Chapter Twenty-Eight

 

Tawny is freaking out. “What do you mean I can’t tell people about his brain parasite?”

We both look at Kaliel, who is leaning against the guy in the transport, snoring softly. The knock-out stuff they gave him was instantly effective. What was in it that was different from our darts?

Ekrin, who’s standing next to Tawny now, having grabbed half of Tawny’s electronics, says something else.

Chestla says, “It could jeopardize a plan already in place for eliminating the threat. That’s all she’s willing to tell us. You can ask the Council of Elders for your electronics back, but she’s not letting you off this transport until you hand the rest of it over.”

Tawny grabs Ekrin’s wrist, apparently immune to the predator effect. She points at the MIAG bracelet Ekrin’s wearing, then at Kaliel. “Nyash. Important. His life’s important.”

Ekrin nods. “OK. Good friend.” Still, she gently removes Tawny’s hand from hers and holds out her palm for the rest of the hardware. Tawny sighs and hands it over.

She hits Ekrin with a barrage of questions. “Where did this parasite come from? Is it native to this planet? How come nobody’s heard of it before?”

Chestla translates Ekrin’s answers as, “Nobody knows. Probably outer space. Space is big, and this parasite is subtle.” And the answers to Tawny’s follow-up questions as, “Nobody knows. Nobody knows. Nobody knows.”

I can say it now, Uven coz. Nobody knows.

It’s plausible. After all, this parasite likely spread to Zant aboard that ship that’s now becoming a reef off the shore of Letekka. The timing adds up right for that.

If those infected only betray subtle symptoms, it’s not surprising that it’s been almost a decade and nobody on Zant has noticed yet they’ve been infiltrated.

I imagine this hive mind spreading from planet to planet, blending in with the local population like sleeper agents back in Earth’s Cold War era. Wherever it started, whenever this parasite found a way to go interstellar from its native planet, it’s probable we will never find all the places it now calls home.

So why show itself so dramatically by bombing Minda’s show? It makes no sense. Unless it assumed that would be considered normal behavior for Kaliel.

 

When the transport door opens, we’re on a street out front of a blocky purple-gray building. Five young girls of varying heights wearing deep blue dresses are leaning against the wall, looking bored – right up until they spot Chestla. They race over to us, already chattering at her before she’s even made it out of the vehicle. Two of the girls have yellow eyes instead of green.

The smallest girl wraps her arms around Chestla’s legs, almost tripping her. Chestla ruffles the girl’s hair. “Bo, these are my sisters. It is their duty to welcome me home.”

I climb off the vehicle. “Tell them I am honored to meet them.”

The tallest girl says in Universal, “It is we who are honored to have such a hero among us, as our sister’s cesuda ma. Please regale us with your tales of adventure, after you have recovered from your arduous first test.” She holds out a cup, pero Chestla puts a hand over mine.

“That’s saltwater and herbs, meant to refresh and restore an Evevron warrior after vigorous exercise. It’d probably make you sick.” Chestla takes the cup herself and drains it. She smiles at me. “It’s good to be home.”

Brill joins me on the sidewalk. He asks Chestla, “Five sisters, su? That’s one more than me.”

I think about my own two sisters, back on Earth by now. I’m not there to comfort them in the face of the tragedy they witnessed, to make sure that they’re not having nightmares about Verex Kowlk’s broken and bleeding body.

A wave of homesickness hits me so hard it’s like a physical blow. I haven’t felt like this since right after I moved to Larksis, fleeing a home where I no longer felt welcome.

When all of this is over, when we save Kaliel or lose him for good, am I going to want to be there with my sisters, watching them grow up? Eventually, is Brill going to want to go back to his own family? Tell the girls I miss them. That’s what he’d said to his mamá. Even Krom, who have so much time, can feel the conflict between the call to adventure and the call back home. How do they reconcile it? How can Brill and I find a balance where we won’t be torn apart?

Oblivious to what I’m thinking, Brill puts his hand in mine and squeezes. “That littlest one reminds me of your niece.”

And my heart melts. Maybe there’s hope for us after all.

It’s only hotter and more humid inside the building. Gran windows have been propped open to allow for a light breeze, which makes a dusting of sand skitter against the raw stone floor. No wonder Chestla left for Larksis, if these people don’t even have air conditioning.

The other warriors stayed in the transport, pero Ekrin follows us in, gestures us towards an empty waiting area with about twenty primitive-looking wooden chairs.

“Wait,” I protest. “What about Kaliel?”

Ekrin shakes her cabeza, gestures for us to sit.

I try to bury my frustration. After risking our lives to get Kaliel back, and finding out I was right about his innocence, they’re just going to take him?

I put a hand on Brill’s arm, thinking how we’re not sure how many more brain parasites there might be still on Zant. “We need to let Stephen know what he might be running into if he goes looking for Kayla. She could be infected too.”

That would explain her buying a ticket and leaving her cell phone at the spaceport. We’d never even considered her setting up her own disappearance. Because she’d had no motive. But her parasite might.

“I’ll call him.” Brill moves off to one side.

I sit in one of the uncomfortable chairs. Tawny sits opposite me and sighs loudly. No lo sé if she’s expressing annoyance at the loss of Kaliel – or of her electronics.

Chestla sits next to me, squeezes my hand. I’m hoping she’s about to say something reassuring about Kaliel. Instead she says, “Thank you for this. Don’t lose your nerve, and it will be OK.”

I glance over at Brill, who is hanging up his phone. He leans against the wall, all casual cool in his brown leather jacket, with his arms crossed over his chest – though he’s holding the injured hand awkwardly. I am hoping for reassurance, pero he just shrugs.

Well, fantastica.

A small door at the back of the room opens, and a guy dressed in a more masculine version of my white-pants-and-tunic ensemble comes through it. His eyes are hazel, which I’ve not seen in any of the others, and his brown skin shares the same warm tones as mine. He speaks Universal. “They are ready for you downstairs.”

My heart jolts. That sounds ominous. What could be down there? A dungeon? A prison? A basement full of paperwork that needs sorting? Still, what else is there to do but follow him into the back room, and down the stairs?

He turns and flashes me a smile that, despite the implied good intention, makes me take a nervous step back. He says, “I’m sorry for the crudeness of your reception. There is an air-conditioning repairman strike on, and none of us could abide that stuffy room.”

I hear agua running somewhere at the bottom of the stairs, and laughter. We come out into a short hallway with rubberized matting covering the raw rock, then take a right turn into an enormous roughhewn cave, much of it pure white stone, with veins of amethyst-tinted minerals threaded through it. At one side, a waterfall cascades into the space from somewhere unseen, into a pool that takes up most of the area. A couple dozen children in bathing attire modest enough to have sleeves play in the pool, and maybe thirty adults lounge in white chairs at the pool’s far edge, wearing either tunic ensembles or similar swimwear. One of the adults jumps in, and the kids splash her, screaming in delight. Pero then they notice us, and everything falls silent, save the chsssh of the waterfall.

Our guide leads us around the pool, to a raised platform, and all the adults – save the one in the pool monitoring the kids – turn their chairs around to face it.

Our guide sweeps a hand in their direction. “Miss Benitez, may I present our Council of Elders.”

Some faces out there don’t look particularly old. Some do. The pairs of slitted eyes stare hard at me over high-boned cheeks. There’s enough sheer predator pheromone here to override the IH, and I find myself unable to speak. I give a nod and do my best to smile. And not pee.

One of the most wrinkled faces belongs to a dark-haired woman, who stands and says, “Chestla. So good to see you again, my dear. I trust that your cesuda ma is coming into this pashed open, honest and free from any collusion of answers prepared in advance.”

Chestla bows her cabeza. “Of course, Grammy. I have told her nothing of the tests to be faced, except that there will be a hunt.”

“Good.” Chestla’s Grammy – no lo sé if that’s gene-tied, or just a title – smiles. “Bodacious Babe, we need your honest accounting of the facts. And to secure that, we need your permission to administer a truth drug.”

I try to talk, pero all that comes out is a squeak. Given the lethalriffic nature of Chestla’s people, I probably wouldn’t have even managed that without the artificial courage from the residual IH.

Chestla squeezes my hand. “May she have a moment to compose herself?”

I take a few deep breaths, feel my thudding heart slow a little as I try to force my mind to let go of the flight response. Once I’m able to speak I say, “It’s not addictive, no? ’Cause I’ve already got one of those.” I’m trying for a joke, pero it falls flat in the cool room.

Our hazel-eyed guide takes a bottle from a cooler leaning against the wall. It looks like a sports drink. “There are no lingering effects.”

I look at Chestla. “Is this one going to make me sick?”

Chestla blinks. “I don’t think so.”

I take the bottle and uncap it. I’m expecting something salty, pero this tastes a bit like peaches and basil. I take a few sips. Everyone’s still watching me expectantly. Chestla mimes upending the thing, so I drain the bottle. I don’t feel any different.

After a few minutes, Chestla’s Grammy starts talking to me about nothing in particular, waiting for the drug to take effect. I tell her about growing up in Chetumal, about mi mamá’s show, and I assure her that I am very much a chocofan. She asks when the last time I had chocolate was, and I tell her I made chocoflan for everybody last night aboard Brill’s ship, how Kaliel, who dislikes chocolate, had refused to eat it.

This makes her look very happy. “Good, good.” Grammy’s golden eyes narrow. “Have you been alone with Kaliel at any point since the day he disappeared, back on Zant.”

Brill makes a startled noise. “Now wait a minute–”

I can answer honestly. “No. We spoke privately for a few minutes today, pero that was in view of an entire complement of watching warriors.”

“Has he hit you, kissed you, or offered you injectable drugs?”

I blink. “Que?”

“Babe, they’re trying to figure out if you might be infected with whatever Kaliel’s got.” Brill uncrosses his arms, lets his hands hang loose at his sides. It’s a passive move, pero it puts him ready for action. “Wal, he kissed her. But that doesn’t prove anything.”

“Of course not,” Grammy says. “We are looking for the parasite’s intent, not its effectiveness. We can test that physically.”

Guide Guy takes my face in his soft hands. “Look up at the ceiling.”

It’s a beautiful ceiling, with skylights hewn into the rock. I study it for a good thirty seconds. He releases my face and shakes his cabeza.

“Good.” Grammy’s smiling again. “What did you eat the day he kissed you?”

I blink, trying to fight an overwhelming urge to rub at my face. All I can think about is what Kaliel had said that night. He really wanted to do that. Was he the parasite? Or Kaliel? Does it matter? “I thought this was supposed to be about Chestla.”

“So did I,” Chestla says softly.

“Of course.” Grammy nods. “Tell me how you met Chestla.”

I talk for a long time, about how I met Chestla, and how I met Brill, and how what Brill really wanted from me was to get close to chocolate as a commodity, right up until we fell in love. I’m honest about how hurt I was, and how morally conflicted I still am over what a gray trader is and does, about how I’m afraid to ask sometimes about Krom or Brill’s family or where he stands on certain things. And yet, I know that both he and Chestla will always keep me safe.

When I’m done, I look over at Brill. His irises are a deep sorrowful apricot, and I have no idea why. I have a hard time recalling what I’ve just said.

Grammy nods again. “That’s very… interesting. You trusted Chestla with your life then… but do you now? Are you prepared to join her tomorrow on the hunt?”

“Prepared? No y no y no. Pero, am I willing to trust her? Of course. She is one of my best friends.”

Chestla puts a hand on my arm. “Thank you, Bo. That means a great deal to me.”

Something happens in the pool behind us. It starts with lots of splashing and ends with two kids crying. Everyone turns to see whose kids they are and to make sure nothing horrible has happened. These are people with families, with a basic level of decency.

I look several of them in the eye, then focus on Grammy. “What happens to Kaliel?”

“We will deworm him after the hunt tomorrow,” Grammy says.

Brill snickers and looks significantly at me, and I know he’s resisting making an Earth-pet joke. Chestla realizes it too and stares daggers at him.

Grammy looks confused, but continues, “In the meantime, we wish to study him, and to interrogate the parasite. We were unaware that this scourge had jumped to Earthlings.”

That makes sense, even if it leaves Kaliel connected to a condemned part of a larger consciousness. It reminds me of when Kaliel had been wearing that lethal-if-cut tracking anklet, awaiting trial. Maybe he can comfort the mindworm. Maybe – ironically – this experience will help him heal.

If we can just keep him alive after that. I’m sure Zantite law doesn’t have a mind-worms-made-me-do-it clause. And the Zantite jury would never believe him anyway, especially if the Evevrons won’t let us record evidence.

“When you say interrogate,” Brill asks, “you’re not intending to hurt the su are you?”

I glance over at him. The concerned deep green-gray of his eyes looks genuine. I wouldn’t have thought he cared what happened to Kaliel. Maybe there’s a lot more going on inside mi vida than I give him credit for.

Grammy shakes her head. “It wouldn’t be fair of us to return your friend to his own mind harmed by us in any way.”

“I want to be there,” Tawny says. “I’m not going on your insane hunt, so I can at least observe.”

The council members start looking at each other, and there’s a brief murmur of conversation, and then Grammy nods. “Agreed.” Then she gestures Brill over to her and touches his face, gently prodding the new skin, which is still a bit shiny and uneven. “I have a facialist named Cassandra that specializes in battle scars. Two hours with her, and that will hardly be noticeable.” She grins. “Unless your people consider scars a badge of honor.”

“Absolutely not. The badge of honor thing, I mean.” Brill looks over at me. “I’d love to have the face back that she fell in love with.”

 

Chestla insists that I stay with her, while the council offers lodging for Tawny and Brill at a nearby hotel. My friends are invited for dinner, though. Chestla’s papá is a chef, so it’s kind of a big deal. Tawny bows out, saying she’s ill from being out in the sun. So an hour before dinner, it’s just me and Brill sitting on a black leather sofa in Chestla’s family’s living room, waiting.

Chestla’s family’s “house” is the entire forty-second floor of one of the skyscrapers. It’s spacious enough for all the kids, and feels like a comfortable place to hang out, pero the smells coming out of the kitchen are disturbing.

“Don’t worry,” Brill whispers. “I put enough provisions on the levbots with our water to last the three of us a couple of days. I gave Tawny something for dinner, and I can sneak you some food in here later.”

“It would be rude not to eat something,” I whisper back.

Brill’s eyes go violet, showing amusement without having to laugh out loud. “I stopped worrying about who I might be offending after I got food poisoning on Cherdon. It’s amazing how different our base biology can seem with races that still manage to cross.” He wrinkles his nose towards the kitchen. “I mean, how do you mix their taste buds with mine?”

I raise an eyebrow. “There have been Krom–Evevron tewakelle?” That’s the Krom word for an interplanetary gene-cross.

Brill does laugh out loud. “You’ve never heard anybody talk about a Duracell?”

“Like a battery?”

“Something about energy that just won’t stop? It’s Earth slang, uan I’m not sure of the exact reference. They’re exceedingly rare. Like if tewakelle in general are rare, a Krom and an Evevron hitting it off long enough to reproduce is almost a myth. But most of those crosses wind up with book lungs and claws. The Evevrons recruit them young as special cops. The status and the preferential treatment tends to give them an attitude.” He makes an exaggerated face like he’s bitten into an unripe t’tel.

“You sound like you know this from experience.”

Brill shrugs. “Tyson’s partner when I first met him was a Duracell. In every sense of the word.”

“What happened?”

The violet fades from Brill’s eyes. “Guy thought he was invincible. From what I hear, he ignored Tyson’s request that he wait for backup and charged into a den full of art thieves. Can’t say it didn’t make me happy, knowing he never walked back out.”

Brill’s never been the vengeful type. What would it take to make him happy someone’s dead?

“This has to do with Darcy, no?” I hold my breath as soon as the words are out. Darcy was Brill’s best friend, who died as a result of an illegal trade deal gone bad, before I had even met Brill. Jeska had implied that Tyson was somehow involved in Darcy’s death. I’ve never pushed Brill to talk about it, and from the look on his face, now was a bad time to start. Can I blame it as aftereffects of the truth cocktail? “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t–”

“No.” Brill says it so loudly that the three little girls across the room look up from their craft project.

Brill touches my face, guides me to look at him. “I don’t want you feeling like you have to tiptoe around me. If we’re going to make this work, it’s not fair for you to feel like I’m still hiding things. If you want to know about Darcy, you shouldn’t be afraid to ask.”

“OK.” I swallow, hard. “What happened between him and this Galactacop?”

“Jeska told you how Darcy and I found those cases of expired Lotvrek in his aunt’s basement?”

I nod. Darcy’s brother had told me more about Brill’s past than Brill himself. The illegal neural enhancers had brainmelted Darcy’s uncle so badly he’d wound up in a mental institution. Which is why I’m still uncomfortable with the fact that Brill was trying to help Darcy sell them.

“Darcy told that to Inspector Know-It-All, but the su didn’t believe him. Wanted him to name his source, promised to go easy if he could get a bigger arrest up the ladder. That’s the flaw with letting the Inspectors qualify to collect bounties. He beat Darcy to near unconsciousness. Finally, Darcy made something up.

“It was total nonsense, but the word got around that he had snitched. He fled the detention center while he was still on Krom because he suspected he would be killed, as soon as he got to prison.” Brill closes his eyes, like this story has been waiting to come pouring out of him. “You know what the Codex says. A Krom is responsible for his own actions. If he breaks the law and is caught, he accepts the punishment rather than cause Galactic conflict. Darcy had been prepared for that, even joked around at the trial that he was finally going to have time to write that novel. But we don’t turn our people over to die for crimes that shouldn’t merit it. We appeal to the Galactic Court instead, when local laws are insane. He was within his conscience bounds to try to escape, rather than let himself be killed.”

“I know.” Well, maybe not the specifics, pero I’ve learned how important honor is to mi vida.

“I still have this vivid recurring nightmare about the day it happened.” He hesitates, and I can see how painful this is to share. My heart hurts for him. “I’m outside my family’s house, detailing their runabout, when Darcy crashes into it, uan he can’t even control the wheel of the car he stole from the parking lot of the detention center. And when I pull him out, there’s a hole the size of my fist in his chest. We manage to talk for a couple of minutes, while I cradle his head. I have his blood all over me, hear the rasp of his final breath… and then the nightmare switches to this surreal black and white, and I’m in a field, chasing someone wearing a black beanie, someone whose face I can never see, and when I wake up, I can’t decide if that’s supposed to be death, or justice or what that I’m running after.”

“That part is just a dream.” I hold him closer, comforting him.

“Darcy was shot by another Krom, at a detention center on our home planet, and the guard only thought he was dangerous because of Tyson’s partner’s lies.”

“And Tyson didn’t do anything about it?” I hear the note of disbelief in my own voice.

Brill opens his eyes. They’re the color of clay. “How could he have missed what was happening on his own ship? There are rumors that Tyson killed at least one innocent Krom, early in–”

“You guys! I cannot believe this little guy is still alive!” Chestla’s standing in the doorway, holding a brass and plastic cage. She looks from Brill’s muddy eyes to my tense face. “Maybe I should come back later.”

“Ga.” Brill forces a smile as he forces his eyes to a greyish blue. “We’re done talking old times. What little guy?”

Chestla puts the cage on the floor and removes the top. A fist-sized bug flies out of it and lands on her hand. It’s like somebody crossed a ladybug with a wasp, only the yellow striped wings are an iridescent blue and the head’s about three times too big. “This is my old hunting beetle, Tazma. They’re only supposed to live to about ten, but he’s at least twelve. I gave him to my sister for her first hunt, not long before I left. She wants me to borrow him back for tomorrow.”

“It’s a what, now?” Brill asks.

“A hunting beetle. They’re just about the only thing fast enough to chase the things we’re going after, and they send back echolocation signals we can trace. A couple of centuries ago, they were the miracle of modern genetic engineering. But now, everybody has at least one.”

I point. “So that stinger on the back…”

“It injects a paralyzing agent to slow down the animal we’re trying to catch. It doesn’t always work, though.”

Chestla’s holding a potentially lethal pet on her bare fist – one that’s not necessarily a match for whatever we’re hunting. Agreeing to this was probably a mistake.

Chestla’s dad calls to us from the kitchen. Chestla smiles and coaxes the beetle back into the cage. “Dinner’s ready.”

“About that,” I say hesitantly. “I’m not hungry.”

My stomach grumbles, giving lie to my words.

Chestla moves towards the door. “One bite of hefshig never killed anybody. That’s my dad’s rule – it’s OK if you don’t like something, but you have to at least try it. He even made it vegetarian, on account there’s a Krom.”

I look at Brill. He shrugs. Well, at least we’ll have the story to tell of the time we tried hefshig.

 

The next morning, I’m sitting in bed, trying to decipher the newsfeed on the Evevron-language householo. I didn’t sleep well last night, and I ate even less. Since Chestla insisted on guarding my door in case of other surprise attacks, Brill wasn’t able to sneak me provisions, so now I’m grumpy and ravenous and willing to trade everything I have for a cup of coffee and a jelly doughnut. I’ve got the shakes something fierce, and I can’t find my toothbrush, which I left last night in a bathroom shared by six girls.

Chestla knocks on the door, then comes in carrying another outfit. Gracias a dios, this one is a purple camo print tunic and pants – just like what she’s already wearing. En serio.

Why can’t I just once wind up somewhere where I get to wear a formal gown? So many other elements of my life feel like a telenovela, so why not that one?

“I hope you’re ready to face your public this morning, cesuda ma. They’re giving Tawny her camera drones to fly at the hunt breakfast.”

I groan, but at this point it’s mostly habit. “Bueno. I didn’t really want to watch her snap.”

I haul the curtain closed and look longingly at the bed. Pero this hunt breakfast had sounded imminent. So I don the camo-chic, and I’m lacing my boots when Chestla comes back with a steaming mug.

When I take it, Chestla studies my shaking hands.

I take a sip. “Withdrawal symptoms from the Invincible Heart. They’re never going away.”

It’s hard to say that out loud.

“We all adapt.” Chestla looks down at her own hands, stretches her fingers. “After I fell in the canyon, it took a long time to get over the pain. And longer to get off the pain drugs. I learned the hard way, you can rely on your friends, when you can’t go on alone. If you don’t shut them out.” Like she had done, sending them away from her hospital room, and then leaving the planet. We aren’t that different, not really.