The message had a location in it: an address, city, and this planet’s equivalent of a zip code. Finding it wasn’t the hard part. Neither was getting there; the planet had a whole network of hypersonic vacuum trains, fast enough to set an Earth bullet train to shame. The hard part was making sure that I’d get there in one piece.
My condition was still getting worse, because of course it was. I could mostly walk, as long as I took frequent breaks and had something to support my weight on, and didn’t get interrupted by a sudden coughing fit so bad that my stomach got sore. Those were the worst. The other concern was that the Order might be around, looking out for any Emissaries. It definitely seemed like that was a concern, from the secretive and paranoid tone of the message we’d been sent.
I strongly vetoed a repeat attempt at the “disguise” plan we’d used on Nahoroth, both because that plan hadn’t worked and also because it fucking hurt like hell and I was in enough discomfort as it was. But Amanda rather convincingly made the point that I had to take some effort not to stand out. We ended up making a compromise: I would wear a skirt with a lot of volume to hide my leg shape and the obvious abdomen, and tall boots, and a mask, and a shirt with long sleeves and a hood. The look was at the intersection of completely ridiculous, hyper-feminine, and punk. Which, when I got a look at myself in the mirror, I realized wasn’t too far off from my gender anyway.
At least if I was going to die, I could do it gender euphoric as hell.
What nobody had taken the time to do before we set foot on the planet’s surface was to check the weather. It was hot; really hot. Kursh had become a major metropolis due to its immense habitability, dense forests and shallow seas that granted it a dense and oxygen-rich atmosphere. Indeed, the primary industries that made the planet an economic powerhouse were rare organics and new medicines. Shame that all of that had to come along with a boatload of sunlight and a huge amount of atmospheric moisture, especially during summer. We had arrived in the hottest part of the Kurshian summer, and I was wearing an outfit with near-total coverage.
We decided that only three people would accompany me down to the planet’s surface: Amanda, Stephanie, and Commander Carver. It made for a quiet ride down the space elevator. Once we were at the bottom, it was the least pleasant five minute walk of my entire life to reach the train station. The entirety of that day was then spent transferring from train to train to train, and took place almost entirely indoors, because the people who built that rail network had had a sense of kindness and mercy. By the time we reached the right city, it was late, the dull orange star half-set over the flat of the horizon. I, like a fool, thought that this might mean the weather would cool down, forgetting the role humidity plays in storing heat.
So we stepped out of the train and into a dark, wet, and miserably hot night. It must have been at least eighty degrees, if not warmer, and dark enough that there were effectively no shadows to hide in. I dealt with the heat by not dealing with it, putting my head down, shoving my hands in my pockets, and letting myself bake, literally panting all the while. Because, yeah, Emissaries don’t sweat.
The city was unnerving at this hour. It hadn’t slowed down yet, with a lot of people making their evening commutes back home, but the lack of light threw everything into sharp contrast. This wasn’t a city of skyscrapers, like New Malagasy, or a densely-packed vertical hive of small structures like Nahoroth. Instead, each building was built with artistic certainty, usually no more than five or six floors in height, and they went on forever. You could hardly even tell one block from the next, or get a grip on how far you’d gone, because it was all so much visual noise, the sharp and round edges all blurring into each other.
I’m not even sure that the heat was the worst part of navigating that city, though. There were so many people around, Pioneers and Architects, mostly, with a few Liberates and a notable number of those odd pterodactyl-people whose name I’d never picked up, that I could never feel sure that I wasn’t being watched. The disguise was a consistent reminder of the target on my back, and thanks to Qalin’s message, the knowledge that the Order knew where I was was always on my mind. I peered into every street crossing, looking for the trademark shimmer of a cloaked spectrademon, or just a seemingly ordinary person who looked a little bit too interested in what species I was.
I should have been taking a lot of rest breaks, I really should have. I’d read enough artist advice posts, and had enough talks with the Lance of Croatoan’s doctor, to know the importance of taking a rest. But resting would mean stopping, and stopping would mean that I had one fixed location where people could corner us. So for the most part, when one of my parents asked me if I needed to stop, I’d wordlessly refuse. It sucked, sure, but the pain and discomfort was a hell of a lot better than the feeling of my heart slamming against the inside of my carapace as I wondered which moment would be my last.
With everything else going on, the walk probably felt a lot longer than it actually was, considering we went slightly less than a mile. We ended up at the address we’d been given, which was apparently… a completely normal apartment block. There wasn’t even much artistry to the construction, besides for a few abstract murals painted over the brick of something that resembled concrete. We walked in and clicked the elevator up to the fourth floor. It was weird; for everything that was different, you could almost mistake this building for something from Earth. Sure, there were communal polyfacs in addition to the laundry rooms, and cleaning drones sweeping the hallways and offering help to disabled inhabitants (one very helpfully offered to hold me up), but the lack of decor and cheap, simple construction meant that there was relatively little advanced technology in evidence. It was mostly just a maze of beige ceramic and synthetic panelling.
There was a brief kerfuffle when we reached the right door, with nobody wanting to be the one to knock on the door. Eventually Carver did it, before slithering back and leaving Amanda to actually respond when it opened a few seconds later.
A young Pioneer, on the small side, with a flamingo-pink carapace, opened the door. “Hello?” Upon seeing our outfits, xe added, “Is there some kind of business going on?”
“We were told to meet someone at this door number,” Amanda said. “We’ll go elsewhere if that’s incorrect.”
The Pioneer chittered softly to xemself, briefly looking back into the apartment, as if searching for someone’s approval. “We’ll see. If that’s all it is, though, you can come right in!”
Amanda shrugged at the rest of us, and was the first to enter the apartment. We trailed behind her, me having to avoid stepping on Carver’s tail as I brought up the rear. The inside of the apartment was at once utterly fantastical and completely familiar. I had started to develop a sense for what all of the strange plastic-and-ceramic gadgets did, which let me recognize the kitchen appliances and shape-changing children’s toys for what they were. Someone had been making a valiant effort at holding back clutter, and failing.
“Larheamra!” the Pioneer said. “There’s some people here. Do you have anything to do with that?”
“I’ll be out in a minute,” came a voice from a back room.
The Pioneer offered drinks, and my parents began the elaborate dance of compliments and small talk that made up the etiquette of two parents meeting each other. As for myself, I was exhausted, and exhaustion severely cut into my ability to deal with new people. I slunk against a wall, folding my arms and resting as best as I could, while still staying close enough to listen in on conversation when I cared.
About a minute later, there was the clack of a door opening, and Larheamra emerged into the living room. He was carrying the source of the mess in his arms: a little soft-skinned grublike thing about the size of a house cat, which was only just beginning to show the first signs of metamorphosing into a Pioneer. But that wasn’t what I was paying attention to.
Larheamra was the first living, breathing Emissary I’d ever seen with my own eight eyes. He was a bit tall, which meant he was about my height considering Emissary dimorphism, and with a similar build in terms of willowy androgyny. His carapace, where I could see it under the long loose clothes, was various shades of yellow and gold, shading into orange on the arms. There were also these weird fringes of fuzzy filaments, like a moth’s fuzz around the base of his neck, at his wrists and on his abdomen. Maybe it was a subspecies thing?
What made it really unique was being able to see him in motion. I could see my own motions in him, the way his mandibles worked around foreign words, the slight twitches of the lower arms. It looked natural on him, which meant it must have looked natural on me as well, right? He even made those eight eyes look natural in a way they’d never looked in the mirror. Something lifted from within me, some kind of dark mood I hadn’t even been aware of. If I’d been smart, of course, that’s where I would have taken off my mask and moved to make introductions. Instead I was suddenly overcome with anxiety, shrinking back into my corner and folding my arms.
“Alright, Dralm, they’ve been fed,” he said. “Now what was this about—” His attention landed on us, and his expression twitched into concern. “Ah, I see. Would you mind giving us a little privacy, darling?”
The Pioneer, Dralm, gave another confused click, then did so. Larheamra handed xem the baby, and in a few seconds xe had vanished into the back room.
“Larheamra Syad, he/him,” he said. “That was my husband. Dralm, er, Dralm Syad. Xe/xem. Take a seat, please, I insist.”
Stephanie and Amanda did so, while Carver coiled up around an unoccupied segment of table in such a way as to approximate sitting. I stayed where I was, frozen with anxiety. Should I talk to him? What if he thought I wasn’t enough of an Emissary? Should I try talking in Emissarine, to show that I knew my culture? But what if I made a mistake and accidentally insulted him?
“What is this about, then?” Larheamra said. “Is this an interview for one of those cultural archives?”
Stephanie shook her head. “You were on that Emissary ship, the Torn Memory, right?”
He nodded. “Until I met Dralm, yes.”
“Do you know where it went?”
Larheamra’s posture suddenly stiffened. I realized that I couldn’t read his tone yet, having no experience with Emissary pheromones to guide me. “It happens that I do.”
The others looked at him expectantly. He didn’t say anything. “Where?” asked Stephanie.
“You know I can’t just tell you that,” he said, folding his lower arms. “I swore that I wouldn’t, when I left the Torn Memory.”
Carver quirked her head slightly. “Why did you leave?”
Larheamra turned, gesturing toward the back room. “I found someone that was worth leaving for. The biological father had just left xem when we met, and I…” he shrugged. “I’m a passionate person.”
“I don’t think you quite understand,” Amanda said. “We have to find the Torn Memory. We’re on a very important mission.”
Larheamra’s antennae curled forward in annoyance. “I’m sure you are. And I’m sure you’ll tell me all about whatever your mission is. But I have no way of knowing that what you’re saying is the truth, and that you aren’t working for the Order, or Corringer, or goodness knows whoever else. You know, it was considered a risk to even tell me where the ship was going, but Factor wanted me to be able to return to them if I changed my mind.”
“We’ve got a sick Emissary who needs the kind of medical attention that they can only give them on that ship,” Stephanie said. “You have to understand what that’s like.”
“Get out of my house,” he said firmly, not raising his voice. “If this is all you’re here for, then I’m sorry to have to say that I can’t give you what you want. Get out.”
I finally stood up, realizing that I was the only one who stood a chance at convincing him. If I could have gone through the entire exchange without talking to Larheamra, I would have, purely out of social anxiety. But instead I took a step forward and pulled the mask off of my face, shrugging my hood off at the same time. I didn’t even have to say a word as I looked right into his eyes.
Larheamra stood up, mouth falling open. He glanced from me, to the people at the table, then back to me. He approached me slowly, as though moving too quickly might cause me to run away or just break. He took in my entire appearance slowly, eyes lingering on the area at the bottom of the throat where he had fuzz and I didn’t.
“What did they do to you?” he said, in the gentle clicks and hisses of Democratic Emissarine.
I responded in kind, the best that I could. “Nothing. I’m sick.”
He nodded, resting one arm on my shoulder. Then he mumbled something I couldn’t fully understand, something in Emissarine. But I caught one word: a word that meant “trust.”
“Yes,” I said quickly. “I trust them.”
He gave me a weird look. I’d probably given a weird answer to whatever he’d said.
“Um. I’d rather talk in English,” I said in English. “I’m still learning Emissarine.”
Larheamra adjusted the lenses of his Ariel glasses. “Yes. Of course.” He turned to the others. “What happened?”
Amanda smiled slightly. “Like my wife said, they’re sick. We don’t know the cause or much about the cure, which is why we need to go to the Torn Memory.”
“Right. Well that makes it more difficult,” he said.
“You still aren’t going to tell us?” I said.
Larheamra made a soft trill. “I want to. But I was sworn to secrecy, and… how large is the ship you intend to use? Just the four of you?”
“I’m the captain of the CSC Lance of Croatoan,” said Carver. “We’ve been escorting the young one and their friends and family. Crew of about forty, plus five passengers.”
Larheamra said something in Emissarine that didn’t have a proper translation, but which I knew to be a lot of swearing. “I can’t let that many people in on the secret. That you’re Collective makes it… a bit better, I guess, but with that many people I just can’t trust that every single one will be able to keep it totally under wraps.”
I folded my lower arms, looking for a solution. “What if we didn’t tell the whole crew, then? Just the people who absolutely needed to know?”
“Catherine, you do realize that the whole ship will be going there, don’t you?” Carver said. “We can’t just send a shuttle out, everyone will be there.”
I shrank into myself out of embarrassment, my antennae sagging, until Stephanie spoke up. “Actually, they may be onto something.”
Carver, unnervingly, pivoted around 180 degrees to look at my mother. “How so?”
“The only person who really needs to know the exact name of the star is the navigator, right? And I’ve navigated large ships before, I could do the calculations with your ship’s computer.”
“And my engineers? Don’t they need to be able to plot the course?”
Stephanie shrugged. “How many engineers do you have? Two, four? Divide the course into chunks, let each one work out a portion of it. I’ll know if they fuck up. And the rest of the crew doesn’t need to know anything; there’s thousands of millions of stars out there and most of them look just about the same unless there’s a population there.” She turned to Larheamra. “I’m assuming the Torn Memory is hiding in an unpopulated system?”
“It is.”
Stephanie made a “See?” gesture. “Then nobody but me will ever have to know.”
Larheamra glanced over to me. “I’ll tell the child, and they can tell whoever they choose. Do you think you can keep it safe?”
I would have raised an eyebrow if I had any, but I approximated the movement with my secondary eyes. “Why not just tell her?”
“Because the terms of the promise I made were that I wouldn’t tell anyone who wasn’t an Emissary, and do my best to make sure that any Emissary I did tell would be able to keep the secret. You seem more than ready to do the latter, but I’m not going to break the former part of it.”
“Okay. That’s fine, I guess. Though my memory is pretty crap, so if you’re going to give me a bunch of coordinates I will probably forget.”
“I’m sure you’ll remember it,” he said, stepping closer to me. “Do you mind if I give you a hug? You smell like you could use a hug.”
The use of the verb “smell” threw me off for a second, until I realized that he had the same senses that I did, and with more experience of the species. I didn’t respond, instead pulling him in wordlessly. He wrapped all four arms around me, his antennae briefly brushing against my face in what I’d read was a gesture of friendliness. I did the same thing back, maneuvering as best I could to avoid crushing my still-broken arm. Larheamra pivoted, placing his mandibles near my ear, and whispered something in Emissarine.
“Virdessl’s Star.”
We pulled apart, and I could swear I caught a trace of familiar pheromone. Something like a broken doll, or a happy ending to a tragic play. Something like that.
Before I could forget the name I’d been given, I rushed over and told it to Stephanie. She nodded, typing it into her Ariel so she wouldn’t forget. Then she stood, with the other adults, and made for the door.
Just as Amanda’s fingers brushed against the door handle, Larheamra spoke up. “Do you want to stay for dinner? Dralm and I already ate, but we could… we could make something.”
I’d wanted to leave right away, if only because the trip back to the elevator was too long and we needed to find a place to stay. But the moment he put forward that offer, my entire brain made a U-turn. “Sure,” I said. “I could eat.”
Dralm and Larheamra whipped up something quick, with one course for me and one for the others. My food, which I devoured greedily, consisted of a traditional Emissary meal called urrvthithst, a pale green baked good with a crunchy exterior and soft, gooey insides, with a side of something potatoey that Dralm claimed was a family recipe. While we ate, we shared stories. Amanda told an abbreviated version of how we’d ended up here, omitting anything about Dr. Erobosh or the unique nature of his ship. Larheamra told the story of why he’d left the Torn Memory, how he’d met Dralm, a single father who’d been abandoned by his ex after getting pregnant. When that was done, he talked a bit about the Torn Memory, though mostly quick anecdotes about funny disagreements and misadventures that had gone down on the ship. We were only there for about half an hour, but it felt… freeing to speak with a member of my own species.
I wished that I didn’t have to leave. I really did. But, though the good company made the worst symptoms of my sickness almost seem to go away, I knew that I was still in a race against the clock. We said goodbye to Larheamra, helped to clean up the dishes, and left to find a hotel.
Thank you as always, I do love this story, I sort of had a happy tear for her to meet someone of her kind. Also home cooked emissary food, cloud 9 I bet.
What a nice meeting
The Torn Memory better is still parked at Virdessl’s Star. I'm getting really anxious here.