Second Don: Ardulum, Book 2 Read online

  “Why don’t we talk about this calmly?” Ekimet shouted into the crowd in the direction zie had last seen Oorpp. “If you have problems, I can take them to the Eld. Your concerns will be heard!”

  Smack—Miketh’s bag disrupted another column. Mmnnuggls fell towards Ekimet. One hit the ground at a bad angle, rolled to a stop until one ear was sticking directly towards the ceiling, and then remained still. Another hit zir in the side of the head. The jolt caused Ekimet to lose balance, and zie grabbed Miketh’s shoulder for stability. Miketh was already coiling for another hit and sprung away from Ekimet’s grasp. Ekimet fell heavily into a stack of Mmnnuggls and toppled it, their hard, round bodies bruising Ekimet’s ribcage and hips on impact. A moment later, zie felt a telltale deflation under zir hip as a Mmnnuggl collapsed in on its hollow form, oozing purple entrails onto the pavement.

  “Ekimet!” Miketh yelled over the screeching. Her last swing had gone wide as the Mmnnuggls adapted their column construction to her tactics and gave her pack a wider berth. Five additional columns approached and surrounded Miketh, cutting her off from Ekimet and closing in so tightly that she could not break free.

  “Ekimet!” Miketh screamed again. “What do we do? Talk to them! Offer them new titha, or a case of high-speed cellulose fibers. Anything!”

  Ekimet’s head felt fuzzy, and zie couldn’t seem to respond. As zie tried to get zir bearings, Mmnnuggls sat on all of zir appendages. Zie felt the ichor of the crushed Mmnnuggl absorbing into zir clothes. It was simultaneously painful and disgusting, and Ekimet had no idea what to do. Zie was no Aggression Talent. Zie had no weapons or aptitude for violence, and attempting to fight back was only killing Mmnnuggls, which certainly wasn’t helping the situation. Although there was no denying its effectiveness, violence was not a preferred method of social change. There was really nothing left to do except see what the Mmnnuggls wanted. Perhaps if their demands were met, peace could be restored.

  Miketh’s screams tapered to whimpers and then finally died out altogether. The vibrations continued, rattling Ekimet’s bones and increasing the pounding in zir head. A shrill tone began to sound from a Mmnnuggl next to Ekimet and slowly raised in pitch until Ekimet could no longer hear the note but felt the pain of it in zir ears. Another Mmnnuggl joined, and then another, their voices melding into a cacophony of stabbing pain.

  Ekimet felt a popping in both ears and then the warm flow of blood down the sides of zir head. There was silence then—blissful, soft silence despite the continued vibrations—until a large Mmnnuggl accelerated directly into Ekimet’s forehead. Then, there was only darkness.

  Chapter 7: Eld Palace, Ardulum

  I warned you about Risal. I warned you about Ggllot. This situation is entirely your fault, and you need to find a way to rectify it, or Ardulum will rectify it for you.

  —Personal communication from Advisor Corccinth to the Eld of Ardulum, Third Month of Arath, 26_15

  HER PALM FLAT against the plywood, Corccinth felt the wall move. Even through the casing, she could sense the andal roots that made up the primary structure of the Eld Palace stirring. Coming to life, it seemed—except, all the roots that made up the palace were already alive and attached to living trees. Something now made them fidget and push against their bindings. In time—perhaps a day, perhaps a week—the palace would split apart so the andal could focus on its goal. A few small roots had already meandered up through gaps in the plywood.

  “Ardulum will move soon,” Corccinth said blandly. She gave a twisting root a tap, imagining where the first large fissure in the plywood would begin, and moved from the wall towards the Eld. She’d not been in the Talent Chamber in years, as most of her meetings with the Eld were held in the flare apartment—part of a suite of specialized rooms within the center of the palace. Corccinth looked up as she walked, hoping to get the breathtaking view of the sky between domed andal branches and the cellulose-infused glass between them, but instead saw the dark carvings that loomed over the thrones. They were as tacky as she remembered.

  Frowning, Corccinth sidestepped to get a better view of the ceiling and kicked over a small wood pot. It was empty, mercifully, of the synthetic mucus, but half-filled ones just like it were scattered across the floor. Refilling the vessels should have taken less than one night. She’d had that job once, when she was barely a second don. Quality of service to the Eld had clearly declined, although with their current missteps, they probably deserved a wet hemline now and again.

  “The move will occur within the next month, I think,” Adzeek, the male eld, said. He smiled and then followed Corccinth’s eyes to the ceiling. “The andal is beautiful this time of year. We thought you might enjoy meeting in this room.” He scratched his nose and looked briefly to Savath, the gatoi eld. “I assume you received the paperwork on the new flare, Advisor Corccinth?”

  Corccinth stepped over another pot and released the fabric of her brown pants so that the hems once again brushed the floor. “I did, although I still would prefer if you let me do the transport. They’re so young.”

  “He’s fine, Corccinth,” Savath soothed. Zie moved from zir throne and sat on the floor, motioning for Corccinth to join zir. “The day’s report will be at your apartment by the time you leave this meeting. He woke up, he met the others, and he is adjusting. We put him in K47, as you requested.”

  Corccinth grumbled unintelligibly. It was the nicer of the facilities, if not the hardest to escape from—but escape was the goal, after all. The ones that managed it only did so through controlling their Talents, which meant they could be integrated back into society as upstanding citizens, if somewhat hidden. She’d need to make an appointment to visit Thannon to check the gap in the land mass that allowed ships to access the deeper ocean, and thereby the facility. K47 hadn’t had a successful flare escape in almost a year, and if the land gap was filling in, that was likely the cause. That none of the flares at K47 had the drive to escape, had no ability to focus and really plot…that she didn’t want to consider. There were always a few who had the motivation and the will to push past the barriers and find her. Learn from her. Reenter society and practice control. K47 was just…just having a dry stretch.

  “What about Ggllot?” Corccinth asked, changing the subject. Her mind didn’t need to dally in Thannon. “What about Ekimet?”

  “What about Ggllot?” Adzeek returned. His tone took on an edge. “You knew the possibilities when you suggested your grandchild for the position. Zie is the best diplomat we have, but Ggllot is lost. Ekimet’s presence there buys Ardulum the time it needs to prepare for the move.”

  Corccinth breathed out, forcing air loudly through her pierced nose. This wasn’t why she had asked for a meeting, but it was not a topic she was willing to let go. “Ekimet is not a bargaining piece. I lost my tochter to your political overreach. I’ll not lose my grandtochter. I will have Ekimet back.” Corccinth spat onto the wood floor, the phlegm landing a handspan from Savath’s knee. “Send a rescue mission.”

  Asth, the female eld, shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “Corccinth, you are invaluable to us. Your advice to the Eld…you are irreplaceable. We have overstepped many times at your request, but this…you know we cannot do this. Ardulum could request a move tomorrow. There is no time. Perhaps after the move—”

  “Perhaps after the move, Ekimet will be dead.”

  “Corccinth—”

  “No.” Corccinth’s voice lowered, became calm and dangerous. “I do not believe you speak for Ardulum on this. Ekimet is gatoi. Ekimet is Savath’s dearest friend. Ekimet will advise you in my place when I die. I have trained Ekimet from the time zie was born to be an advocate for the flares, and now, now you have a Risalian-bred flare bumbling about the galaxy, who will eventually come looking for us, and you want to rid yourself of a diplomat who could work with her? Ease her into our life? Keep her from melting the planet into cellulosic mush?” Corccinth tugged at the sleeves of her shirt and hissed through clenched teeth. “You ask it. You ask Ardulu
m if that is what it wants! You ask it!”

  Savath looked first to Asth and then Adzeek. Their shared sheepish expressions only made Corccinth’s face warmer. She balled her fists, ready to let loose a string of curses, when Savath spoke.

  “Peace, dear one. We will ask.” In her mind, the gatoi’s voice added, I have asked already, privately, but received no response. Prepare yourself for the possibility that Ardulum…that Ardulum does not work on a scale of individual lives.

  Ardulum isn’t cruel, she returned. And Ardulum is always pragmatic. Ask again. I will wait. She humphed and sat cross-legged on the floor.

  Roots just underneath the floorboards stretched, and Corccinth felt the wood at her backside ripple. The walls, the floors, even the roots in the ceiling, twisted in their casings. A week seemed generous. Ardulum could move tonight, even. It was ready for something, clearly.

  Savath’s eyes flew open. “The move,” Savath stammered, bringing Corccinth’s attention back to the Eld. The gatoi tried to get to zir feet but became tangled in the bottom of zir robe and fell clumsily back to the floor. Asth and Adzeek knelt to help the gatoi, but Savath slid zir hands under zir trembling legs.

  When zie spoke again, Savath’s voice was soft and hesitant. “You’ve worked so hard, Corccinth, to reintegrate the flares, but…there’s…are too many of them. Ardulum assures me that Ekimet is not forgotten, but the planet has officially made the request. The flare population has become too unmanageable. Ardulum can’t move, even with our guidance, with so many on-planet. We have to…” Savath trailed off. Corccinth read the panic. Absorbed it. Knew what was coming before it was said, but that didn’t draw the pain from the words.

  “They’re to be culled.”

  Ardulum’s reassurance regarding Ekimet washed from Corccinth’s mind. A cold rage ran down her spine. “How many?” she asked.

  Asth responded. “Not the ones in towns. The escapees you mentor are not the issue, as we had hoped they would not be. Their minds are ordered enough for Ardulum to deal with. It is the wild ones still in the containment facilities. Even with the precautions we have taken, their collective telepathy is too much for Ardulum. It can’t block their voices.”

  Slowly, Corccinth stood. She steadied her breathing and tried to will some warmth back into her gnarled fingers. The hair that fell about her face was thin, white, and reminded her of how far she had come—with the flares, with their training, and with the Eld. And yet, she hadn’t done enough. All that work, all those years encouraging and finding and training, and still this was going to happen. She shouldn’t have been surprised.

  “Don’t think I am unaware of history or protocol,” she said to Adzeek, whose wary stare grated. “You look at me as if you expect me to disintegrate you.”

  Savath struggled to zir knees. “The Markin of Risal found an alternative method for control in the Charted Systems. We could inquire—”

  “No!” Corccinth’s foot stomp was so emphatic that Savath fell back. “That supposed act of mercy led to war with the Charted Systems and the loss of both my child and now perhaps my grandchild. The cull must be done.” Her voice softened. “It must be done.”

  Asth stepped away from Savath and took Corccinth’s left hand. Her skin was weathered, like Corccinth’s, but warm. She smelled strongly of cinnamon, and Corccinth had to pull back her sense of smell in order to remain focused. “With your blessing, then, we will proceed.”

  Corccinth nodded, almost imperceptibly. “I know the strength of a flare mind all too well. They are always a gamble, even the ones that can focus. Even the ones that accept training. I have done as much as I could reasonably do. We all have.” She was whispering now, unsure if her voice was loud enough for all three elds to hear. “But...” Her mind flitted through ideas, still desperate for some other answer she had overlooked. Desperate for one last chance. “Perhaps…slowly. Give them time…as much time as we can. There could be one planning to break out even now. Gather the younger ones, the spirited ones, and put them together. Maybe…there’s still a few in there who can be a part of society.”

  Savath was up again and now took her other hand. Zir skin was cooler than Asth’s, but the dual support kept Corccinth from collapsing onto the floor. Her legs were suddenly too unsteady. Though she felt cold, she was sweating, and her makeup was starting to clump on her skin.

  “We’ll move them to K47,” Savath said. “It’s the largest facility. We can fit more in—give them a longer interval to break free.”

  Corccinth nodded. The Talent Chamber became blurry. Her eyes refused to focus. “I’ll move my entire surveillance team to Thannon. Increase the testing intervals and any other stressors you have there. It might push some of them far enough. Any that break out, we will guide to the palace. That way, they can be tested immediately and hopefully put back into the population—with training, of course.”

  Savath’s grip tightened, but not uncomfortably so. “We’ll start the culling tonight, Corccinth. The stressors will be increased immediately.”

  She nodded, eyes still refusing to focus. Please help some of them find their way to me, she said in a silent prayer to the andal. I’ve worked so hard to train the ones that have shown an ability to focus their Talents. Please, there are over four thousand flares in the containment facilities around Ardulum. Please, don’t let all of their lives be sacrificed for this move.

  Chapter 8: Keft

  The Markin Council of Risal formally invites the ruling heads from each inhabited planet of the Charted Systems to join us at Raleigh, the capital of Risal, as soon as possible. A delegation from the Alliance—a group of neighboring systems—has entered into treaty talks. A common enemy threatens us all, and a strong bond now could ensure the safety of the Charted Systems for centuries to come.

  —Broadband communication from the Markin Council to the Charted Systems, December 12th, 2060 CE

  THE DOOR TO the pod opened with a blast of warm, damp air. It hit Neek in the face, carrying with it the smell of rotting vegetation and decay.

  They had landed on a paved platform with several short, glass buildings situated around its perimeter. Completely unhindered by other buildings or foliage, the flat landscape stretched for kilometers until it reached the horizon. Neek would have taken it for agricultural land, except there were no crops that she could distinguish. The ground was mossy green outside the platform, and if Neek squinted, she could make out small shrubs in the distance. Otherwise, the terrain appeared empty.

  “That is the most disgusting smell,” Nicholas sputtered as he stepped from the ship and stood beside Neek. “Like decaying plant matter. I can’t even see where it would be coming from.”

  Emn took a step onto the exit ramp and inhaled deeply. The spotty pressure in Neek’s mind that came from Emn’s connection to the ship shifted, became lighter. Emn touched down onto the platform and did a small spin on one foot, the folds of her dress flaring in the breeze. Neek looked away from the dried maroon spots on the hem.

  “I like it,” Emn said, taking another deep breath. “It’s almost like a perfume, maybe. Strong, but nice.”

  Nicholas pulled the collar of his flight suit up over his nose and turned back to look at her. “You have got to be kidding,” he said, his voice muffled by the fabric. “It’s vile.”

  Neek scanned the area again. Emn had landed them next to another bottle-nosed ship—all soft blue curves with a greenish tint—but its pilot was nowhere to be seen. She could feel the heat still radiating from the engines, so they couldn’t be far. Neek had to stop herself from running her fingertips over the cellulose weave in the biometal of the ship. A shape like that, with a dense enough component of cellulose to be visible even from a distance, indicated speed and agility. It’d be amazing to pilot, and Neek let her mind wander into that possibility for a luxurious moment.

  “We should probably try to find someone,” Nicholas suggested. Neek dropped out of her daydream. A concrete path led from the landing strip to the stretch of sin
gle-story glass buildings, the second one of which was labeled in a script she couldn’t read, the words carved onto a swinging wood sign.

  “We could start there, I suppose,” she said, pointing. “At least it has a label. Maybe they have a map or a restaurant. I think we could all use a solid meal that didn’t come from a Nugel printer.”

  “Excellent idea,” Nicholas agreed. He clapped Neek on the back and jogged ahead, slipping into the building and disappearing from view.

  “Wait, Nicholas!” Neek called out. She began to quicken her pace, but Emn’s hand landed on her arm, pulling her back.

  “Could we just slow down for a minute?” Emn asked as Neek turned to face her. “We haven’t been alone since the end of the war.” The memory of their embrace, of Neek’s promise, of the cascade of emotions that led to that moment, crowded Neek’s memory. “I’m not asking for anything from you, Neek, except maybe to stop avoiding me. Could we work on that?”

  Neek looked away. She didn’t have any words of her own to offer, and she wasn’t ready to use the words that she suspected Emn wanted to hear. Instead, hoping it would be enough, she slowed and walked next to Emn down the path, letting the silence drift between them.

  Emn stayed close to her, their shoulders occasionally touching. A persistent breeze blew green pollen across their path, coating their clothes and skin. Neek’s stuk began to flow as her body tried to clear blocked pores, and a walk that should have been leisurely became sticky and uncomfortable. The stillness of the landscape didn’t help, either. There were no bird calls, no engine whines, and no distant rumbles of thunder. Even the breeze produced no sound as it lifted the pollen from the ground and spread it across the horizon.

  Neek had seen a landscape like this once before. The entire scene was eerily familiar. On her twelfth birthday, her name day, her brother had snuck her out of her party and onto her family’s land skiff. They’d woven through native andal forests, new plantations, swampland, and trillium fields, before emerging into a mossy clearing. It’d looked just like this—barren of larger life. No bird song. No animal tracks. No vegetation, save the moss. No trees. He’d found it during survey class, he’d told her. He’d reported it. He’d been told to forget it existed.