Starchild exile, p.24
Starchild- Exile, page 24
“I don’t know. Maybe because I miss mine so much. You don’t want one?”
“Honestly, probably not. Not if they’re going to have the sort of childhood I had.”
“They can have as good a childhood as you give them.”
“My kids?”
“Yes.”
“What about you though? What about spending your life in a way that actually brings you joy?”
“I can think of nothing so meaningful as providing a child a home.”
“You’re just saying that.”
“No. The individual is the most valuable thing in the galaxy. Even more valuable than your ship.”
“Easy now.”
“A person learning, growing, and choosing—that’s as beautiful a thing as there can ever possibly be.”
“What if your kid makes dumb choices?” When he said it, he thought of Cup.
“You have to let them choose bad if they’re going to have any victory in choosing good. The alternative is slavery, and that’s as ugly a thing as there can ever possibly be.”
“Sounds like it would be frustration all the time.”
“It would make me immensely happy.”
“But you’ve never tried it…”
“Haven’t you ever heard parents talk about seeing their own child for the first time? They talk about this love, this deep indescribable feeling. Many young parents have told me this.”
“Before the kids start growing up.”
“Nak, you had a rough childhood, and I sympathize, but that’s not how all childhoods have to be. There’s a much bigger picture. And to be honest, I’m in this revolution as much for them as for myself.”
“I don’t understand that kind of selflessness.”
“It’s not selflessness, and don’t let Benton hear you say that.”
“Why not?”
“He hates selflessness.”
“What—are you kidding?”
“No.”
“Maybe he and I have more in common than I thought.”
“You should ask him about it. But my point is that making them happy makes me happy. Have you been around children much?”
“The last child I spent time with was myself.”
“And that was yestercyle?” She laughed.
He chuckled, amused at least. “No. A long time ago.”
“Well, they’re wonderful. Master Jyngsoo says you can learn from no better zhani master than a child. They teach you patience, wonder, kindness, and they’re disciplined instructors too—teaching you at all isochrons, even while you’re trying to sleep.”
“That’s not funny.”
“They can give you a kind of joy I’ve never found anywhere else. We adults get tired, worn down, and jaded toward life. We forget the way we looked at the galaxy when we first arrived. But a child is a brand new person, still filled with awe. Children remind us of that spirit we’ve forgotten—what time took away. Just that makes them invaluable.”
When she looked at Nak for a response, he gave her a contented smile.
“Sorry. I’m talking too much,” she said. “Have you thought of your answer yet?”
“I always imagined I’d die as a mercenary, in a high-speed chase and a blaze of glory.”
“Well you should join us then. I guarantee we can provide the blaze of glory.”
“I was imagining after a lengthy and noble career.”
She laughed.
Facing the PSD just didn’t seem smart. Nobody beat them, not even the Shadowlyss, who’d been gnawing away at the edges for percents. With Dray orchestrating things, they might have a slight shot at it, but it still seemed ludicrous.
The forest opened up, leading to a cliff edge. In the distance, a long white stream of water tumbled from a green and gray cliff, and a rainbow glimmered in the mists. The twilight made it look all the more enchanted. They stood side by side, looking down at its majesty.
“So that’s Tiigxuu, huh?”
“You can actually go out on those bridges, and there’s a cave you can climb up in underneath.”
“This is awesome. Let’s go down there.”
She shook her head. “Redhelms. I’d at least need a mask. And you would too.”
He sighed.
“We’ll go… Just… just wait. So you’d give your life to be a mercenary?”
“No. I’d give my life to sail, to rule the skies. You’re never more free than that.”
She pulled her lips and her taunting scar into a smile, an expression filled with warmth along with a hint that she didn’t feel the same. It seemed like pure, unbiased appreciation. She stepped in front of him, facing him, too short to block his view, and gave him this look—one that made him think she hadn’t had any red meat in a while. “You’re so… unbound. You could never live a quiet, normal life like other people, could you?”
He looked up. “Not while there’s this much sky.”
She grabbed his hand and used it for balance as she got up on a rock, bringing her nearly to his height. She still had that mischievous look on her face—something flirtatious, like she was ready to take a bite of him. Her eyes began to glow for a moment: When are you going to tell me your ship’s secret?
He grinned and stepped closer, close enough to whisper in her ear. “Seduction, is it?”
“Whatever it takes.”
“That’s still creepy that you can do that.”
“Should I stop?”
“No.” A glowing purple bug zipped around them and then vanished.
“So what’s your ship’s secret?”
Without really considering his rules, he just started to tell her: “Out of the billions of stars in our galaxy, the surge tunnels only give us access to a few hundred. We can’t get to the other ninety-nine percent. The Bloody Wings are locked into that set too. The few who have attempted to surge to other systems never returned. But each of the Bloody Wings has access to one unique point in the galaxy, a location no one else can go. That’s her secret.”
“And what’s your location?”
“Novan.”
“You going to take me?”
Nak had imagined it to be the perfect place for a marriage proposal, back when he still considered that a possibility. But now, well, this woman confused him. Usually he’d flirt with no regard to the consequences, but with her… both moving closer and withdrawing seemed bad. He felt ambivalent.
And he didn’t like it.
He put on his best fake smile.
Kalh seemed to take his smile as a yes, which was fine. She leaned in closer. “Thank you for trusting me.”
The sunrise was perfect, and it wasn’t going anywhere. The glowing insects floated in a magical swirl on all sides.
He pressed his lips against hers and kissed her to the sound of the waterfall rushing in the background.
* * *
As they hiked back to Delasiin, they walked with hands clasped.
Nak considered whether he could risk joining Kalh’s insane insurgence. The only thing that might make it feasible would be if Dray had a decent plan. Nak trusted Dray.
Or he had, at least, before Dray got abandoned in Building 13. When he’d miraculously made it out, Nak felt genuinely happy—a feeling he didn’t often feel. Only Dray didn’t reflect that happiness. In fact, the friendliness Dray always showed before seemed to have vanished. It felt like an accusation, blame for that missing eye. Nak kept telling himself it wasn’t his fault, but he couldn’t seem to override the thought pattern. It gnawed at him.
After some time in silence, Kalh asked, “What are you thinking about?”
Nak felt embarrassed to admit he wasn’t thinking about something romantic. So he said, “Trying to perceive raindrops of thought.”
Kalh gave him a sympathetic smile. “They say it’s easier for females. Ptolis is connected to mood or state of being, something the zhani call spirit. When a person thinks, her spirit causes actual neural and physiological responses that make ripples across the Song. It’s a matter first of being sensitive enough to see them and second to understand what they mean.”
He nodded as he processed what she’d said. “You’re saying I could do to you what you did to me? You could hear me thinking?”
“Yes.”
He thought he sensed the echoes of what Kalh had already said, but he wasn’t sure he felt an ocean of thought in which to make waves. “I don’t get how though.”
“Honestly, Benton is a much better teacher. A lot of this stuff came easily to me, so I do it intuitively. Whereas Benton actually knows how to study it and break it down into pieces. If you want more help, he’s the one to ask.”
“I want to learn from you.”
“Okay. Well, you already know how to make a thought external: You speak it. That creates a sphere of sound waves. It’s like we did with kinosis. You don’t think about vibrating your vocal cord. You just talk. Ptolis works the same way. You intend the thought, and that intention creates spherical ripples.”
He kept trying as they walked, but nothing came of it.
Then Kalh pointed through a gap in the trees, which all seemed to reach the same direction, growing toward the light.
The twilight atmosphere glowed a gentle purple, and brownish gray clouds crawled in front, but a single star glowed white through it all.
“That’s the surge gate.”
* * *
When Nak awoke the next cycle, Kalh’s door was still closed. She usually slept several isochrons longer than him.
The house was quiet, all those kids still asleep. He checked his chronometer then went down to the study, which smelled of candle smoke and old books. Dr. Warnur leaned back in a curving, red-velvet chair. Benton sat on the edge of his seat, in an intense pose. Rows of books lined one wall. In front of a window, the black bones of a large predator stood crouched in the corner.
“Hey, Benton, Doc, how’s it going? Sorry to interrupt.”
“Not at all,” said Dr. Warnur. “Come in.”
“Did I hear you say something about Taiberos?”
“Have a seat.” Dr. Warnur waved him further in. Even this early, his full head of white hair looked perfect. “Yes. The president.”
Nak sat down. “I know him.”
Dr. Warnur twiddled with a long quill pen. “We were just wondering why Taiberos has a stake on Solace too.”
“What do you mean by ‘too’?”
Benton leaned back, abandoning his aggressive stance. “He’s also running the Strand on Toar.”
Dr. Warnur looked up with a smirk. “There’s more to their project than simply capturing radiances. It may have something to do with tracking down the missing Bloody Wings. We’re not quite sure.”
Nak frowned, not liking the sound of it. “That would make sense. He’s obsessed with them.”
Dr. Warnur set down the quill. “Here on Solace they’re mining on the starside, but we don’t have many details on that either.”
The thought of Taiberos coming to Solace gave Nak a chill, strengthening his resolve: He had to get out of here before it was too late.
“It might be a substance called kerse, which they use in their experiments.”
“I’ve helped smuggle it a few times,” said Nak.
“Ever used it?”
Nak shook his head. At least not that he wanted to say. It wasn’t exactly a positive experience.
“By the way, Skyreacher, I have some bad news. Our plan has been moved ahead, and I don’t think it’s possible to still get the funds in time. It’s a shame. We could’ve used you.”
Nak nodded, as if to say it was all right, but his eyes glossed over as he fell deep in thought. With Dray back, the insurgents might have a chance. He was the sort of leader Nak could see himself fighting for, the almost-friend kind. But it would require Nak to risk it all on a long shot, a very long shot.
“I mean, you’re still welcome to join us as a volunteer. We could use help cleaning up the galaxy’s rubbish.”
“As I said, I don’t like to get involved in other people’s problems.”
Benton frowned with idealistic indignation but spoke calmly: “Forgive me for overstepping my bounds, but I think it must be said: If you think you’re not part of the problem, you are the problem.”
“That’s your opinion.” Nak stood, nodded, and said, “Doctor.” Then he walked out.
He heard Benton’s shout from behind: “You know where to find us if you change your mind.”
Nak went down to the kitchen and found Kalh leaning over a bowl of pottage. She wore a pair of white headphones exactly like the ones she’d given him, and the wire dripped from the edge of the counter.
“Hey, Kalh.” He had a serious look on his face.
She nodded at him and pulled one of the housings off her ear, letting it rest higher on her nearly bald skull.
“Hey, listen to me.” He grabbed her elbow and turned her to face him.
She looked up into his earnest eyes and saw concern. She pulled the headphones down to rest around her neck.
“I play women, okay?”
“What?”
“I live each moment like it’s going to last forever, but it won’t. I’m a hunted man.”
“What are you talking about?”
He breathed in for an answer but exhaled only breath. He didn’t know what else to say.
But she’d understood. “You’re trying to not hurt me…”
“Is that what your Song is saying?”
“No. It’s what your eyes are saying.”
He glanced away, backing down, the only time he’d done that in front of her.
“But you know it can work,” she said.
He locked eyes with her and contemplated shaking his head, but he knew it’d be a lie. Yes, he could make it work. He just wasn’t sure he wanted to.
“You wouldn’t be saying this if you didn’t care.”
“Don’t read into it, Kalh.”
She shook her head, with an expression of confusion and pain.
“Look, I’m sorry. I’m not the right guy. You want marriage and revolution. That’s not my thing.” Suddenly he wished he were wearing his mask.
“Let me tell you something about music, Nak. You can begin any song on any note and sing it in any key. No note by itself is right or wrong. It’s a question of whether it’s in harmony with the notes around it—a certain measure, a certain tempo, a certain pitch—right place, right time, right way.”
“So what?”
“So maybe you’ve been the wrong note in the past, but I think you’re right, right now.” She paused, scrutinizing his face, as if to discover the answer to some mysterious question. “And so do you, deep down, don’t you?”
He looked into her eyes, not giving an answer, then glanced at the chronometer on his wrist.
Her expression beamed an answer of her own:
She believed in him.
But he refused to let his face concede. “This revolution… you have to win or it does no good. If you’re wrong, you lose everything and so does everyone you pull into it. You really think you can win?”
She didn’t respond to that, and she didn’t deny their terrible odds.
“I can see the doubt in your eyes,” he said.
“I see the hope in yours,” she replied.
He stood, sighed, and looked around the room as if planning his escape. “Sorry, Kalh, I have to rendezvous with Cup or I’ll miss her for another few cycles. I’m… not sure when I’ll see you again.”
“You’re leaving?”
He nodded and stepped toward the door.
“Why?”
“I just have to.” He paused at the threshold.
“You have to?”
He nodded.
“Nak?”
“What?”
“Jyngsoo used to say gravity is a choice. At the time, it seemed like mystical nonsense. I felt sure I couldn’t levitate. But now I think I get what he meant. If we believe we must abide the law of gravity, then we never formulate the intention to do otherwise. We just submit to fate. Without considering our freedom, we default to slavery. You have to believe in choice—that your will can spite causes and become its own origin.”
He shook his head and almost walked from the room without looking at her.
But he had to see her once more.
When he did, he saw disappointment in her hazel eyes.
* * *
Nak rented a groundrunner and made his way to the foothills on the starside, which took several isochrons. All the while, thoughts of Kalh echoed in his head.
Cup landed with her usual punctuality.
She’d been keeping The Spirit safe out in infraspace, where no one could touch her. But he couldn’t contact her while she was doing that, so if he’d missed this rendezvous, he’d have had to wait another seven cycles till Cup’s algorithm had her try again. And he wasn’t that committed to Solace.
He always liked getting back aboard The Spirit, but this time something felt different.
Something was missing.
The zentisal fuel still read zero. He hadn’t had the guy fix the gauge because it was something he could do himself. He just needed to be grounded long enough to actually do it.
As he blasted toward the black, he scrolled through a list of job offers. The most interesting one was a cargo run on Terron Prime—it would take him back to his beginnings. He hadn’t been there in ages. Still, the prospect felt empty. All the missions did. Like they were entirely hollow.
Or like he was.
He stared despondently at the white headphones on the seat next to him and the cord trailing down onto the floor. He didn’t feel like listening to music, but he picked them up and put them around his neck.
Then he stared out across the black, and one star shined brighter than the rest: the surge gate for the system. He shook his head.
He’d wanted the sky to himself.
Now even the universes didn’t seem to be enough.
When they’d nearly cleared the planet’s gravitational horizon, he said, “Okay, Cup, make the calculation for Terron Prime.”
But then he turned the steering yoke to the starboard, skirting the planet in a wide perimeter, no longer increasing his distance from it. He flew along that axis for a long time, keeping the ship from leaving, as he kept deliberating, obsessively. It wasn’t like him, and he didn’t like it. Of course he couldn’t commit to her, so why couldn’t he just move on?
