by J. S. Fields
Atalant pulled back as well and pushed the Lucidity into Ardulum’s atmosphere. Plantations in the northern hemisphere…where were those? The equatorial regions were mainly full of wild forests, and the north and south poles were above the tree line. She remembered a small patch of forest near Thannon, a fishing village containing a holy andal tree she’d visited during one of her required pilgrimages. She’d start there.
Good idea. Arik must have been following her thoughts. I am getting some sense of salinity from the trees. Something else, too. The ground is hard wherever they are, more like a clay and mixed rock than sand or rich organics. Hold on…no. The survey map I just pulled of Thannon doesn’t match that soil type.
In her mind, roots ripped from the ground and a cascade of burning andal trees fell into a seemingly endless pit. Atalant felt the wind rushing through the leaves and the impact that shattered limbs like bones. The fallen would live for a while yet—for days, maybe weeks—and their pain tightened the muscles in Atalant’s back, sent her stuk production into overdrive. She felt the strange tingling across her skin that heralded her Talent use, which meant she’d probably just cooked some small part of her ship. Damn it! The console became damp, and Atalant scrambled to find purchase in the depressions as she skimmed the canopy of plantations outside of Thannon, searching for signs of smoke or a deep ravine. If only the damn trees had eyes! Real visuals instead of sensations would have made the operation a lot smoother.
What Atalant could see, however, was that the skies were clear over Thannon and in every direction. She increased the Lucidity’s speed and continued west, scanning the horizon. Hectares of andal forest—old growth, regeneration, and plantation—stretched out before her without a hint of fire. For a moment, it was easy to imagine that the heated breeze she felt across her face came from an open window in the Lucidity, the smells of resins and saps blending into a perfect bouquet of the forest. If she turned the ship to port, perhaps she would skim the top of a mixed-aged plantation with thorny berries littering the undergrowth, the ocean just beyond. Atalant inhaled deeply, as if she could smell the sweetness. A hint of trillium and bilaris fruit followed, salt stinging her face as Atalant flew her settee into the rocky lowlands of…
Her uncle’s plantation. On Neek.
Atalant landed the Lucidity in a small clearing and focused on the sensory information the andal was sending. From the tree roots, she felt the soil. Smells, merely chemicals to the trees, triggered the leaves to curl inward. In an understory alight with forest fire and trillium, the ground gave way, sending already precarious trees to their slow deaths in the ravine below. Brackish water rained from above, perhaps dropped by those who fought the fire. Brackish water with a salinity reminiscent of the tide pools she’d played in as a child, the ones Emn and Nicholas had enjoyed last year.
Atalant knew those trillium flowers, how they ran right to the ravine’s edge and over the side, covering the shale with a snowy down. She’d swung from the horizontal trees growing on the sloped earth, teased her brother when he was too scared to swing along the ledge. She’d hidden from her uncle’s Ardulan religious services in the jagged plantation rows, her wide hips concealed even by the youngest of the trees. She’d stained her mouth, her hands, and her clothes with dark berry juice, risking scrapes and cuts to find the ripest of the fruits. There was no doubt in Atalant’s mind where the andal images were coming from.
It was her uncle’s land. The Neek forests were burning. There was no choice left.
She had to return home.
Chapter 11: Ttynn
Dear family of Exile, planet Neek,
This is Captain Yorden Kuebrich, of the Mercy’s Pledge. It is with great sadness that I inform you of an accident that occurred during the events of the Crippling War. The Mercy’s Pledge was rammed by another ship, and everyone was jettisoned into space as a result. While all precautions were taken, I am afraid Exile was never recovered.
She was the best pilot I’ve ever had. The maneuvers she could pull off in an archaic pile of scrap metal were phenomenal. She was also a sincere friend to this gruffy old codger. Know that she was loved, out here in space and on the Pledge, and that her life had value and purpose. She knew you cared for her, even if you couldn’t be together.
As an aside: might want to watch the news feeds closely for a while. Stuff is up near Risal. Nothing to get worked up about, but things haven’t really settled post-war. Watch out for each other.
—Transmission from Captain Yorden Kuebrich, passenger aboard the Mmnnuggl ship Ttynn, to the family of the exiled Neek, December 15th, 2060 CE
DECEMBER 18TH, 2060 CE
“You’re a terrible liar. Has anyone ever told you that before?” Yorden tossed one of the ancient tablets to the ground and leaned his head back on clasped hands. Salice sat across from him, a thick eyebrow arched in what Yorden suspected was irritation. On the floor between them lay three more tablets, each with several playing cards displayed on the screen.
It was late. Yorden had spent most of the day walking the Mmnnuggl technicians through various hemicelluloses and their uses throughout history. Apparently, the beach balls had skipped the hemicellulose step and gone straight to cellulose. Lucky them. After that, they’d all sat down to another monotone lecture from a Cell-Tal engineer on hydrogen bonds and biometals. It was going to take weeks to get the next prototype ready to fly—apparently the second draft had disintegrated shortly after its first flight—so while the Mmnnuggls worked on ship hulls, the Risalians worked on xylan weaponry. Yorden mostly nodded at the Mmnnuggls in as distinguished a manner as he could and kept out of the way.
Now, the spheres were busy with whatever family meal they ate in the evenings and Yorden was back to his newly minted tradition: trying to teach Salice to play blackjack on the floor of Neek’s old room. Gambling was legal enough in the Systems. If he gave her the fundamentals, she could maybe have a backup method for generating some diamond rounds, if she ever wanted to strike out on her own. Not that he minded her tagging along. He had enough rounds squirreled away to support them both for a good number of years, but Salice needed some skills, and she’d turned down all his legitimate employment suggestions.
Quiet and surprisingly pithy was a long shot from Neek’s loud and obnoxious, but Salice was growing on him. Cards, however, were not growing on her.
Salice laid her tablet down on the floor and blew a raspberry.
“Well, I wanted to teach you how to do basic ship maintenance, remember? But you just kept pointing at your Talent markings and shaking your head. You already know more than I do about weaponry, and forgive me, but you’re not a stunning conversationalist.” Yorden sighed. “I don’t know what else to suggest to whittle away the evening hours while the Risalians and Nugels build an armada.”
Salice narrowed her eyes and pushed the tablet towards Yorden. He picked it up, took note of the three kings she’d collected, and shook his head. “I’m starting to get the feeling that you have an abstract concept of numbers. This is a lot more than twenty-one. There was no need to hit. You were almost perfect your first round.”
Salice grabbed the tablet back, tapped for a new card, and then smiled triumphantly when a two of clubs appeared.
“Yeah…” Yorden drawled. “Maybe we can try poker instead.”
Salice tilted her head and gave Yorden a tried look. When Yorden huffed in response, she lifted her hand and opened and closed it several times.
“You want to talk?” Yorden asked in an even tone. “Going to be pretty one-sided. Cards are a lot more interactive. What do you want me to talk about?”
The Ardulan folded her arms across her chest in a disturbing mimicry of Yorden and leaned back against the wall panel. She arranged her hands as if she were holding a ball and then smiled.
“They’re interesting enough, I suppose.” Yorden scooted up next to Salice and leaned back as well. From this vantage point in the room, he could see a curled imprint of stuk from where Neek had slept. H
opefully, she had a bed now, on Ardulum, and a lot of smug vindication to go along with it. Hopefully, Nicholas was there with her, spouting off about his moral compass and being a good-natured nuisance. And Emn would be happy, right, to be home? And Neek…
His thoughts wandered, and Yorden forced his focus back to Salice. At least she had figured out the interface panel in the cockpit well enough that he’d been able to send a tightband communication to Neek’s parents and uncle. He’d told the truth—about the explosion anyway. They didn’t need to know that Neek had found Ardulum. That would bring questions and uncomfortable truths, and he didn’t need to fuck up anyone’s religion. Dead was better. Dead was safe. Dead people didn’t get searched after and hounded. Neek deserved some damn peace for once in her life. He’d mentioned a bit about what was brewing near Risal, though. The Neek worshipped the Ardulans and had stayed well away from the Crippling War. They deserved to know if something else was brewing, especially if the intent was to wipe out their gods.
“Couple of the Nugel engineers are chatty. Can’t remember their names. Those double consonants are rough on the tongue.” Yorden wiped his nose on the back of his hand. “One of them is a little young—still has a faint pinkish tint on the tips of her ears. Another is sort of perpetually a bit more purple. I think he might be blushing every time he sees me. Heh.” He quirked his mouth. “They’re not quite sure what to do with either of us, I think. Risalians, at least, seem to have come around to you.”
Salice clacked her lips together and stared back expectantly.
Not knowing what that meant, exactly, Yorden did his best to keep the conversation afloat. “Have to be a couple hundred ships out here now on the edges of Risalian space. The Nugels know a lot of people, and a lot of those people seem to be pretty pissed off with your ancestral homeworld. That’s a lot of ships to retrofit, but man, if the Nugels manage it, Ardulum is in real trouble.”
Salice’s face fell, and she nodded slowly.
“Hey,” Yorden said, lifting her chin. “You still have the Neek, right? You could always go back there. Live like a queen, or king, or whatever.”
Salice shook her head, stood, and placed her hand on the interface. Text began to scroll across the black panel, first showing up in Mmnnuggl and then slowly translating into Common. The languages intermingled at first, so that Yorden could only make out the words “Neek” and “Systems.” As the verbs and articles became clear, Yorden’s shoulder muscles tightened. Today was December 18th, 2060, by the Terran calendar, which had been standardized across the Systems to best reflect an average daily cycle. He’d sent the communication to Neek’s family three days ago.
Now, reading the message on the screen from the Markin Council to the Risalian and Mmnnuggl fleets, he realized he’d made a mistake. A terrible mistake.
The planet Neek has officially withdrawn from the Charted Systems. Remove all Risalian sheriffs from the area and post a sentry at the entrance to the Neek Wormhole. Monitor all traffic in the Alusian System. Additional forces will be arriving shortly.
Yorden hadn’t realized how fragile a people the Neek were. His Neek, the exiled Neek, had spoken at length about her uncle and their asshole of a president. Her fall from grace. Her ejection from the planet for challenging the divinity of Ardulum. But, that had seemed… It’d seemed a little strange, but there were plenty of sheep on Earth and Mars that also overdid it religion-wise. He hadn’t thought… Well, perhaps that was the problem. He hadn’t thought. Hadn’t thought about how religious zealots reacted when their gods were challenged, although Earth had plenty of history in that arena. When that challenge came from a solitary young woman, no matter how promising a pilot, she was cast out forever. When it came from the sheriff forces of the Charted Systems, apparently the response was to leave. Withdraw. The damn planet had withdrawn from the Systems!
Salice tapped a series of commands, and a news feed replaced the report.
“Sources confirm a change in leadership on Neek. The elected president has passed and been replaced by the religious leader of the planet. Recorded dialogue from a political rally in N’lln suggests an entirely new governmental order will be installed.”
That was Neek’s uncle they were talking about, the High Priest of Neek himself. He’d just…taken over the planet. Just like that. Neek herself would shed no tears over the death of the president, especially not after what he had tried to pull with Emn and Salice and the Risalians, but her uncle in charge of the planet? God, if she ever went back there, she’d lose her shit.
Yorden needed to talk to the Markin. They’d have to pull all the Systems beings from Neek space—not that there were many, but still. If the Neek blockaded their wormhole or shut it down entirely, it could spell disaster for the Systems. They’d done it once before in Yorden’s memory. It was a year after Neek had signed on to his ship. Cell-Tal had tried to renegotiate their contract with the planet. Ran had pushed too hard. The Neek had shut down, both emotionally and physically, closing their wormhole for three whole months. There’d been no communication, no trade, and no movement. New construction across the Systems had ground to a halt without a steady supply of andal.
There were plantations now, sickly ones, on one of Risal’s moons and on several of their cutters. The Charted Systems could survive for a time on the thin plantation trees, but Neek could not be lost entirely. They needed a way to reset everything. Get the Mmnnuggls out of the Systems, get the Neek to feel secure again, and get the Risalians out of everyone’s damn business and back to what they were truly good at—cellulose engineering.
The engineer with the pink ears had estimated that it would be about a week before the next prototypes were ready for testing, which was pretty damn optimistic. It’d be another few days before the new Risalian weapons were online. The Mmnnuggls could make a reasonable attempt at Ardulum—whether that meant bombing, looting, or just scaring it—sometime in January, assuming the damn thing stayed put. The mobile nature of Ardulum had the Mmnnuggls more worked up than Emn herself, which Yorden found very amusing.
Salice disconnected from the interface, grimacing, and slid back down the wall to sit. Yorden began to pace, the dried stuk sticking to his sweaty feet.
“Shit,” he muttered as he tangled his fingers in his beard. “What do we do? Think we can get these idiots to give up their witch hunt long enough to get the Systems to settle down?”
Salice pointed in a sweeping gesture around the room and then ran three fingers through the dried stuk on the floor.
“Neek can’t help us if she is on Ardulum,” Yorden countered. “That’s the problem. We could try to figure out how to contact her, but that sort of blows our cover, and we don’t want the Nugels going off half-cocked to Ardulum with this level of buildup. Unless you’ve figured out how to send encrypted messages from a Nugel pod, we’re fucked on this end. Besides—” Yorden pointed to the ceiling. “—those other ships out there that came for the Risal meetings—the Xylnqs and whoever else—they came for blood. I’ve been watching some of the communications. The Ardulans pissed off a lot of worlds, and the Nugels can’t stop talking about Emn and what she represents. It would take a goddamned miracle to disperse this fleet and fix the situation on Neek.”
Salice let out a long puff of air, blowing a strand of hair from her face. She stood, wiped a line of dried stuk down the front of Yorden’s flight suit, and gave him a push towards the door.
Yorden pulled at his flight suit near the stain and spun back around. “Uncalled for, Salice. Now I have to wash this.”
Salice blinked and jabbed a finger at the stuk trail.
Yorden huffed. “I don’t understand what you’re trying to tell me. Something about Neek? The exiled Neek?”
Salice shook her head and put her hands on her hips.
Yorden growled. Tomorrow, he was going to speak to the Mmnnuggl medic team about fixing Salice’s voice. It might not help, since she’d failed to pick up sign language and Morse code as communication models, but
it couldn’t hurt to try. Maybe they could get a biped aboard that she would be more comfortable with. “The Neek planet?” he guessed again.
This time, Salice nodded in agreement.
“You want to send the Neek planet somewhere?” Now, Yorden was thoroughly confused. “We don’t know anything about how Ardulum travels. That technology or biology is way beyond what we’ve got to work with here. We haven’t a hope of replicating it for Neek, and it’s not like we can just contact the Ardulans and ask for the tech. We need to get Neek off of Ardulum so we can talk to her without mystical god baggage, which means we need to get her attention. I don’t know how to get just Neek’s attention, so we may have to settle for getting the planet’s attention. The only way to get Ardulum’s attention at this point would be to fuck with something they care about.”
Salice narrowed her eyes and again pushed at Yorden. Her fingertips dug into his skin through the thick flight suit fabric, and Yorden winced against them.
“Us go to Neek? Is that what you’re suggesting?”
Salice huffed and nodded.
“Are you serious?!” Yorden realized he was yelling, but didn’t care. “You want to send this whole armada to Neek, a planet with basic technology and no planetary defenses?” Yorden gestured widely. “They have, like, ten ships, Salice, and they’re settees. They’re not wormhole capable, and they sure as hell don’t have weapons. A single Risalian cutter could take that planet’s defenses out, and taking the planet out would destroy the Systems. Think of what a Nugel-led fleet with hundreds of ships would do, especially Nugels with a lot of anger and no one to inflict it upon. You can’t send a mob to Neek. If we didn’t want them to flat-out slaughter everyone from the built-up tension, they’d need something to focus on, like weapons upgrades, ship fabrication, or that kind of subtle manipulation where you toy with minds and emotions.”