’t take our evidence to the highest offices who could help us?»

  “I’m hoping you’ll explain it to me,” Shomoro says.

  «My enclave asked the Teluk rescue expedition to resettle us on Skraal. We thought that by spreading out those with the knowledge across multiple worlds, we would have a better chance of finding an authority willing to heed what we’d discovered.» Pri wraps her tendrils around her thorax, across the bands of scar tissue. «We found plenty willing to listen—for a minute or two. Until they decided what we were telling them was, as you put it, a ‘conspiracy theory.’»

  Despite the biting tone Pri can’t keep from her thoughts, Shomoro’s expression remains composed behind the rebreather. “You said you have evidence to support your claim. What kind of evidence? Why didn’t it convince the authorities you talked to?”

  Eight legs shuffle uncomfortably underneath her as Pri chooses her thoughts carefully. This is the turning point, the moment where other non-Drevl Char who had been listening keenly turned away from what she had to say. «Memories.

  Memories of a living Rosettan civilization, plucked from the Terrans’ minds. All the surviving Drevl Char in my enclave share a copy of these memories. And I would show them to you . . . if you let me.»

  Disappointment drags on her stomach as Shomoro’s mind backs away from hers, the subconscious response coming a moment before any reaction shows on her face. When it does, Pri doesn’t know how to read it: the Osk’s features don’t move, but under the rebreather her snout slowly turns from dark gray to blue-black. Pri doesn’t understand what it means, but Mose does. It’s fear.

  “Let you into my mind?” Shomoro says slowly. From her hesitation, Pri decides this isn’t the time to tell the Osk she’s been in her mind all along, at least on its surface.

  «It would be more accurate to say I would bring you into mine. It would only be for the purpose of showing you the memories we found.»

  Shomoro is quiet for a few seconds. Her chest rises and falls with deep breaths Mose recognizes as calming exercises, and the blue flush of fear fades from her snout. “I’m guessing the people you’ve tried to share these memories with were no more amenable to the idea,” she says with a wry smile.

  «I have encountered resistance,» Pri admits. «For Drevl Char, sharing memories is natural. I had not realized the concept would be so troubling to nontelepathic species.» Indeed, if she had known it would be so hard to get anyone to listen, she might not have had the strength to endure her time below ground. It was ignorance that had saved her and her valuable knowledge.

  “I will want to see those memories.” Shomoro holds up a forestalling hand. “But not now.”

  «It’s perfectly safe,» Pri sends, hoping against hope that maybe she can persuade Shomoro. «It will only take a moment—»

>   “I said no. ” Pri jumps at the sudden sharpness in the Osk’s tone. Shomoro lowers her voice, but it’s no less firm as she continues. “I know it’s safe, and maybe it would be quicker, but I wish to prepare before I let you into my mind.” This time, Pri doesn’t correct her on the specifics of memory transfer. “Anyway, I don’t need to see your memories to know there’s something off about the Terrans’ official story.”

  «Like what?» Pri guards her tone more closely this time, wary of spooking a potential ally. Her first, if Shomoro agrees to help her.

  “You mentioned specific names in your message,” Shomoro says. “Terrans who were members of both expeditions. I was curious, so I did some research on Baker and Kincaid, using public information that’s filtered across the Front. The results were . . . interesting.”

  Shomoro brings something up on the hand tablet. “After Charel, Delicia Baker retired to conduct pure research around one of the gas giants in Sol System. She made no more significant contributions to xenology before her death six years later.”

  Pri’s antennae twitch in surprise. «She died? She wasn’t that old, for a Terran.»

  “It was in a skimmer accident.” Shomoro’s voice is deadpan.

  “A failure in the buoyancy mechanism, according to the accident report.”

  She swipes to another file. “Kincaid’s trajectory is at least as interesting. After participating in the Rosetta expedition, he apparently underwent a religious conversion and joined the Universal Church. Its earliest iteration, anyway.” She snaps the reader closed. “It filed for organizational status just a few years after the close of the expedition, with its headquarters in the Rosettan site of Jericho.”

  Pri doesn’t have to be a telepath to catch Shomoro’s meaning. «You think the Church knows something about Rosetta?»

  “I think it’s too soon to say what they know or don’t know,”

  Shomoro hedges. “But I know one thing: Rosetta is a site of great significance to the Universal Church. The notion that Rosetta is the home of some previous, more highly conscious society is at the center of their beliefs. And I found something else interesting.” She swipes at the reader again. “Kincaid wasn’t the only Gnosis expedition member with a connection to the Church. Its founder served as chaplain—a kind of spiritual counselor—on the expedition.”

  Pri is puzzled; the Gnosis expedition she met two hundred years ago had no such spiritual counselor, and Del had never mentioned such a role to Pri. She wishes she’d had the chance to ask Del more about the Rosetta expedition, with the benefit of what she knows now. But that opportunity is apparently gone.

  «That doesn’t prove they know anything,» Pri says, and is surprised when Shomoro smiles at seeing her argument attacked.

  “I agree. It’s circumstantial. But, to me at least, it puts the lie to the Expansion’s claim that Rosetta is purely of technological interest. Would the Church base their entire religion around a few ancient machines, no matter how technically valuable? Tell me Pri, in your dealings with Terran minds, how likely is that?”

  «It isn’t.»

  “It isn’t,” Shomoro repeats in a satisfied near whisper—as if she has just convinced Pri of something. Pri senses a willingness in her to believe, perhaps even a need. A need that only emerged when the topic shifted to the Universal Church. Pri knows, then, that Shomoro won’t turn away like the others, not before her curiosity and her need are satisfied.

  «So, you will help me?»

  The Osk shrugs again. “There’s not much I can do on Skraal. I’m a refugee here, like your people.” Hope turns to disappointment so quickly Pri’s vision seems to darken. She almost misses Shomoro’s next words.

  “But I don’t plan to stay here. I have a ship of my own. Daikar and I are going to make for Teluk soon. You’re more than welcome to join us.”

  «Your friend approves?» She asks this question instead of the other, harder one: Why will it be any easier to be heard on Teluk than on Skraal?

  Shomoro’s long lips curve in a brief, sardonic smile. “My friend is suspicious by nature, but I think he’ll trust my judgment once he’s met you.” There’s a brief but compact history in that subtle emphasis on “friend”; Pri senses a complexity of relationship there she could spend a fascinated interval unraveling, if they had the time.

  But there are more important considerations right now.

  «You’ll be refugees on Teluk as well. What makes you believe you’ll have any influence there?»

  “Because I have something to offer the High Council they aren’t likely to refuse.” The answer comes so swiftly it is obvious this is something Shomoro has thought about for a long time. Before Pri can do more than give a mental shout of alarm, Shomoro pulls the rebreather mask free of her snout. The Osk’s chest rises as she inhales an atmosphere she shouldn’t be able to breathe.

  “I was one of Za’s scientists,” Shomoro says, talking normally, impossibly, standing casually in the methane soup. “I worked on nanotechnological enhancements for our side, such as the one that’s keeping me alive right now.”

  Nanotechnological enhancements. The shock that gripped Mose when Shomoro removed her mask drips into revulsion. An uninvited image comes to him of the billions of nanomachines that must swarm in her cells, as in his—like a needle-worm hive infesting a rotten softwood trunk—and he almost chokes on bile. And she chose to work on nanotech, even to inject the filthy little machines into herself, knowing what they could do, what they’d already done.

  Mose abruptly wishes he could stop the memory, but of course it doesn’t obey him.

  As Pri watches in amazement, Shomoro calmly replaces the rebreather mask over her snout. A smile shows around the edges of the mask. “I believe the Council will agree I have something worth granting an audience for. I’m inviting you to stand with me, if you’re still interested.”

  «Yes.» Pri’s send is slightly breathless. «Yes, I . . . I will.» Then a second, unpleasant question hits her. «How large is your ship?»

  Shomoro’s grimace is answer enough. “It’s an Osk courier. Room for three crew, I’m afraid.”

  Three people. And two of the berths already filled. If Pri accepts Shomoro’s offer, she will have to leave the Drevl Char enclave behind. She will be on her own. «I need some time to think about this.»

  Shomoro raises an open hand. “Take some time. Only, don’t take too much. We’re leaving Skraal in three standard days.”

  She senses an urgency beneath Shomoro’s words that goes beyond eagerness to put Skraal behind her. If Pri were more confident in interpreting Osk emotions, she would say something has Shomoro spooked.

  «Why so soon? If you have your own ship you’re not on anyone else’s timetable.»

  “It isn’t that.” Her words come out stiffly, choked with reluctance. She looses a sigh that chugs through the rebreather. “You might as well know. We were originally going to take someone else—another Osk, a seph Daikar knew from Za.

  Only someone got to him before we could.”

  Shomoro’s carefully vague description is clear enough to Mose. A stab of guilt twists his gut. Vorl Yureshenka. There’s no one else Shomoro could mean.

  «Got . . . to him?» Pri says, for once unwilling to probe the meaning under the Osk’s words.

  “Killed him,” Shomoro says. “We don’t know who. But we do know if they found him, they can find us. We need to leave before that happens.”

  Pri’s antennae switch back and forth, not entirely under her control in her agitation. «And me? Am I in danger? Have I put my enclave in danger by meeting with you?»

  Shomoro cuts a hard line through the air with her palm. “I can’t answer that with certainty. It’s possible, but I took every precaution to secure this meeting and our net activity.”

  Pri’s breathing slows as it circulates through her spiracles.

  «If I come with you . . .»

  “Three days is enough time to reprogram one of the berths to meet your atmo require
ments and stock up on rebreathers.

  You’ll have time to say your goodbyes as well.” Shomoro’s long face softens, the corners of her lips drawing up in a soft smile. “You won’t be alone where we’re going. I’m sure Teluk’s Drevl Char would make a place for you.”

  Pri absorbs this without comment. It’s true, the People have always made a place for her, even after she inadvertently destroyed their world.

  «And If I decide to stay?»

  “I’ll erase the net logs. Neither your people nor anyone else on Skraal will ever know that we met.” Shomoro’s tone is equanimous, apparently open to the possibility Pri will reject her offer. It’s only in their affective underlayer, the emotional echo that only Drevl Char can read, that Pri senses both Shomoro’s need for Pri to say yes, and her total confidence that Pri will. The echo says, You’ve borne this knowledge so long, suffered for it, lost everything for it. You won’t refuse the chance to find out what it means.

  She’s right. Even as Pri takes her leave, the airlock swinging open on the huddled forms of her People still deep in sleep, she is already considering how to say goodbye to them.

  He awoke to darkness and damp again, ascending from a soft gray nothing that had no beginning and no end. His limbs tensed against bare rock. Was he awake, or asleep and merely moving into the next great atrium of dream? His breathing was steady and long, flowing into his chest from his throat. No spiracles fluttered. He could feel six limbs, not twelve, pushing against the stone.

  Mose curled away from the floor into the soft nest of grass he’d rolled out of during the night. On his side, he gazed at the wall through slitted eyes as he contemplated the newest dream.

  If he was right about the timeframe, Shomoro had been aware of his existence, or at least the ShadowStalker’s, for the better part of fifteen years. And in turn she had been stalking him, learning about him, pinpointing his movements to the fine degree necessary for Pri to contact him undetected in a Terran habitat deep within the Front.