by J. S. Fields
Unfortunately, Emn wasn’t anywhere he could see, and he couldn’t spend much time looking for her. He had an afternoon meeting with the Eieans that couldn’t be postponed. Maybe he could find her later, back at the inn, and have a more intimate talk than the palace grounds would allow. Arik nodded at the thought. Yes, that was a good plan. Deal with the Ardulan flares here, and Emn…talk to her alone, or maybe with Atalant. Maybe the three of them could come up with a plan to ease Emn into this world.
With that decided, Arik approached the two nearest flares. They were crouched next to the scaffold in front of him, cutting joinery for the floor joists by hand. They didn’t look up as he approached, and he didn’t blame them for it. Ignoring everyone else was likely how they got through the day.
“Hello.”
It was awkward. Arik knew it was awkward, and yet, he couldn’t really help it. There wasn’t a greeting equivalent to “sorry I made everyone even more paranoid about the flares than they already were—I’m trying to fix it, I swear.”
The flares looked up, their expressions morphing quickly from wariness to irritation. It was nice to see that he was still unremarkable to some Ardulans, but the hint of betrayal in the flares’ faces hurt.
“Eld Arik,” the shorter one said with a quick nod of his head. “Was there something we could help you with?”
“You could take a break,” Arik responded. “All of you. I know what you’re trying to do here, and you’re going to end up killing yourselves.”
The taller flare wiped her hands on her pants and stood. “We made it this far in life by working harder, being better, and ignoring the flippant comments of everyone around us. If you command us to take breaks, we will, but otherwise, we will continue on the path that led to our freedom and our equality.” She didn’t finish her thought, but Arik could see it well enough on her face. The path that led to our equality…and then you ruined it all.
“You could put some of that energy into talking to them. We’re not Ardulan to them. We have to find a way to fix that.”
The woman’s gaze turned cold as she crossed her arms. “We are not the problem, and having us help fix a palace, manually, that we could reform ourselves within a day in the name of building camaraderie, is a horrible waste of our Talents.” She jabbed a finger towards Arik. It was so unexpected that he took a step back. “If we are going to be out like this, find something useful for us to do. If they’re going to be afraid of us, at least let’s give them a reason that doesn’t involve massacring a city.”
Arik could only swallow. The only thought that came to mind was how much sense the suggestion made. Manually rebuilding a palace wasn’t going to change anything, but neither would letting the flares bring it into existence in a day. They either needed to do something awe-inspiring that would put them on the same level as the cherished gatois, or they needed to blend back in.
Arik balled his hands into the fabric of his robes as the woman returned to the scaffold and sat down in a huff. He wished, not for the first time, that he were a Hearth Talent. Of course, technically he had all the Talents—or rather, had had all the Talents before moving the planet had burned most of them away—but right now he just felt like a scared, little first don. He’d give anything, anything, to run home to his talther and bury his face in the gatoi’s shoulder. To have his father smooth his hair and tell him that everything would work out all right if he just had faith in Ardulum. To fall asleep amongst the rows of andal saplings as they whispered their dreams to him.
The communicator in Arik’s robes chirped.
“Please excuse me,” he murmured to the flares that weren’t paying a bit of attention to him. Relieved at the distraction, Arik turned, reached into his robes, and retrieved the small, flat biofilm disc. He touched his thumb to the center, and text appeared on the screen:
Immediate Reminder: Eiean meeting at 1800 hours
Upcoming Reminder: Supervise andal pruning tomorrow, before lunch break
Future Reminder: Check status of Ardulan fleet, and Ekimet and Miketh, on Neek.
Arik blinked several times as he tried to make sense of the words. The first two were his reminders—he remembered setting them. The third—where had it come from? Why would Ardulan forces be anywhere near Neek? Had someone been playing with his calendar? Frowning, Arik tapped the third reminder and brought up the time stamp and author.
Entry made: Third Month of Arath, 26_15
Author: Eld Asth
Arik’s brow furrowed. That meant…what? That Nicholas’s attempts to sync all the Eld communicators and calendars to the palace mainframe had worked, clearly, and that at least some of the old data remained. It meant, too, that ships had been sent to Neek well before the old Eld had died. That there was a fleet near Neek and…
They were still without their third eld. There were Ardulans abroad. There were always Ardulans abroad, of course, but they always came home before the move—otherwise, they risked never being able to come home at all. Which meant the only missing Ardulans were the ones on Neek. Arik rubbed his eyes and then furiously tapped a series of commands into his communicator. Names and Talents scrolled across the screen of the flight crews, the pilots, and the captains. No gatois.
Arik took a deep breath and queried for the biological data on the two leaders of the fleet. There was Miketh, a third-don female Mind Talent, specialized in piloting. Unhelpful and not what he was looking for. The last one came up, and Arik enlarged the text, taking his time to read each line.
Name: Ekimet
Talent: Hearth Talent, specialization in diplomacy
Sex: Gatoi
Don: Third—metamorphosis completed within the last cycle
A new third-don gatoi.
Relief, surprising in its suddenness, washed into Arik. This was it. He might not have solved the flare problem in a day, but this? This was even better! He shoved the communicator back into his pocket, not bothering to turn it off, and broke into a run. He ran past the flares—who called after him, concerned—past a group of gatois just coming from the kitchens, and through a cluster of sawyers bucking a log. He heard voices calling his name, inquiring if they could help, if something was wrong, but he ignored them all. He ran up the hill, his robes tangling in his legs and tripping him twice, before reaching his ship. Arik slammed himself into the pilot seat, put the thing on auto, and set his destination for Sorin.
Atalant would be there, at the inn. So would Nicholas, and maybe even Emn, since he hadn’t found her at the palace. That was good. He could break the news to them all at once: about the fleet around Neek, the marooned Ardulans, and that he had, in all likelihood, found their missing eld.
Things were finally starting to turn around.
Chapter 10: Scarlet Lucidity
My uncle was the High Priest of Neek. He might still be. I don’t know. I know if he were here with me, on this ship, as I write this, he’d suggest I follow the old formats and write poetry. The thing is, poetry and fact don’t really mix. You can write thousands of verses about Ardulum and what it meant to developing civilizations, about what it means to Neek, but that doesn’t change it from being a galactic tumbleweed of sorts. It has senses, a consciousness, and telepathy. It is no different from any other sentient being trying to find land, develop resources, and procreate. Maybe I’ll find some poetry in myself later, after I’ve had time to process everything. Right now, when I think about Ardulum, all I can think is that Ardulum brought Emn and me together against ridiculous odds. I suppose that’s worth writing about.
—Excerpt from Atalant’s Awakening
JANUARY 24TH, 2061 CE
The Scarlet Lucidity coasted just above Ardulum’s atmosphere—a Heaven Guard to heaven itself. Atalant pressed stuk-covered fingertips into the steering depressions, adjusting her course, testing the stabilizers, and getting to know the boundaries of her ship.
The acorn-shaped vessel dipped at Atalant’s command, skimming the upper atmosphere and slowing before Atalant engaged t
he thrusters and pulled it back into space. She spun the Lucidity into a loose roll and delighted in the whirring of the internal gravity drive that compensated effortlessly for the directional changes. Atalant let her consciousness meander just past the surface controls into the computer itself and marveled at the connections. She couldn’t see the cellulose weave—not like Emn could—but she could feel the thrum of the ship’s systems in the back of her mind. The interface was almost identical to one on a Neek settee, which boosted reaction times through the stuk connection. Atalant wrapped herself in the comfortable familiarity surrounding her in the plush cockpit and let her gaze idle on the planet in front of her.
Comfort gave way to restlessness. A twinge of guilt assaulted her. Could Ardulans who looked up at the sky right now see her ship? Were they wondering if another Eiean ambassador was approaching, or did they somehow know that their female eld had ended a private meeting early, commandeered a ground transport, and snuck onto her own ship? Perhaps the guards at the customs station where the crew of the Lucidity had originally landed had informed someone. Surely they had. She hadn’t taken one of the Eieans with her, either, as she was supposed to when leaving the planet. That was bound to rankle someone. The Eld robes granted Atalant a great deal of power—enough for people to not ask questions when she demanded clearance to leave the planet—but they came with a surveillance she was still settling into.
From the corner of the viewscreen, Atalant saw a pinwheel formation of Eiean ships skirt the second moon and then disappear behind it. Atalant’s hands immediately went to the console, and she entered a new heading before realizing what she was doing. Those ships were headed to check on the plantation of andal saplings, which were already thicker than her thighs after only five days of growth. Atalant was unsure whether that robustness was due to Arik’s care, the site conditions, the specific subspecies, or a mixture of all three. Scientists, both Eiean and Ardulan, were monitoring the plantation constantly. Atalant had not visited since the planting, but this morning’s report had included video of the moon’s primitive bipedal natives wandering into the plantation and sleeping there. That made sense, maybe, if she thought about it enough. She was trying not to. The intricacy of andal-biped relationships was not something she wanted to enmesh herself in right now.
Seeds for you, the andal sent. Images entered her mind of a male biped with long black hair and thin musculature. The bipeds on the moon didn’t wear clothes, which meant Atalant got a detailed view. That the andal of Ardulum knew Atalant’s taste in men was less disturbing than it could have been. At least it wasn’t compelling the Ardulan population to interbreed with the Eiean bipeds or fungi. Ardulum had suggested something akin to that when they’d first arrived, but both Atalant and Arik had firmly squashed the idea. Planting trees, Atalant could deal with. Leaving another trail of genetic cousins wandering through the galaxy searching for their gods was not going to happen. Also, she was not going to have sex with a fungus, no matter what Ardulum said.
I don’t need seeds, she returned as she put the Lucidity on auto. Atalant dropped her head back into the thick cushioning of the chair. An image of Emn in her gray dress, the one she’d so delighted in before arriving on Ardulum, danced across Atalant’s vision. The andal felt smug.
She doesn’t need seeds either. Please don’t suggest that again. How are your saplings?
Numerous answers invaded her mind as the collective consciousness allowed differing opinions to filter in. Strong, tall, hardy, happy…a hundred words filled Atalant’s head and then solidified into a fulfilled contentment.
Atalant seized the opportunity. The andal was rarely so harmonious, and if it—they—were happy, maybe they would be more willing to listen.
Our scout ships located another system this morning. It has three young planets with the same soil types, rotation, and distance from the sun as Eie. Microbial life is only just beginning to evolve, and the landmasses are completely open and devoid of competing higher-order plants. It could be a paradise, Ardulum. Atalant’s thoughts wandered for a moment to the idea of the planet itself mating with another planet, and she laughed at the ridiculousness of it before continuing. With Emn’s help, I think we could move you there. You wouldn’t have to wait on Eiean bureaucrats before seeding. A system of little saplings—think of it! What do you say?
No seeds for our Ardulans, the andal responded sadly. We care for them.
Always back to this. No matter how many times Arik and she broached the topic, the andal was stuck on reproduction for everyone involved, not just themselves. The planet seemed particularly interested in her reproduction at the moment, which was unfortunate.
You always hurry, Atalant. The words tickled in her head. This voice was distinct, deep, and brought up an image of her brother the last time she had seen him, the morning of her Heaven Guard graduation ceremony. Ardulum will find its place, in time. First, you must find your own seeds. For now, Ardulum is content.
“Yeah, but no one else is,” the pilot muttered under her breath. The distinctive voice, as well as the andal mass, slipped to the back of her mind and nestled in, nudging the wisp of Emn’s mind that was latched on there as well. A distracted image surfaced of the new Eld Palace, thick beams of andal now being sheathed in plywood so that artwork could be hung. Through Emn’s eyes, Atalant could see Nicholas, the Terran youth standing with full-grown Ardulans, friction gluing wood beams into place far down the wall, where the construction was less advanced.
Emn’s attention pulled into focus. How’s the escape going? Warmth filled Atalant’s mind. If only matter teleportation existed. That should have been an Eld ability. Or a flare ability. It didn’t really matter as long as it got Emn here.
Can’t escape from the andal, Atalant returned, more gloomily than she intended. The ship is amazing though. He flies like a settee, and I’m calm enough here that I haven’t blown anything up. How are things at the palace?
Audio bled into Atalant’s mind, joining the images. Drills and saws created a harsh background to the Ardulan voices. Hearth Talents swarmed the construction site, shirtless under the sun, the aligned hexagons on their left shoulders readily visible. A board with pin-locking joinery on one end bumped Emn’s shoulder.
“Sorry about that!” came a voice from behind. “I picked up more than I can handle, I think. Could you help…?” Emn turned around and grabbed the board. The second don to which the voice belonged stopped speaking.
“Where do you want to take it?” Emn asked. Her voice sounded tired, as if she already knew the answer but had to ask the question anyway.
“No, my mistake. It’s fine. I’ll do it. Go on and let go.” The board slipped through Emn’s fingers, and the Ardulan stumbled backwards, his eyes glued to Emn’s face. The other end of the board knocked against a sapling, and the man hastily turned around and headed towards the palace structure.
It was different to both watch the interaction and experience Emn’s emotions at the same time. A feeling of depressed otherness filled Atalant’s mind. She tried to combat it with words and emotions of her own, saying that Emn had a place on Ardulum, a place with her, but Emn’s mood stayed constant.
I can’t force them to forget, Emn. I’m sorry. It will take time, but the people will come around. I’ll come back down. We can talk then, face to face.
No, enjoy your freedom. An eld showing up at the palace will only delay construction, and we’re almost done with the ceiling joists. An image materialized of an old third-don woman with slightly stooped posture and white hair. It’s better when Corccinth is around, Emn said. Most of the Ardulans know her from her time as an Eld advisor. They trust her. When she’s around, even with her makeup off, I’m not quite so freakish.
You could meet me away from the capital, Atalant offered. I took the rest of the day off, Emn. You don’t have to deal with this alone.
Emn turned from the construction and walked into the shade of a tall andal tree. I’m not alone. Representative Hepatica is with
me for observations, though technically they should be with you since you’re off-planet. Besides, Nicholas wants me to look at the plans the Science Talents are bringing over in the afternoon. I have to stay. Maybe tonight—
Emn’s presence was cut from Atalant’s mind. The andal swirled in her place, visualized roots crowding out the pilot’s actual sight. The smell of charred wood filled her nostrils. Flames licked her skin and quilted it black.
Burning, Atalant! the collective consciousnesses of the andal screamed. Atalant felt Arik join the din as he reached out to her, helping her form a mental wall against the transmission.
Our seedlings burn! Our children burn!
The moon? Arik yelled over the voices. Did something happen to the plantation on the moon? Also, I have to talk to you, and soon. I found—
Fire! shrieked the andal. We are not adapted! Our stems cannot withstand extended flame!
Atalant pushed the surging andal away from herself and Arik. Do the saplings have unique voices yet, to you? You’ve spent more time with them than I have.
I just lifted off from Sorin. There are over one hundred sentient fungi on the inhabited moon, and close to a thousand of the bipeds, at least that I saw. If there was fire, we’d surely know. Right?
FIRE! the andal continued to wail. Save our children!
Arik’s presence thinned momentarily before he resumed talking. No reports on Ardulum of fires, either. Must be someplace rural. I can be in the southern hemisphere in ten minutes and do a low-altitude scan. Can you take the north? From the tightness the andal is projecting, I think we’re looking at plantation growth. I don’t recognize any of the dying andal, but there is fear coming from trees that are even kilometers from the burn line. You wouldn’t get that with mature, healthy trees. Old-growth andal can withstand some pretty heavy heat before it gets damaged. Killing anything over two hundred and fifty years old with fire can be next to impossible, but given enough time…