by J. S. Fields
“Yes, I’m here,” zie responded, forcing eye contact.
“I can confirm that the Mmnnuggls will not move again until tomorrow. I think we should discuss defense strategies.”
Directly to Ekimet’s right, the High Priest of Neek shuffled a stack of flyers and then weighted them down with a rolled-up film. He was wearing dark-yellow pants and a blue shirt this evening, and his eyes looked hollow. Perhaps the old Eld had gotten what they wanted, in the end. Destruction didn’t have to be physical.
Or perhaps the Neek were used to such trials, and the priest would eventually move on. It was hard to determine, with a species so young. In contrast to the priest was Atalant, who had been on the planet fourteen hours and had not rested since. She was energized, perhaps even manic, in her gestures and tone. Ekimet closed zir eyes and rubbed the lids. Too many lives had been shaped and directed to this climax, and whether it was Corccinth’s doing or the andal’s, Ekimet was tired of it.
Zie looked back down at the sheet in front of zir in distaste, reading it for the third time. “I don’t care for this fungus plan, Eld Atalant. You need to rest. We can discuss this in a few hours. Morning is still seven hours away.”
“No.” Atalant snapped to attention. “We wait a few hours and they have another cellulose-free ship—or two, or ten. This plan only works now. Representative Hepatica can only do so much with non-propelling spores. A few dozen ships, we have a chance against. A few hundred, we do not.”
Miketh, who up until now had been leaning silently against the window sill, stepped forward and addressed Atalant. “My Eld, if I may?”
Atalant nodded.
“I’m a pilot. I’ve been in a settee. The ships are agile, and guerilla warfare tactics are time-tested, but I share Eld Ekimet’s concerns. The settees are weaponless and have minimal shielding. One direct hit and they’ll explode. If you send them out of the Neek atmosphere in any type of aggressive action, they won’t come back down again.”
Atalant rubbed at her forehead. Her gaze shifted subtly to her left, and Ekimet could feel the mental pull between her and the flare, Emn, tighten as they spoke to one another. Another vote for Atalant to rest, zie guessed. A flare giving lessons on self-control. It was absurd.
There was a sigh from Emn, and then Atalant turned her attention back to Ekimet. “You already sent them up there, with the Ardulan fleet. You already sent them to die. So, don’t you lecture me on morality.”
“We were brought here to die, too, Eld Atalant,” Ekimet returned in a low voice. “We’ve done the best we can with what the previous Eld gave us. There is no need to make their same mistakes.”
“I’m not. We’ve been through the plan.”
The plan. The plan that relied on a fungus and spores and decay, that relied on her faith in a tree species she didn’t believe in. Ekimet wanted to laugh at the irony.
“At least bring part of the Ardulan fleet here,” Miketh argued. “Or part of some other fleet. We have allies, after all. It would help even the numbers.”
“We’re not bringing the fleet or the planet here,” Atalant said through clenched teeth. “I need your faith, and I need the faith of the Neek. My captain—former captain—made a show of his illicit runs for years, and piloting skill was a big part of that. I know showmanship. I know what I’m doing. Chaos is an amazing ally to a small force like ours. Also—” Atalant turned to Emn and smiled at her. “—we do have one advantage. Emn’s microkinetic abilities are unmatched, even by the flares of Ardulum.”
“Except, some of their ships have no cellulose,” Miketh argued. “What good will it do? She can’t touch them.”
But she could accidentally destroy the settees, Ekimet thought to zirself, although zie knew better. Corccinth had apparently learned control. Emn could have as well, despite being incredibly young. On a planet filled with cellulose, what would rein Emn in if she lost focus?
“She doesn’t need to do anything to their ships. She just needs to make it impossible for them to move without getting damaged,” Nicholas said, walking to the bay window, and pointed up at the sky. “The wreckage of the first Ardulan fleet is circling Neek, caught in orbit. There are also hundreds of hectares of dead andal trees. The fuel is here. The ammunition is up there. And Emn,” he said emphatically, “is capable of using all of it.”
The statement hit Ekimet like a punch. Even Corccinth wouldn’t be able to direct that much energy, and she was nearly past her third don. An eld couldn’t handle that much energy. “You want her to bind that much cellulose?” zie asked incredulously. “Do you have any idea the hundreds of things that could go wrong? She could eliminate every remaining tree on this planet. She could obliterate every cellulose ship in orbit.” She could kill every Neek here, and every Ardulan. You think cellulose is just in andal trees? Anyone who has eaten a vegetable in the past two days is at risk, zie sent to the other eld.
A coolness settled in Ekimet’s mind in response to zir nonverbal statement. “The events on Ardulum of the recent past will not be repeated. I promise you. We need Emn for this, even with the risks.”
“You’re making decisions for millions of people,” Ekimet argued. “You’re toying with people’s lives.”
“Isn’t that what Eld do?” Atalant shot back. “Isn’t that what Ardulum does? None of those ships have the maneuverability of a settee. That’s always the trade-off with the bigger drives of the Risalian ships. The small Mmnnuggls pods might have been comparable when they were still made with cellulose, but hemicellulose isn’t the same thing at all. It doesn’t function even remotely similarly—that’s why everyone stopped using it. That shitty polymer will slow them down and make their reactions sluggish. Their weapons are their biggest advantage, but if they can’t get a clear shot, they can’t do anything. They still have plenty of cellulose ships with cellulose weapons, and those are a problem, but hopefully, they would be too terrified of Emn to get close.”
Atalant smoothed Emn’s arm in a gesture that seemed completely out of place given the topic of conversation. “Emn will break apart the remains of the Ardulan fleet into four- to five-meter flotsam. We don’t have a lot of ships to work with, but the area is already tightly packed with the armada. Pieces of twenty-eight Ardulan ships in a mass of over hundreds of others, even expanded as a ring or cloud, is enough. It’s enough to confuse auto targeting and will be very difficult to maneuver around—impossible if you’re a bigger ship. She and I will stay linked for the duration of the battle—”
“You’re going up there in the Lucidity?” Ekimet cut in, slamming zir fists on the table. “You want to toy with your own population, Atalant, then that is your right as their representative. But when you put your own life at stake, you threaten Ardulum.” Reconsider this! zie sent privately. Firefighting was safe. You were protected by Emn, and fire does little damage to a settee. But this! We cannot lose you. Your place is with me on the planet. You can direct just as easily from this temple as you can from a settee or ship.
“I’ve considered it plenty,” Atalant sniped back. “The andal will just pick another eld. No great loss. With me up there and the Lucidity’s sensor range, I can show Emn how to direct the projectiles. This will maximize confusion, possibly cause some damage, while the Heaven Guard bait Mmnnuggl ships.”
Miketh cut in. “If you think you’re just going to get skilled pilots to fly into one another—”
Atalant cut Miketh off. “Run into one another, burn up in the atmosphere, I don’t care. The point is confusion, and the illusion of magical, untouchable settees. If they can’t target the settees, they can’t hit us. If they can’t chase us, they can’t get close enough to fire on us. If we can create enough misdirection, create the illusion that Ardulans are still untouchable, we create doubt.” Atalant smiled and leaned back. “Doubt lends itself to fantasy. Fantasy is the backbone of religion. If we can get them doubting—even just a little—if we can worm into their heads that they are attacking gods who have some divine smiting power,
then we have a real chance of saving Neek and then, too, Ardulum. Our final blow will drive that doubt home for the Neek, the Mmnnuggls, and anyone else who has any inclination towards the Ardulan religion.”
And reset everything back the way it was, Ekimet thought as zie looked at the high priest. It wouldn’t bring this man comfort, unfortunately, but to the rest of the Neek, it might. Undoing the mess the previous Eld had made. Undoing the mistakes of the past, and possibly killing everyone in the process. It was awkward and messy and zie didn’t care for it at all. But, it was better than what the previous Eld had wanted. Better than the wholesale slaughter of the Neek people. This…this was less a suicide run and more of an ungainly long shot. This had a chance. Maybe. But, what Atalant was relying on wasn’t luck, and it certainly wasn’t science.
Arik’s voice joined the andal whisperings in Ekimet’s head, connecting directly with Ekimet for the first time. Had they managed that level of familiarity already? I agree with Atalant, Arik sent, although there was hesitation in his tone. We haven’t got another plan, and when she gets like this… Also, the andal won’t shut up about her.
Ekimet frowned and sat back in zir chair. “Despite Arik’s support, Atalant, I want you to hear yourself. There is too much reliance on timing, obfuscation, and a new flare’s ability to control herself. You’re not proposing a miracle. You are proposing divine intervention, fabricated or otherwise.”
Atalant snorted. “I’m not praying to the andal, if that’s what you’re suggesting.
“The andal never required prayer,” Ekimet said. “I am curious where this sudden faith in events turning out all right is coming from. I want you to consider what you’re suggesting. That a few parlor tricks and this sentient fungus can turn the minds of our aggressors so easily, with no real bloodshed… That you can reestablish the faith of the Neek and Mmnnuggls and the Keft and the Xylnqs…as a Neek. As a new eld. As an outsider brought to Ardulum through a series of very odd coincidences—”
Atalant smacked her fists on the table. “Damn it, we’re above this! I’m talking tactics—real tactics! This is basic guerilla warfare. We’re massively outnumbered, but more agile. We have myth on our side, as well as Emn and a very convincing way to get at the Mmnnuggl ships. We’re using our advantages. That’s not divinity—that’s practicality!”
Ekimet stared at her, then, for a long time. It went on for long enough that Atalant’s face reddened and her stuk began to thin and spread onto the table. That Atalant had been used by the andal, there was no doubt. Ekimet could feel her anger, too, and her desire to break free.
Begrudgingly, Atalant sat back and looked away. “May the andal guide us,” she said flatly. “That’s what you want to hear, right? Praise Ardulum, praise the andal, whatever.”
Surprised, Ekimet regarded her more seriously. That was a phrase from an ancient poem Corccinth had once read to zir. It had been found when zie was still a first don, etched on a piece of paper dug from a bog burial site near the fishing village of Thannon. Atalant had been reading, then, the writings of the andal religion. She didn’t believe in them, but she was using them to protect her people. Ardulum was using the Eld in the same way. Not a choice, but a service. A conscripted service, but that…Ekimet understood that all too well. Zie supposed Atalant did have a feeling for what she was playing with, even if she wasn’t ready to accept it.
“Very well, Eld Atalant. You have my support. What do you need from me?”
Atalant relaxed and placed a hand on the Terran’s shoulder. “You’ll be coordinating with Nicholas. Larger debris could easily fall through the atmosphere. There could be more fires, and we have a high potential for casualties. Nicholas will help you coordinate the medics and scouts to ensure the damage is minimalized.”
“Some of the Heaven Guard pilots are wounded, Eld. If you need another pilot, I have been studying.” The youth’s voice sounded unusually high, even for a Terran.
“That violates Journey code in about thirty ways. It…” Atalant pursed her lips. “I’m officially banning you from the ships, Nicholas. That’s official, got it? We’re doing things officially now. And we never, ever, go against the official rules. Ever.”
Ekimet blinked in surprise, but caught the suppressed smile on Emn’s face and the smugness on Nicholas’s. Of course. Idiots, all of them, with their need to put themselves in danger just to prove something.
“It’s a pretty scary thing to have you up there with the Guard, Nick,” Emn said softly. Ekimet had to strain zir ears to hear the words. “But I like that we’re all in this, together. None of us get to be shielded. It’s right, somehow.”
Nicholas nodded solemnly. “All in or all out. That’s how crews work. In fact, the only one of us left without a job is you, Miketh.”
“Miketh will come with me,” Emn said. Ekimet caught the tremor in her voice, and zir doubt returned. “I may need a—a check. A cornerstone of some form, or even someone to break my connections to the cellulose. I’ve never attempted anything on this scale before. I’ll be binding entire forests, directing awesome amounts of power. Not channeling it into myself, but starting the chain reactions and then directing them. All that burned and plucked andal will have a use in this.”
“A kill switch?” Miketh asked incredulously. She turned from Emn to Atalant. “You want me to off your girlfriend if she gets out of control?”
“No!” Atalant’s voice was firm. “Just act as a physical tether. Make sure she drinks—eats, if necessary. Emn will stay connected to me for the entire duration. I will not allow her to spin out of control.”
Ekimet had zir reservations about that statement, too. Still, trusting in Atalant meant trusting Corccinth and the other flares. It was a leap of faith, one way or another.
“Where will we be for this?” Miketh asked. “Near one of the burns?”
“We’ll go at the same time as the other flight,” Emn told her. “We are heading to a burn site, just not one close by. I’ll show you on a map later.”
“We’ve only the andal left to consult, then.” Ekimet gestured to Atalant, although zie already knew how the andal would answer. The asking was only a formality. “Do you want to initiate the question?”
“I got it,” Atalant huffed. She closed her eyes, and as she did so, Ekimet felt her snap into zir own head. Arik was already there, equally confused. The three minds linked, and Ekimet and Arik, quite unwillingly, were drawn into Atalant’s vision. Oddly enough, Atalant didn’t seem to recognize the connection.
Atalant, the collective consciousness breathed into their minds.
Do you understand the situation here on Neek? she asked. Do you understand why the ships hover in the atmosphere?
The andal hesitated, gathering images and words together. The elds felt the old growth on Neek consult other trees neither of them recognized, consciousnesses so distant their heads spun. When the andal spoke again, the voice was older, its tone thick like syrup.
Ardulum is threatened, the voice said. It sounded like a solitary tree. Ekimet shivered in zir chair. Ardulum. This was Ardulum itself speaking. Not the minor trees that made up the shell of the planet, but the sentient core itself.
Yes, Atalant responded evenly, completely unaware to whom she was speaking. If we can perform a sort of miracle in the sky, we might save the forests of Neek. If that happens, we will certainly save Ardulum.
The vision grew darker. A picture formed in Atalant’s mind of a third-don gatoi in gold robes, zir face youthful, zir bone-white skin almost shining. Zir auburn hair was long and loose, cascading over zir shoulders. Zir fingers and toes extended into roots that trailed behind zir as zie walked.
What do you want from me, Atalant? zie asked.
Savath?! Ekimet exclaimed before zie could stop zirself. Zie sucked in a deep breath and held it, wishing zie could hold back zir tears as easily. Savath! I miss you! Are you okay? Why are you here? Do you need help? Let me help you!
The tree-Savath paid zir no attention.
Atalant’s mind jumbled in confusion as it registered Ekimet’s words and the imagery inside them. After a moment, words slipped across her mind as if unbound from her consciousness. They took letter form, coalescing near Savath. Ekimet read the words instead of hearing them.
I can’t lose my planet. I can’t lose my family. I can’t lose Emn. I have to fight for something…for stability.
The rooted figure stepped closer. Zir hair became comprised of fine root filaments and started floating about zir shoulders. A disturbing caricature of Savath. Zir finger roots braided together, crawled towards Atalant, and wound around her legs, shredding the fabric there. It looked painful, but Ekimet didn’t care. Zie would take anything—tendrils and thorns and barbs—to be close to Savath.
This time, Atalant sent a mental plea. Please protect Emn.
You have my word, Savath wisped into their minds, although no imagery followed. More roots curled around Atalant’s legs, tightened over her torso, and pinned her arms to her sides. She struggled, and the roots tightened. Ekimet called out, again and again and again, but Savath paid zir no attention. The roots went around Atalant’s throat, over her mouth and nose, and then finally engulfed her in blackness.
Ekimet was thrown from the vision.
Zie opened zir eyes to find Atalant on the floor, screaming hoarsely. Emn was calling her name and shaking her shoulders. The high priest was at Ekimet’s side, offering zir a glass of water. Zie reached for it with a trembling hand. Zir eyes felt swollen, and there was dampness on zir cheeks. It had only been a vision. It hadn’t really been Savath. But that didn’t make seeing the eld, Ekimet’s dearest friend, any easier.
“Ekimet?” the priest asked in a low tone. “Are you all right?”