Mourning Ember

by Odin Oxthorn

  One by one, hands pressed against his arms to pin them to his back. He flailed his shoulders and hips wildly, giving the attackers a struggle to maintain their grip. Managing to untangle a leg, he kicked around and dropped a soldier, crumpling their stance with a hit to the back of the knee. Panic flooded his muscles as his movements became more frantic, wriggling in wormlike undulations to propel himself forward.

  He gained traction and managed to slide a knee up in front of him, hoisting his trunk up to stabilize himself. A swift punch to the head paralyzed his motions, and he slumped onto the cold, unforgiving floor. He shook at the dizzying motion, trying to order his unresponsive hand to wipe away the blood trickling over his eyes.

  Strike upon strike burst across his flesh as he was raised into the air, his stomach exposed to the onslaught. The grainy texture of their suits left pocked abrasions against his skin. His image was programmed to appear as Ara’yulthr, and they knew where to strike, avoiding his chitinous plating to hit soft flesh, hard enough to shudder internal organs.

  As each excruciating second elapsed, his nerves disintegrated to numbness, his mind brought elsewhere, looking down on him from the arena ceiling. Then, at last, he was released, his battered form dropping to the solid ground.

  The group dispersed when he hit the ground, searching for their next opponent. Abberon appeared again, kneeling at his ragged frame.

  “How are you feeling?”

  Bellanar raised an arm to swat at the light, trying to wisp away the taunting creature.

  Abberon smiled and vanished. “I see.”

  His body demanded air while his chest chastised him for disturbing his bruised flesh. Against his body’s wishes, he pulled himself up. The warm flow of fluids trickled over his skin. He raised to one knee, bracing his movement with a shaking arm. With a final burst of defiance, he braced to a stand, swaying side to side in a vain attempt to stabilize his posture.

  “Interesting,” Abberon mused. “But let’s see how long you can last.”

  A snap of pain jabbed his back, and his suffering began to subside. He dropped to his knees, left to rest in a sea of blackness that overtook his senses.

  ##6.1##

  The estate of the Councilor of Science was the size of someone who was influential. However, most of the floor plan was occupied by the colossal greenhouse that practically consumed the miniscule living hovel attached. From outside, Nara could hear the workings of maintenance machines droning amid the artificial forestry.

  She approached the steps of the house and pressed the intercom of the front door, then lowered her hands to her hips as she waited for the scrutiny of the cameras.

  The outline of the door pulsed red, denying her admission. She restrained her scowl as she persisted, rapping a knuckle on the door. Another red pulse. Releasing an exasperated grumble, she slammed her fist in an agitated pace, not wavering until the door begrudgingly opened.

  “In the conservatory,” a voice called from the intercom.

  Nara made her way around the corner, traversing through a set of translucent doors. A chill danced over her skin as the diligent environment controls performed their duty, preserving the quality of life for the green inhabitants. She could see the other quadrants isolated from this area through the steaming droplets glistening down the panes of glass.

  Monitoring machines hummed and beeped, conversing with their coordinators as they zipped over impeccably organized rainbows of leaves and flowers. Reinforced steel trellises lined the back walls, providing rigorous playgrounds for vines to climb.

  She made her way through the back doors, revealing a much more natural arena of greenery. Chaos was permitted to sow its havoc around the land, providing an attractive scene to the observer, most likely the councilor’s personal collection.

  Curtains of vine trees wept on the ground, shedding tiny barbed leaves on the plush moss-coated earth. A pond murmured in the far corner, bleeding out into a delicate stream running along the room. Buds of icy blue pads floated blissfully along the channel, too idle to open their flowers as they bounced between smooth pebbles poking out from the water’s surface.

  Hints of fauna buzzed around the ecosystem. Glittering insects and flamboyant scale-armored birds ran their fervent errands, jumping between vibrant blossoms to gain sustenance.

  “Savant Elam, you certainly live up to your name.” The councilor had their back turned to her, kneeling to check over a large fan-shaped leaf. “Have you not slept since we last spoke?”

  She ignored the snide remark, folding her arms across her chest. “This is not a business visit. I simply want to know more about the individual I am addressing.”

  They stood and turned to her, revealing glittering violet eyes. Age had not quite taken a toll on their skin despite the number of years laboring the earth. The only distinguishing feature on their face was a deep crimson beauty mark beneath their eye, shaped like a crescent moon. “Hmph. Is that so?”

  “I do not even know your name.”

  “You can pull it up in the records,” they retorted. Nara stiffened her stance at their dismissal, her shoulders straightening as eyes narrowed. With a sigh, they conceded. “Torel. Head of Agriculture Science.”

  “Pleasure.”

  Torel scoffed, flipping their long navy hair over their shoulder. “I am sure of it.”

  Nara stood silently in the buzzing atmosphere, glaring at them expectantly.

  “Fine,” they grumbled and waltzed into the frigid testing room. “I cannot speak long. I am in the middle of a cycle iteration and I need to compile the results before next shift break.”

  “What are you working on?” She peered at the rows of steel pots, watching the numbers on the displays inquisitively.

  They flashed a look of mistrust, eyeing Nara up and down. “We have been working on a way to speed up the growth cycles of essential crops, but we are running into a few obstacles.”

  “Like?”

  “Are you sure you are not here on business?” Torel wrinkled their nose. “I find your inquiry suspect.”

  “I just wish to gain a perspective.” She rubbed her chin pensively, fixated on the spiny trunk of a sapling. “Of what you have to gain or lose in the present discussions.”

  “I see.”

  Nara straightened and turned to them. “You don’t like my involvement in the Council. Why?”

  They drummed their fingers on their tablet. “Your reputation is explosive. You have no respect for order and priority. You take what has been established and undermine every command to cease. Hasty and impulsive.”

  Nara folded her arms, waiting as the councilor processed their analysis.

  “And yet…” They ground their jaw as thoughts manifested. “You are somehow right. Anyone else acting this way would leave ruin and chaos in their wake. But you…”

  “And that irritates you.”

  Torel closed their eyes. “It is so hard to maintain order. Just to have an upsurge like you waiting in the winds.”

  “Life is messy.” Nara scoffed. “Order is unnatural. Surely, your experiments can affirm that.”

  “What my experiments tell me,” their tone danced over a growl, “is that what cannot be put in order has not simply had all options exhausted. Eventually, a solution can be found.”

  “Tell me, do I have a solution?” A smirk teased at the corner of her lips. “After all, is that not why I am here? Or do you know something about me that I do not?”

  “I must admit, I am surprised to see you at my door.” They let out a defeated exhale. “I had not met you when you were a reigning warlord, so I hastily filled gaps that I did not witness. Perhaps you grew up in your time away. Regardless, it is none of my business what you were in the past. Just what you do in the future.”

  “Is that your true opinion?”

  “Look, I do not want conflict as much as the others. What I do want is to be done with all of this GaPFed business so we can get back to work. It has been hard enough picking up the slac
k while everyone else is glued to their star-charts.”

  Nara leaned against a console, her head tilted curiously. “You don’t feel the same way as the other scientists?”

  “Yes, the aspect of space travel is exciting, but there is so much to be done to prepare. No one seems to consider what we would leave behind, the work that would amass for those who do not wish to desert the homeworld.” Torel scrubbed their face in agitation. “And because of all this, we are decades behind in production. At this rate, we will need to start recruiting from the military ranks, and they won’t be thrilled about that.”

  “I can speak with them, if you’d like.”

  “I don’t think that would do more than delay the inevitable.”

  “True.” Nara shrugged. “But at least you can say that you tried.”

  Torel did not seem to share the sentiment. They buried their nose in their notes, storming away from her. “If you will excuse me, I need to finish this report.”

  Nara bowed her head. “As you wish.”

  She removed herself from the estate and headed back to her apartment.

  ##6.2 ##

  Well, that didn’t go so well, Nara thought as she entered her quarters. But it did go…

  Garrett was hunched over the dining table, brows furrowed in scrutiny as he passed studious fingers between a tablet and a traditionally bound book. He looked up and greeted her warmly.

  “Ah! You’re back. I was just about to get dinner. Have you eaten at all?” He scooted out of his chair and moved to the computer in the kitchen.

  “No.” Food hadn’t even crossed her mind, and before she knew it, her body slid into a dining chair. The scent of starch-crusted meat and pickled vegetation tickled her nose, triggering a pang of desire stabbing her abdomen.

  “I hope this is all right,” Garrett offered. “The description sounded good, so I figured I would try it.”

  “It’s fine.” She picked up a utensil and poked at the meal. “What have you been working on?”

  “This?” He gestured at the tablet. “Oh, Scribe Prism brought me materials to learn how to read. I wanted to try and figure things out for myself first before asking anyone else.”

  “Ah.”

  He speared a morsel of the protein and inspected it. “Uh… what kind of meat is this?”

  “It isn’t.”

  “Rephrase—what is it supposed to emulate?”

  Nara distracted herself with the task of cutting up the croquette in smaller than bite-size pieces. “A large raptor that hunts in trees. Eats lizards and other avian.”

  “Ah. A large bird.”

  “Snake-bird.”

  Garrett’s eyes widened at the imagery as he took a timid bite, thankful he was on this end of the food chain. The meat was soft with a pleasant amount of chew, with a slightly sweet aftertaste of grasses and herbs. He wasn’t sure if it was because of the diet of the creature or whatever they used to synthesize the proteins that offered this flavor.

  The breading was crisp and airy with hints of buttery silkiness that melded with the meat. It was not the least bit soggy despite the instant preparation of the meal. The pickled vegetation was tart and fizzy, with a mellow heat that whittled away the heaviness of the main course.

  “How are the lessons going?” Nara managed to scrape together the motivation to pick up a piece and take a bite.

  “I, oh.” The inquiry was strange to him, as if it was taking a considerable amount of effort for her to take an interest. “I think I am managing. There is a lot to take in. Your culture is very different from Arcadia’s.”

  “Mmm.”

  “The script is very fluid, yet structured. It’s hard to describe. Like art with a purpose.”

  “That’s an interesting way of putting it.”

  “Makes it hard to decipher at times. Especially with all the new punctuation.” He ran a finger across the scribbled over lines in his book. It seemed a shame to deface something so beautiful with his clumsy shorthand. But this gift was meant to be used. He rotated the book around for Nara to see. “Like here.”

  “Strength is in what we bake.” She raised an eye. “You’ve forgotten the ophtet punctuation mark above that sixth character. See. Not bake.”

  “What does that do?”

  “Tells a speaker when to switch vocals. You don’t have that anatomy.”

  “Yeah, Prism told me.” He scratched his forehead. “There are so many phonetics here. And they bled so smoothly. It’s as if you sing instead of speak.”

  Nara shrugged. “I didn’t invent it.”

  “Well, no.”

  The sands of time crawled through a passage too narrow for each grain as they continued their meal. Both were too frazzled to bolster each other’s well-being, already grasping the dour answers. And neither wanted to pause for healing, the distractions of work providing the comforting placebo of duty.

  “I think I am going to turn in,” Garrett announced, clearing his plate. “I assume I won’t see you when I get up?”

  Nara shook her head. “Probably not.”

  “I see. Well, before I go, let me get you something to take on the road.” He scurried to the food generator, selecting a few dry goods and nutrient rich portables. The machine wrapped it up nicely in a travel parcel, sealed with a perforated seam. He took the product and set it on the table, then headed up the stairs to his room.

  “Goodnight,” he called down to her.

  “’Night,” she managed, staring vacantly at the offering.

  ##6.3##

  Garrett woke up groggy and stiff. He pulled up a clock on his NetComm, finding he’d had a solid ten-hour nap. Jetlag still lurked its ugly head, the scale of change pressing on him with a twelve-ton weight. What time was it on Arcadia?

  As much as his brain told him otherwise, it was not, in fact, a new day. Instead, it was what was referred to as Third Cycle, evening, rather, or its closest equivalent. Get up. Work. Take a nap. Work more. Take another Nap. Work, probably, though off time was implied. Then sleep fully before repeating the cycle again. And some didn’t even nap when their sleep cycles where scheduled. How the hell did they manage it?

  He pulled himself out of bed and shambled to the kitchen to prepare a snack. A slight smile tugged at his face as he glanced at the table, finding the parcel of food had disappeared with Nara’s absence. But his attitude swiftly changed when his eyes met with the pile of books and writing instruments.

  Work, and more work, he lamented as he stuffed an impeccably flaky jam-filled pastry in his mouth. Is that all people do here? Work and sleep?

  He went back upstairs to collect himself, shrugging on a new set of uniform greys while holding the confection between his teeth. The mirror on the wall displayed a collection of crumbs over the sharply pressed suiting, and he brushed them away irritably. A tiny machine spawned from the floor, consuming the refuse before melting back into its home in the ground.

  Efficiency and sterility, he sighed. Is downtime even *in* their vocabulary? Maybe I will go and find out for myself.

  He exited the apartment, only to bump into Fariem buzzing around the lab.

  “Garrett!” they barked, snapping a finger. “Can you do math?”

  “Uh…” He jumped back, blindsided by the question. “That, uh, that really depends on your definition of math. I can probably give you the slope of a curve if I had a few minutes, but if you are looking to multiply matrices or find the derivative of an integral, I am afraid I hadn’t done that in… a while.”

  Fariem scrunched their face and shook their hands in dismissal. “Stop babbling. Can you count to 100?”

  “Yes?”

  “Good. Come with me.” Fariem beckoned and led him to a counter. They poked and calibrated an electronic device, its optics focused on a singular point in the center of a white plastic tray. “Look here and you will find a white square broken up by a numbered grid. I want you to count the number of red organisms and green organisms you see in each square and record them on
the computer.”

  “Uh, sure.” So much for downtime. He peered inside the instrument and found hundreds of tiny spots of red and green stars flagellating in a rhythmic dance across the screen.

  He settled into the task stool and began mouthing off numbers as he started from the top left corner of the grid. He moved away from the instrument to record the number on the tablet, only to look back and see the critters had shifted.

  “Ah, shit.” It took a while to develop an efficient method, counting the dots while writing down the numbers without glancing at the tablet, forsaking the guidelines on the pad. He began to sink into the flow of productivity until the hairs started to rise on the back of his neck.

  “Aww, master likes you!” The voice of Syf lashed across his brain.

  “Gah! I…” He caught his breath and glared. “Can I help you?”

  Syf delicately slid a cup of steaming broth toward him. “I just thought you might want something to help you focus.”

  “How… thoughtful.” It took every scrap of energy to suppress his irritation and startlement.

  Syf lowered their eyes to his wrist. “Ooh, what is that?”

  “My NetComm?” Garrett withdrew his arm. “It’s a personal computer.”

  “Can I see it?” They shot an eager hand forward. “Pretty please? I work so far away from the borders and I don’t usually get the chance to look at human technology.”

  Garrett hesitantly reached an arm out, only to have the cold grasp of Syf’s fingers delicately pluck the clasp open.

  “Oh, how fascinating!” Their eyes glittered as they pulled the device to their face, scrutinizing the interface with experimental taps.

  “I…uhm.”

  “Syf! Let them work,” Fariem scolded and shooed the scoundrel away.

  Garrett watched in disbelief as they scurried off. “I’ll get that back later, then.”