Third Don: Ardulum, #3

by J. S. Fields

  Yorden held a hand out to Salice, who slid through a puddle of thick Mmnnuggl blood and moved to stand just behind Yorden. He was three for three. Religious fanatics it was, then. He’d heard enough about Neek culture, and had plenty of experience from his own youth, to know how this could play out.

  “So,” Yorden drawled, wondering how thickly he had to lay on the flowery language. “Salice and I require a…a more impressive ship. This one isn’t cutting it. Take us somewhere we can get an upgrade.” Of course, there was no guarantee the Mmnnuggls would let them go anywhere in a new ship, and there was the pesky problem of how to pay for it, but at least their reasons for not shooting him and for keeping Salice alive were becoming clear.

  “Xinar Hub is the nearest commercial spaceport,” a large sphere said from the middle of the pack. “I am Wnn, a secondary male. I will fly you there if you will discuss with us your methods of Ardulan manipulation.” The other spheres twittered in response and spun. “We are interested to learn from you, Terran Yorden Kuebrich. We would also learn to control this species.”

  He looked over at the Ardulan, hoping for some indication that she was either in on the ruse or would be willing to help him squish the rest of the Mmnnuggls and figure out how to fly the ship. She met his eyes, and while there was clear emotion in hers, Yorden couldn’t read it. He’d just have to keep improvising.

  “Sure. It’s intricate. A lot of it is the beard, really. There’s magic in body hair. You’ll have to work on that. How about we get into the details after you lay the course for Xinar?”

  “Prepare the drive for Xinar,” Wnn told the sphere near the interface in crisp Common. “Plot our exit one hour at lightspeed from the station. This will give us time to communicate with Terran Yorden Kuebrich before we release him.”

  “Before you release me and Salice,” Yorden said. “She’s mine, remember? She comes with me. Alternatively, we could just kill you all.” Yorden crossed his arms over his chest. “Your choice.”

  Wnn pushed forward through the clogged doorframe and rose to Yorden’s eye level. “As you wish, Terran Yorden Kuebrich. A release for you and your subservient Ardulan.”

  The ship jostled slightly and the star field blanked as the ship entered the tesseract. The Mmnnuggls dispersed to the black paneling, each attaching to a section and starting to vibrate. Wnn stayed in front of Yorden, but dipped slightly in height. That much Yorden understood. He’d sat through enough ceremonies with bitter herbs or candle lightings to see where this could lead. The trick would be to make sure he remained on the mystical side of Mmnnuggl dogma. If the Ardulans had fallen out of favor with a species this easily swayed to fanaticism, there was a doctrinal vacancy. Yorden had no problem filling such a position temporarily, especially if it helped get Salice and himself back to the Systems in one piece.

  Chapter 2: Eld Palace, Ardulum

  A flare is not of Ardulum.

  —Excerpt from an intra-Eld communication, second month of Arath, 3_13

  JANUARY 18TH, 2061 CE

  The andal board, freshly cut and sopping wet, slipped from Emn’s gloved hands towards the window at her feet. Emn tried to catch it near its end, but her fingers slicked over the wooly surface, and the board shattered the glass pane. The Ardulan Hearth nearest Emn cringed at the sound but did not turn back to look. Emn merely sighed and hung her head.

  “You’ll have to take that back to the glassworkers,” the Ardulan said as he spun another wood dowel into a joist connection. His short, red hair was limp with sweat. His shirt was off, and Emn could clearly see the four perfectly aligned hexagons on his left shoulder—dark veins pressing out of dark skin. He didn’t have any other marks though, unlike her. He was normal. Ardulan. She was…she was a flare, and a laboratory made one at that. The pairing might have been comical if it wasn’t so utterly depressing. “I think the roofers need the boards quickly though, so I can take the pane if you want to finish delivering the lumber. You might be better at that, anyway. Away from things that break.” The dowel smoked, indicating the success of the friction gluing, and the man turned. His hair fell into his eyes as he did so, and he rubbed at his face with dusty palms. Emn reddened and turned her face away as she hefted the board back on her shoulder.

  “I understand. Thank you very much.” Emn sidestepped the broken glass and walked briskly from the destruction and humiliation. It was midday, and the sun beat down heavily on her long-sleeved flight suit with the collar turned up to hide as much of her skin as possible. She mumbled as she walked, playing with the glove on her free hand and wishing, not for the first time, that there was some way to cover the triangular markings on her face. She could have used the face paint, she supposed, that the old flares used to hide amongst the population before…before, well, the planet moved and a bunch of flares had flattened the capital. But, that seemed like a violation of her sense of self, of everything she and Atalant had fought for over the past few months. Covering her markings was one thing. Hiding them was completely different. She was a flare—an Ardulan with more than two Talents—and she refused to be ashamed of that.

  “I have to make this work,” Emn whispered as she approached the east wall of the reconstructed Eld Palace. “This is my home. I have to make this work.”

  The man’s voice called out to her, much louder than it needed to be, given that she was only a few meters away.

  “I think you’d better take the pane, after all. It’s a good lesson—taking responsibility for our mistakes. A necessary lesson for a flare.”

  Emn pursed her lips and took a deep breath, trying to calm the stuttering in her chest. The buzzing of the dowels resumed. He didn’t need to say anything else, and there was no answer she could give that would placate him. At least he’d spoken to her. That was progress, right? If they were talking to her, at least she was a sentient being. Not an Ardulan, maybe—not yet—but not a Risalian lab toy, either.

  Emn shook off the man’s words and approached the roofing station. Here, before calling out to anyone, she took a moment to look around and settle her nerves. Ardulan men and women walked across wooden scaffolds that spanned the joists of the roof. Trees lined the construction zone. Amongst them were tall saplings in full leaf that provided partial shade to the sawyers, but to few others. Still, it was cooler than it had been in the Alliance, and despite the labor, the Ardulans smiled and joked with one another as they pieced the Eld Palace back together. There was banter—happy and effervescent in the warm sun—about Ardulum’s new home, the new Eld, and the evening’s celebrations, but the warmth of the words didn’t touch Emn.

  It was supposed to be a time of coming together. Everyone within a reasonable traveling distance of the capital was helping with the reconstruction. First dons ran water back and forth, Hearths handled the manual construction, Science Talents tweaked the designs, Aggression Talents worked on land partition for the town square, and Minds kept everything from falling down around them. The flares…the Ardulans like her did what they could. The ones that had helped Arik rebel against the Eld were all dead, but the ones who had been living—hiding—amongst the Ardulan population were trying to help. As of now, the flares were allowed to assist with manual labor, but Emn was lucky if she was permitted even that. Mostly she’d been spotting others and cleaning up. She’d watched, enviously, as some of the flares were now being trusted to use their primary Talents.

  Emn blew a strand of hair from her face and tugged the cuff of her flight suit down. If she had a primary Talent—or at least had a primary Talent the Ardulans recognized—she might have pressed to participate more. She hadn’t been born on Ardulum, though. Emn was the result of a Risalian science experiment, a genetic deviant so tinkered with that she’d manifested previously unknown Talents during her first don. She had nothing in common with these people, and she had no intention of calling more attention to her differences. Instead, she had relegated herself to supplier—to moving lumber from the sawyers to the carpenters. It was mindless work and kept her
from being in one place too long. It also kept the day moving, drawing closer and closer to evening, when she could see Atalant.

  Sweat ran down Emn’s collar, and she scrunched her shoulders in discomfort as she placed the board against the wall of the palace. A roofer called down in thanks without looking, and Emn knocked on the board in return. They’d need another twelve to finish this side, but she hadn’t taken a break yet today and her head was swimming with heat and thirst. Still, did she deserve a break? Did flares need breaks? These were maybe silly questions, she admitted to herself as she leaned back against the board, but they were the questions she saw in the Ardulans’ eyes when they looked at her. Those eyes said she deserved to sweat. She deserved this labor. She deserved to suffer.

  “Emn!”

  She jerked forward as Nicholas clapped her on the arm hard enough that she coughed. Still, his familiar voice was soothing despite his jarring entrance.

  “Nick,” she returned, conscious of how her flight suit stuck to her damp shoulder. She needed—rather, she wanted—to change clothes. Long-sleeved flight suits were not appropriate for this type of work, but wearing less… The Ardulans had not responded well the first time she’d tried, and Emn was unwilling to bear their thinly veiled insults again.

  “I thought you were working on the door frames?” Emn pushed off from the board and couldn’t help but smile at Nicholas’s sweat-stained shirt and muddied pants.

  “Naw. We ran out of jambs. I need to make some more.” He looked up at the roofers, who had burst out laughing at some joke Emn hadn’t caught. Likely she was the punch line. “Want to get some water? Looks like they’ve got things under control.”

  Emn let out a long exhale and wiped damp hair from her forehead. “Yes, I suppose I should. But I could make it another hour, maybe. I should probably wait. I have glass to clean up, anyway.” She felt heavy at the prospect of returning to face the sawyer, but it had to be done. If she skipped this, she would set all the flares back. That the Ardulan population was willing to even see them in public, much less work side by side with them, was a small miracle in of itself. Emn would not be the one to push their luck.

  She tried to turn from Nicholas, but he caught her hand and tugged her back. “I’m fine, Nick,” she said irritably. “It’s almost the end of the workday, anyway. Another hour won’t hurt.”

  Nicholas’s tone, when he responded, was biting. “If you die of dehydration, Atalant will melt this planet. I don’t care if that’s an Eld Talent or not. Get. Water.” Emn took a step back, unprepared for the firmness of his words.

  There was a crease above his brow. He’d never had that before—not that Emn had noticed—nor the lines around the corners of his mouth. His dark hair was tightly braided against his head instead of left to bounce around his face in youthful curls. Even Nicholas’s hands looked older as he rubbed at the callouses on his palm. He was right, too. Atalant’s temper was shorter than usual these days, what with the stress of the negotiations and her newfound position. Little things, like palace building politics and minor slights, could be dealt with independently.

  “Is this really what you want to be doing, Nicholas?” Emn asked.

  “Huh?” Nicholas looked startled at the question.

  “This.” Emn pointed to the sawyers just beyond. “Carpentry. Woodworking. Building a palace on a world outside the Charted Systems with two people who…who are…” She had started to say “exiles,” but that wasn’t right. She wasn’t really an exile like Atalant. Then again, Atalant had found a home here, on Ardulum, where Emn should have belonged. But, Emn didn’t belong anywhere, it seemed, and Nicholas…he didn’t fit into the equation at all.

  “It’s not your burden,” Emn mumbled. “You should be on another ship. Exploring. Learning. Not stuck in politics and reconstruction.”

  Nicholas’s expression turned sour. “You know, Atalant stopped treating me like some stupid kid months ago. I certainly don’t deserve it from you.”

  “Nicholas, I—”

  “You’re my friends,” he said, enunciating the last word. “And I’d have thought you’d value that, since I don’t care if you two turn Risalian blue or start communing with the dead or actually are gods. I like working with my hands, I like being a part of this crew, planetside or otherwise, and I don’t just ditch people when their planet turns out to be sentient and suddenly everything is work.”

  Stung, Emn hung her head. “I’m sorry, Nicholas. Of course I want you as a friend, and I’m glad you’re here.”

  Emn waited for Nicholas to respond, expecting another rebuke. When heartbeats passed and he remained quiet, she lifted her head and, to her surprise, found him with a lopsided smile.

  “You going to go get water now? Or do I have to tell Atalant you’re being as hardheaded as she used to be?”

  “Maybe one cup,” she conceded. “But do not tell Atalant.”

  Nicholas shrugged. “Suppose that depends on how much you drink.” He winked at her, and just for a moment, Emn felt laughter bubbling up from her stomach. It had been too long gone, this feeling of lightness and belonging.

  “Thank you, Nicholas,” Emn said, smiling.

  He chortled and jerked his head to the side. There was a door to their right, and Emn allowed Nicholas to lead her inside to the fully functioning palace kitchens.

  It was busy in here, too, although the noise was of a different kind from the one outside. Here there were gatois, mostly, preparing meals for the laborers and joking about the hairstyles in the old palace’s tapestries. The one at the burner closest to the door stopped stirring zir pot and stared at Emn for a long moment before nodding and resuming conversation.

  “Can we get some water?” Nicholas asked. “Two cups, but count on refills.”

  “Of course.” A gatoi poked zir head into the cooling unit, pulled out a copper jug, and poured water into two tall wooden cups sitting on the countertop.

  The kitchens had been the first section of the Eld Palace to be reconstructed, and even with heavy use, the walls, floors, and counters still gleamed like they were new. Old-growth andal heartwood had been used for the floor, and sapwood for the counters. The contrast of black on white was harsh to Emn’s eyes, but it wasn’t her palace. She doubted Atalant had seen the kitchens yet, or even the designs for them, and wondered briefly if she would approve of the color choices.

  The gatoi turned to Nicholas and Emn, bringing Emn back from her musings. Zie handed Nicholas a cup first, with a smile, and then looked at Emn.

  Zir smile faltered. Zir hand stopped, halfway extended with the cup of water still firmly held. “Oh. A flare,” zie muttered as zir eyes widened. “I…I think this is fine. Right?” Zie looked to the other gatois for confirmation. None of them responded.

  “Of course it’s fine.” Nicholas snatched the cup from the gatoi, spilling most of the contents in the process. “She’s just as Ardulan as you are. Don’t be such babies.” He slammed the cup onto the counter and refilled it himself before handing it to Emn.

  The gatoi smiled tightly, zir eyes focused on the cup at Emn’s mouth. “It’s caution, not infantilism. She could be contagious. We still don’t know the cause of the flaring, but we do know the effect.”

  “Leave it, Nicholas.” Emn finished the water and placed the cup back down, being sure not to hand it directly to the gatoi. “Thank you for the water,” she said to the room. Nicholas again began to protest, but Emn shook her head. It wasn’t his battle to fight, and Emn was conscious of what her presence in the capital, much less the Eld Palace, represented to the Ardulan people. She didn’t speak as she walked out, back into the sunlight and laughter. Nicholas followed her out without drinking.

  “We should go swimming,” he suggested brightly. “It’s been a long day, and it would be refreshing.”

  Emn waved him away. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Nicholas. Not with me. If people found out I went into a communal body of water, there would be mass panic.”

  “Hey.
” Nicholas tugged at her sleeve. “I’ve seen the other flares at the lake. The normal Ardulans had no problem with it. They kept their distance, sure, but no one had a heart attack or anything.”

  “But I’m not one of the other flares, Nick.” Emn ran her hands through her hair and scowled. “They’re on their way to integration, and I’m a…just a…”

  “The girlfriend of the female eld,” Nicholas said. “A fact you refuse to leverage, which I don’t get.” He gestured towards the roofers. “They’ll get over it, whatever it is, eventually.”

  “It’s not that simple, Nick.” Emn looked at the ground and mumbled, “Just…go swimming. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

  “Emn—”

  “Please, Nicholas. It’s…it’s been a long day.”

  Nicholas gave a frustrated sigh and walked away with his hands in his pockets.

  I wish it could be simple, Emn thought to herself as she walked to a pile of discarded tree branches just off the main construction site. Maybe it will be, one day. Defeated for what seemed like the hundredth time, Emn let her head hang as the grove of small trees enveloped her. The area was well shaded and well avoided, her only refuge here.

  It was a few degrees cooler in the shade, but Emn’s flight suit still stuck uncomfortably to her skin. She pulled at it at her shoulders and hips and tried to drive air under the collar. It helped a little. The water had helped more. She sat down on the thickest branch she could find, the length of which shifted precariously, and tried to let the gatoi’s words roll off her instead of nestling inside her head. Everything was getting better. Slowly. The Ardulans were coming to terms with flare integration, the flares were proving they could control themselves amongst the general populace, and Atalant…

  Emn closed her eyes and leaned forward onto her knees. The branch beneath her squeaked in protest, and the entire pile rustled. Emn ignored it and further retreated into her thoughts.