Val Vega, page 18
“Jerana’s mind has keen hearing,” Ferus explains. “They can sense feelings with great depth—and from great distances.”
“Marrow threatened another attack,” I say.
Jerana looks down at their bowl of half-eaten stew. “Such wretched violence. And where will it carry us?”
“To further violence, of course,” says a Hoshan with a pointy nose, who seems like an intellectual. “Violence: the only creature in the Galaxy that is its own parent as well as its own offspring.”
“I don’t know,” says another, from the far end of the table. “Sometimes I’m not sure which is worse, the brutality of the Hosh-Unam Front or the complacency of the masses. The Etoscans and Levinti have been exploiting us for centuries, and our brethren in North and South do nothing. Our complacency is our doom.”
“But why do Hoshans just accept all this?” Timoteo says. “I mean why haven’t Hoshans rebelled? It seems like your telepathy would at least give you a tactical advantage.”
“It’s not a matter of the tactics allowed by telepathy,” says the intellectual with the sharp nose. “It’s a matter of the culture created by telepathy. We’re a pliable people. We sense others’ thoughts and accommodate them. The Hoshan mind can adapt itself to any situation. Unfortunately, we have adapted ourselves to a situation that is wholly unacceptable.”
“We don’t all bend with every current,” Ferus says, sipping his stew. “There were attempts at rebellion, when the occupation first began. And the Hosh-Unam Front still resists, however terrible their methods.”
“The Hosh-Unam Front is not a relevant example,” Sharp-nose retorts. “Their members are pathological, aberrations from the normal Hoshan mind—no offense intended, Ferus. Early in the occupation, there were pockets of resistance in the mainstream Hoshan population—a subset, perhaps, with tendencies toward boldness but without the pathological characteristics of the Hosh-Unam Front. But our occupiers have brilliantly culled these potential rebels from their Hoshan herds, recruiting the boldest of us to go off-world to join their telepathic legions!”
“A theory,” Ferus says, his words slow and measured, “that is oft-repeated by the Hosh-Unam Front, whose members you dismiss as pathological.”
The sharp-nosed Hoshan waves his spoon in the air dismissively. “A lunatic can count the stars as easily as the sane.”
“So what about now?” I ask. “All of you are against being colonized, aren’t you? Why not rebel now? Not like the Hosh-Unam Front, but with nonviolence. If millions of Hoshans rose up, the Etoscans and Levinti couldn’t kill all of you, could they?”
Kettle snorts and sets down her bowl. “Millions not exist,” she says. “Safer here, far from alien wars and alien politics.”
“It’s as Kettle says,” Ferus says. “There are simply too few of us. Most Hoshans in both North and South see the occupation as benevolent—or are simply too fearful to resist. And you must not underestimate the brutality of the Great Powers. They have laid waste to entire villages in both North and South to remind us just how absolute their power over us is.”
“That’s horrible,” I say. “But maybe there’s another way. Umberto wanted you to be part of these negotiations. If the Outlands were recognized, if you could live out in the open, maybe it could help inspire other Hoshans …”
Ferus turns his snout downward and shakes his head. “Ah, Valiant One, you are true to your name. But we both know you lack the power to bring us into the peace talks. And we would not risk jeopardizing them. At least now you seem to have some slim possibility of success, which would preserve the peace we know now, even if it is a peace without freedom.”
Nearly all the Hoshans have finished eating. Timoteo looks at Ferus and Kettle. “Umberto figured out something so dangerous that it got him killed. If you give us the sample, maybe we can figure out what he knew. Maybe that will give us the leverage we need to push the Etoscans and Levinti to give Hosh more autonomy, to recognize the Outlands.”
Ferus touches Kettle gently, paw to paw. “The violence may reach us here regardless, my dear.”
Jerana looks at Kettle, lips trembling. “And what of the souls all across our world who will suffer if war should come again? Are they not our brethren too?”
All eyes are on Kettle, who returns their gaze with a silent frown.
“Kettle’s really in charge here, isn’t she?” Timoteo says.
“Kettle has long been our leader,” Ferus says, smiling at his mate. “And she still has many reservations about the role of the Outlands in this conflict, and about the two of you. But she has reservations about most sentients she encounters.” He turns to Kettle and says, “This whole time, their minds have revealed only good intentions. What more may they do to earn our trust?”
Kettle pulls herself up onto the table and stands on top of it so she’s at my height. She clutches my shirt with her upper claw and pulls me toward her.
I gulp. “What do you—?”
“Words only confuse!” She leans over, the fur of her forehead pressing against mine.
The only noise is the quiet chirping of a distant Outlands animal. It feels like my mind is under a microscope.
Chapter 16
Kettle’s fur is matted and warm. She smells like freshly fallen autumn leaves. Beads of sweat form on my face, which makes me self-conscious. It feels like she’s deciding if I’m worthy.
I try what I did when Trimana interrogated me, to consciously share my thoughts. I understand how hard it is to trust people. I think what you’re building here in the Outlands is inspiring. I just want—
She lets out abrupt clicks. “Not word-thoughts. Images. Feelings. Raw matter of the mind.”
How am I supposed to share the raw matter of my mind? The first image to come to me is Umberto, and with it that gnawing feeling of grief in my gut. Then the pressure to live up to his faith in me, to maintain the fragile peace. I flash through all the memories of my investigation of Umberto’s murder. For some reason my mind turns to the misting with the Etoscans, the image of a giant-sized Umberto in my locker, telling me not to miss the train. Whatever that meant, I’m worried I already missed it.
Abruptly, Kettle pulls away from me. “Your mind soft like putty,” she says. “But deep like layers of soil.” She lifts her snout toward Ferus.
“Kettle feels she knows your mind enough to begin to trust you,” Ferus explains. “She’s ready—” Ferus whips his head toward Jerana, as if she’d cut him off with a shout. “How far?”
“Twenty minutes away,” Jerana signs.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“A swarm of bots,” Ferus explains, “flying toward us from the mainland. We need to shut down all technology to prevent them from detecting us.” To Jerana, he says, “Are any Hoshan agents with them?”
Jerana closes their eyes for a few moments. “I sense no minds approaching. Not for miles. Gerwyn has begun the transition to full stealth configuration.”
“Good,” he says. “We must gather in the central grotto.” His upper and middle arms interlace with Kettle’s, the two of them leading the way to the grotto.
The grotto is dry and nothing like caves on Earth. Buds and spindles of coral line the walls and ceiling. The floor is smooth, and dozens of lanterns hang from the buds all along the ceiling, casting a soft light.
The cavern is full of machines and computers and pods—all of which were powered down within minutes of the warning of the approaching swarm. It’s surprising they have such advanced technology here in the Outlands.
“We’re hardly primitives,” Ferus says, approaching Timoteo and me. “We’ve done all we can to avoid detection. Now we must wait for the swarm to pass.”
I hope it’s not our fault the swarm is here, that our pod wasn’t followed—I’d hate to have put the Outlanders in danger.
“That’s unlikely,” Ferus says. “Our net of sensors showed that the swarm was following a standard search pattern across the archipelago. If they did follow you, they didn’t do a very good job of it. The search-swarms have been through these parts regularly for months now. They may not even be searching for us. More likely it is the Etoscans or Levinti making ready for war should the treaty fail.”
“You do this every time?” Timoteo says. “Power down, hide here in the grotto?”
“Not always here, but, yes,” Ferus says. “We must be ever vigilant to avoid detection.”
“They really can’t find you?” Timoteo says. “With all their technology?”
“We have keen telepaths like Jerana, who give ample warning when any organic mind is approaching. And the Outlands are filled with nooks and crannies, no shortage of places to hide beyond the easy reach of bots and mind-agents. But those are not the only reasons we’ve remained in hiding so effectively.” He drops to all six legs and beckons us toward a corner of the grotto where the ceiling is lower. “Come. Kettle has asked me to show you something.”
Timoteo and I follow Ferus, Timoteo ducking to enter the low-ceilinged passage. Ferus holds a lantern in his upper-left claw, its light guiding our way. The passageway opens up, leading to a smaller chamber that branches off from the central grotto. Ferus lifts his lantern to cast light on the chamber and says, “This is where we learn.”
The room is lined with low tables designed for Hoshan arms—no higher than my knees. Each table is strewn with lenses, scopes, centrifuges, and dozens of other devices. Beneath those scopes, under the magnification of those lenses, are bots. Each bot has been pulled apart in various phases of disassembly—and maybe reconstruction.
“Oh, yes,” Ferus says, leading us further into the laboratory, “most definitely reconstruction. You see, my friends, whether in the North, where the Etoscans deny us the Galaxy’s wondrous technologies, or in the South, where the Levinti pamper us with all technology’s benefits but none of its secrets—all across Hosh, it is the same. Why have any curiosity about the laws of mathematics when the Levinti have solved every equation? Why ponder the deeper truths of creation when the Etoscans can give us a pre-packaged God that weds science and mysticism? Our colonizers have stolen many things from us, but I daresay their greatest crime may have been to steal our sense of wonder.”
“So you’re, like, trying to reverse-engineer Etoscan and Levinti tech,” Timoteo says.
“Yes,” Ferus says, “and we’ve come up with some of our own innovations as well. We’ve dozens of laboratories like this, hundreds of scientists working every day, all across the Outlands. We sync our minds as we investigate. I can’t tell you how inspiring it is, when one Hoshan’s discovery ripples across our minds and a wave of understanding washes over us all. Legend says that’s how it used to be across all Hosh, before the first invasion.” He waves a claw at the air, and clucks his lips. “But a million things are said about how it was before the first invasion. Who knows what’s true and what’s myth?”
“So how far have you gotten?” I say.
Ferus lets out a grunt, a sound eerily like one that Kettle might make. “Not nearly as far as we’d like. But far enough that we can detect a bot coming from hundreds of miles away. Far enough that we know a dozen ways to keep them from detecting us. We’ve even found at least one way for bots to communicate with one another unlike anything developed by the Etoscans or the Levinti. Perhaps our telepathic way of thinking grants us insights into possibilities the mind-deaf have not yet imagined.”
Ferus stands on his hind legs and holds the lantern up as high as he can, so that it almost reaches my shoulder. The three of us stand in its gentle glow, and Ferus goes on, “Until you, Umberto was the only off-worlder who knew of this. He knew we weren’t just a bunch of antisocial eccentrics. Umberto told me that we represented something far greater than our numbers. He said we represented a new path for Hosh—proof that Hoshans need not be dependent on our masters.”
“And that’s why he wanted you to be part of the treaty negotiations,” I say. “To represent the Outlanders as a fifth party.”
“Precisely. Though I never believed even Umberto could accomplish such a feat. I show you all these, because I want you to know all that Umberto knew.” He pulls something out from a sealed compartment at one of the tables. It’s a small vial containing a translucent blue fluid. “Your familial’s last request of me was to attain this sample. He traced that odd energy surge to somewhere just near—and under—Tumasra. He knew I knew those caves well from my brief time in the Hosh-Unam Front, and asked me to investigate. Those caverns are still the haven of the Front—and are routinely patrolled by Etoscan swarms. It took all the guile and resources of the Outlanders to infiltrate them, but at last we found this unusual compound near the source of the energy surge. Half a mile beneath Tumasra and the Etoscan Citadel. I failed to deliver it to the Bright One before he died, but by giving it to you now, I at last complete my mission.”
He places the vial in my palm, and suddenly my hand feels lighter, as if the vial has weight that works in reverse.
“Indeed,” Ferus says. “It has many odd properties, but even here in the Outlands I lack the proper instruments to analyze its composition. But you do, at the Terran Embassy.”
“Finally,” Timoteo says, reaching out to me. I pass him the vial and moves it up and down like a helium balloon with its strange reverse-weight. “Do you have any idea what it is?”
“It goes far beyond my knowledge,” Ferus says. ““But given that we found it so close to the Etoscan Citadel, it made me wonder if the Etoscans are developing a secret storehouse of weapons there—some kind of weapon outlawed by interstellar law.”
Timoteo shakes his head. “I thought that too. But I’ve been reading up, and what Charism told Val is true. The Etoscans are building up weapons all across the North, and everybody knows it. Nothing in interstellar law stops them from building as many weapons as they want in territory that belongs to them.”
“I know little of interstellar law,” Ferus says. “But I sensed in Umberto’s mind that he believed something was hidden beneath Tumasra. On his last visit to Hosh, Umberto came here to the Outlands. His mind was far from its usual state of calm. He asked many questions about the caves beneath Tumasra, their layout and depth. He even had me draw him a map from memory! Then he asked if I could help him find out more about the suspicious energy surge. He hoped that would provide the proof he needed.”
“But proof of what?” I say.
“He never said,” Ferus says. “He managed to keep that crucial fact far from his mind. I only sensed vague suspicions—of Listener in particular. That’s why I thought the Etoscans must be hiding a new weapon in their Citadel.”
“I’ve been researching too,” I say. “Even if there is some weapon prohibited by interstellar law, there’s another gap in that theory. On Earth, there’s only one sentient who’s sympathetic to the Etoscans: Wasala. And she’s not even allowed on Hosh. She’d have no way of communicating with Listener and Speaker, not without the Interstellar Subway security systems detecting it.”
Ferus scurries over to one of the research tables and picks up a tiny bot no bigger than a pinhead. “We found a way. We call this a seed.” He holds the bot up to the soft lamplight. “It’s a software program that’s a blueprint for a much more complicated program. Once activated, it can even develop into a simple AI. Nothing as complicated as swarm-technology, or the Synthetics. But capable of building simple constructs like the squirrel we sent you—and of sending recorded messages. But as long as it’s in seed form, it appears innocuous, much easier to hide from the Interstellar Subway security systems. The Etoscans could be communicating with Wasala using something like this.”
Timoteo takes the tiny seed-bot and holds it in his fingers, peering at it through his glasses. “That’s an interesting possibility. But it still doesn’t give us the goods on what the Etoscans could be hiding. Charism’s theory about the Levinti spying from an outpost just beneath Tumasra seems more plausible.”
“There’s one other possibility,” Ferus says, “of a deeper conspiracy—involving more than one faction. There’s one more secret I confided in Umberto. The Etoscans—and the Levinti—have been arming the Front for decades.”
“What?” I say. “But why?”
“Their relationship is insidiously symbiotic. The violence of the Hosh-Unam Front helps justify their endless occupation.”
Timoteo gives the seed back to Ferus and folds his arms. “That’s not surprising. It’s not that different from what colonizers on Earth do. And maybe Umberto hid his real theory from you because he didn’t fully trust you.” He glares at me and adds, “We’re getting intel from an ex-terrorist.”
I grit my teeth. “Umberto trusted him, Timoteo. You’re literally insulting one of our only friends on this planet—”
“It’s all right,” Ferus interrupts. He sets the lantern down on the ground and sits on his four hindmost legs. He looks up at us, his somber face lit by the lantern’s orange glow. “It’s reasonable to question my history. I was young. Bright. My telepathic sight—it’s nowhere near Jerana’s talents, but well above average. Traits that made me an ideal candidate for the Etoscans’ Brigade of telepathic agents. The Brigades were alluring, with all the Etoscans’ propaganda about that adventurous lifestyle. But I couldn’t bear the thought of never coming home again. That price made the adventure too expensive.
“The Hosh-Unam Front found me only days after I’d received my draft notice for the Brigades. I felt so relieved to have an escape hatch. I thought I’d found the best of all worlds—a life of intrigue and adventure, without having to leave my world.
“Then I went on my first mission for the Front. Marrow knew I still had doubts. He promised me that no Hoshans would be killed. Only occupiers. I was several hundred meters away when the weapon discharged. We were supposed to kill more than a dozen Etoscans, but our timing was off, so we ended up hitting only one.
“It happened so fast. In one moment, his mind was there. The next, it was not.” Ferus looks up at us in the dim light, his lips quivering. “I left the Hosh-Unam Front that night, and, thankfully, found my way here. I understand your wariness toward me. I feel wary toward myself, toward the person I was that night when I robbed the world of a mind. Ever since, remorse has been a constant companion of my thoughts.”
