Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve


Date unknown

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Kalarian Orbit



SVETLANA HAD BEEN through a living hell. She’d been kidnapped, disfigured, stripped. Drooled and urinated on while chained to a floor. Humiliated like she was less than a sentient being, and mocked all the while. But none of it—none of it—felt as arduous as sitting in her domed room on the Kalarael space station, waiting for something to do.

In the hours—and it felt like at least five or six—that she’d sat in the room, Yigôzien and Ed had been partaking in something that looked more like a two-person siesta than any kind of practical thing. Ed had informed her of his intention to do a “deep connection,” as he called it, with the invoker of custom’s brain. This was something that went beyond simple conversation, the Ithini explained. This was a total linking of two minds. A multilevel meshing. He’d informed Svetlana that she was not, under any circumstances, permitted to try and communicate with either of them. This connection would be too deep, too personal, and an interruption could undo hours of work. She certainly didn’t want to do that.

And so, she kicked back atop the floating bed and watched as Ed and Yigôzien began their deep connection. At first, she was excited to witness it. What would it look like? What would it entail? Would they talk through this? Would she get to hear Ed actually speak instead of using his mental abilities? What wonders would arise whilst two beings were so deeply connected? As it turned out, nothing. Ed and Yigôzien simply laid down with their backs on the floor and their eyes closed and...that was it. For all practical purposes, it was like watching two people sleep without the added fun of experiencing them babbling or sleepwalking. At least when someone watched paint dry, the paint actually dried.

It was only natural, then, for Svetlana to try and get some rest, too. Lying down on the floating bed, however, she came to realize very quickly that whatever rest could be caught up with already had been. She’d slept for sixteen hours! What more could she possibly need? And so there she was, sitting in a white room with no windows, no books, no objects, and no conversation. Just sitting there, staring and untired. She felt less insane having visions on the Zone Runner.

Lurching upright, Yigôzien sucked in a gasp.

Svetlana nearly fell off the floating bed. Eyes shooting open wide, she rolled over and instinctively reached for a weapon—which of course, there was none. With her heart thumping so loudly she could hear it, she stared half-crazed at the suddenly upright invoker. So loud had the gasp been that the pair of darishu who’d been guarding the archway rushed inside.

Yigôzien looked equally stunned. Staring ahead, eyes literally fluctuating between black and pale yellow, she sat with her mouth hanging and chest heaving.

What in the world had just happened?

Opening his eyes, Ei`dorinthal pushed up to a sitting position. The deep connection is complete, he simply said.

“What was that?” Svetlana asked, voice raised and pointing to Yigôzien. Across the room, the two darishu stood with weapons ready, whatever emotions they were feeling hidden by their expressionless helmets.

Despite the alarm Svetlana was exhibiting, Ed’s answer was calm and collected. A deep connection is an extremely personal connection—emerging from one is much like emerging from one reality into another.

She’d felt that way when he’d connected with her that time on the Zone Runner, when she’d “swum the gulf,” as Ed explained it, between her consciousness and the fragments of Nagogg she’d extracted from his mind.

Swallowing from her seat on the floor, Yigôzien ran her hand back through her feathery, dark hair. Only now was the shifting in her eyes ceasing, the pale yellow, sickly color remaining of the two that’d been switching back and forth.

She will be fine in a few moments, Ed said.

Hopping off the bed, Svetlana crouched down next to them. Looking between them, she asked her Ithini friend, “Did the connection serve its purpose?”

Yes, it did.

“Excellent!” Rising to a triumphant stand, Svetlana nodded her head down at her friend. After several seconds of silence passed, she asked, “So, what does that mean, exactly?”

Yigôzien rubbed her eyes and moaned. Behind her, the two darishu were talking back and forth, gesturing and shifting their bodies between each other and the invoker—likely wondering, at least in Svetlana’s mind, if they should take some form of action. Yigôzien finally silenced them with a sharp word and eyes that began to glow dark red.

She is grumpy, Ed said.

Turning away from Svetlana and Ed, Yigôzien made her way to the mirror panel. Once she was in front of it, she waved her arm across it, sending it whooshing up. Svetlana turned her head away just in time to avoid looking at herself—something she still wasn’t quite up to doing.

Ed continued. I now fully understand her language.

It was so easy for the Ithini to learn a language, it almost felt like cheating. Svetlana had to ask, “Do you think you could teach her language to me? As what happened with me and Bakmanese?”

Fairly certain she already knew the answer, she was surprised when the Ithini instead said, Perhaps. Svetlana raised an eyebrow. I understand how you absorbed the Bakmanese language. Though I would prefer not to replicate the process by which you absorbed it—

So would Svetlana.

—there may be workarounds. It will take me some time to see what possibilities exist for such a procedure, but it is within the realm of possibility. It must be, as we have already accomplished it once.

What a tremendous bonus that would be—understanding Kalarael. It would mean that she, once again, would not need a connection from Ed to speak with them. Her focus returning to Yigôzien, she watched the invoker at an angle that kept her own reflection safely out of view. The yellow in Yigôzien’s eyes had lessened, an indication that her emotions were tempering. While still observing Yigôzien, Svetlana asked Ed, “What can you tell me about her? What have you learned?”

I would rather she tell you that herself, Ed relayed in response.

“Is she able to do that after your deep connection?”

A sense of affirmation swelled. She will recover quickly.

“Good.”

Give her a moment.

The wait for Yigôzien to be ready to talk was far more tolerable than the sitting around and waiting that Svetlana had endured earlier. In fact, it gave her a chance to observe the invoker as she, for lack of a better way to put it, preened herself for almost ten minutes straight.

Yet again, Svetlana found herself captivated by the beauty of the Kalarael body. All the while that Yigôzien stared at herself in the mirror, her eyes never deviated to look at Svetlana as she observed from afar. Her hands just glided back and over her down feather hair, her five, delicate fingers combing them with meticulous precision. Special care seemed to be given to the teal streaks, which shined with a luster that Svetlana had never seen on the Zone Runner. With time to focus on them now, she could appreciate their uniqueness and beauty. A part of her wanted to ask if the teal streaks were natural or artificial highlights, though she supposed a time would come for such trivialities.

As far as Yigôzien’s figure went, well, Svetlana would have killed for it. Her body was perfectly formed—slender but appropriately “endowed,” at least by what would have been human standards. And that was perhaps what had caught Svetlana more off-guard than anything else when it came to this new species. Yes, they were exotic, with vulpine ears, lush lips, whiskers, and that gorgeous, peacock-esque hair. But they were also so, so humanlike relative to the other species that humanity had encountered. The Bakma were gnarled, knobby warriors with crimson-purple skin and bulging eyes. The Ithini were frail, pale beings with oversized, oval heads. And the Ceratopians were, essentially, walking dinosaurs. Even taking the other species she’d seen in her vision into account—the four-legged, hideous Nerifinn, the rodent-like Dishan, the robotic Annihl, and the dark-skinned, featureless Khuladi—there was just nothing that an Earthae could look at and instantly relate to on a physiological level. Until the Kalarael. Now that Svetlana could stand there, beholding Yigôzien in all the being’s glory, all she could think was that this species could be humanity’s long-lost, much better-looking cousin.

Yigôzien closed her eyes, parted her lips, then exhaled. Her hands fell back to her sides.

Angling her head curiously, Svetlana watched Yigôzien as she stood there, breathing in and out with all the focus of a woman doing yoga. When the invoker opened her eyes again, they were a light blue that was more representative of what seemed to be the “standard” color for these creatures. If that meant her grumpiness, as Ed put it, had subsided, then Svetlana was all for it.

Sure enough, when Yigôzien turned her head to Svetlana for the first time since emerging from the deep connection, it was with a smile. “Connect us,” Svetlana to Ed without looking.

No sooner had she felt the connection get established, Yigôzien opened her mouth to speak. “I must apologize for appearing out of sorts.”

Smacked in the face by the being’s thick, British accent, Svetlana’s mouth dropped open.

“When your companion suggested a deep connection,” said Yigôzien, “he warned me that it might be uncomfortable. He quite possibly understated the fact.”

Whipping her head to Ed, Svetlana asked, “Why is she speaking like she’s British?”

She is speaking Kalarael, Ed calmly corrected. You are interpreting it through the translation as British English.

She already knew that. “But why? When we first connected, I heard her as Russian. Why did the language switch? Can we change it back?” she asked, as if it was some setting on a remote control.

I decided upon this change myself. Though I have absorbed the Kalarael language with as close to mastery as I am capable, it is still not my native language—or yours. To translate her words to you as Russian was a mistake on my part. It bred far more familiarity than the connection deserved. It made you completely comfortable that communication was taking place on an even level between both parties, when this was not the case. He cocked his head a bit. By selecting a different language as the process mechanism, a certain level of inherent uncertainty will remain in your cognitive awareness. You will naturally make a more concentrated effort to select the right words, which will help solidify my interpretation of the connection.

“Wait,” Svetlana said, holding a hand up. “Are you implying that you want me to speak to her in English, too?”

Affirmation swelled through the connection. That is correct.

“So now I, a Russian, must speak in English to understand Kalarael?”

Yes.

Rolling her neck, she ugh-ed.

I understand your frustration, but this will ensure a more accurate translation.

“How accurate?”

When the connection is established in your native language—Russian—I estimate a potential error factor of seven percent. When in English, the secondary language that you understand the most, the error factor is reduced to less than one. I have selected the English dialect that you refer to as British, as I perceive it to be the least jarring to your preconceived ideas of how a being such as Yigôzien should sound. You regard the British as dignified. It seemed an appropriate choice. Would you like to hear another?

“No, I—”

Before she could answer fully, Yigôzien’s words replayed in her mind, though this time in the thick, southern drawl of a female William Harbinger. “When yer little alien friend wanted to try that ‘deep connection’ thingy, he said it might be totally weird. Man, was he right!”

Svetlana pressed her hand to her eyes. “Okay. Please stop. Please change it back.”

I will return the accent to its previous state.

She didn’t care about variations or accents. She cared about becoming completely bewildered by the plethora of languages that were now floating about her head. Russian, English, Bakmanese, and to a far lesser extent, Kalarael—not that she actually knew any of that one, but still, her words were being translated into it. “So, we are going in English now?” she asked, as requested, in English. Though she couldn’t quite tell, she could almost swear she saw Ei`dorinthal smirk. Svetlana sighed and looked away. “Do not enjoy this too much.”

I do not enjoy anything, master.

Her focus returning to Yigôzien, who was looking between the two with some confusion, Svetlana’s face softened and she said, “And now it is I who must apologize.” It’d been so long since she’d said an English word, she had to think about it. Maybe Ed had a point, after all. “The two of us occasionally argue, but…” She had nowhere to go with that one. Gently, she smiled. “It does not matter. As I am sure you can imagine, this is a stressful situation for us both.”

The blue in Yigôzien’s eyes deepened subtly—the Kalarael couldn’t hold back a smile of her own, not that she would’ve tried. “Your friend has quite the impressive skillset. He must be an invaluable asset.”

With every English word that came over the connection, memories stirred deep within Svetlana. Memories of the friends back on Earth she knew so well. Naturally, the accent reminded her of Esther, or Captain Clarke. But hearing English also reminded her of meeting Max for the first time as they came into the Fourteenth together. He was the first American she’d ever met, and he fit the stereotype in every way imaginable. He was brash—a loudmouth jerk. She missed him so much. And David Jurgen, and that fatherly voice of his that could have practically been her own father’s, whom she’d lost at such a young age. She thought of Travis, and Jayden, and William and Derrick. What she wouldn’t have given to hear their voices again.

What she wouldn’t have given to hear Scott’s…

Coming out of her momentary reverie, she smiled at Yigôzien’s words. “Ei`dorinthal has proven to be a…” As predicted, she found herself having to think of the right word to use. She settled on the only one that truly applied. Glancing at Ed, she smiled. “A good friend.” I am fine with her accent, Ed. You have done a good job.

There was no need for the Ithini to say that he was proud to hear it. She could feel it from him.

Upon turning her head to the two darishu, Yigôzien waved them off with a sweeping hand gesture. “Thank you for coming to my aid—you may return to your posts.” The darishu acknowledged and then walked out of the room.

The normalcy with which the Kalarael were handling Svetlana amazed her. She couldn’t imagine any situation on Earth where EDEN would be treating any alien species—be they aggressive or not—with such low security. There Yigôzien was, in a room with two extraterrestrial beings, calling off the guard. What a dramatically different approach to the unknown. “The way you have treated me has not gone unnoticed. Many species would have treated me like a prisoner.”

Yigôzien’s fox ears tilted forward. “You have shown yourself to be a creature of virtue.” As she dipped her head in Svetlana’s direction, she said, “You bless us with your presence here.”

“But I am unknown to you. You know nothing of my species or of me—not beyond what you experienced with me on the Zone Runner.”

“And that experience told me a great deal. You brought honor to those who fell victim to the Bakmas’ vile attack on our vessel.” As the word came out, her eyes glowed red. Several seconds later, they settled back to blue. “I hold you in the highest reverence, as do my brethren.”

That mindset, that way of thinking. It was so fair and unassuming. What must it have been like to belong to a species like that?

“I know you must have many questions,” Yigôzien said, perhaps sensing the wonder from Svetlana. “While we have time here, I will answer what I can.”

Many questions? She didn’t even know where to begin. “There is so much that I wish to know. About you, about your people.” Her eyes settled once more on the invoker’s form. “Honestly, I could spend the next hour just staring at you.”

“We may do that, if you wish.”

So maybe “honestly” was the wrong choice of words. It was important to bear in mind that the Kalarael were a species of unrestrained truthfulness. But while they were on the topic of physical appearances, she figured she might as well ask about the Kalaraels’ unique, color-changing eyes. “None of the species that humanity has encountered have had eyes like yours. Can you tell me how they work?” She’d already heard some of this from Ed, but hearing it straight from a Kalarael’s mouth would surely be more revealing.

As if on cue, the blue in Yigôzien’s eyes deepened. She smiled. “Of all the parts of the Kalarael body, our eyes are the most sacred. They are in direct communion with the soul and reflect its deepest desires.” Lifting her chin, she said, “When the soul is in harmony with Kukira, it speaks through the Purities.”

Kukira? The Purities? Svetlana shook her head in confusion.

Sensing the uncertainty, Yigôzien smiled. “You may interpret the Purities as colors—specifically blue, yellow, and red.”

The three primaries.

“But to us, they are much more. Those colors represent the balance of all living things. We call these balances the Purities. The truer the individual Purity, the louder it speaks.”

None of this was making much sense. “I am having a difficult time understanding this.”

The smile Yigôzien offered was understanding. “We are a new and unique species for you—as all of Kukira’s children are unique in some way.”

“Who is Kukira?” She was assuming a deity but figured it was better to make sure.

“She is the Goddess of Creation. The Life Bosom. It is she who gave birth to our species, as she gave birth to yours.”

Not so fast, Foxy.

“Kukira speaks to us through the three Purities: Shanras, Istéres, and Vusane.” Dipping her head in Svetlana’s direction, she said, “Shanras speaks loudly through you.”

So Shanras meant blue? Assuming Yigôzien had been speaking in order, that meant Istéres was yellow and Vusane was red. “So, if the Shanras are speaking through me, what are they saying?”

A soft laugh escaped Yigôzien’s lips. The blue in her eyes flickered shades. “There is only one Shanras, just as there is only one Istéres and one Vusane. It is they who make up the three Purities of Kukira.”

Deep in Svetlana’s mind, Ed’s presence stirred. If I may interject, to make things more understandable for you?

Please, for the love of God, interject. These new terms were making Svetlana’s head spin. Holding up her hand, she said to Yigôzien, “If you please, my friend is helping me understand this.”

The blue in Yigôzien’s eyes remained. “Take all the time you require.”

When her attention shifted fully to Ed, the Ithini began. The specific elements of Kukirism—

It sounded more like Cuckoo-ism, Svetlana thought.

—are not important to your goals. For the purpose of understanding them in a practical sense, consider the colors strictly indicative of emotion. Blue, or what the Kalarael call Shanras, is indicative of peace and tranquility.

She already knew that one—it was the reason why everyone was so enamored with her. “I know about the yellow one, too. So, I suppose red is angry?”

Red, or Vusane, is indicative of indignation. These colors come in many shades, however. The darker the shade, the less “pure,” as Yigôzien would define it. For instance, the color of your eyes indicates the height of tranquility. A darker blue, however, might indicate cautious optimism. Bright yellow is indicative of an almost worshipful reverence. Darker yellow, however, would be an indication of fear. Bright red would indicate unadulterated, righteous anger. Dark red would be indicative of, relatively speaking, mild annoyance. For all of these, as you can imagine, there are many shades and many possibilities. A mid-range blue may not indicate serenity or cautious optimism, but rather relief. Likewise, a medium shade of yellow might be indicative of guilt, and for red, general unhappiness.

What a strange scale. And so, there are no secondary colors? No greens, oranges, purples?

There are not—which leads me to the final “color,” as you would understand it: black.

That’s right. Svetlana distinctly remembered the Kalarael having pitch-black irises on the Zone Runner after Nagogg captured them.

The darker the shade, the less pure the emotion. Black is, to the Kalarael, the absence of the Purities. They have a word for this, as they have a word for the other colors: Ophareim. It is indicative of chaotic confusion—a failure of the individual to associate an experience with any singular emotion. It is total emotional impurity. As you may understand it, a crisis or absence of faith.

Well, that would certainly make sense considering what Yigôzien and her comrades had been going through at the time. Svetlana had certainly experienced her share of confusion and crises when she’d awoken in chains next to Tauthin. While she was sure that didn’t correlate exactly with how the Kalarael had interpreted things, she could definitely relate to it.

Ed continued. Just as the religious among your species have a foil for what you call “God,” so do the Kalarael. He is called Ophareim. While Kukira speaks through the Purities, Ophareim speaks as his own, singular Impurity.

Something about the Kalarael having an exact replication of humanity’s God and Devil made Svetlana uneasy. Forcing the comparison out of her mind, she focused on Yigôzien again. Thank you for explaining everything, Ed, she relayed to the Ithini before addressing Yigôzien again.

“My friend has helped me to understand what you mean,” Svetlana said, nodding her head as if to convey that understanding, regardless of whether the Kalarael interpreted the gesture as such. “It may take me time to grow accustomed to…” She paused, the need to tread carefully arising in her. “…to the way the Purities speak through you.” It was important not to indicate—at least for right now—any disagreement with how the Kalarael viewed the universe. Right now, Yigôzien held her in exceedingly high regard. She didn’t want that to change.

The blue in Yigôzien’s eyes remained. “I am glad to hear that. I understand that the Purities speak differently through us than they may through you. As an invoker, I can easily help you understand our beliefs and customs better.”

If there was a better segue, Svetlana didn’t know it. Narrowing her eyes curiously, she said, “Speaking of that—you refer to yourself as an invoker of custom. What does that mean?”

The corners of Yigôzien’s lips curved upward. This was obviously a topic that pleased her. “It means that I have been chosen by the Purities to seek Kukira’s will in the evolution and keeping of our sacred customs, of which there are many. There are nine invokers among the Kalarael, each representative of the nine clans. I am from Clan Viil-Astrul, hence my societal name of Yigôzien, invoker of custom, fel’dinstra Viil-Astrul.” Svetlana listened in wonderment as Yigôzien explained further. “It is customary for one’s title to become a part of their name, hence its place in my societal name. The Kalarael societal name consists of given name, appellation, surname, and clan, in that order. The prefix fel indicates daughter of, which precedes my mother’s given name, Dinstra. Yigôzien, invoker of custom, fel’dinstra Viil-Astrul can be interpreted as Yigôzien, who serves as invoker of custom, daughter of Dinstra, of Clan Viil-Astrul.” Angling her head, she looked at Svetlana curiously, her fox ears and whiskers twitching. “Do you have such naming customs, Setana?”

Not hardly. Smiling sadly, she said, “We do not. But I suppose if we did, I would be Svetlana, combat medic, fel’agatha Voronova.”

At the mention of Svetlana, Yigôzien blinked. “Is your given name different than I have been pronouncing it?”

After a brief gah, Svetlana said, “I apologize. The Bakma have always called me Setana. I have just grown used to it. The correct pronunciation of my given name is Svetlana.”

“I will learn this new pronunciation at once.”

Reaching out her hand to gently touch Yigôzien’s arm, Svetlana said, “Please, it is not necessary. As I have said, I am already quite accustomed to going by Setana. It is easier for the Bakma, and…if I am being honest, I have almost grown to prefer it.”

“I apologize, but I must pronounce your name correctly, particularly as an invoker of custom. It is of the utmost importance.”

Well, if she said so.

“And your appellation? Combat medic?”

“That was my role among my people.” How strange it felt, referring to the Fourteenth as that. “I treated their wounds during combat.”

The blue in her eyes dimming somewhat, Yigôzien looked down in thought. “I am afraid that must change. That is not the role by which we’ve come to know you.”

“Well…” Though she sought for something else to say, nothing came to mind. Yigôzien was right—she’d treated none of the Kalaraels’ wounds. But if her role was no longer that of a combat medic—at least, to the Kalarael—then what was it? Before she could pontificate on a replacement, Yigôzien did it for her.

Looking up and with determination, Yigôzien said, “Svetlana, Fury of Shanras, fel’agatha Voronova.”

Svetlana blinked. Fury of Shanras? That didn’t sound like a helper or healer at all. It sounded like the title of a warrior. It was by far the most intimidating name she’d ever been called.

She liked it.

“As custom dictates, so it shall be!” Yigôzien said. “Do you object to being known as the Fury of Shanras, Svetlana?”

She absolutely did not. Dipping her head with acknowledgment and smiling a bit more widely than she was trying to, she said, “It would be an honor to hold such a name among your people.” That was a far more cordial response than what she was thinking, which was more along the lines of, hell yes, you can call me that!

I am sensing it, again, Ed relayed to Svetlana through the connection. The new aggression within you is rising.

“You’re like a bucket of cold water, do you know that?” she snipped back at him. When Yigôzien blinked, Svetlana quickly said, “I meant that for him, not for you.”

In an all-too-human way, Yigôzien opened her mouth, seemed to search for some words, then turned up empty.

I like the new me, Ed, Svetlana thought through the connection. I like feeling powerful. You need to get used to it.

As you wish, master.

New aggression. How overly simple. She was proud of herself for the first time in her life. What was so wrong with that? Turning her focus from Ed back to Yigôzien, she smiled. “Thank you for the new name, Yigôzien. It is one I will cherish and strive to live up to.” It was time to return to the topic that’d prompted all this. “So, you are an invoker of custom, and customs are important.”

“They are more than important,” the invoker answered. “They are sacred.”

“Would you mind explaining what exactly you mean by ‘customs?’ Are they spoken customs, or visual customs, or something altogether different? For example, I have seen you and others perform different gestures, sometimes with your full bodies, upon greeting each other. Is this a customary thing?”

Stepping past Svetlana, Yigôzien made her way to the opposite side of the domed room. “Indeed, it is. For example, you may have seen me gesture in this fashion on some occasions.” Facing Svetlana again, Yigôzien lowered into the same curtsied bow she’d performed upon greeting the darishu who’d approached her in the Zone Runner. Right down to the hand motions, she mimicked what Svetlana had seen before perfectly.

Nodding, Svetlana said, “I have seen that, yes.”

“We call gestures such as these bajuines. There are many situations that call for the offering of a bajuine. The bajuine I offered the darishu upon seeing them was called Surin je Lejiene, and it is offered as a gesture of command relinquishment to a being of lesser appellation.”

Unsure whether she was more fascinated or confused, Svetlana listened on.

“All elements of a bajuine bear significance. This hand gesture, for example,” she said as she swayed her left hand from the front of her head, counterclockwise to her midsection, thrusting her palm outward at the movement’s conclusion, “indicates the descent of a higher appellation to a position of subsequence. The dipping of the body and bowing of the head, an element called Pimba-Hen, is indicative of the formality of the bajuine. The deeper the dipping of the body, known as the Co-jan…”

As she listened to Yigôzien explain the various intricacies of Surin je Lejiene, she found herself lost amid an ocean of symbolisms and terminology. And this was all just for one bajuine! How many of these did Yigôzien have to keep track of in her mind? No wonder the Kalarael needed someone who specialized in this.

After she finished her explanation—the latter half of which Svetlana had been too glossy-eyed to keep track of—Yigôzien smiled and said, “There is no need for you to remember all of these elements or the bajuines they belong to, of course. As your saikuran, I will be ever-present at your side.”

Angling her head warily, Svetlana asked, “Saikuran?”

“It is a provisional appellation that means I will be your personal companion so long as you remain with us—subservient to you while simultaneously serving as your guide and advisor. A saikuran is a voluntary designation—one assumed as a token of admiration from one being to another. Though I will retain the title of invoker of custom, I will also serve as saikuran to you.”

“A token of admiration?”

The blue in Yigôzien’s eyes brightened. “I very much admire you, Svetlana. Beyond owing my life to you, I can see the majesty of Kukira emanating from within you. You are a being of both dignity and beauty.”

There she was again being called a creature of beauty. Even cleaned of muck, she felt anything but beautiful with her disfigured face. Very slightly, her eyes shifted in the direction of the mirror. She was still yet to see her reflection. That reality would have to be faced, eventually.

But not yet.

Offering the most sincere smile that she could, Svetlana said, “I thank you for being my saikuran, Yigôzien. If you wish to accompany and guide me while I am with your people, I will not turn it down.” Slowly, the smile faded. “Though I would love to experience the beauty that I’m sure your world must possess, I am afraid that I must not remain there for too long. I must return to my own people as quickly as I can.”

“I understand,” Yigôzien said. “We will not tarry upon your arrival on Kalar. We will have much to accomplish in the time that we have.”

So, they were going to the planet. “What will we do upon arriving there?”

The invoker approached Svetlana from across the domed room. “Before anything else, we must first present you to the Royal Assembly.”

Must? Svetlana thought, though she dared not utter the expression of doubt for Yigôzien to hear. Instead, she asked, “And what does this presentation entail?”

Eyes brightening, Yigôzien answered, “My people are preparing a Celebration of Shanras in your honor! There, you will be anointed as one of Kukira’s ambassadors.”

Anointed? How fancy was this thing going to be?

The invoker continued. “I know this may not mean much to you at the moment, having never experienced the customs of the Kalarael, but to be recognized as an ambassador of Kukira is the highest honor a Kalarael can achieve. That you are not Kalarael does not matter. You are worthy of this honor by deed alone.”

The sound of new, approaching footsteps emerged beyond the archway, prompting both Svetlana and Yigôzien to turn their heads. Raising a finger in Svetlana’s direction as if to indicate for her to remain, the invoker made her way toward the archway and the darishu who stood guard over it. Svetlana watched until Yigôzien had disappeared from view, at which point she turned to Ed and said, “I don’t suppose you got a sneak peek at this so-called ‘celebration’ while you were in your deep connection, did you?”

I did not, master, the Ithini replied. While I learned a great deal of who Yigôzien is and by what context she views the world around her, there is still much I do not know about her history or the history of the Kalarael. Though I can explain much of who the Kalarael are, what we will experience on Kalar is as much a mystery to me as it is to you.

So much for getting a copy of the test in advance. Eyes turning in the direction of the archway, she heard chatter between Yigôzien and several other Kalarael, their connection momentarily severed while the group discussion was taking place. Ed had mentioned that he hoped to gain the ability to do group connection among the Kalarael soon. That was an ability Svetlana was very much looking forward to him mastering. Looking back to Ed, she asked, “Do you know anything about the darishu?”

Not beyond what you already know.

Subtly, her eyes narrowed. “But I don’t know anything.”

In your mind, you view them much as you view what you refer to as a Nightman sentry. They do appear to be armored guardians in that sense. But as to their expanded role, I do not know.

“Do you know what their name means?” That the word had not been translated through the connection as anything other than darishu meant there was no Kalarael-Earthae equivalent—or at least, that was what she supposed.

A sense of affirmation swelled from the Ithini. Darishu is a combination of two Kalarael words: dari and rishu. Dari means to keep something secret with the intention of keeping it safe. Rishu means honorable warrior.

To keep something secret with the intention of keeping it safe? “Hmm.” Thinking on that, she crossed her arms and turned back in the archway’s direction. That name actually made sense. The darishu were the only Kalarael she’d come across whose eyes weren’t visible. There was no way to tell what a darishu was thinking—whether their eyes were bright red or blue. In a culture where what one was feeling was displayed right there on their face, she could see how it would be important—no, imperative—that their warriors’ emotions be left out of the equation. An honorable warrior might have to follow the orders of his superiors whether he personally disagreed with them or not.

Through her connection with Ed, sparks of excitement burst like fireworks. It surprised Svetlana, prompting her to look the Ithini’s way again. He was already looking wide-eyed at her. I believe you may be correct in your hypothesis about the darishu.

“Getting a little excited, there?”

You do not usually figure things out before I do.

For several seconds, Svetlana just stared at him. Her eyes slowly narrowed.

Svetlana and Ed returned their attention to the archway as footsteps approached. It was once again Yigôzien who entered the room, the pair of darishu behind her. Cradled delicately in Yigôzien’s hands was a metallic, silver container—a square box that looked a foot deep. Likewise, each of the darishu had rectangular boxes in their hands. As Svetlana canted her head curiously, the invoker approached her. Right away, Svetlana noticed the Kalarael’s eyes. They were yellow—the same yellow that supposedly indicated reverence. Lowering slowly to her knees, Yigôzien dipped her head and extended the box upward for Svetlana to take. “What is this?” she asked.

Yigôzien’s eyes remained closed and her head downcast. “The apparatus is finished. Please accept it as our gift to you.”

The apparatus? Eyes widening, Svetlana realized what Yigôzien must have been talking about. “Do you mean the apparatus to help me breathe?”

“I do.”

She wasn’t going to delay this any longer. Stepping forward to receive the gift, she took the metal box with both hands. It was light. It almost felt weightless. The box was featureless except for the very top, which bore a series of small circles, one within the other. Svetlana recognized the symbol as the same one that was next to the closets in the domed room—the ones she’d waved her hand over to open. She might as well try. Taking the box to the floating bed, she gently placed it atop the cover then waved her hand over the symbol. The circles glowed, and the top of the box retracted into its own four top corners. Blinking, Svetlana leaned forward to look down at the object held within.

It was a strange shape, both jagged and curved, with lines and indentations running across its metallic, stone blue surface. What was this thing? She reached down to take hold of it and lift it up. Like the box it came in, the apparatus was virtually weightless. As it emerged from the box, its surface reflected the artificial daylight from above. Turning it in her hands, she scrutinized it.

It was almost wing shaped, with a high point sticking up in its center, then dips that extended in both directions only to wing up again, all the while curving inward as if meant to conform to something. As if to conform to…

…a face.

When the realization came to her, goose bumps broke out on her arms. It was a mask. A metallic, half face mask. Large enough to hide…well, to hide everything from her nose on down. As she rotated the device to look at its interior, she saw that built along its inner surface, there was a hollow extension rod of sorts, angled upward as if to attach directly to her nasal cavities.

Having risen to her feet behind Svetlana, Yigôzien said, “Simply place it against your face, Svetlana. It has been designed specifically to fit your features.”

Back when she’d been in quarantine, her body had been scanned by that little hovering machine. How had they tailored this apparatus to fit her in such a short period of time?

“We would also like to present you with these,” Yigôzien said. When Svetlana turned to face her, the invoker claimed the larger, rectangular box. Waving her own hand over its surface, she caused the box to open. Setting the box on the floor, Yigôzien reached down and took the contents—folded, space blue fabrics—into her hands. She extended the fabrics in Svetlana’s direction. “These clothes have been designed to fit your body. Though they are not as aesthetically pleasing as we would prefer, they were all that we could make in such a short period of time.”

Svetlana was barely sure of what to think, let alone say. How had they managed to make all of these things so quickly? They must have had their own version of three-dimensional printing technology. Perhaps they’d scanned her body, uploaded her “dimensions” into a computer system, and printed out an outfit for her out of whatever basic material they possessed. Setting the half mask down atop the bed, Svetlana approached Yigôzien to take the fabric in hand.

“Fabric,” as it turned out, was not the most accurate word. The material the outfit was made of felt like a strange mix of latex and polyester. It was stretchy, giving the impression of something that could easily conform to the wearer’s shape. As she turned the fabric over in her hands, she realized that it was one set folded atop another—the bottom set looser, and more fabric than latex. Placing both pieces of fabric atop the floating bed, she examined the lower set, holding it up to allow it to unfold completely.

They were pants. Two legs and a waistline with a built-in strap of sorts where a belt would typically be found in human pants.

“The mechanisms are primitive,” Yigôzien said, “but I hope that they do for the time being.” Her voice lowered. “You may try them on now, if you wish.”

Oh, she wished—after being put in all manner of airy, translucent clothing, and now presented with something that actually looked designed for her—yes, she most certainly wished. “I would like that,” she said. “If you do not mind.”

The invoker smiled. “I do not.”

Svetlana already knew that the Kalarael weren’t going anywhere—this species had no qualms about showing skin. For a private person as Svetlana had always been, that would be something she’d never get used to. But she could still turn around. Facing the bed, and with the slightest of uncomfortable hesitations, Svetlana began to remove her temporary clothes.

Picking up the “upper” half of the new wardrobe, Svetlana found it almost t-shirt like—though she supposed there were only so many design routes that two-armed, one-headed beings could go. Just the same, that particular garment was designed more like a corset than a shirt, with an opening in the back that she slipped into, sticking her hands through the shirt’s short sleeves, the fabric of which tugged against her skin as she pushed her arms forward. Unlike a corset, however, there was no zipper to be found on the backside of the shirt. Feeling around blindly at the back of her neck, she at last found a small depression. With no other obvious options, she pulled her blond locks out of the way and gave the button a press.

When she pressed in the depression, the entire outfit constricted. Fingers outstretched in startlement, she calmed as she felt the outfit loosen—just enough to give her a bit of breathing room, as if the shirt had sensed both its and her limits and had come to a compromise: a snugness that unequivocally fit her body but one that was not so tight that it obstructed her movement. Rotating her shoulders around, she contorted her body just a bit to get a feel for the material. She wasn’t going to lie. This felt good.

Though the pants were made from the same latex-like material, they were far looser than the shirt had been even from the get-go. Slipping them on felt natural. Like the shirt, there was a small depression built into the interwoven belt; when she pressed it, the belt tightened.

And just like that, Svetlana was dressed. Truly dressed, for the first time in who knew how long. Though constructed of different material and with working, onboard technology, this outfit was not terribly different from what she could imagine humanity might have someday.

“Is the outfit to your liking?” Yigôzien asked from behind her.

There was no hesitation. “Yes. Very much so. This is…” Shaking her head, it was hard for Svetlana to find the words. “This is amazing.”

“Would you like to try the apparatus we have designed for you?”

Svetlana’s eyes shifted to the half mask. For several seconds, she stared at it in silence. The answer to Yigôzien’s question was yes. She did want to put the mask on—to experience what it was like to breathe easily again. But part of her was afraid. Not of the technology or that it wouldn’t work. It was quite the contrary, actually. What if it did?

There were ramifications to this device doing what the Kalarael said it would do. If it worked—if it really allowed her to breathe the way she had when she had a nose—then what reason would she ever have for taking it off? As polished and aesthetic as the half mask looked sitting atop the floating bed, she also saw it much as someone who’d lost their legs would see a wheelchair. It would become a part of her. Would she ever be able to get rid of it? Would she ever want to? And lastly, but most frighteningly…what exactly would that half mask be hiding?

The answer to that question, of course, was the one fear that trumped all others. What did a nose-less Svetlana Voronova look like? She was the only one present who didn’t know. The thought of looking in the mirror to find out terrified her.

But she still needed to answer Yigôzien’s question. Would she like to try on the apparatus? Drawing in another labored breath through her exposed nasal cavities, she asked quietly, “What is in the other box?”

Despite what subtle disappointment was evident in Yigôzien’s voice, she nonetheless moved on to address the redirection. “I will show you.”

Even as Yigôzien spoke, Svetlana’s eyes remained on the half mask. Tracing her fingertips delicately across its stone blue surface, she took in the coldness of whatever lightweight metal from which it had been forged. Behind her, the invoker claimed the other box from the darishu and brought it to her. “A warrior must never be without her weapon.”

Raising an eyebrow, Svetlana turned around. Once more, Yigôzien knelt, holding the opened second box up for her to take. Its contents prompted Svetlana to tilt her head curiously. More metal objects, cast in the same aesthetic style and color as the half mask. But what were these things? There were two hollowed objects that looked roughly the size of her forearms. Were these gauntlets? There was also a small, baton-like object no more than eight inches in length. Lastly, there was a brown, leathery strap. “What is all of this?”

“It is customary for all Kalarael of prestige to be seen with the articles that define them. It was of critical importance that we provide you with weapons befitting your prowess in battle.” Gesturing to the gauntlets, the invoker said, “These gauntlets will adhere to your forearms—they have been designed, as have all of your articles, specifically for your body.”

Svetlana watched as Yigôzien reached for her hands, taking them and pulling them out to reveal her forearms completely. Sliding the gauntlets over Svetlana’s hands one at a time, the invoker put them into position over her forearms. As had happened with the rest of Svetlana’s clothes, Yigôzien pressed in a small depression built into the gauntlets. Something inside them seemed to inflate, conforming them to Svetlana’s skin with tailor-made precision. They might as well have been a part of her. Turning her hands palms-up, she examined the gauntlets’ designs. Though smooth, polished metal covered their surfaces, there were small indentations here and there. As she ran a hand over one of the gauntlet’s surfaces, Yigôzien addressed her again.

“When activated, these gauntlets are capable of projecting force shields.”

Why in the world would she need force shields? Was Kalar a hot zone?

“In order to activate them, simply tap the depressions at the bottom of each gauntlet against each other or against your chest.” Yigôzien took several steps back. “Please, try it.”

Not exactly in a position to refuse, Svetlana looked at her Kalarael saikuran with wariness. Taking a step back in the direction of the floating bed, she hesitated then tapped the gauntlets’ depressions one against the other in front of her body.

All of a sudden, everything in front of her took on a light blue, shimmering hue. Eyes widening, she looked up to see that the blue had a definitive shape to it—like a large, circular shield, just as the name force shield would have indicated. A shield emanating from each gauntlet, she found that she could hold her arms forward and backward, effectively blocking attacks from both sides—or with double effectiveness on one side, she surmised, if she placed one atop the other. As she held the force shields in place, low, pulsating hums reverberated from them.

“You may touch the shields,” Yigôzien said. “They are designed to prevent objects traveling at fast speed and will not impede regular movement.”

Passing one arm through the shield projected by the other, Svetlana saw that indeed, there was almost no feeling to them. Her arm passed right through the shield as if it was a hologram. This technology is fascinating. Svetlana tapped the depressions again and the force shields dissipated.

She was beginning to pick up on a trend, here—at least in terms of technology. There had now been numerous occasions when she’d seen the Kalarael utilize force field technology—technology she hadn’t encountered with any other species. This must have been an area of expertise for them, for whatever reason. It was interesting to think how the twists and turns of a species’ existence might lean it toward one technological path or another. What could humanity do with gauntlets like these? Graft them into EDEN armor? What an incredible defense against the weapons of the Khuladi. “You are trusting me with very powerful technology. Are your people not afraid at all that I might turn on them?” It wasn’t that she was trying to make them leery of her. It was just a common sense question to ask. What species in their right mind treated alien visitors this way?

Sincerely, Yigôzien smiled. Her eyes flickered blue. “Though we do trust you, we do not need to. If you turn on us, we will simply kill you.”

That kind of species. Before Svetlana could manage a response, Yigôzien was moving right on to the next article of clothing: the brown, leathery strap. The way she instantly transitioned from a potentially uncomfortable topic to the next order of business was jarring. Ed seemed to pick up on this, and it wasn’t long before he was tapping into Svetlana’s head again to communicate.

It is very difficult to offend the Kalarael or make them uncomfortable. Remember, they are extremely open to the thoughts and opinions of others. You can be perfectly frank with them at all times and not risk a social faux pas.

Glancing at the Ithini, she smirked. I don’t know what’s more impressive, she thought to him, that you know so much about their social mores or that you just spoke French.

I did not speak French. Your mind only interpreted it as—

Okay, that’s enough.

Yigôzien picked up the strap and extended it to Svetlana. “This sash fits over your shoulder.”

Its material was quite different from what her clothes were made from. It was like smooth, but leathery rubber. Lifting one arm, she slid the sash over it and situated it into place. Unlike her outfit, there appeared no mechanism to make it contract or conform to her body. It was just a sash.

Yigôzien smiled. “This is a bearing sash, intended to serve as a harness for your weapon.”

Svetlana watched as the invoker turned back to the floating bed, retrieving the last object—the short baton—and turning back in Svetlana’s direction. “This is a shock staff. It is a weapon used by darishu.”

A shock staff? This thing wasn’t a foot long. Yigôzien presented it to Svetlana with both hands, once again kneeling, as was apparently one of the many customs the invoker had to maintain. Unlike everything else she’d been given, this object had a little bit of weight to it. Deceptive weight, considering how small it was. Rising to a full stand again, Yigôzien motioned to the bearing sash.

“Wherever you place the staff against the sash, it will be held in place by magnetism. Please, try.”

Raising an eyebrow, Svetlana placed the baton against her side, where the sash went under her left arm. When it got close, it clamped against the sash with frightening strength. There must have been some serious magnets inside that thing. “I do not see how this is a staff,” Svetlana said as she regarded it.

Dipping her head, Yigôzien responded, “I understand. The staff is currently in carry form. Please, take it in your hand and hold it out.”

Upon detaching it from the sash, she did as told, eyes narrowing as she stared at the weapon.

“You will see a small depression on the surface. Press it in.”

Sure enough, there was a small, thumb-sized depression in the center of the rod. Carefully, she slid her thumb over it.

“Please make sure you are holding it tightly!”

Tightening her grip on it, Svetlana braced for whatever it was this thing was about to do. Placing her thumb atop the depression, with her arm fully extended, and her head leaning away, she finally pressed down.

Clink-cling-clank-swoosh! In a span that couldn’t have been more than half a second, the staff extended in both directions, piece after segmented piece until the eight-inch-long rod had suddenly become what looked like a five- or six-foot-long bo staff. Even the warning that Yigôzien had given her couldn’t prevent a startled, “Oh, my God!” from escaping Svetlana’s lips as the weapon was revealed in full. But now that it was in full form…

…wow.

This shock staff—for whatever reason they called it that—was absolutely beautiful. What a marvel of design. Drawing the weapon back to her, Svetlana held it in both hands and stared in wonder.

“On the Bakma vessel,” Yigôzien said, “you utilized a spear to dispatch your adversary—the one called Nagogg. Though this is not a spear, it is similar in design. It is what we have available here. We hope it pleases you.” She bowed her head and closed her eyes in a way that almost seemed reconciliatory.

Nagogg’s chieftain spear. The traditional weapon of a Bakma rider. Primitive for a space-faring species, but that was part of what made it work, in an odd, tribal way. When she’d felt that spear in her hands during the revolt, something in that mind of hers—something she’d dragged back from Nagogg’s twisted skull—clicked on a level that felt far too personal than it should have. Almost instantly, she knew what to do with that weapon. How to thrust it, how to parry with it. How to look good doing it. It was as if she’d downloaded the skill right into her brain. It was Nagogg’s familiarity with the weapon that she was tapping into. That she now owned. What was his, was hers. And now, standing in the middle of that domed room and holding that shock staff in her hands?

Yes…that pleased her greatly.

Yigôzien lifted her head. “The two tips of the shock spear are embedded with high-delivery shock charges that emit on contact. There are three settings for the device, which can be adjusted by toggle switch that should now be visible to you.”

Inspecting the shock staff, she indeed now saw what the invoker was talking about. On the segment nearest the center, there was a small, fingertip-sized switch. There were three options the switch could be set to. Blue, yellow, and red. Color her surprised.

“The shock staff can be set to three emission settings: blue, which is off; yellow, which is a stun setting; and red, which would be lethal to any organism it comes in contact with. The switch is a two-layer system. Before the toggle can be moved, the user must depress two safety depressions simultaneously on the segments beneath it.” Sure enough, there were two other new depressions that had appeared. “If you attempt to change the setting without pressing in those depressions with your other hand, the toggle will not move.”

That made sense. She was sure the last thing a Kalarael needed was for a training session to turn deadly because someone’s sweaty finger slipped on the emission switch. As of now, the toggle was set to blue—off. She was perfectly fine with that. “This is an impressive weapon.” Like the gauntlets, she’d never seen anything like this before. Tauthin and his brethren considered the Kalarael primitive, but to Svetlana, they were worlds beyond anything mankind had achieved technologically.

“You will also notice a smaller toggle beside the emission toggle. Activating it will produce sharp tips at each end of the staff. It is not exactly like the spear you utilized, but it is close.”

Manipulating the toggle, she saw that it did exactly as advertised. When it was activated, two small, metal spikes protruded from each end. Yigôzien was right in saying that this weapon was different from Nagogg’s spear. This was so much better. Well, let’s give this a test run. Taking hold of the staff with both hands, Svetlana spun it around her body, twirling it with wind-whipping force in one hand as she finally slammed it up and into her armpit, tucked and ready. Oh, yes. This will do nicely. From her side of the room and with her fox ears perked, Yigôzien asked, “Is the weapon to your liking?”

No words could express just how much this was to her liking. “Very much so, Yigôzien. Very much so.” Forget whatever pomp and circumstance the Kalarael had planned for her on the surface. She was ready to fight. Pressing the depression in the center of the staff again, she sent it retracting inward until it was once again in carry form. Stowing this thing away under her arm didn’t feel right, anymore. That wasn’t where a warrior would keep such a weapon. Holding one end of the baton, she passed it right over her shoulder with her left hand until it made contact with the part of the sash that crossed her back. It stuck instantly. Now that was the right way to go.

“Would you like to try on the mask?”

And right then—in the span of a single question posed by her fox-eared friend—any sense of bravado that Svetlana had been brewing got poured down the drain. Would she like to try on the mask? Would she like to face the reality of her own appearance? Would she finally look in the mirror?

No part of her wanted to do this, but she knew she couldn’t say no. This was a road that had to be crossed if she were to continue onward on this journey. She would have to face herself.

Deep in her mind, Ed’s presence stirred. If you are afraid, you may tell Yigôzien. As I have stated many times, they approach feeling and emotion with complete openness.

I am not afraid.

You are terrified.

She closed her eyes. There was no hiding from him. I am just not ready. I have not yet found the…

The what? The courage? She’d stood up to Nagogg before he’d cut off her nose. She’d endured torture, she’d kept her wits and determination in the face of not only overwhelming odds, but condescending “allies” such as Kraash-nagun. Then she’d broken her chains, led a revolution, and impaled Nagogg with his own spear. Without remorse, without hesitation. No. Courage was not what was keeping her from this now.

…I have not yet found the humility. How telling, with what all she’d been through. She could endure everything the universe could throw at her except the reality of lost beauty. How vain she was, and she’d never even known it.

There was hesitation in the Ithini’s mental voice. May I speak freely?

At this point, did he really think he couldn’t? You know you can.

You can do this.

Her eyes shifted from the lost stare she’d been giving the wall to the Ithini, still standing halfway across the room but whose eyes had been on her the entire time. She could do it. So he said. Through the connection, she could tell that he believed it.

Yigôzien was still waiting for the question to be answered. Drawing in a deep, labored breath through her exposed nasal cavities, Svetlana slowly turned her head the invoker’s way. Blowing out the long breath that she’d held in, she finally answered. “I will try on the mask…but first, I must look upon my face as it is now. If it is okay with you, I would like to do this alone.”

“I understand that you are a more private species than our own. We will afford you the privacy that you desire.”

As she nodded at Yigôzien in acknowledgment, she watched as the invoker approached the two darishu, gesturing for them to follow her out of the domed room.

I will sever our connection, master, Ed said. Please take all the time you desire.

Thank you, Ed.

There was a brief swell of affirmation, then the connection was closed. Turning in the direction of the exiting Kalarael, Ed followed them down the short hall that led to the archway. Svetlana was left alone.


Walking to the floating bed, Svetlana reached down to pick up the half mask. Holding it in one hand, she turned it around to look at its interior. Yigôzien had told her that all she would have to do is press it to her face and it would conform to her. It sounded so simple—as everything did in this place. It seemed that all anyone had to do to get things to work was to wave their hand or press a button. Everything was user-friendly. Easy. And it would be just that—easy—to place that mask on her face right then and avoid whatever horror awaited her in the mirror. But that wasn’t why she’d asked everyone to leave. This—she—was a monster she needed to face.

And it was time.

Closing her eyes, Svetlana prepared herself. She cared so much more about her appearance now that she was in the safety and comfort of the Kalarael space station. So much more than she had when she’d squished the juice out of that darkened, shriveled piece of flesh in the Zone Runner’s brig. Back then, she had nothing to lose. That was no longer the case.

Gone is whatever beauty I had. Nothing can change that, now. If I am to move on, I must face this.

With her eyes still closed, she felt herself turn toward the mirror. She felt herself taking a step closer to it, placing herself directly in its view. Even though she couldn’t yet see it, her reflection was already in front of her. Just open her eyes. That’s all she needed to do. Just open them.

You are going to see something horrible, Svetlana, she told herself. You are going to see a monster. Be prepared for it. Expect the worst so that you can get over it. The damsel in distress that you were is gone, now. Here, you are a warrior. Act like it.

She was ready. In her head, she saw her face as she had in the vision, back when she had only her imagination to guide her self-perception. She saw a hole. Vacant cavities. True, disfigured hideousness. The absolute worst. Drawing in a breath through the very holes she was preparing herself to see, Svetlana opened her eyes.

Her fingers relinquished their grip on the half mask. Her hand shot up to cover her gasping mouth; the mask unceremoniously fell to the floor. With eyes wide in horrified shock, time for Svetlana stood still.

Whatever horror she’d imagined, what she saw was so much worse.

It was a pair of holes. A pair of holes, right in the center of her face. There was nothing uniform about them—they were just torn wide open. The skin around them was discolored, crusted. The center of her face looked like a skull. There was no beauty to be found in this. None whatsoever. With water building beneath her eyelids, Svetlana felt whatever shred of hope she’d clung to evaporate.

There was no recovery from this. There was no silver lining. Her nose…was just gone. She looked like a ghoul.

“Oh my God.” The hushed words barely escaped her quivering lips. Water droplets trailed down her cheek as her face twisted further. She stared at her reflection until she could stare at it no further. Lowering her head and breaking down, Svetlana sunk to her knees in defeat.

How could she possibly live like this? How could she possibly face anyone from back home? They would shrink away in fright. She would never be hugged, never be looked upon with anything other than revulsion and pity. Why would she want to return home at all?

With shimmering eyes, she looked up from her place on the floor. Though she once again caught sight of herself in the mirror, distorted through the water in her eyes, she quickly turned her gaze to the domed ceiling. Through clenched, trembling teeth, she closed her eyes and seethed, “Why?” The word, though barely uttered at more than a whisper, was laced with rage. Once more, she repeated it. “Why?”

That no answer came was irrelevant. No answer would have been sufficient. No one deserved this.

Had Svetlana been in the right mind to contemplate it, she might have found it ironic that she’d clung to her faith unquestionably while a prisoner on the Zone Runner, yet now, in the safety of the Kalarael space station, that faith was being torn asunder. But she was nowhere near her right mind, and she had no desire to ponder any blessings that could be borne from such a nightmare as this. She was disfigured. She was hideous. To see herself with a hole in the middle of her face…there were no words to reconcile it.

Repositioning herself to sit on her knees, Svetlana evened her head and slowly opened her eyes. Through the thin layer of water that covered them, she saw her scarred face looking back at her in the mirror. The tears distorted the reflection just enough to hide the fine details of her wound. What she wanted—what she needed—was to hide the details completely. Of all the problems that Svetlana faced, it was one that had a solution. Inhaling a long, deep breath to steady herself, she shifted her eyes to the half mask on the floor.

Just press it to her face. According to Yigôzien, that was all she needed to do; the mask would take care of the rest. It would conform to her face, much, she presumed, like the clothes and the gauntlets she was wearing. It would help her to breathe. It would hide the source of her shame.

Just press it to her face.

Reaching out with a hand that was still trembling, she took hold of the outside of the mask. Even in the state she was in, she couldn’t help but find a measure of beauty in its stone blue simplicity. In its equal commitment to both form and function. Once I put this on, there is no turning back. Once I put this on, it is done. She couldn’t imagine being in a place where she would want to struggle to breathe again. She couldn’t imagine being in a place where she’d want to see her reflection. At least, not like it was right then. It was time for her reflection to change. With her open hand cradling the mask, she turned it outward and eased it toward her face. With every second she held it, the metal felt less cold to the touch. Closing her eyes, and with the mask a mere inch from her skin, she held her breath and pressed it against herself.

Nothing about the whines and clicks that emerged from the mask surprised her. She didn’t even flinch when it expanded to touch just beneath her ears, cradling her head on both sides just enough to keep itself in place. The very last sensation she felt was the pull of air-tight suction. The mask held firm to the lower half of her face even as she eased her hand away. With eyes still closed, Svetlana drew in a deep, steady breath.

Never before had the inhalation of oxygen felt so unrestrained. There was no struggle, no exhaustion. No subtle feeling of slow suffocation. It was the purest breath of air she could ever remember inhaling. So pure that it prompted her eyes to open.

Staring back at Svetlana was a woman she’d never seen before. One with blue eyes that were perfectly perched above the pointed curves of a metallic mask that hid half her face from view. No trace of the nasal cavities could be seen. To the Kalarael, the eyes were the only true way of conveying emotion. For Svetlana, that was also now true. Those blue eyes that stared back at her narrowed. Wiping her hand across them, she removed whatever trace of saline remained. She looked better without them. Drawing in another breath—one that was worlds easier than any breath she’d taken in the Zone Runner—she slowly pushed up from her knees.

Not so long ago, Svetlana Voronova had been a combat medic with the Fourteenth of Novosibirsk. One with a weak streak as prominent as the shoulder-length bob she’d once sported. But this woman who looked at her now? She was nothing like that Svetlana of old. Reaching behind her back, she pressed the button atop the shock staff, which was still clamped in place. The staff expanded in both directions, no longer hidden in the small form of a baton. It now stuck out for all the world to see. For all the cosmos to know she was ready to use it.

It took several minutes for the kaleidoscope of emotions inside Svetlana to settle. So much was transpiring under the surface. But time would not stand still for her to sort out all these emotions—and Yigôzien and Ed would not stand in the hall forever. It took everything inside Svetlana to pull her eyes away from the half-masked woman in the mirror. When she finally walked away, it almost felt like she was leaving something behind.

Yigôzien and Ed were waiting beyond the archway when Svetlana approached them. True to his word, Ed had remained disconnected all that time. It was beginning to dawn on her just how valuable that alone time was. She’d spent so much time connected to Ed by necessity. She needed a reprieve from that. She needed to figure out who she was by herself.

When Yigôzien and Ed saw her for the first time wearing the mask and with the shock staff extended, they stood erect. The surprise in both their eyes was evident. Attributed to an Ithini, that said a lot. Drawing in a deep breath just for the joy of it, she addressed her oval-eyed counterpart. “Please connect with me.” As the words came out of her mouth, her throat tightened a little. The half mask made her voice sound crisp—tinny. Though different, it reminded her of the amplified voices of armored Nightmen. It was like her voice was coming from a machine. It sounded a little less human.

The familiar prick of an Ithini connection appeared, and Ei`dorinthal’s voice came to her. I have never seen you emanate more power than you do now. Nagogg himself would tremble before you if he saw you like this.

Thank you, Ed. Now please, connect me with Yigôzien. Several seconds later, the invoker’s presence emerged in her mind. Turning to regard her, Svetlana asked, “When can I be reunited with my Bakma comrades?”

Eyes losing a bit of their blue, Yigôzien replied, “They have already been taken to the planet surface. We knew from our prior experience with their species that an extended quarantine was not needed.”

That explained why she hadn’t seen them yet. How long ago had they been transported? It didn’t matter. “And Mishka? My pet?”

“As he is a new species to us, he remained in quarantine along with you and Ed. If you wish to see him, I will have you taken to him.”

Nodding her head, she said, “I wish it.”

“I am at your command.”

Command. What a rigid, cold word for Yigôzien to have used—it was the first time Svetlana could recall it being spoken by her. So much of the invoker’s lexicon was refined and beautiful. Command seemed…almost misplaced. The word choice of a warrior, not someone with a title so elegant as invoker of custom. Was that what Svetlana evoked now? In a culture that draped itself in beauty and self-expression, did she bring out the militaristic authority? Did she bring out the fighter?

She was okay with that.


The walk to Mishka’s observation room was not a long one—it seemed she’d barely begun following Yigôzien at all before they were drawing to a stop at a circular doorway much like the one Svetlana had left. The pair of darishu that followed them there was met by a second pair, this one guarding the doorway—for good reason. If it was true that the Bakma were already on the surface, then Mishka was nothing more than a cornered animal waiting for something to bite.

Despite whatever inhibitions Yigôzien and the darishu might have felt, the door was opened for Svetlana to step through. Mishka was in the far corner, lying down flat on his stomach with his head stretched out on the floor. When the canrassi saw her, he huffed a loud breath and pushed up to his feet.

“Shhh,” she said to Mishka as he trundled her way. He displayed no signs of aggression—he didn’t so much as growl, despite the four darishu now readied with weapons behind her. He simply nuzzled his wide head against the side of Svetlana’s, nearly pushing her aside in the process. How big this creature was. It still amazed her to see up close. Yet there it was, this beast of raw, unabashed power, completely subservient. So eager to see her that it failed to see anything else. She—its master—was all that mattered. Fingers disappearing into Mishka’s tufts of fur, Svetlana closed her eyes and leaned her head forward.

As strange and surreal as it had been being on the Kalarael space station, she knew that whatever awaited on Kalar’s surface would be vastly more different. Vastly more…alien. But she was unafraid of it. She was ready for it. It was not the adrenaline of combat that she now felt coursing through her veins, but the adrenaline of exploration. Of facing the unknown. She used to run from such uncertainties. Now she wanted nothing more than to run to them.

There was something about connecting with the massive, spider-eyed beast before her that brought peace to her spirit. Opening her eyes and lifting her head, she said, “We will wait in this room until the transport arrives to take us to the surface.” Though her quarters on the space station was available, she assumed the Kalarael wouldn’t want a canrassi trundling about the place.

“As you wish, Svetlana.”

“Please bring food and water for my friends.” She assumed the Kalarael would know, based on their study of her body, what the Ithini and canrassi could and couldn’t eat.

Once more, the invoker bowed. “I shall do as you ask.” She stepped backward and out of the observation room.


It was some time before Yigôzien returned with food for Mishka, which consisted of a considerably larger bowl of the “antacid pudding” she’d eaten earlier. Whatever aversion Svetlana had to the stuff, Mishka apparently didn’t share it, and he gobbled up the contents of the massive bowl in under a minute. The speed at which Yigôzien reclaimed the bowl and then told Svetlana she would leave to fetch a refill actually amused her. It wasn’t surprising that they were eager to feed the beast now that they saw he would eat their available food. They likely wanted the monster as full as possible. Much to their blue-eyed pleasure, he gobbled up every bowl they brought until at long last, he tromped over to the corner of the observation room and plopped over on his side, licking the fur on his legs much as Flopper did his back on Earth. It prompted a smile from Svetlana, and she sat down next to him.

She had no idea how long it would take before the transport would arrive to take them to Kalar, but at present, she didn’t mind the wait. There was something about sitting beside the canrassi and just leaning her head against the wall that brought her comfort. That made her feel like everything would be okay. Opting to pass whatever time remained in tranquility, Svetlana closed her eyes and got lost down the wandering roads of quiet reflection. There would be plenty enough to get excited about once she reached the surface.

She’d enjoy this peace while she could.


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