Exo

by Fonda Lee

  The roar of engines grew from a distant rumble to a wall of noise, drowning out all other sound. The cruiser ship, gleaming in the sunlight, threw an immense shadow across the field as it slowed its free fall and maneuvered to land. The air overhead vibrated madly, lifting the hairs on the back of Donovan’s neck. Slowly, carefully, the oblong vessel lowered itself to the ground. The trio of fighter craft, their spherical bodies rotating inside diamond-shaped wing frames, circled above everyone’s heads before streaking up and away, the deafening sound of their departure fading into the sky.

  Silence hung over the scene.

  The assembled crowd riffled. Zhree fins fidgeted. Light strumming mumbles rose and fell. Seeing their erze masters nervous made the humans nervous too. They exchanged glances, shifting their weight. Donovan found himself tapping his fingers against his thigh. He fought the urge to loosen the tight collar of his dress uniform. He was so close to the ship, the lingering burning smell of its landing thrusters stung his nostrils. It was the most impressive spacecraft he had ever seen. None of the intrasystem vessels and low-orbit transports that usually went in and out of the landing fields compared. Donovan marveled at its size, the elegant curve of its hull, the unfamiliar patterning that he assumed designated it as the carrier of the High Speaker.

  Donovan’s gaze traveled back across the tarmac. A small procession of zhree was approaching the ship. Administrator Seir, Soldier Werth, Builder Dor, Scientist Laah, Merchant Hess, Nurse Thet, and so on. All the zun—the speakers—of each erze. Behind them walked one human: Prime Liaison Dominick Reyes.

  Donovan’s father towered over the zhree in front of him. On the shoulders of his dark suit he wore epaulets patterned with the same Administrator markings as his rough, tanned hands—Seir’s markings. He walked, as usual, a little stiffly, but he did not seem nervous. He appeared as unconcerned as he had on the day of Donovan’s Hardening. He leaned over slightly to hear something that Builder Dor was saying to him, nodding and smiling faintly at some shared observation. The lone human in a group of zhree … it was strange to see. It was as if the man was the alien, not the other way around.

  A pang of confusing emotion went through Donovan. Fierce pride, or shame, he wasn’t sure which.

  The bottom of the High Speaker’s ship opened and a platform descended. The High Speaker stepped off, onto the field. He was tall, standing chin height on an average human man. His elaborate body pattern was different from any that Donovan had ever seen, but he was clearly the zun of a very important erze. Flanking him were six Soldiers. They drew Donovan’s eye at once. They were not his Soldiers—they were striped, of course, but the pattern was noticeably different from what Donovan saw on his master’s body or the backs of his own hands. Which meant they did not belong to his erze, nor did they answer to Soldier Werth.

  Beside him, Jet stiffened. Vic drew a quick breath. They found it disconcerting as well. For anyone growing up in Round Three, the zhree had represented such authority that it was easy to assume that Soldier Werth’s erze was the only Soldier erze, that Builder Dor’s erze encompassed all Builders, and so on. It was only later, in school, that Donovan learned that wasn’t the case. The Mur Erzen Commonwealth encompassed numerous erze of every caste: many different Administrator erze, Scientist erze, Soldier erze, and so on, not only in other Rounds in other countries on Earth but on many planets other than Earth, all the way back to Kreet, the zhree homeworld. It boggled Donovan’s mind to think that both the Round and the erze that governed his life, indeed his entire planet, were a small part of something so vast—the presence of the High Speaker and his foreign Soldiers were evidence of it.

  Administrator Seir was, Donovan’s father had told him, the most influential zhree Admininistrator on Earth; he stepped forward to greet the High Speaker, dropping his exocel respectfully so that the hull of his ring-patterned torso lay bare in the stark sunlight for a long beat. “High Speaker, welcome to Earth. Thank the Highest Erze that your journey was safe and comfortable. It is an honor to receive you on your first visit here to our humble and faraway colony.”

  “Administrator Seir, you’ve shrunken since the last time you were home. This planet’s gravity and low oxygen must not be good for one’s health.” The High Speaker’s voice was unusual. Accented. Donovan leaned in, straining to follow the conversation. There were no translation machines; most of the humans would not be able to understand what was being said.

  “One grows accustomed to it, grand zun,” said Seir.

  Each of the other zhree greeted the High Speaker in turn, dropping their armor in obeisance. At last, Seir indicated Donovan’s father. “High Speaker, this is Prime Liaison Dominick Reyes. He is the government representative for the native sentient species over the half of the continent controlled by Round Three. He is a trusted ally.”

  “On behalf of the government and people of West America, welcome to Earth, grand zun.” Dominick Reyes had no exocel to drop, so he tilted forward in a shallow bow. Administrator Seir relayed the greeting to the High Speaker.

  The High Speaker’s fins made circles of wary curiosity. “What are they called again?”

  “Humans, grand zun,” Seir replied.

  “Ah, yes. They caused a great deal of trouble at first, didn’t they?”

  “Our relations with the indigenous species have vastly improved since the settlement days, grand zun.”

  The High Speaker stretched up slightly to look at the Prime Liaison. “I do not recall this one from the history briefing I was given.”

  “No, grand zun. They do not live as long as we do. We have had three Prime Liaisons since your predecessor last visited.” He waved a limb toward the other side of the field. “Let us go into the Towers to speak further. The oxygen is higher inside and will be more comfortable for you.”

  Seir led the High Speaker forward, and Soldier Werth gave the signal for the honor guard of exos to fall in. Donovan stepped sharply into formation and found himself marching next to one of the foreign Soldiers. He could feel the stranger’s multi-directional gaze zeroing in on him. The fins twitched. The Soldier’s battle armor was impressively serrated along the rim of the body and down each limb. Donovan looked straight ahead but felt his own exocel layering on panotin.

  “These humans have exocels,” the High Speaker exclaimed.

  Administrator Seir fanned his fins with pride. “Indeed. They are our helpers. We Harden them at a young age and consider them part of our own erze. In a relatively short time, we have gone from conflict with the humans to a cooperative, even symbiotic relationship. It has proved critical to our ability to govern and maintain this outpost at the remote edge of the Commonwealth.”

  The High Speaker considered this. “They are hideous-looking creatures.”

  Seir shifted his fins in a way Donovan suspected was like stifling a frown. “Unfortunately, grand zun, that is one reason they were not initially recognized as a Class Two species. Despite their bizarre appearance, humans possess intelligence, emotional range, and social structures similar to our own. For a single-planet civilization, they are an advanced and adaptable race. Most of the erze zun here believe that in the future, significant numbers of humans could live not just on Earth but on other planets as well. Over time, they could become a Class One species.”

  They entered the antechamber of the main tower. The High Speaker took up the central position of authority, the other zhree zun encircling him in their proper positions, the Soldiers and human honor guard ringing them, and following behind, all the other subordinate zhree and humans-in-erze, who pressed back against the walls. The High Speaker gave an impatient wave of one of his limbs. “Enough about the native fauna,” he said. “Let me explain why I am here. The Commonwealth has been through an extended—I would argue, reckless—period of expansion. It is the intention of my administration to correct this. We must evaluate our most far-flung colonial holdings and make the strategic decision whether to continue supporting them.”

  A ripple of
shifting fins ran around the circle. If the zhree in the room had anticipated this, they certainly hadn’t expected the High Speaker to bring it up so immediately and directly.

  “Earth has always been of military and biological value, grand zun,” Administrator Seir replied slowly.

  “The planet is remote, difficult to supply, and continues to be a troublesome place to govern,” the High Speaker replied. “There is ongoing violent conflict with the natives, even now.”

  The Administrator thought carefully before responding. “In the initial haste to secure this planet, the first settlers made some mistakes. However, as evidenced by the many humans in this room, the situation is different now and will continue to improve. Only a small percentage of the population is still openly hostile.”

  “Let me explain, grand zun,” said Donovan’s father. “Humans often fail to maintain group solidarity over distance and generations. Even after a nation has chosen a course of action, individuals and small groups continue to act unpredictably. They do not reflect the will of the majority. Most humans desire peace and cooperation.”

  Administrator Seir began to translate the Prime Liaison’s words, but the High Speaker interrupted. “Regardless, controlling this planet continues to be a costly endeavor. Given the escalating threat by the Rii Erzen, it is time we consider withdrawing to a more defensible position.”

  No one replied at first. Not a single zhree in the room moved; they seemed stunned into stillness. Donovan wasn’t sure his comprehension of the Mur language was serving him correctly. Maybe the High Speaker’s accent had thrown him off and he’d misunderstood. Escalating threat? Withdrawing to a more defensible position? What did that mean? The only thing it could mean seemed too impossible to believe. Were the zhree … were they considering leaving?

  He wondered if shock was registering on his face because he saw his father catch his eye. The Prime Liaison gave a small, stern, barely perceptible shake of his head. Don’t let them know you understand. Donovan turned his expression stony, though the magnitude of what the High Speaker was saying made his head spin. The zhree leaving! It was exactly what the terrorists wanted, the cause his mother had abandoned him to fight for, the one thing Donovan had always believed to be an absolute impossibility. An Earth without zhree. A Sapience victory. A cooperationist disaster.

  Except that, if this “escalating threat” the High Speaker was going on about was real … any newfound human independence would be temporary.

  Donovan glanced around surreptitiously. The humans-in-erze at the perimeter of the room were shifting nervously, but their faces showed they didn’t understand. His fellow exos looked confused, worried. They were hearing the words, but they weren’t as fluent as he was and the full implication of the message wasn’t registering.

  “Grand zun.” The rhythm of Administrator Seir’s voice was entreating. “In the spirit of the Highest Erze, we must consider all options. However, the Mur Erzen chose to establish Earth as a strategic outpost. We have labored and succeeded in building a viable colony here. Earth contains rich biodiversity including an indigenous intelligent species not found anywhere else. It is a growing exporter of terraforming seed, manufactured algae strains, and luxury wood. Why would we now consider abandoning it?”

  “The Rii have become more aggressive. They have attacked two more planets, and the Mur fleet is now engaged in nearly constant skirmishes. Earth is a logical target. From its orbit, they will have access to light-plus transfer points that will allow them to encroach on Commonwealth shipping corridors.”

  “That is why we colonized Earth to begin with and why it is all the more vital that we continue to hold it.”

  “We have become too ambitious, spread ourselves too thin. There is a more practical solution. Draw the fleet back to the Hestian system. Blockade the other side of the transfer points from a position of strength. Let the Rii have this remote, ungovernable planet.”

  Administrator Seir seemed speechless for a moment. When he spoke, his trilling voice seemed muted. “The Rii are raiders, not colonizers. They will not preserve this planet, nor its many exotic native species. Earth is home to many zhree who were hatched here and will not want to give it up to the enemy.”

  “I suspect just as many will be eager to leave this hinterland and come home,” the High Speaker said, fins flattened.

  Soldier Werth cut in, fins slicing the air firmly. “With respect, grand zun, I believe Earth is militarily defensible.”

  “How so?” The High Speaker sounded dubious. “There are not enough Soldiers. The fleet cannot afford to send more out here, and hatch rates on this planet have always been low.”

  “They are improving,” Scientist Laah insisted. “With the construction of new algae farms, we have much better nutrition now. Broods have higher hatch rates.”

  “The threat from the Rii is imminent. Even if you tripled the rate, we cannot wait for another generation of hatchlings to mature.”

  “There is another way,” said Soldier Werth. “Human allies. The unaltered ones are fragile and short-lived, but the exos are not. Today, Soldiers play an increasingly minimal role in combating hostile humans; instead, human soldiers-in-erze maintain peace on the planet surface, freeing us to defend the system and its transfer points.”

  “Humans do not take long to reach adulthood,” Builder Dor added. “If we were to begin Hardening them in earnest, we could rapidly expand the complementary human force we have—not just of soldiers-in-erze but also Builders, Scientists, Nurses, Administrators, to ensure the colony’s stability and self-suffi—”

  “Hardened humans!” the High Speaker trilled so loudly his musical voice rang from the walls of the antechamber. “Perhaps being away from the homeworld for so long has sapped your reason. Let me see one of these so-called exos you are so enthusiastic about.”

  Donovan’s lean forward, his look of intense attentiveness, must’ve drawn the High Speaker’s eye because the zhree dignitary stabbed a limb in his direction. “You, human. Come here.”

  Donovan startled at the sudden command, but his feet moved him forward automatically. Swallowing nervously, he stopped in front of the High Speaker and dropped his exocel, then eased it back up to a respectful level. He felt the attention of the entire room converging on him. Donovan glanced at his father. Dominick Reyes’s face was an expressionless mask.

  The High Speaker raised two limbs. The hard foot plates opened, unsheathing three dexterous pincers each. They reached up and touched Donovan on the head, feeling the texture of his short hair, running down the landscape of his face and stopping curiously at his ears, nose, and chin, then moving down to stroke his shoulders and arms.

  Queasy heat burned in Donovan’s cheeks. Inside, he trembled from the effort of holding still, of not betraying the desire to smack away the alien hands. He knew what zhree pincers felt like: flexible, like human fingers, but slightly rough and cool, almost reptilian. This touch felt different from an exam by Nurse Therrid, though. He was being treated like a public specimen. The High Speaker tugged on the fabric of his uniform. “Why is it covered with this material?”

  “Humans use it for warmth, status signaling, and modesty,” Scientist Laah explained.

  “Take it off.”

  Donovan considered playing dumb, pretending he didn’t understand Mur. But the High Speaker gestured unambiguously, repeating himself. Donovan had no choice. His fingers slipped on the small, smooth buttons. When he’d shrugged out of his dress uniform shirt, he dropped it to the ground beside him, standing bare chested and praying silently that the High Speaker wouldn’t expect his pants to come off too. What would he do? Could he refuse? Could he turn around and leave?

  The High Speaker walked a slow circle around him. Donovan clenched his jaw; the zhree fingers were now feeling the musculature of his back and shoulders, probing the long line of exocel nodes, each touch sending a small, unpleasant jolt of sensation up his spine. The High Speaker came back around in front of him. “You can understan
d me,” he said in a low musical hum. “I can see it in those two small eyes of yours.”

  Donovan wanted to look at his father again, but he felt trapped by the High Speaker’s unblinking multi-eyed gaze. “Yes, zun,” he said, before realizing the foreigner wouldn’t understand any human language. He held up a hand and dipped it in a rough imitation of zhree fins indicating assent. It usually worked with hatchlings.

  The High Speaker pointed to Donovan’s hand. “You have been given a Soldier’s markings.”

  “Yes, zun.”

  “Are you bound to your erze, the way these Soldiers are bound to theirs?” He indicated his own retinue of guards.

  Where was this going? Why was he being questioned? “I am, zun.”

  The High Speaker noticed his glance lingering on one of the Soldiers, the one he’d been walking beside on the way in. “He makes you nervous,” the High Speaker observed. “Because he is from a foreign erze and displaying his battle armor. A natural reaction for a Soldier.” The High Speaker stepped back. “Battle-armor yourself.”

  Donovan’s exocel sprang to life so quickly he realized that he must have been holding it in check all this time. All the stress bottled up inside him, combined with his anger at being interrogated by this stranger, spilled through his system at once. Panotin leapt from his nodes, layering and encasing him in the time it took to blink. It ripped his fingers into blades and crested into serrated ridges up his arms and shoulders. It felt good. Like release. Like punching a wall really hard.

  The Soldiers surrounding the High Speaker reacted at once, fins flaring in alarm, limbs raising fearsome-looking weapons. Donovan experienced a second of delirious self-satisfaction. He’d scared Soldiers! All his life he’d answered to their authority, but these new ones, they didn’t know how things worked here, and to them, he was a large, frightening animal from a strange planet—but striped and armored as they were.