Val Vega, page 11
Marrow claimed the opposite, that Umberto had promised him a place in the negotiations, but I can’t imagine him working with a violent group like the Hosh-Unam Front. But in Umberto’s message he did say I should talk to the peaceful autonomists—the Outlanders. Does Trimana know about them?
My thoughts are in dangerous territory. I shift back to how I want peace the same as Trimana does, but it’s too late—her tail is pointing sharply up and she’s signing a series of rapid, aggressive motions. “The Outlanders are eccentric hermits, less dangerous than the Hosh-Unam Front, but just as deluded. Their participation in the talks would jeopardize peace almost as much as the Hosh-Unam Front. Yes, I myself saw in Olmeda’s thoughts an occasional idealistic flight of fancy for the Outlands to be formally recognized. But ultimately he knew the true prize is peace, and that the only path to peace is limiting the talks to four parties. I ask again, will you stand by his commitment?”
Everyone’s telling me what Uncle Umberto was committed to, and I hate that I don’t even know enough to know what’s true. I want to build some trust with Trimana and wish I could stop my thoughts from taking us into these minefields. But I also don’t want to make the same mistake I did with the Levinti, promising something I can’t deliver. What you’re saying makes sense, I think. But I’m just figuring all this out—I know you can see that’s true. Can you tell me more about what you want out of these talks?
“The peaceful, prosperous future for Hosh,” the administrator says. I focus all my attention on Trimana, on both her gestures and the translation. I listen intently the way I do with my friends, without judgment or criticism, all my mental energy devoted to putting myself in her shoes. “And the way to prosperity is through the Levinti Scholocracy. The Levinti have been generous—unlike the Etoscans—sharing their technology with us and fostering our own scientific progress. The new treaty must outline a path for Southland Hosh to become an independent member state of the Levinti Scholocracy. Only then will we be a fully recognized and equal participant in the interstellar community. Homecoming must be allowed, for the children of Legionnaires at least. And the Etoscan blockade of Tumasra must end so that we can scientifically, finally study the link between the bosonic storm and telepathy.” She pauses and looks at me, red eyes glowing in the dim room. “Where did you learn to do that?”
Do what? I think.
Trimana climbs down from the chair, padding toward me on four feet. “Have you been trained in mental conversation?”
I don’t even know what that is, I think.
“When Hoshans listen, we quiet our minds and focus our own thoughts exclusively on the thoughts of the other person. It’s called syncing. Otherwise we would all be talking at once. You were syncing with me just now. Where did you learn that?”
Nowhere. I mean, I was just trying to listen closely to you.
Trimana pads closer, her red eyes inches away. “I’ve never met a mind-deaf who could sync without training in thought-steering.”
I’ve never even left Earth before today, I think. I didn’t even know Hosh existed until yesterday.
Trimana’s whiskers twitch. “I’m not certain if you’re a well-meaning neophyte or an adept confederate. In either case, I’ve learned all I need, for now.” The guards re-enter the room. One removes the cord from my wrists, and another points a small tube at my mouth that vacuums up the gag.
It’s a relief to be unrestrained, even if my mouth feels like I just left the dentist. I shake out my arms and stretch my mouth. I have the urge to spit out the sour taste left behind by the gag, but resist it, because a gesture like that might come off as offensive.
Trimana holds up a small cube. “This is the petition requesting your prosecution for interfering with internal Southland Hoshan affairs. I would hate to be forced to file it. It would be unfortunate if you were to attempt to invite the Hosh-Unam Front—or the Outlanders—to participate in the talks, or if you were to renege on your promise to Doctor Ambassador Kantroponar to re-open discussion of access to Tumasra. Whether or not you are as innocent as you claim, Ambassador Vega, you’d be wise to heed me.”
The guards lead me out the door. I feel a wave of relief that they’re letting me go, that I’ll get to see Earth and my family again—then a wave of dread as I realize I’m already getting threats and ultimatums from every direction on a world I barely know.
Chapter 10
The Hoshan guards lead me into a room lined with the low circular pads that Hoshans use as chairs. Apparently they contacted Pash-Ti to come pick me up, which is humiliating, like they’re my parent coming to get me at the principal’s office. Pash-Ti is squatting with all five long limbs contorted on top of a pad that’s three sizes too small, like a spider that’s too big for its own web. The Hoshans march away, leaving us alone.
Pash-Ti stands. They bend at the thorax, leaning into me, but I’m not sure if it’s to avoid the low ceiling or to intimidate me with those long eyestalks. “Ambassador Vega, you are a primitive child on an alien world embedded in a complex interstellar conflict of which you have little knowledge and virtually no preparation. And yet you jumped upon that Synthetic’s back to pursue a telepathic Hoshan spy of unknown allegiance, endangering not only yourself but the fragile détente that keeps these negotiations in motion.”
I look down at my boots. “I was just—following Johnny’s lead.”
“Indeed,” Pash-Ti says. “You have a talent for following the lead of others. If you must follow someone in the future, I advise against following that adolescent Synthetic.”
“Where is Johnny?”
Pash-Ti lets out a few flat notes. “Still being held for questioning.”
“Is he in danger?” I say.
Still bending, Pash-Ti walks toward the exit, like a crooked white tree in motion. “The situation is of his own creation, and he must find a way to un-create it. For the moment, we must focus on other concerns and return to Earth. As Ambassador, you’re required to fulfill your local cultural obligations as much as possible.”
I follow Pash-Ti. My stomach growls. It must nearly be morning on Earth. “Is it required for my mom not to kill me? Because she’ll totally kill me if she realizes I’ve been out all night.”
I sleep most of the Subway ride home. I’m still groggy when we get to Earth, and I board the underground gravity train from Istanbul to New Jersey. Wasala comes with me. As the bullet-shaped vessel free-falls through Earth, the sudden rush of gravity jolts me awake better than three cups of coffee. I can’t believe it was only hours ago that I travelled the other way. I can’t believe I went to another planet!
“What was it like?” Wasala says. “On Hosh?”
I’m almost getting used to telepathy. I’ve never seen anything like it, I think, trying to shift to the Hoshan way, where thinking is the same as talking. It takes getting used to, everyone sensing everyone else’s thoughts. They all talk about honesty and openness, but so many of them seem to be guarding secrets.
“Well, yes,” Wasala says. “That sort of hypocrisy is rampant in the South.”
So you’re from the North?
“I’ve never been to my homeworld,” Wasala says. The bullet slows. “Yes, we’re at the halfway point, decelerating now. But, yes, my parents were from the North and volunteered for the Etoscans’ telepathic Legion. I grew up off-world, on a base for Legionnaires and their families. All my life, Hosh has been like a mythic place, a place I only see through other people’s minds.”
Because there’s no right to homecoming, I think. Once a Legionnaire volunteers, they can never come home, and neither can their descendants. Did you sign up for the Legion like your parents? I try not to focus on Wasala growing up in a family of spies.
“Spies makes it sound so dramatic, dearie! I wanted to but wasn’t eligible.” Sensing my next question, she goes on, “I’m telepathically nearsighted. Most Hoshans sense thoughts within 50 feet or so, but my range is only ten feet. A genetic disability. And since no one understands how telepathy works, there’s no way to treat it.”
I’m sorry, I think. That must be hard.
“So it is,” she says. “Growing up on the base, with children of other Hoshan Legionnaires—it’s hard to fit in when you can’t hear conversations more than a few feet away. My North Hoshan name by birth was Wise Seer, but that only give the other children one more way to mock me, so I just go by Wasala.”
I guess it’s not just Earth kids who can be cruel. But you don’t have to see far to see wisely, I think.
“You’re kinder than most,” Wasala says. “But since I couldn’t join the Legions, there weren’t a lot of options. So I volunteered for the interstellar diplomatic corps, thinking I could contribute something. But I ended up being assigned to Earth. Such an insult. Even the Interstellar Council didn’t take me seriously because of my disability.”
Is Earth so bad?
“No offense, dearie,” Wasala says, “but Earth is an assignment you get when no one else will take you.”
If you could, I think, would you go back to Hosh?
“Sometimes all my thoughts flow toward that,” Wasala says. “It would probably be an adjustment, but my life now is so isolating, spending all my time with the mind-deaf. It’s exhausting having to articulate all my thoughts with words. But homecoming is far from reach. It’s one of the few things the Etoscans and Levinti agree on, because they both want their telepathic legions intact. Even Umberto couldn’t get them to give any ground. It would take something cataclysmic for homecoming to be a reality.”
If Wasala is so sympathetic to the North, could she be working with the Etoscans? Even with the limited range of Wasala’s telepathy, she could easily have sensed whatever secrets Umberto uncovered.
Wasala makes a series of sharp clicks as the bullet coasts to a halt. “I may hold dear the values of the Etoscan Fellowship, but I know they’re far from perfect. I’d never do anything to endanger my people’s homeworld, and I’d never betray Umberto.”
“It was just a thought,” I say. “I’m sorry.” But I can’t help but wonder where Wasala was the night Umberto died, if she has an alibi.
Wasala hops out of the bullet, landing on all six legs. “I was at the Terran embassy, with Pash-Ti, on the other side of the planet. Johnny was the only one of us in New Jersey.”
Does that make Johnny the most likely suspect? Maybe Trimana’s right, it was way too convenient the way he led me right to the Hosh-Unam Front and then got knocked out. Could Johnny be secretly working for the Hosh-Unam Front?
“It’s possible, though that would surprise me. I can’t see Johnny’s thoughts, but he’s been a pacifist as long as I’ve known him.” She reaches up to place a paw on my arm. “I understand your suspicions, Val, I do. Before he died, I saw in Umberto’s thoughts that he was worried someone was spying on him. But I can’t imagine Johnny or Pash-Ti killing him. We don’t know for certain it was one of us. I’ve done my best to keep the safeguards on our Interstellar Subway station up to date, but interstellar software is ever evolving. It may be that someone found a way to get past them, and sent a nanosassin directly from Hosh.”
Is there a way to check for that? I think.
“I’ve been poring over the logs every day, searching for a clue, but I’ve found nothing.” Wasala stands on her hindmost legs to her full height. “But I shall redouble my efforts, Valiant One.”
“Thanks,” I say. I turn on my phone. Shoot, it’s 7:40 a.m. I don’t even have time to stop at home—I’ve got to go straight to school.
“Go!” Wasala says. “Your Terran duties matter too!”
I race out of the office, feeling whiplash at jumping back into my ordinary life after being in outer-frigging-space.
My phone rings—Mami, of course. How many times has she tried to call while I’ve been out of range? Way out of range.
“Hi, Mami,” I answer, walking briskly to the rack where my bike is locked, trying to think of an excuse for where I’ve been.
“Valeria!” says Mami. “Gracias a Dios. I’ve been trying to call for half an hour.”
Only half an hour? That means she didn’t notice I was gone until this morning—for once, I’m in luck. “Lo siento, Mami. I went to school early to do homework at the library. And you know the reception’s bad there, so I haven’t had a signal.”
“Bueno,” Mami says. “Next time, text me. I can’t cope with you disappearing on me. Not after everything that’s happened.”
“Sí, Mami.” I tuck the phone back in my bag, feeling guilty for lying. As I bend over to unlock my bike, my head swims through another wave of exhaustion. “Ugh, if only I could shower!” I mutter. Five minutes of showering equals like five hours of sleep.
“A shower of sorts can be arranged, Madame Ambassador,” comes Checkers’ unexpected voice. “And your clothes could be laundered as well. Would you like me to do so?”
I toss my kryptonite lock into the bike basket. “Um, do I have to get undressed?”
“No, madam,” Checkers says. “It’ll only take a few moments.”
“Um, sure, then, hit me.” All across my skin, I feel a touch of cool dampness, as if my entire body is falling into a drop of dew. My hair and clothes are suddenly heavy with water. Then, just as quickly, comes a subtle warmth, like a cup of hot cocoa warming me up from the inside out. My hair, clothes, and skin are all dry in seconds. “Wow, thanks, Checkers. That was really refreshing.”
“At your service, Madame,” Checkers says. I hop on my bike and race to school.
I get to school with ten minutes to spare before the bell. I open my locker and realize half my books are at home. Lockers, books made out of paper—suddenly it all seems so inefficient, so … primitive!
Desiree walks up and leans against the lockers. “You okay, chica? You look tired.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Been having trouble sleeping.”
She rubs my shoulder. “I’ll bet. But your outfit’s cute. Maybe I can distract you with something completely different? There’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about. It’s a big deal and you were, like, the first one I wanted to tell, but I didn’t because—”
“Because,” I say, taking the few books I have out of my locker, “you were understandably mad and not speaking to me.”
“Well, yeah,” Des says. “But now we’re all good, and I, like, need to talk to my bestie.”
“The bestie is at your service,” I say, but in the back of my mind I’m worried I know where this is going.
“So, I’ve been hanging out with Will a lot,” Des says. Shoot, I definitely know where this is going. “And they’re just so sweet, and so creative. And cute. And it’s like, how have I not noticed this before? I like them. I like them like them.” Des pauses. “Well?
“That’s … great,” I say, closing the door of my locker, avoiding eye contact. Des isn’t trying to be hurtful. She has no idea how I feel about Will. I’ve never had a chance to tell her about my crush either—we haven’t been speaking for weeks. I’m definitely not telling her now, not when we’re finally getting to be friends again. “I mean,” I eek out, “we’ve all been friends forever, and you’re both great, so obviously that’s great.”
“Well, yeah, that’s why I’m asking you. Have they said anything about me?”
Des chews a few strands of hair, her eyes wide with eagerness. Why did we both have to suddenly realize how amazing Will is at the same time? But I can’t disappoint her again, and it’s not like I’ll ever have a chance with Will. Trying to stop them from getting together now would be like trying to fight gravity. “I may know certain information I’ve sworn to keep confidential. So let’s just say I think you should have a conversation with Will. And I have a feeling you and Will are both going to be very happy after that conversation.”
“OMG, yay!” Des wraps her arms around me.
I hug Des back, hoping the gash in my heart isn’t reaching my face.
Kate comes up to us mid-hug. “Hey. What’s with the lovefest?”
Des bounces up and down, pitter-patter clapping her hands. “Val says Will likes me too!”
“Actually, I only heavily implied it.”
“Are you really okay with it?” Des says to Kate. “Even though you two went out?”
“Girl, you can have him—them,” Kate says. “I was the breaker-upper, remember? They’re sweet, but I need someone more ambitious.”
“You’re ridiculous,” Des says. “Maybe I can find Will before the bell. We should hang out this weekend—all four of us. It’s been forever since we did that.” Won’t that be fun, watching Des and Will be cutesy with each other. Des walks away immersed in her phone, her attention shifted to her search for Will. “See you two at practice.”
“So what’s the special occasion?” Kate gestures at my silver jacket and checkered cap.
Oh, this is just my space ambassador outfit. For a sec, I worry I’m not steering my thoughts, then am relieved I’m not surrounded by Hoshans. “Just trying a new look. My uncle gave me the cap.”
“Oh.” Kate looks down. “So how are you … I mean, did you end up doing the internship at his NGO? That seemed like a cool opportunity.”
I’m not sure which is more annoying: people being overly sympathetic about my grief, or people like Kate who are totally clueless about it. “Yeah, I did. It’s just something to do. But I don’t really want to talk about it … or my uncle.”
“That’s cool,” Kate says. We stand awkwardly for a few seconds, both burying ourselves in our phones. Then Kate looks up and says, “I guess Des and Will are finally getting together. It’s funny you told her the Will thing is mutual. You never did that for me.”
“That was like a year ago,” I say. “You and Will both made me swear not to tell anyone about your crushes, and I’ve apologized like a million times.”
“Oh, come on, Val. Everyone knows there’s an implicit exception if the object of a crush confesses to also having a crush on the holder of said crush. It’s the same as with Des and the personality counting. You’re always so passive, I can’t believe you ever get anything done.”
