Second Don: Ardulum, Book 2 Read online

  Hoping that the issue would die where it stood, Emn sent, I’m not a child anymore, Neek. I can define my own limits. We won’t get far outside the Systems without using the generator or stumbling upon a new wormhole.

  That didn’t garner any response, even an emotional one, although Neek’s color was slowly normalizing. Instead, Neek focused on the viewscreen. As they rounded the far side of Korin, the Mmnnuggl pods came back into view, along with the Risalian cutters and skiffs. What Emn had not expected to see, however, were the other ships. Frigates, larger Mmnnuggl pods, galactic liners, and cutters, all massed behind the moon. Aside from the pods and Risalian ships, Emn didn’t recognize any of the crafts. The scanners told her there were over one hundred ships present. Looking out the viewscreen, that seemed like an understatement.

  “Xylnqs, Astorians, Wens, Nugels, and four others I can’t hope to pronounce, but a few I recognize from the war.” Emn dictated the names as they came through the interface. When she tried to dig deeper, however, her scans were rebuffed. Since some of the ships were Mmnnuggl as well, there had to be a way to reach their databases through the link in the small pod, but Emn was too exhausted to trace the connection.

  “I don’t think following was such a good idea. Where are they from?” Nicholas breathed. “If they’re from outside the Systems, how did they get here? Why are the Risalians allowing this?”

  “They’re weaponized,” Emn murmured. She didn’t need a scan to tell her that—she could see the laser ports mounted to the ships. “All of them are, including the Risalian ships. That includes the Risalian transports.”

  “But why?” Nicholas asked. “The Crippling War is over. The Nugels lost. They should be heading back to the Alliance with their tails between their legs.” He pointed to a Risalian transport in the upper-right corner of the screen. “There’s no reason to weaponize anything. The war is over.”

  Neek wrapped her arms around her chest and shook her head. She walked to the viewscreen, let her fingers glide across the fleets, and then paused on a Risalian cutter.

  “Emn, can you give us any additional information on the fleet?”

  Reluctantly, Emn sank into the pod’s computer. Fatigue batted at the edges of her mind, and she could feel a sticky wetness gathering in her inner ear. When she focused the scan, she reinforced it with a touch of her own energy.

  This time, a travel log pinged back from a tiny Wen ship that floated just starboard of them. Hoping it would be enough to satisfy Neek, Emn read the entire script aloud. “I have a Wen travel log,” she said through the exhausted haze that was settling over her mind. “Last stop before this, Wen homeworld of Querl. Before that, Xinar Hub. Before that, the Keft homeworld of—”

  “Wait. Stop.” Neek’s hand was on Emn’s shoulder a moment later. Her grip was uncomfortably tight. “You said Keft?”

  “Yes,” Emn confirmed. “I can’t do any more, Neek. I’m exhausted.”

  The hand slid from Emn’s shoulder, and suddenly Neek’s mind was alight with excitement. “We have coordinates though, right? From the log?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  Neek clapped Nicholas on the back and grinned. “Because, as Nicholas has just seen, Keft is mentioned repeatedly in the Neek holy books. If it’s a real place, home to a group of people who may have interacted with the Ardulans, then we have our first lead.”

  “It could be an asteroid, too,” Nicholas added, but his tone was also laced with excitement. “Or a constellation or a dead planet, but you did say ‘homeworld,’ so—”

  “I get it,” Emn cut him off. She wanted to be excited, too, but she really needed to sit down.

  Neek’s eyes turned back to the viewscreen. The space around the small pod was now littered with ships, the Risalians well interspersed among them. Emn touched Neek’s mind and felt the anticipation and, just behind that, crippling concern about the ships in front of them. When Neek spoke, her words were low, almost a whisper.

  “Engage the generator, Emn. This, here, isn’t what peace looks like. It’s definitely not what treaty talks look like. If the Risalians are consorting with more aliens from outside the Systems, if something is brewing, I don’t want to know about it. We did our part. Our war is over, and we need to move on. Let’s get the hell out of here and find Ardulum.”

  Chapter 4: Research Station K47, Ardulum

  We need to schedule a meeting immediately. A situation has arisen just outside of Risalian space that needs addressing. We can no longer afford to ignore the Alliance worlds. Inform the new head of Cell-Tal and bring the best linguist we have—and make sure xe speaks Mmnnuggl.

  —Encrypted communication from the Science Sector of the Markin Council to the other council members, December 5th, 2060 CE

  ARIK PUSHED THROUGH the andal forest, wisps of other consciousnesses pulling at his mind. A crashing sound followed him. Loud voices called his name. Patches of sunlight filtered through the dense canopy, but the light wasn’t enough to keep him from stumbling over vegetation. Brightly colored birds flashed their plumage as they flew overhead, dodging in and out of the leaves and distracting Arik from the path below. He tripped, caught himself on the downed trunk of a spined palm tree, and leapt to his feet. Laughter filtered through the canopy. Arik increased his speed, trying to ignore the warmth that trickled across his wrists.

  The slope increased, and the voices behind him grew labored. Arik altered his gait and grabbed nearby trees as leverage. A primate chittered somewhere near Arik’s right. A half-eaten bilaris fruit hit his shoulder, its juices sticky and warm. Arik ducked when the primate called again and changed course, skittering along the side of the hill, away from the light. This trail would lead him to the oldest part of the andal preserve, towards the ancient groves. It was a sacred place. A safe place. Perhaps they would not follow.

  Trunks thickened as the ground flattened. His pursuers fell behind, so Arik slowed, his footsteps landing softly on the dry leaf bed. This area of the grove was familiar to him, and he picked a path across the open understory with growing confidence. Just beyond lay a thicket where the oldest andal grew in tight clumps surrounded by rings of spined tangarana trees.

  Arik avoided the tangarana, giving the spines a wide berth. When he finally spotted a game trail, he resumed running.

  The path ahead was brighter. Arik looked up to see the canopy thinning, the trees decreasing in diameter. Another few meters, and he was in a new place. A plantation. His family’s plantation. He picked his way around waist-high saplings, careful not to compact the ground near the trunks. He could no longer hear his pursuers, and when Arik looked over his shoulder, there was no forest to see. His family’s land stretched to the horizon.

  “Arik!”

  Arik turned, surprised. His talther stood over him, smiling and holding out a watering bowl. Arik reached for the bowl.

  “You’re almost grown now, Arik. Another few weeks and you could be taller than me.” His talther clasped Arik’s shoulder, the linked black circles of zir marking visible just under zir sleeve. “Your mother, father, and I—we’re so proud of you. Perhaps you will be of Science as well, like us.” His talther shaded zir eyes and looked out across the fields. “Lot of work to do today. I’m glad you’re here to help.”

  Arik poured the water from the bowl, careful to keep the stream to the channels cut into each mound of mulched earth. His toes curled into the rich soil, and he delighted in its buoyancy. If he did manifest of Science, he could stay here, on the plantation. The trees in this field, seeded from a Neek variety of slow-growing andal, had been planted just before he was born. He’d grown alongside them—these ruffled siblings—had played chasing games across their rows and hiding games amongst their foliage. Arik knew each sapling, had named each one within three hectares of where he now stood. A Science Talent could nurture these trees, grow them to adulthood. Arik could be a part of their lives for the rest of his. If he manifested another Talent, he’d almost certainly have to apprentice elsewhere. His parent
s could not afford to pay day laborers. Arik’s saplings would die.

  He looked for his talther, but the gatoi was nowhere to be seen. Zie’d probably gone to the cistern, Arik reasoned and then took careful, high steps over the mulch mounds in that direction. His pant leg snagged against something sharp, and Arik tripped, landing on the bowl.

  His leg burned. What he’d assumed was simply an overlooked berry bush was in fact a tangarana sapling. It reached only to his knees, but its long, thin spines were adult-length, and several were embedded in his leg. Wincing, Arik removed the spines and tossed them at the tree’s base. As if he had refused a gift, sheets of ants rained from its leaves, coating his calves. The tiny biting insects burrowed into his skin and crawled into his clothes, even his undergarments. Arik batted at the ants, screaming for his talther.

  There was no one to hear him. Arik began to run again, ignoring the root areas of the saplings in his desperation. Someone’s hands were grabbing him now, and Arik pulled and lunged from ripping fingers as the ants burrowed. Arik risked a look back over his shoulder. His eyes searched for what was grabbing at his arms, yanking at his feet, but he saw only the saplings and a steady stream of ants seething over the mulch.

  “WAKE UP!”

  Arik, startled, tripped over an exposed andal root, and fell onto his side. He screamed and shook his arms and legs, desperate to remove the insects. He tried to stand, but his foot was still wedged under the root. The ants took advantage of the situation. Arik watched, horrified, as rows of them streamed into the holes in his pants and into his pores, creating bumpy, moving lines inside his leg.

  Water splashed across his face. Except, that didn’t seem right. He hadn’t made it to the cistern. Another spray of water hit his face. Arik put his hands down and gripped fistfuls of soil that turned to fabric at his touch. Black dots swam across Arik’s vision before he saw that he was on a bed. His pant leg was partially rolled up, and there were small, red bumps along his skin. Not from ants, he realized, but needles. He wasn’t in a forest—he was in a room. A sterile, silver room that was barely large enough for a bed, a sanitation chamber, and a table.

  “You’re awake,” a deep voice said behind him. Arik turned to see a healer, the black circles prominent on his wrists as he jotted notes on a hard, plastic pad. The medic bent down and tapped Arik on the chin. “Open up. Let’s see how your throat is healing.”

  Bewildered, Arik’s mind raced between what appeared to be the dream he’d just been having and what he remembered from his Talent Day as the healer probed his throat with a long, flat plastic stick. That was odd, too. Arik hadn’t seen plastic without at least a partial cellulosic component in years. Where would the healer have gotten it? There wasn’t a supplier anywhere on Ardulum that would stock such a useless tool.

  “Looks normal,” the healer said as he retracted the stick. “Normal for you, anyway.” He made a quick note on his pad. “Already did the rest of the physical examination. You’ll be allowed to stay awake unless you cause trouble.” He straightened his long, white coat and pointed to the door. “This is your room. Just outside is the common area, where you are permitted to interact with the others. You are not permitted in another’s room. You are not permitted to leave the common room unless accompanied by medical staff. You are not permitted to express any Talent, for any reason. Do you understand?”

  Arik opened his mouth to ask what had happened to him, but only a tiny squeak came out. What was going on? Was he still dreaming? He pressed his fingertips against his throat, massaging his vocal chords before trying again. This time, he managed a short grunt followed by a wheezing sound.

  The healer snorted. “You can’t talk anymore, idiot. That’s what happens with people like you. Genetic problem—weak chromosomes.” The healer sighed. “Bad parenting, if you ask me. Never taught you to focus. Confused your body, making it think it could have all the Talents instead of focusing on one. Now look at you.”

  Arik looked. It took him a moment to realize he wasn’t wearing a shirt—the interwoven, geometric lines on his skin were just that condensed. Shaking, Arik turned his wrists up. His Science markings were still there, but he could see the marks for Aggression and Hearth as well. Arik grabbed at his left pant leg and pulled it up, exposing new Mind markings.

  All of them, he thought to himself, swallowing back the bile that rose in his throat. All of them, and so many more besides. What am I?

  “You’re defective,” the healer said, dispassionately. “And you’re broadcasting. Times past, the Eld would have outright terminated you, or sold you off as slave labor. Now—” The healer tapped his tablet against the wall. “—these new Eld think we might find a cure.”

  Arik was having a hard time unpacking his thoughts. Slaves weren’t used on Ardulum. Where would they have been sold? No one was ever killed on Ardulum, not even the criminals. Arik wasn’t even a criminal! His family had tended to andal plantations for generations, and while they held a great deal of land, they barely had enough liquid assets to eat regularly. They were solid sentients—law-abiding, hard-working sentients. They’d done nothing to deserve this, and neither had he.

  Arik reached for the healer, questions tumbling in his head, but before his hand could touch fabric, the healer spun and backhanded Arik across the face.

  “By order of the Eld, you are not to touch those without your condition. I am authorized to have you put down should you do so again. I have no space in my unit for troublemakers.”

  By order of the Eld? Arik’s fists unclenched. He sat back down on the bed, stunned, as the healer left the small room. If he was here by Eld dictate, there was nothing he could. The Eld were of the andal. Perhaps…perhaps he was not.

  Arik’s thoughts returned to his family. How long had he been unconscious? Where was he? Arik was supposed to have gone directly home after his ceremony. The next morning, he had been planning to perform a release treatment on the saplings, test his new Talent, and help his parents prepare the ground for the winter tree harvest. He was their only child. They needed him. He’d even promised the saplings he’d be there to watch them grow. They’d die without his care. His parents couldn’t manage the entire plantation alone. He just…he couldn’t be trapped. There had to be a way out. Surely a healer could take away some of the markings. They’d only just shown. They couldn’t be permanent.

  Help me! Arik screamed into his mind.

  Come outside, an amused voice echoed back. We can answer some of your questions.

  Arik froze. No one had spoken to him telepathically since he’d emerged from metamorphosis. All Ardulans were capable of it, even as adults, but no one actually used that skill. It was for children.

  No need to be afraid, another voice soothed. We’ve all been where you are. Just visited the Eld, I assume. Got a Talent, then a few more? Have markings all over your body?

  Arik looked down at his naked torso, felt heat rise in his cheeks, and looked around for something to wear. One shirt dangled from the edge of his bed, so he grabbed it and hastily pulled it on. Giggling wisped through his head.

  Modest, isn’t he? the first voice said.

  Oh, hush, Kisak. When you first came here, you didn’t leave your room for a week!

  Waiketh spent the first night vomiting, a third voice chimed in smugly.

  The mention of vomiting made Arik’s stomach turn. He tried to ignore it. Instead, he got up and hesitantly moved to the door, placing both hands flat upon it. The voices in his head quieted, but he could feel the pressure of their presence in his mind, each a distinctive little weight in his consciousness. It reminded him of his first don, when his mother’s mind was a constant assurance. That link had severed when he’d entered metamorphosis, and now having other Ardulans in his private thoughts felt wrong, like a violation.

  As if they had all been listening in, the presences pulled back, leaving only the softest cluster of touches. Reassured, Arik slid open the door and walked into the common area.

  Six smil
ing faces greeted him when he emerged. The other Ardulans lounged on tattered furniture, sprawled in various manners over arms of sofas, backs of recliners, and across the broad surfaces of plastic stools. All wore the same plain white pull-up pants and shirt that he wore, some with pant legs ripped shorter. On the exposed leg of a woman to his right, Arik saw a distorted likeness of his own leg markings, her translucent skin almost completely covered with geometric, black veins. Images entered his mind, each Ardulan sharing their own unique markings.

  Come and have a seat, Arik, a voice called in his head. Arik looked from one face to another, unsure of whom had spoken to him. His eyes roamed over them until he caught the eyes of a stocky woman with long, black hair patting a cushion next to herself.

  Arik walked towards the woman, watching the others as he went. Each time he made eye contact, pressure increased in his mind until he felt like the entire room was lounging not only in their seats, but on his brain as well. When he reached the woman, Arik knelt on the tattered, white cushion.

  The woman leaned in. I’m Waiketh, a second don. Came here ten years ago. I’m the most recent, next to you. Should be entering my second metamorphosis to third don any day now.

  Congratulations? Arik responded cautiously. Second metamorphosis was much more mental than physical, but surely she’d not have to undergo the change here. Her family should have been at her side, her friends, a trusted healer… She deserved the basics of sentient dignity, no matter how sick she was.

  We are our own family in here, Arik, Waiketh sent. We welcome you. She gestured to the others. We know you have a lot of questions, so we all gathered here to help answer them. We’d also like to ask you some questions, if you don’t mind. Her smile faded. We don’t get the news in here, you see. We’re completely cut off from Ardulum and the rest of the Alliance.

  No news at all? Arik let his mouth hang agape. Titha were treated better than this—they weren’t animals, for andal’s sake!