Renegade ch 5: Seven Questions

Curiosity was not friends with patience. Though the former compelled Xlack to see this through, to wait and discover what loitered at their destination, his severe deficiency of the latter almost had him leaping out of the cockpit anyway.

After what felt like forever, the narrow cave opened into a larger cavern. Hidden fixtures provided dismal illumination, and tidy rows of varied vehicles decorated the space, Oha plentiful among the mix.

Their two ships landed lightly alongside one another. Cockpits swung open, air rushing in warm, damp, and sweet, like the fragrance of freshly baked dessert.

Xlack jumped out of the Oha and hit the ground harder than he anticipated, hand leaning against the ship’s side. This planet was heavy. His heart hammered to keep blood supplied to his brain, and dizziness threatened to pounce. Remaining motionless, he took in slow gulps of sugary air as his body adapted and his eyes roamed his surroundings.

“Are you coming?” the pilot called, already halfway to one of the many doors on the ground level. Her helmet muffled her voice, reminding Xlack he had forgotten to redeploy his.

He didn’t step away from the ship. “When do I get to fix my Oha?”

“Maintenance teams will care for your vehicle. Follow us, please.”

She had a striking accent with sharp t’s and hollow l’s, and part of him wondered what it would sound like if she said his name. A larger part of him wasn’t done sulking.

Spine toward to her, Xlack held out a hand to his pet, and the beastling hopped onto his palm. Claws left a dozen instantly-repaired punctures in his sleeve as Rell scrambled up and perched on his shoulder.

He didn’t turn as the canopy lowered, though he heard a door slide aside at the pilot’s approach. As she stopped alongside the entrance, her impatience formed a spear prodding at his shoulder blades. Its strength hooked his curiosity, and though he tried not to look at her when he finally did turn, his eyes refused to focus on anything else.

Ms. Security in Anonymity was shorter than Lanox, curves accentuated by the jacket cropped at her ribs and a pair of laces sauntering down her shirt. A utility belt hugged her hips, and pants the same leathery texture as the jacket disappeared mid-shin into soft, obsidian boots. Her fingers were all that showed of her skin, fair as moonlight.

As she stepped through the open door, mystery slithered in her wake, and Xlack followed.

Lanox leapt in front of him, visor raised to reveal her cheerful eyes. Hard on the outside but flexible when pressed from within, her helmet stretched to accommodate her mountainous hair and seemed misshapen.

What kind of face did the other girl’s visor hide? Was she as ordinary as her friend?

Lanox pulled off her helmet. “Don’t mind Twi’s rudeness. Welcome to Tala, Anonymous!”

As he stepped around her with a muttered, “Much obliged,” she folded the headgear into a small card and tucked it into one of her rows of vest pockets, heralding a ridiculous smile.

“Ooh, what is that?” She pointed at Rell, and he perked one floppy ear, both wary and intrigued by her interest.

Xlack glanced at her, gaze bouncing back to Twi and the narrow, rough-walled corridor ahead. “An elitbeast.”

“Where’d ya get it?”

“From his mother. Where else?”

Envy puffed, sprinkled with confusion. “We’re not allowed to have pets, at least not here in Vlavaran. What hrausq are ya from?”

If he wouldn’t even tell her his name, what made her think she could start asking random questions?

He put on his best haughty glower. “What hrausq are you from?”

“Seven-One-Nine, but that doesn’t answer my question.”

“Uh…I’m from Three-Two-One.”

“Doesn’t exist,” Twi quipped, and though he still couldn’t see her face, he felt her judgmental stare.

“Sorry. I meant Eight-Nine-Nine.”

Twi whirled. “You’re big for a two-year-old. How did you get assigned to such a young hrausq?”

“I—”

“It doesn’t matter for now. Come meet our hrausq!” Lanox opened a door and shoved Xlack through.

The square room boasted whimsical landscapes and intricate patterns painted haphazardly on otherwise silver walls. Overrun by gutted electronics, the furniture arrangement was the design of chaos incarnate, and six randomly placed ladders added to the obstacle course feel, connected to hatches in the ceiling.

Xlack’s gaze slid over the abandoned mess. “There’s no one in here.”

“Well, they’re not invisible or imaginary, I assure ya.”

“Lanox,” Twi rebuked as she started up one of the ladders, “why do you always expect our team to all just be sitting in here, waiting to welcome you back with open arms? They have lives of their own.”

“But I brought them a guest!”

“They don’t know that yet.”

Lanox bounded over to the ladder, whining, “Find them, Twi. Anonymous needs to meet them.” As she stomped her insistence, the pale bushels of curls atop her head grew more uneven.

Rell hissed.

Twi dropped to the floor with the grace of an autumn leaf, helmet and jacket no longer in sight. Curiosity, suspicion, and compassion mingled intrinsic in her expression, highlighting features that teetered on the border of sharp and soft. A skein of thick canvas occupied her arms, and she looked from it to Lanox with a sigh, resignation prancing.

Her gaze, glistening silver and chrysolite, met Xlack’s, and he flinched.

“Do you want to meet them?”

Looking away, Xlack shrugged, hand rising to curl over Rell and quiet him. “Sure.”

“Alright then. Teree is the closest.” Her tail of black plaits swung as she set down the canvas and turned to the door. Amongst the maelstrom of other objects, the cloth held special dignity, perfectly folded and placed with reverence.

As she led them back into the hewn hallway, Xlack’s sightline bounced between it and her, but then the door closed, and there wasn’t much else to distract him. He strove not to stare at the streaks of shining silver that ran through her skin, patterned around the corners of her eyes. They reminded him of smoke dancing in a fickle breeze.

“I think you wore that helmet too long.”

Her gaze jumped to him. “Why?”

“Because it left stuff on your face.”

“My face?” She rubbed a hand along her cheek. “It’s never done that before. Lanox, does—”

“There’s nothing on yer face,” Lanox interrupted, head swaying.

“Yes, there is.” Xlack stepped within her space, and her scent was ambrosia, as sweet as the air here but deeper, fuller. “You have these silver lines by your eyes and your hairline and across your nose.” He started to trace one, but she retreated from his touch, glare trained on him.

“Don’t be an idiot. I’m Knalcal. I should ask you why you don’t have birthmarks.”

“Because I don’t.”

Her suspicion swelled into a bonfire crawling across his skin. “You act as though you’ve never seen a Knalcal, and when Lanox asked about your hrausq, you didn’t know what she was talking about. Even the laity know what a hrausq is.”

Way to make me feel stupid.

Hands on hips and gaze steely, she walked backward as she continued to lead the way. “Would you mind giving me the definition of amaraq?”

“Of course not, if you first recite the definition of sutae.” He thought he knew the word, but it was old, and no one used it anymore. Except Lanox, apparently. Surely, she didn’t mean to call him a shepherd.

As they entered a mid-sized auditorium—no chairs, floor sloping toward a flat space in the center, all carved straight into the cave’s dirt and rock—Twi stopped. “I asked you first.”

“And I asked you second.”

“Exactly, so you’ll answer first, and I’ll answer second.”

“No, you asked first, so your answer also comes first. You said something, I said something, so now it’s your turn again.” An illogical argument, but he hoped he had lost her somewhere in there and she would just give up.

Arms folded, she frowned at him with one eyebrow raised. Rell slinked around Xlack’s neck, relocating to the other shoulder, where he could better hide from her line of sight.

Small children suddenly poured into the space, yelling, laughing, and shoving each other. None paid any mind to the trio of young adults arguing by one of the doorways.

Predator eyes sharpening, Rell scampered down Xlack’s back and joined the stampede.

“Rell, come back here. Hey!”

As a Knalcal child crashed into his knees, Xlack snatched him up by the back of his shirt.

“Hey, ya!”

Without releasing his kicking prisoner, Xlack turned to find another boy scowling at him, semi-shaggy hair curled around his ears. This one, too, wore Adapt fabric—an open sandy jacket with rows of tin zippers and matching pants. Though half Xlack’s height and age, at least he was older than the toddlers swarming around them.

“Who are ya, and why are ya in my spot?” the preteen demanded, glowering up at him.

Xlack thought the sight funny. Glowering was usually reserved for people one could physically look down at, not persons twice one’s size.

“I didn’t know this sport was yours.”

The boy’s eyes narrowed even further, jaw rigid as he pointed at Xlack’s feet. “The marker has my name on it.”

Xlack looked down. Under the toes of his boots there was indeed a small x with some scribbling around it, but he couldn’t make out what it said. His head hurt, and dimness crawled from the corners of his vision. The children were much too loud, young minds flinging a hodgepodge of emotions thick enough to smother him.

One or two kids would have been a nuisance, but this is an assault.

He pushed their minds away—their crashing waves of sensation—because if he didn’t, his vision would only continue to retreat. If he focused, he could make this chaos leave him alone, or so his uncle always assured him. It usually didn’t work, but Xlack strove to act like nothing was wrong anyway. He just had to collect Rell and get out of here as soon as possible.

A hand clapped his shoulder, and he jumped.

“Easy, Teree. Are ya okay, Stranger?” As if encircled by a strong shield, this newcomer helped push away the chaos, and his timbre, though lilted like other Tala, possessed a soothing quality.

Xlack nodded. “I’m fine.”

Straight hair spiked like a desert plant, the shielded stranger stood a head and shoulders taller than him. His slit nostrils were more obvious than Lanox’s but not as notable as Teree’s. The preteen’s nose was almost flat, contributing to the sharpness of his voice. All three had the same shimmery quality to their skin. Twi, too, if Xlack looked for it. Hers was much fainter.

“Be nice to him, Teree. He’s likely someone important.”

“Don’t put me down in front of my charge!” Teree keened with a gesture at the children scrambling around them.

“Then don’t give me anything to put ya down about and get yer class under control.”

“They are under control,” Teree argued just as the boy Xlack held finally succeeded in kicking free and took off. “Kahrin, no running!”

Kahrin stopped and contemplated this rule for a moment before taking one large, quick step, hesitating, then taking another.

“Kahrin!”

“I’m not running!”

“Ya are going to fall flat on yer face like that!”

Kahrin paid no heed to this warning, but Xlack no longer understood their shouts—jumbled syllables distorted and lost in the sea of ragged, wild emotions pouring from the crowd. He drowned, breaths growing faster but accomplishing nothing. Detritus sliced him—fickle, half-formed shards of annoyance, glee, surprise.

He grabbed them, yanked them, stilled them. Several snapped and shied away, like rodents scurrying from the light, but he held the rest in a death grip.

“Sit!” The shout echoed throughout the auditorium as the thought flowed into each of the minds he held. The result resembled a wave, children nearest him plopping down the fastest.

“That’s an impressive class of suggestion,” the tall one acknowledged. “He helped ya, Teree, and I don’t think he’s someone ya want to offend, so be polite.”

“Fine,” Teree groaned and extended a hand.

Xlack could barely see him, vision fogged over with clouds of overdramatic emotion. He squinted. “What do you want?”

The preteen rolled his eyes. “You never meet someone before? Hello, I’m Teree, and ya are supposed to shake my hand now.”

Hesitant, Xlack grabbed Teree’s wrist and made the hand attached to it shake.

With furrowed brows, Teree looked at the tall one. “He’s weird.”

Xlack scowled. “I’m not the one who asked for someone to shake my hand.”

Twi laughed, a delicate, throaty cadence carried on a waft of amusement. Xlack liked the sound. He sensed that she needed to laugh, but he didn’t appreciate that she laughed at him.

Turning amid a mix of emotions he didn’t care to identify, Xlack wove through the restlessly sitting multitude, heading toward where tiny Rell terrorized a group of children.

The tall one kept step with him. “I’m Alez Rifo.”

“You want me to shake your hand now, too?” Xlack didn’t slow or reach toward him.

If Rifo wished to repeat that stupid ritual, he didn’t know if he should comply. He wanted away from the crowd, but Rifo’s dampening presence was helpful, nice. Did the sigils like exploding rivets on his boots and belt have any significance? Things like that always had significance among Aylata.

“Ya got a name?”

“I’m called Ekymé.”

Clapping, Lanox popped up from an argument with some seated kids. “Oh good, ya met Rifo, Anonymous! Now ya only have to meet Zeln and Aarex, Naday, and…”

Xlack stopped paying attention as she rambled, and evidently, so did Rifo.

“Why are ya here, Ekymé?”

Lanox interrupted her own run-on. “He lost his amaraq, and we found him and rescued him, but I think he lost his memory, too, because he talks awfully strange, no offense of course. Oh, and that thing on his shoulder is an elit— wait, where’d it go?”

“Thank-ya, Dr. Know-It-All.”

“Ya asked,” she excused with a shrug.

“Maybe I wanted to hear it from him.”

Her shoulders rose again, brushing aside the counsel as a small girl tugged on the longer end of her pale shirt.

“Oh, ya are so cute!” Lanox scooped the child into her arms. The toddler cooed indiscernible sentences to her, and she cooed back.

“Ya hungry, Ekymé?”

Until Rifo mentioned it, Xlack didn’t realize how famished he was. His stomach’s mournful grumble answered for him.

With an exaggerated bow and chuckling smile, Rifo responded, “Well then, right this way, and we’ll get ya some food.”

At hearing these well-loved phrases, Rell bounded over, toting a scrap of fabric. Slender tail waving, he leapt at Rifo’s ankle, and claws dug into the tough Adapt of Rifo’s boot as the beastling climbed. His nose twitched, whiskers shaking as he sniffed at the lowest of the pockets lining Rifo’s leg. Baby fangs sunk in a moment later, stolen fabric allowed to fall away at the prospect of a better prize.

“Hey, Pipsqueak, I bite back.” Rifo caught Rell by the scruff of the neck and lifted him to eye level. “Ya might make good filling for a sandwich.”

Rell swatted at his captor’s face, little paw nowhere close to reaching its target.

Xlack tried to keep his tone light as he snatched the growling beastling away from Rifo. “Rell would scratch and claw the whole way down.”

“I’d prefer an easier meal. Ya coming?”

Xlack’s stomach voiced complaint again, aggrieved that Rifo hadn’t pulled food from one of his myriad of pockets. Rifo laughed, leading the way to an exit.

Lanox jumped to her feet. “Where are ya going?”

“Yer guest is hungry.”

“Oh, okay,” she conceded and returned to her cooing.

Lanox was weird. Xlack was glad her mind seemed so closed. Getting lost in it would be the stuff of chaos and nightmares.

***

According to Rifo, the space with ladders and murals and chaos for a housekeeper was called the hrausq room. As the door rolled open and Xlack stepped through, his gaze fell on the pristine canvas Twi had left perched on a small, square table in the middle of the carnage. Curiosity dared him to unfold it and discover why it was so special. Did it have something to do with the murals? Had Twi painted those?

Rifo trudged to the far corner and pulled open the door of a coolbox nearly hidden by unidentifiable objects. Or parts of objects. It looked like a mechett had exploded in that corner, many of its scattered pieces scorched. Rifo didn’t seem to notice. Rummaging through the icy cubby, he muttered something about Stevalok having pirated his cookies again.

Keeping a wary eye on him, Rell jumped down and set about exploring the space, clambering over the electronic detritus that littered the floor.

Unsure where he should sit or stand in this mess, Xlack let his gaze roam the murals. The ceiling was a mosaic of scenes, none larger than the length of his arm. Several spaces remained blank silver, throwing back his faded reflection.

The panels on either side of the door were similar in their vacuity, but they lacked the same untouched clarity. Faint afterimages lingered as if rain had blurred and washed away what had once been there. This fading effect afflicted only the center of the adjacent scene.

By contrast, the most vivid mural spanned much of the back wall. It depicted a dizzying drop into a vine-coated canyon with sparkling swirls of architecture laced through its cliffs.

“Is that a real place?”

Rifo froze, finger hovering just short of the start button on the cookbox he had loaded.

After a moment, the cooker acknowledged his touch with a hushed beep, motor whirring, and Rifo turned away, deliberately not looking at anything. “It’s Mumir. On Knalz.”

Xlack noted a faded black scar splashed across the ravine, hanging over the landscape and ruining some of its depth. Several of the murals had these slashes now that he looked for them. Were they supposed to be words? Did these aliens write with scribbled splashes? It was said ancient Zalerits wrote by dripping scented dye on dried leaves.

“Did Twi—”

“Twi is removing the murals.”

Why? Xlack wanted to ask, but the heavy sadness and regret pulsing through Rifo silenced him. Rifo didn’t want to talk about the murals, and they weren’t important. They had nothing to do with Xlack’s mission.

Retreating to a squat, square chair positioned against the wall, thick cushion relatively free of clutter, Xlack sat on its edge, retrieved his datapad from his belt pocket, and prompted the fingernail-sized device to unfold.

“Sorry.” Rifo swept electronic inners off the seat. “When Entrycii and Lanox get into a project, they can make quite a mess. I don’t even notice it anymore.”

The cookbox hooted, and Rifo returned to it. Xlack sat back, mysterious mission looming at the front of his mind. He stared at his datapad, a device now about the size of both his hands held alongside one another. It was a rectangular prism as thin as an eyelash and just as weightless, a shiny black touchscreen in a smooth metal casing. A variety of ports hid unless called upon while eight hematite ovals adorned the back, designed to take commands from warm fingers.

Rifo pulled Xlack’s gaze away from it, handing him a piece of flat, bumpy food.

“This smells like bread.”

“That’s because it is bread.” Rifo ripped off a piece and tossed it in his mouth.

“It looks like it has a disease.”

Rifo chuckled and nearly choked on what he had just swallowed. “That would be an interesting concept, having to give yer bread medicine so when it was better, ya could eat it.”

Xlack laughed, too, and took a tentative bite of the flatbread. It was warm, soft, and buttery, melting in his mouth much like the breadsticks back home.

Rell emerged from beneath the chair, a sock gripped in his sharp teeth.

“Rell, give me that.” Capturing the beastling and setting him on his lap, Xlack traded the sock for a fluffy crumb. Rell happily gobbled it, onyx eyes wide in hopes of more as his master draped the sock over the armrest.

“It’s funny.” Rifo slid into the chair next to Xlack’s. “People try to compare their own experiences to those of others. My own amaraq died on Kelis not too long ago.”

Xlack wished he knew what an amaraq was.

“Yet, there’s no way ya are feeling the exact way I was because circumstances are never exactly the same. Even the slightest difference is still a difference, but still, the first words I think to say to ya are ‘I know how ya feel.’”

Interesting sentiment, but Xlack doubted Rifo knew what he felt. Debating what he should do next, he turned on the datapad’s screen. Its glow grabbed Rifo’s attention.

“What’s that?”

“A device.”

“I can see that. What are ya doing with it? What’s it for?”

“I’m sending my report and receiving further orders,” Xlack replied, typing: This is Xlack Ekymé. I have accomplished my objective and am reporting to you from Tala. Awaiting further instructions.

Rell pawed at the back of the datapad, a reminder the bread wasn’t all gone and if Xlack was done with it, he would gladly finish the rest. Xlack gave him a bigger piece, and Rell lay down to winnow away at it.

Rifo leaned on the armrest and read over Xlack’s shoulder. “Those are Zalerit letters.”

Xlack clenched his typing hand into a fist, offense bubbling like some nefarious concoction. Nayatilix was the beautiful and ancient language of the Napix. How dare anyone call their letters Zalerit.

“Ya aren’t from around here, are ya?”

“That would be correct.” Xlack dug deep for a polite grin. It felt too rigid. “Tradition dictates that in respect to you, after I tell you my name, I must truthfully answer the first seven questions you ask me, and you’ve already asked five.”

“Okay. Where are ya from?”

He wasn’t supposed to ask that. Considering how exactly he should answer, Xlack recalled what little he knew of these people, all gleaned from very old legends.

The Knalcals and Tala had been cohorts of Vozin Nar, the traitor, the renegade whom the first Emperor of Napix had hunted down right here in Alliance Space.

Suppressing a shudder, Xlack took a deep breath and placed his hand over his Ier. “Napix.”

“Hmmm.”

Not the response Xlack expected. He said nothing. Mistrust blistered with surprise and suspense.

After a thoughtful pause, Rifo added, “If ya aren’t an Adjuvant, what’s yer affiliation?”

“I’m an Aylata.”

“Which is?”

“You’ve already asked seven questions.”

“So what, ya can’t ever tell me the truth again?”

Annoyance seeped from Rifo, sawing at Xlack’s nerves. A noise nudged his ears, no louder than an exhale. Cradling Rell, Xlack leapt to his feet, stiffer than Rifo’s spiky hair.

“Whatever an Aylata is, ya sure are jumpy. Listen, this place has security coming out its figurative ears. Nothing will get ya in here.”

“You can’t guarantee that. Look—” His datapad beeped, its signal lost, likely because that signal had been detected.

Rell wriggled. His soggy bread piece had fallen on the floor. Xlack felt like that, everything familiar falling away, the hand of tradition and duty holding him tight.

He showed Rell he had more bread, and the beastling stilled.

“Am I being held prisoner here?”

Rifo flung his arms at their benign surroundings, disbelief clinging to the gesture like ornate sleeves. “Does it look like ya are?”

“Then I’m free to go. Is there a way out?”

“Where there’s a way in, there’s a way out,” Rifo told him, arms crossed, “or so says my sutae.”

Xlack stepped out the door. “Will you show me the exit?”

Rifo’s eyes narrowed to slits as he leaned on the wall. “Maybe I should just stop answering yer questions. I’m sure ya’ve asked more than seven by now.”

“Fine. I’ll find it myself.” Xlack slipped down the hall, but Rifo wasn’t far behind.

“Even if ya won’t tell me what an Aylata is, I want to know why ya are here. I’ll keep following ya until ya tell me.”

“I’m learning.”

“Learning what?”

Xlack shrugged. “I don’t know yet.”

“What are ya running from?”

Xlack stopped and turned, finding himself face to face with Rifo. “What makes you think I’m running from anything?”

“Because I’m Tala. I really do know exactly how ya feel.”

Continued in Chapter 6: A Nest of Rebels

Thank you for reading!