Chapter 2
ARDRUC
Tendrils of cold plasma in a half-dozen colors split the air around me, forming a blindingly bright curtain that resembled the tentacles of an enormous jellyfish.
“Computer, pause recording,” I said.
The tendrils froze in mid-crackle.
I walked through the holographic electrical discharges, examining each as I cross-referenced its visual representation with the report on my datapad.
“Size, altitude, and location of this kora?” I asked without looking over my shoulder.
My research assistant, Dr. Makato Rg, hummed to themself before answering.
“Forty-six by forty-six kilometers, Dr. Husiorithae. Highest point measured at forty-eight-point-seven-five kilometers.” They provided the latitude and longitude of the center of the discharge, and then added, “The largest of five korae in the same cluster recorded at 2138 hours yesterday.”
“Noted.” I frowned at my datapad and turned. “The array recorded a total of nine clusters in forty-seven minutes?”
“Yes, sir.” The very short, blue-skinned Ymarian atmospheric scientist folded their hands behind their back and met my gaze with their own three-eyed one. “I believe that is the most korae phenomena in the shortest period of time since my arrival. Very exceptional.”
“Indeed,” I said absently, my attention on my datapad once more.
“Sir.” Rg coughed. “If you can spare me, I require a rest period.”
I glanced at my wristcomm. The chronometer indicated we had been in the imaging lab far longer than I had realized. “Apologies, Dr. Rg. You are excused.”
“Thank you, Dr. Husiorithae.” Rg gave me a short bow and left.
Rather than rest during a single long sleep per daily cycle, Ymarian biology followed an ultradian pattern of six or seven alternating periods of sleep and wakefulness.
Given their impeccable credentials and dedication to our shared interests, I had adapted to Rg’s schedule.
Occasionally, I became so immersed in my studies of Hyderia’s unique upper-atmospheric electrical discharge phenomena, called kora or the plural korae, that I lost track of time.
This was not the first time Rg had to remind me of their needs.
Rg’s ability to analyze tremendous amounts of data quickly was their most significant contribution to our research.
Their rest schedule allowed me to work and think in solitude throughout the day without the expectation of conversation or pleasantries.
I would be the first to admit I excelled at neither of those skills.
Generally, I preferred to be alone in my lab with the data and scans collected by the massive arrays of imaging and recording equipment in orbit around Hyderia.
And in the cavernous imaging lab, I immersed myself in the holographic replications of the spectacular cold plasma phenomena I had devoted my career to studying.
Data was like the finest music to my senses. Science was my foundation and my balm.
To be able to research Hyderia’s unique korae at the Nova Cal station was both the highest of honors and weightiest of responsibilities.
No one knew exactly what caused the korae.
I had amassed mountains of data during my two years here, but had not yet found the answer so many before me had sought.
Far from being disheartening, that fact merely made me more determined to succeed where others had failed.
My wristcomm beeped. I snarled at the interruption, puffing smoke from my nostrils.
Incoming Message from Nyvoran Ministry of Natural Sciences, the screen read. Designated Top Priority.
My irritation evaporated. A rare call from the Ministry, at whose discretion I lived and worked on Hyderia, demanded an immediate answer.
I left the imaging lab and hurried to Lab One to respond. At my desk, I activated the main screen and stood at attention, shoulders back, tail coiled around my leg, and wings folded neatly.
The screen changed from the seal of the Ministry of Natural Sciences to the familiar reptilian features of Vice Minister Ganna.
“Greetings, Dr. Husiorithae,” Ganna said, her expression very solemn. “I am sorry to disturb your very important work.”
“Please do not apologize,” I said. Her uncharacteristically grim demeanor caused a ball of unease to form in my stomach. “Why the urgent call? Has Dr. Regis been delayed?”
“My call is not in regard to Dr. Regis. I believe she is still due to arrive at Nova Cal at 1600 hours.” Ganna bowed her head sorrowfully.
“Rather, I am relaying a recorded message from your family on Fortusia, forwarded to me by your former colleagues on Engaren. My charge is to ensure you receive it.”
I very nearly recoiled. The unease in my stomach turned to a much more visceral need to fight or flee. I fought to keep my expression neutral, as my wings fluttered and my tail lashed the air.
I had not stepped foot on my home planet for more than fifteen standard years. I had no inclination to do so ever again, and even less desire to hear whatever this message contained. Ganna’s demeanor strongly suggested its nature.
I inhaled deeply. “I do not know anyone on Fortusia with whom I would care to correspond, Minister Ganna. You need not forward me anything, but I am grateful to you for alerting me that such a message exists.”
She blinked with both sets of eyelids. “My charge is to ensure you receive it,” she repeated, her expression now a combination of curiosity and mild disgust.
Ordinarily I would not care what someone’s opinion of me might be.
One did not rise in highly competitive scientific fields without developing a thick skin, and my dragon’s-hide flesh was tough by nature.
But Ganna chaired the committee that granted permission for researchers to live and work on Hyderia.
My presence here was a privilege that could be revoked at any time and I would have no recourse.
Perhaps the facts of the matter might change her opinion about my reaction, but I had no interest in explaining myself to anyone. My past and my pain were no one’s concern but my own.
As such, I had no choice but to capitulate as gracefully as I could manage, despite the bitter taste in my mouth.
“Thank you, Minister Ganna. Please send the recording.” After a beat, I added, “And please pass along my gratitude to my former colleagues on Engaren for ensuring it reached me.”
“I will do so.” She leaned forward. “See Dr. Regis receives a warm welcome, Dr. Husiorithae. Everyone here at the Ministry looks forward to reviewing the fruits of her research.”
“As do I,” I said, because that was the expected response and not because Hyderia’s fungi actually interested me. “I will ensure she has all she needs for her work.”
She dipped her head in a traditional Nyvoran farewell. I followed suit.
When I looked up, her face on the screen had been replaced by the seal of Fortusia and the title Sealed Communication for Dr. Ardruc Husiorithae—Top Priority Delivery Required with Receipt.
And beneath that, the words Notification of Death.
I touched the screen. Receipt Sent flashed. Minister Ganna, my former colleagues on Engaren, and whoever else had forwarded this message until it tracked me down halfway across Alliance space had now fulfilled their Fortusian government-mandated tasks.
I could choose to play the message now, save it for later, or delete it outright. I discarded the second option immediately, and went so far as to reach for Delete Message before reconsidering.
In the handful of times I had mentally rehearsed a moment like this, I had deleted the hypothetical message without a pause and continued with my work.
The night I escaped from the compound, I knew not only would there be no going back, but that I was severing all ties to the people who were my family by blood but were strangers to me.
No, not strangers—that was not the right word.
I knew them well. I was their son and their brother.
I had deserved so much more than what I had received.
I had never deserved their scorn, cruelty, or abuse.
Even as a young child, before I truly comprehended the full horror of my situation, I had known that on a deep level.
It was wrong, no matter how frequently or forcefully they told me it was right.
And now one of those people who had been so monstrous to me had died, and I could not decide if I cared enough to find out who.
What puzzled me was why, even if my family had wanted to notify me of this death, their sect leader permitted it.
The sect was anti-technology and anti-science with extremely limited access to both.
But not only had the sect leader apparently permitted this communication, someone had managed to get it sent by a government official with enough authority to designate it Top Priority Delivery with Receipt, a costly endeavor.
Perhaps my curiosity won out, or I succumbed to some darker reason like I wanted to know one of my past tormentors had died. For whatever reason, I did something I had previously believed I would not do: I played the message.
My stomach knotted almost painfully as the Fortusian government seal faded to black. I planted my feet shoulder-width apart, folded my hands behind my back, coiled my tail once more, and raised my chin, as if facing a charging Hardanian war-pig or an academic review committee.
My father appeared on the screen.
Olme Fornuth, as I preferred to think of him, looked much older than I anticipated. The past fifteen years had not been kind to him. His wings drooped, his purple and red scale-patterned skin appeared sallow, and his feathers were patchy.
My father, mother, brother, and I were all genetically engineered using the DNA of the Fortusian equatorial dragon in combination with humanoid characteristics, but we differed in the colors of our skin and feathers.
I expected to feel anger at seeing him. Perhaps revulsion or bitterness.