by J. S. Fields
Yorden shook his head, trying to ignore the urge to rub the Council’s need of him in Pihn’s face, even if that need was completely unfounded. “It is ridiculous for two entire species to be this worked up over one individual. Why would Emn come back here?” he reasoned. “Is one freshly minted Ardulan adult that hard to find? With the powers she has, Emn should be a fucking beacon. Besides, there is no way she wants to see more Risalians. What makes you think she is even in the Systems?”
“She’s not.” Yorden’s screen flashed to a stellar map. A purple dot lit up near the center, in a small star system. Yorden squinted to read the text. “‘Yoshin System. Species of note: the Yishin’? Where is that? What’s the purple dot…” His eyes finally focused on the tiny text below. “Ardulum? Seriously?!”
A wheezing sound came from Pihn’s neck slits. “On her way. We had confirmation of their heading upon their ship leaving Xinar Station.”
The map zoomed out, and the lettering increased in size. Yorden scanned the system names and stopped when a familiar one came into focus. “Keft? It’s a place? I know that name. Where is it?”
“Ggyynii System.”
Yorden nodded. “That’s where the Mmnnuggl homeworld is located. This is the Alliance then, is it? You got a tracker in the kid or something?”
Pihn’s image appeared back on the screen. “She’s an adult, not a child, and no, we do not. We have intelligence, like any reasonable government, even in the Alliance. Emn is in the Alliance which, consequently, is where Ardulum is currently located. She is trying to find a planet where beings can teach her to use those genetically enhanced powers of hers. What will her reach be, afterwards? How many beings will die when she really learns to unleash her Talents, in a galaxy made of cellulose? Or if she finds distaste with her new home and kills the Ardulans themselves, or their rulers?”
That…was a lot of death. Potentially. But, it didn’t stack up. Yeah, she had fried that whole Risalian cutter, but really, they’d had it coming. Besides, Neek was almost certainly with Emn, as was Nicholas, probably. Killing all the Risalian Ardulans…that must have been an accident. Killing Risalians, she’d had a reason for. And she hadn’t had Neek or Nicholas. In this case, what would be the catalyst—other than the whole enslavement and breeding and living weapons thing?
Yorden groaned and ran fingers through his beard. He didn’t like how much sense it did make, the more he thought about it.
“You really think she’d attack Risal?” Yorden asked, his voice dripping doubt he wasn’t feeling as much anymore. “You’d think she’d have already done so if it was a priority, especially if she’s as capable as you say.”
Pihn’s gaze fell to the table. “She’ll come back here. Wouldn’t you, if you had her past? Maybe she’ll just want answers, or to see the facility where she was born. Maybe she’ll want more than that. We have to be prepared. The Mmnnuggls know the Ardulans and what they are capable of. We need their help in terms of numbers. Apparently, they need our hemicellulose, although their plan is, at its heart, flawed. Andal-xylan hemicellulose cannot withstand the rigors of long-term space travel. This is an outfit for a single battle, nothing more. The Ardulans need only the time to engineer their own ships with something as simple as a battering ram, and the Mmnnuggls will be right back where they started.”
“I’m interested in finding Emn,” Yorden returned, “but not interested in wiping out the Ardulans and capturing her, which is what the Nugels have in mind, or helping the Risalians shield themselves from a mess they created. The woman has every damn right to be angry with you.” Yorden crossed his arms in front of his chest. “How do you plan on working with the Nugels, anyway? You know nothing about them. Their culture is nothing like that of the Systems. Hell, they don’t even understand the purpose of hands. That’s a lot of culture to get around.”
Pihn looked sheepishly at Yorden. “That’s why we need you—the same reason, no doubt, why the Mmnnuggls do as well. We need Mmnnuggl funds to help rebuild the Systems, of course, but we need more than that to truly secure the safety of the Charted Systems. We need assurances, and we will need whatever tech the Mmnnuggls are developing.”
If Yorden was going to be the peanut butter in a really unfortunate sandwich, he needed a better plan than trying to become some influential leader of the beach balls and then telling them to knock off their pursuit. He’d need firepower, almost certainly, or at the very least a co-conspirator.
“If you want my help, then you have to listen to me.” Yorden jabbed a finger at the screen. “I’ll negotiate this hemicellulose deal and talk to the Nugels about a partnership with you and maybe whomever else is lurking around trying to find Emn or take out Ardulum.”
Pihn sat back. “There are other species, both from the Alliance and outside, willing to join us. What exactly is it that you plan on doing, Captain Kuebrich? I can’t pitch blind faith to the Council.”
“You’ll owe me.” God, that tasted delicious. “Big. In the meantime, you, the Markin Council, will pitch reparations for the surviving Ardulans you bred, namely Salice and Emn, and the trillions of Systems beings you misled. I know Emn, more or less. What’s more important is that I know Neek. If she and Nicholas are with Emn, at the very least, your genetic monster is on a short leash. If I can prove Emn is in control and that she isn’t a wild danger to the Systems, you will hold a formal, public Council hearing and not only classify her as sentient, but also as not a threat. Same with Salice. Everyone will be able to see it, from the youngest Risalian to the backwater tree farmers on Neek. Then, Emn and Salice get to live out their lives anywhere they choose, even in the Systems, without you bugging them.”
Pihn opened hir mouth and then closed it. Xe rubbed at hir neck slits, keeping hir eyes locked on Yorden. “The Council will agree to this, I’m sure. We are determined to help right the wrongs of the previous Council. However, the Mmnnuggls—”
“You let me worry about the Nugels,” Yorden cut in. “I want the Council’s word, Markin Pihn. She and Salice walk free, judged by Charted Systems standards, not Cell-Tal’s or the late Captain Ran’s.”
“And if Emn is a danger?” Pihn whispered to the screen. “What is your contingency plan?”
“Then—” Yorden chewed on his answer for a moment before continuing. It wasn’t Emn he was concerned about. “Then, I’ll take care of it. Personally.”
Pihn raised a bushy eyebrow. “I find that hard to believe, Captain, since your pilot was rather attached to her, if the records are accurate. If Neek protected Emn, how would you proceed? Kill Neek? I think not.”
“Fuck you,” Yorden spat. “No one is killing Neek—or Nicholas, for that matter. I’ll deal with the Emn thing if needed. You have my word.” He looked away from Pihn for a fraction of a moment. “It’d be Neek taking care of it, and she would, given the right reason.” Yorden wiped his nose with two fingers and sat back in the chair. Who would take care of Neek didn’t need to be discussed. “I’ll deal with it. I’ll deal with her. You want to take this deal or not?”
Markin Pihn nodded, though hir expression remained dubious. “I do. I’ll bring this to the rest of the Council for discussion.”
Yorden shoved his hands in the pockets of his flight suit, the one he’d finally managed to find that fit amongst the dozens the Mmnnuggls had given him to pick from, and stood. “I’ll head back to the Risalian captain and put on a show. I want a real meeting with the head of Cell-Tal, soon. If we’re retrofitting ships, it needs to be done right, and I don’t trust the Nugel engineers to do it. No one knows biometal like Cell-Tal.”
“I’ll send hir a communication after we close, Captain.” Pihn’s eyes flicked up. “And Captain?”
“What?”
“I— We have worked hard to change Risalian minds about the Ardulans. Our people were wrong. The Markin should have questioned more when the original Ardulans were traded to us. Would you…would you tell Salice that we’re sorry and…we’re trying to change? I know that isn’t a l
ot, but maybe it will mean something.”
Yorden snorted. “No, I won’t. Apologies are empty without action. If you really want a chance to apologize, then you listen when I send you messages from here on out. Do what I ask you to do. You give Emn a chance to explain once she surfaces. You do all that, and then, maybe, you’ll have space to talk about forgiveness.”
“Captain Kuebrich—” Markin Pihn began.
Yorden cut the connection.
Chapter 9: Eld Palace, Ardulum
We’re proud of you, Eld Arik. So very, very proud. It was heartbreaking when you did not return from your Talent Day, but every parent knows the risks of metamorphosis. Your ascension to Eld brings us a joy we never thought we would feel again. Even your andal saplings whisper of you, son. You are in the hearts and minds of everyone we meet.
Take care of yourself and Ardulum. In regards to your request about a good time to visit, we understand the duties of your new station, so there is no need to hurry home. Of course, we will always love you, but your talther, mother, and I agree that your time is better spent with your people, and not us.
—Private communication between Eld Arik and his father, first month of Squinth 1_16
JANUARY 24TH, 2061 CE
Did it really need to be this hot at midday? Arik was already sweating, and all he’d done thus far was walk up the hill from the landing pad to the palace. He wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his Eld robes and frowned. There was no reason to be sweating, especially not over an informal visit to his future home. Of course, he was here for more than just gawking, but he’d never had a problem talking to people before and, and…they were just Ardulans! He’d been managing Eieans for weeks. His own people shouldn’t be as difficult. So, it was definitely just sweat, not nerves. Right?
He’d managed to avoid the palace reconstruction thus far. Nicholas, Atalant’s Terran friend, had mentioned flare issues on a number of occasions, but both Arik and Atalant had been too busy to deal with them firsthand. But, now that the andal saplings were planted and the Eieans were calm—for the moment, anyway—it was time to deal with old problems.
“I told you to stay home. I don’t want you anywhere near these flares. Just because some of them are controlling their Talents, doesn’t mean they all can. Look what happened to the palace! You want that to happen to you?”
Arik took a deep breath, choking back the anger and hurt that rose in his throat. He watched a first don with bright orange hair mutter a “no, Mother” before hanging his head, kicking a stone near his foot, and then walking up the path towards the old market, away from the reconstruction of the Eld Palace. His mother, a Science second don, sighed and went back to her lunch.
Arik closed his eyes for a moment. It didn’t matter that he now wore gold robes. It didn’t matter that most of his markings had burned off. It didn’t matter that he’d moved the planet, nor that flares had been living in secret with the rest of the Ardulan population and they’d been fine. It wasn’t fair, and he didn’t want to be here, dealing with this garbage again. His people needed to grow up, or he needed to grow up and learn how to ignore how much it bothered him.
Arik came the rest of the way down the hill, ignoring the stunned silences and dropped andal that followed him. Given his golden Eld robes, this was to be expected, regardless of his status as an ex-flare. He’d specifically chosen lunchtime for a visit, thinking he might be able to speak with groups of individuals in their self-segregated cliques instead of addressing every Ardulan working construction. But now, looking around at who was eating and who was still working…
He clearly had misunderstood the severity of the situation. This wasn’t old, implicit bias—this was overt ridiculousness.
Arik rubbed his fingers into his temples and looked around the palace grounds. The short sedge was dotted with small groups of “normal” Ardulans chatting and munching on andal. The flares…the flares were still working. A trio of third dons struggled with a joist on a scaffold up near the second floor. A second don was applying varnish near the main entry door, stepping aside every so often and shaking her head, like the solvent fumes were threatening to overwhelm her. When Arik looked up, he saw a handful of other flares on the west part of the roof, laying shingles. They were all sweat-stained, haggard, and too thin. Far, far too thin.
Arik walked to the nearest cluster of people—a group of Science Talents having an animated conversation about architectural designs. The conversation stalled as he drew near, and six pairs of eyes stared at him as he approached, his gold Eld robes wrapping around his legs. He still felt overly hot, especially on his face. Hopefully, the Ardulans would mistake any redness they saw for the effects of heat or exertion, rather than anger. The Eld weren’t allowed to get angry, probably.
“Are you working in shifts?” he asked the woman closest to him, although he already knew what the answer would be.
The woman jumped to her feet, straightened, and clasped her hands behind her back. “My Eld! We weren’t informed you were coming for an inspection. Would you like a tour of the progress made today?”
Arik suppressed a sigh. What he really wanted was to yell, but the Eld probably didn’t yell, either. He had to be calm and seem like he was interested in these people and their excuses, when all he really wanted was to point to his robes, raise an eyebrow, and tell them all to stop acting like first-don children. The flare thing was over. Done. Why was no one moving on? Why did he have to deal with this again?
But, calm, yes. He could do calm. If Atalant could be calm, he could definitely manage it. “I didn’t come for the palace.” He pointed to the flares on the roof. “Have they had a lunch break yet?”
The woman’s brow furrowed. “No, my Eld. They keep working through the day. No one tells them to. They do so by choice.”
“I suppose you don’t encourage them to stop, do you? Or invite them to sit with you?”
It was impossible to miss the disgust on the woman’s face, although she tried to smother it with a forced smile. Arik thought she might respond with some excuse, or even try to change the subject again, but she remained rigid and quiet.
“A flare was good enough to become an eld,” Arik said tensely. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his robes and let his head tilt to the right. He saw the mouth of one of the men open, but he cut him off, knowing exactly what he was going to say. “How and why my extra Talents left me is irrelevant. These are Ardulans, the same as you, working on the Eld Palace. Ardulum itself chose a flare and a subspecies to be the new elds. So, the next time you don’t want to invite a flare to have lunch with you, maybe consider why none of you, none of you ‘perfect’ Ardulans, were fit enough to become part of Ardulum’s new Eld.”
Jaws snapped shut. The woman stared at him, her hands now playing in the fabric of her shirt. That was one group, then, out of…how many? It was going to be a really long day.
FIVE GROUPS AND perhaps an hour later, Arik wandered into the kitchens, intent on finding cool water and shade. He’d met perhaps half the groups outside and would meet with the flares privately, in the evening, with Corccinth.
“Water, my Eld.”
A third-don gatoi handed Arik water in an andal cup. He took it with a grateful nod and downed the contents in one go. Before he had a chance to put his cup down, the gatoi offered him another, once again filled with cool water. Arik nodded and took it.
“Your talther is well?” the gatoi asked. “Zie hasn’t visited the palace since its destruction. We’ve been wondering about zir health.”
Arik blew out a long breath and put the cup down without drinking. “My talther…would prefer to be away from the palace, I think, for the time being.” Or at least as long as I might be in residence. “Zie would be happy to see you, however, if you went for a visit. Our forest lands aren’t too far outside of town.”
The gatoi stared at Arik for so long that Arik had to break eye contact. He looked up instead at the crown molding and the fresh paint. Anything to avo
id that look of pity.
“I’m sorry, Eld. This must be…difficult for zir. And you.”
Arik didn’t respond. What could he say? That all he had thought about since his Talent Day was going home and working in the andal plantations with his talther? That no matter how many marks Ardulum had removed from his skin, he was still tainted in the eyes of his family? That being an eld apparently wasn’t enough to remove the stain of the flaring?
None of it was worth saying. They all knew. Every Ardulan out there—from the flares to the Science Talents sitting on the grass with their drawings—knew that Arik would always be a flare, even if he didn’t look it. He’d died that day, in the Talent Chamber, and his family had mourned him and moved on. Even if his saplings kept calling him home, it was time for Arik to move on as well.
He left the kitchens with a curt “thank you for the water” and walked to a scaffold on the west side of the palace. Maybe he was being childish by avoiding the other flares until Corccinth’s mandatory evening meeting. Emn was here, somewhere. He could start with her, perhaps. Though, she had the added problem of being an engineered flare, and he wasn’t really sure how to deal with that. Arik imagined that if there was anything worse than being a flare in the mind of an Ardulan, it was being one made in a Risalian lab. Getting Ardulans to come to terms with her was an entirely separate issue.