“You're playing matchmaker,” she said, and grinned so wide it nearly interfered with her speech. “You're his daughter, to all intents and purposes. As your maternal uncle, he has the most authority ... he should be playing matchmaker for you, not you for him."
“No, thank you. I get enough of that when the old fogies from Gadara continent come for meetings. I have years until I reach physical maturity, and they want to lock me into a betrothal now, without even a chance of meeting whatever suitable young man has their approval.” I shuddered, and not all of it was pretense. “Sometimes, I truly hate being a Fyx."
“That's funny, when you're working so hard to make me part of the family."
“I just need someone to look out after Uncle while I'm away, and I trust you,” I retorted.
Chiara muffled a few more chuckles, and we got back to work. But our mutual agreement that something needed to be done about Uncle, to wake him up to Chiara as the woman for him, was never far from my thoughts.
* * * *
Captain Garan Cole, Commander Gorgi Cole's son, came to our house that evening. He looked very much like his father, white hair and all, very serious and very young, but with a charming sense of humor. He was quite thrilled to be able to look behind the scenes at Hoven Quest, because the show had become a favorite at the Scout training headquarters on Drasti.
Bottom line: Gen'gineers believed the Hoveni were real, and by extension the Set'ri were still alive and active, but centuries of disaster had taught them to be discrete and move through our society as if invisible. The Scouts were determined to protect the cast and crew of Hoven Quest, and at the same time take advantage of our extreme visibility to use us as bait to try to catch the Gen'gineers. If we could catch Gen'gineers, could the Set'ri be far behind?
That, I realized, was what Uncle had been afraid of all along, and why he wanted to keep me so ignorant of the real reasons for the messages I inserted in my scripts. Instead of resenting being left out, I decided to be grateful.
* * * *
When it came time for the yearly broadcasting awards to be handed out for artistic endeavors, it was almost an anti-climax when Hoven Quest was nominated for every category possible. I received several nominations for my various duties in the pre-production and creative aspects. Of course, by this time, I was out on the road again, doing research and Kel was taking a break from recording the episodes I had written lunars ago. He accepted the awards for me. We talked several times via screen, both after the nominations were announced and before the actual awards ceremony. It was nice, but not exactly what I had in mind. How could we really talk and get to know each other and be friends when I knew there were as many people listening on his side of the link as there were on mine? No privacy.
This was worse than those few times the old fogies badgered Uncle into allowing several young men of good families to court me, when I was still in required schooling. Uncle demanded that there be several witnesses every time one of my erstwhile suitors was in the room. And that meant we hardly talked at all. Not that I wanted to be there, in the first place. I was only a child of fourteen Standards, and even though the girls my age were becoming increasingly aware and interested in boys, I couldn't have cared less. Hoveni males, especially those of the more old-fashioned traditions, were even more a foreign race to me than Humans.
Which meant that after more than a year of production work and communicating with each other, Kel Brent and I were still stuck in the friendly co-worker stage, and not friends by any stretch of the imagination.
On the positive side, Garan Cole spent half his on-duty time with me, and he became a very good friend. I told him anything he wanted to know about producing the show and how I got my stories, and he answered all my questions about the Scout Corps. It was a very good, enjoyable trade.
* * * *
The End of the World Archipelago earned its name in the days when sailing ships were powered either by oars or the wind. This was back in the bad old days of the Downfall, when all technology failed because no one could repair the machines or replace equipment, and people turned away from technology before it failed them, to avoid disasters. After that chain of islands, there was nothing but sea, as far as the most well-stocked ship could travel. Many voyagers never returned, giving rise to the fables that the world simply vanished far beyond the point where the horizon met the sky in blue-white brilliance or hazy mist.
Those same fables that gave the Archipelago its name also contained references to Sea People. Merfolk, either with tails or simply able to live underwater without any visible means of support. Uncle had a team who made it their business to travel the planet and out into the Commonwealth, to gather stories of people who were either part-animal or who could turn into animals. The more Hoveni we contacted through the show, the more tales we gathered up, fables and family legends passed down like precious jewels to bolster their hopes and their spirits.
Because of all those stories, it only made sense when Uncle decided that the second beta season would follow Meruk as he traveled to the Archipelago and found lost Hoveni. And that meant I and my team went out during the recording of the second alpha season. Garan went with us and wasn't too happy that we went by ship, just like Meruk would do for the first six episodes. I considered teasing him about being seasick or having a fear of water, but after watching him run himself and his team ragged, checking the security on board the ship, I realized exactly why he didn't like the ship.
It wouldn't take much for the Set'ri to overtake us with a much larger ship, or swoop down out of the sky and jam our communications with the mainland. There was a lot of open sea where we couldn't see either the mainland or upcoming islands, and where no one could see us if we signaled for help. It would be incredibly easy for the Set'ri to attack us, just blow us out of the water, and wipe one set of troublemakers out of existence.
After all, as Hoven Quest continued on FAN and gained more popularity in off-world distribution, sympathy for Hoveni would grow. We had talked about the Set'ri enough, both in relation to the ancient Hoveni and the genocide practiced against them, and how the Set'ri were so much like the Gen'gineers of the present, public opinion was definitely against them. If they ever emerged into the public again, they could be mobbed and destroyed. At least, by rabid Hoven Quest fans. It would be smart for them to destroy us before we grew any more influential and popular. Then again, we were the only ones with enough information to lead them to actual Hoveni. They couldn't kill us. Not yet, anyway.
How could I tell Garan that Uncle's organization watched over us, ready to appear at a moment's notice? The entire crew of the ship were Hoveni, able to turn into various sea creatures to keep everyone alive if the ship sank or we were boarded or attacked by unfriendly forces. For all I knew, half the skimmerfish that swam alongside the ship, racing away and coming back to circle us, were Hoveni who were more comfortable in the water than on land.
Two days out from the Archipelago, I found out exactly how many of those skimmerfish were Hoveni.
* * *
Chapter Six
I went out on deck late at night. My dreams had been full of Meruk, all the adventures he could have on board the ship, situations where he risked his safety and discovery by unfriendly forces so he could save lives. I couldn't sleep, shut away from the brisk sea air—especially with the walls so thin and married couples in their cabins on either side of me. Something about the sea air and constant sunshine and the relaxed life we led made everyone especially amorous. Just because I wasn't hormonally mature didn't mean I didn't understand what all those sounds coming through the walls meant!
Maybe those noises, the laughter as well as the other sounds, made my dreams so strange. Maybe I was curious and jealous and feeling the pressure that slowly gathered around me, to find a mate and continue the Fyx line. I finally gave up trying to sleep and went up on deck. I settled in the stern, on the platform that hung off the back of the ship to let us step down into the water for our dai
ly swims. I dipped my bare feet in the water and seriously considered shifting to some aquatic form just to rebel. It wasn't forbidden for us to shift at night, while our Scout guards were asleep or at least couldn't see us, but it wasn't exactly encouraged, either.
There was a splash, and something slapped against the bottoms of my feet. Despite the safety guaranteed by the skimmerfish keeping us company, I still yanked my feet out of the water and imagined an old razortooth rising up from the depths to try to bite my legs off.
Instead, a face appeared in the water. As I watched, it shifted into something much more Human and less fishy, but still with a crest and scales on his head instead of hair.
“You, girl. Fyx? Max's niece?” he asked, his voice sort of a bubbly, low growl.
“Kendle Fyx.” I nodded and gestured at the platform next to me, inviting him up onto the ship.
He shook his head and grinned, revealing teeth that were disturbingly pointed. Lots of them. Like he was still partially a predator fish. A big predator fish.
“You don't live down there, do you?” I had to ask.
I had grown up with horror stories told by my loving but nasty brothers, about Hoveni who spent too long in animal shape and lost touch with their souls. Unfortunately, there was a lot of truth in those stories, based on histories and documented cases of Hoveni who had retreated into their animal shapes for safety, and then decided life was just safer that way. Unlike the tales told of magical creatures, their genetics didn't change when they changed shape. The only other species Hoveni could reproduce with were Humans. That made us Humanoids, without doubt. And it also meant Hoveni couldn't engender half-animal offspring. So if they stayed in animal shape, they eventually died alone.
I didn't want that happening to someone who knew Uncle Max. It made him a friend, even if I had never met him before.
“No time. I'm Neary. Just letting you know we're here. Spying in the deeps. Making sure you're not being followed."
“Set'ri or Gen'gineers?"
“None. Yet.” He grinned and winked, and then his eyes changed back to fishy and he slid back below the surface before I could even thank him or ask his name.
He wasn't skimmerfish, but he was something big and toothy and nasty. That gave me a general idea of the predator-to-prey balance in these waters. It was only smart to either be something big enough to scare the dangerous elements away, or else be a dangerous element.
I told Regina about our visitor. She wasn't surprised, but she admitted she hadn't known about our submarine escort. The next evening, I went down to the platform again and waited, in case he had anything else to say. It was only polite to allow him a chance to speak. Maybe he wanted some company.
Company appeared the moment he stuck his head above the surface. With soft sighing pops, four heads came above the water and shifted from the domes and snouts of skimmerfish to people. Neary held perfectly still when I raised my hand to signal him to silence. We waited. He only moved his tail enough to keep up with the ship. Three more heads came above water, and they were small. Children.
“In Fi'in's name,” I said, my throat dry. I spread my hands open on my knees in the sign of safety and waiting. “In the name of those with many bodies and one soul. In the name of life and shelter.” I spoke in the Old Tongue, carefully preserved in the old scrolls and petroglyphs and tales told to children to keep our history alive. The language we used before Humans invaded our world.
“Hoveni?” a woman whispered, her voice barely loud enough to float to me over the dark, cold water.
“Daughter of the line of Melafyxia.” My voice shook. For the first time in my life, I was actually grateful for my heavy burden of heritage. If anything could get these people to trust me, it was the name of my ancestress who foresaw the danger of the Set'ri and warned the people to scatter, and who nearly lost her own life in defending the innocent.
She swam closer. White hair trailed in the water, fine and soft like water weeds. Her eyes were large and round, still mostly adapted for underwater seeing. She smiled at me, and I think she would have cried if her eyes allowed.
We spoke quickly, in whispers, sharing our stories. They had been watching our ship for six days now, intrigued by us, wondering what we were doing since we didn't fish or dive or conduct experiments. They had sensed the presence of Hoveni among the skimmerfish escorting our ship, but their laws forbade contact if the newcomer into their territory didn't make the sonic patterns required. Their ancestors had been betrayed by Hoveni who had been captured by Set'ri and tortured until their minds broke and they acted as traitors, helping to capture other Hoveni. When they saw Neary come up and partially transform the night before and heard him address me, they were startled and eager to learn the truth. All they had seen so far made them think we were indeed friendly. When Neary surfaced again this night, they made contact.
I was relieved to know they weren't a clan who stayed underwater, but were fisherfolk on one of the nearby islands. They came out for lunars at a time to fish and explore the wrecks deep on the sea floor, gleaning antiquities, medicinal plants, and delicacies to earn their living. They spent the entire time in a form that was an amalgam of fish and skimmerfish and Hoveni, a gift passed on by their ancestors since the days of the Diaspora. I wondered if they were the ones who had given rise to the fables of Merfolk. In their turn, they were amazed by my tale of research for Hoven Quest. Even this far out in the End of the World Archipelago, they had heard of Meruk. The old matriarch, Aienna, laughed when I told her how we used the program to find others of our scattered race.
“We know of twenty villages where our people live. We are scattered, as Melafyxia taught us, and we stay in contact, meeting at the full moons, deep underwater where no Set'ri or Gen'gineer or any other Human can find us and witness. You will come with us at the next full moon, and tell our folk, yes?"
“I would be honored, Mistress,” I said. What else could I say?
“Is it safe to show our faces and our natures?” She didn't look too surprised or disappointed when I told about the Scout Corps coming to protect us from danger. “It is enough that we are being gathered together. Fi'in bless you."
* * * *
We reached the first island of the Archipelago and everything went as scheduled. Meetings with the historical societies and anthropologists. Meetings with the business leaders to find points of interest they wanted pointed out about their islands. Scouting tours. And lots of time holed up in our hotel suite, plotting enough stories to fill a full year, two seasons, of episodes. Of course, we couldn't use all of them. We couldn't use even one-quarter of them. Meruk couldn't spend more than one season on the islands.
The full moon came, and I had Regina and Neary's help slipping out of the suite and down to the shore to meet with the Hoveni of the Archipelago. It bothered me a little how easily we got past Garan. Maybe he was so used to the schedule we kept that he thought I'd be holed up in my room, writing, or sleeping? Maybe he was finally convinced things were very safe for us here, and the Set'ri or Gen'gineers hadn't realized where we were? Either way, I had no problem sliding into the water and shifting my shape to swim out and down to the reef that surrounded the Archipelago, where the villagers had their meetings.
Ninety people waited for me. Only the very old and the very young stayed in their villages, because they couldn't endure the stress of holding their marine shape so long. Some mature, young folk stayed behind too, because they were either courting or married to Humans and couldn't slip away, or they were tending the elderly and infants left behind. Aienna told me they numbered one hundred fifty-nine, not counting the Humans who had married them and kept their secrets. Intermarriage explained how they could stay strong and not suffer from too much inbreeding over the centuries. Every seven moons, they sent representatives to a meeting of all the Hoveni of the Archipelago. At last count, there were nearly a thousand of our folk.
Most of them knew about Hoven Quest, but even though they admired Meruk, even envie
d his quest to find others of his kind, it never occurred to them that the accuracy was a result of actual Hoveni working on the series. They laughed. Some seemed to resent Uncle's cleverness. A few gave me a little too much admiration for being a descendant of Melafyxia. And then of course, there were a dozen or so young men, just on the verge of maturity, who only saw the new, exotic, unattached female. I wished I had brought Regina and some of the people from the ship to the meeting with me. I had a few sticky moments where I was sure several of the young men and their elders were trying to maneuver me into some kind of semi-formal commitment, right there. Neary just hung back, my bodyguard, but making no effort to assist me. What use was he if he couldn't help me escape this tangle, along with something physically dangerous?
“My duties keep me traveling the world,” I said, taking a clue from the continuous promises that I would like living in the islands.
Did they really expect me to abandon my home and duties to settle with a man I had just met? Just because they found me fascinating and different, that didn't mean I felt the same about them and wanted to abandon all to live their lifestyle.
I swear, their hormones were already addling their brains, and maturity hadn't even appeared over the horizon for some of them.
“That will end soon,” Baergen, the oldest and most muscular of the group, said.
“Not for several years. And my place is with my uncle, on Romblu—"
“Your place is with your husband,” Nixer blurted, his eyes widening in something that could have been panic. Maybe a little guilt.
“I have no husband.” It was hard to keep a straight face. Finally, they had stopped hinting and trying to maneuver the conversation into paths that could trap me. They were saying outright what they wanted. What was wrong with males of our species, that they couldn't just say what they wanted and have done with it? I didn't think this was some sort of islander mentality or tradition that had veered off from standard Hoveni culture over the centuries.
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