Chapter Twenty-Two Sadie
Twenty-Two
Sadie
I lagged behind as we left Epiphany. Nedd glanced back at me like he was worried, but I gave him what I hoped was a reassuring wave. I should have been thrilled—Arturo had chosen me for an important assignment! He trusted me enough to let me take the lead on something vital to our survival!
But if I messed up, my teammates could die. Arturo was extending his trust to me, and I desperately wanted to not let him down.
The canoe rental place was north of the city, past the watermills, at the bend where the river wrapped around the hill and then continued on into the forest. Dayan didn’t ask us to pay for our own boats—they went inside and came out with two tickets to give to the attendant standing on the dock.
The woman released two canoes from their rack and set them into the water.
I climbed into the back of one while Arturo took the front of another.
I hoped Nedd would come with me, but instead he climbed into the middle seat behind Arturo.
I didn’t think the flightleader and the assistant flightleader were supposed to be in the same craft, but maybe that only counted for starfighters.
Dayan joined me in my canoe, taking the middle seat, and Alanik took the seat in the front.
Gilaf took up the rear in Arturo’s canoe.
We all settled our bags between our knees, with Suki in Alanik’s bag at the front of the boat, still composing her report.
All the men were in the same canoe, I realized, though Dayan probably had more upper body strength than any of us, so we were still coming out ahead.
Dayan detached the paddles from the side of our boat—each had two blades attached at either end of one long pole, so we could dip it in and out of the water on either side without having to reorient the pole.
Dayan gave us some basic instructions, then used their paddle to push away from the dock.
The canoe began to drift downriver with the current.
Alanik stared down at the dark water like it had murdered a friend of hers.
Scud, I’d forgotten Alanik couldn’t swim, and neither could Gilaf. This must be terrifying for them.
“Do these boats tip over very often?” I asked Dayan.
“Only if you do something stupid,” Dayan said.
“Let’s try not to do anything stupid, then,” I said.
“Agreed,” Alanik said.
As Arturo shoved off from the dock, he shouted and reached for his neck. His hand came away with a tiny bit of blood.
“What happened?” Nedd asked.
“Squeeze just used mindblades to scratch up my neck!” Arturo said. “What the hell?” he said at Gilaf’s pack.
“Maybe he’s out of sorts from spending all day in a backpack,” Nedd said.
“So he decided to make me bleed?” Arturo asked.
“Scritch!” Naga said.
Arturo groaned. “I don’t understand, but I think Squeeze needs some repatriation time.”
We took turns paddling as we passed the city, wanting to increase our speed beyond that of the natural current.
I thought about curling up and taking a nap, but I wasn’t going to do that.
Tired as I was—it had been about twelve hours since we’d left the ships this morning, though it felt longer—it suddenly occurred to me that I was starving.
“Are you hungry?” I asked Dayan as I reached into my pack.
There was a large mushroom sitting right on top, though I was pretty sure that hadn’t been there when I’d lost the pack to Dayan.
Nope, Twist, and Squeeze were still riding with Arturo, Gilaf, and Alanik, which made it all the easier to dig out the vacuum-sealed ration packs we’d brought with us.
Dayan eyed the food over their shoulder as I unwrapped it. “What is that?” they asked. “Seaweed?”
“Close,” I said. “Algae strips. If you hate them, I also have some dried fruit from Alanik’s people. They’re safe for humans as well.”
Dayan eyed my algae strips skeptically, but they seemed even more skeptical of the alien fruit, so they reached out and took the strip I offered them.
“That isn’t terrible,” they said.
Alanik looked back at us. As we’d left Epiphany behind, she’d pinned on her translator and turned on its speaker so Dayan could understand her. Hoid kept up her illusion, though, so she wouldn’t appear obviously alien to anyone we might pass in a boat or on the riverbank.
As the city disappeared from view behind us, the forest closed in, armlike branches reaching over us to shelter us from the sky.
“Hey, Dayan,” I said, “how many of these trees are scions?”
Dayan looked around. “None of them,” they said. “If they were, we’d want to paddle faster.”
Good point. We should probably paddle faster anyway—Arturo’s canoe was a good fifty meters ahead of us. But for once, Alanik didn’t seem eager to speed up.
“How common are scions?” I asked. “And what do they eat?”
“They eat light, I think,” Dayan said.
“Interesting!” Suki’s translator spoke as she chattered from Alanik’s bag. “They photosynthesize?”
“Weren’t you working on a report?” Alanik asked.
“I am,” Suki said. “But I can pause to take notes.”
“What kind of scientist were you again?” Dayan asked.
“A xenoanthropologist,” Suki said. “My research is on humans, but I’m interested in all kinds of alien life. So please tell us more about the scions. Do they reproduce from seeds? Do they defecate?”
“Oooh, yes!” I said. “Let’s talk about tree poop!”
“Please, let us not,” Alanik said.
“Sorry to disappoint you,” Dayan said, “but I don’t actually know the answers to either of those questions.”
“This seems like an oversight in your education,” Suki said.
The inner workings of scions probably hadn’t been relevant to Dayan’s life. So I moved on to something they were more likely to know. “Does anyone in Epiphany ever protest the treatment of the scions?” I asked. “The fighting looks like it hurts them.”
“Sure, some people,” Dayan said. “But it’s pretty accepted that we need to practice on something to support the war effort, and it’s much better than killing each other.” That was a good point, and sounded like the type of reasoning we’d hear from the leaders of the DDF when the war was going on.
“You do not have to answer her questions,” Alanik said to Dayan, “if you find them to be offensive.”
“Why would I find them offensive?” Dayan asked.
“Yeah, Alanik,” I said. “Why would they find my questions offensive?”
“If one is offended by questions,” Suki said, “one might be revealing the weakness in one’s own rhetorical position.”
Alanik squinted down at Suki like she wasn’t sure if she was being insulted.
“If you’re not offended,” I said, “can I ask about your gender? It seems like it’s normal on Blightfall not to use ‘he’ or ‘she.’ ”
“That question is definitely offensive,” Alanik said.
“No, it isn’t,” Dayan said. “Yes, it’s normal. We have three genders—male, female, and agendered. A lot of people shift from one to another as they grow up.”
“Is that what you did?” I asked.
“Yeah,” Dayan said. “It wasn’t really a big deal. I have sisters, and it was hard for my dad to switch from saying ‘my girls’ to ‘my kids,’ but after that no one really talked about it anymore.” Dayan looked back at me. “Is it not like that where you’re from?”
“No,” I said. “We’ve been actively fighting the Superiority for a century, so our society is very big on sticking with the role you’re supposed to play. There’s not a lot of room for forging your own identity.”
“That sounds miserable,” Dayan said.
Sometimes it was. Maybe that was the real reason I liked to accessorize. There weren’t a lot of acceptable ways to be different on Detritus.
We drifted in awkward silence for a moment. Alanik kept looking back at me like she wanted to say something, but she didn’t. Usually there was no stopping her from saying exactly what was on her mind.
“Are you okay, Alanik?” I asked.
“Of course I am,” Alanik said over her shoulder. “Why would you ask?”
“Just wondering if you were struck mute by the inappropriateness of my questions.”
“I am not mute,” Alanik said.
“That’s good,” I said. “It seemed like you wanted to say something.”
“I do,” Alanik said. “But I’m not sure how to ask it.”
“You ask a question by making a statement in the interrogative form,” Suki said helpfully.
“Very well,” Alanik said. “Is holding hands a gesture of comfort among humans?”
Huh. I didn’t know what I’d expected her to ask, but it wasn’t that. “Yeah, sometimes,” I said. “Like, if someone is crying, you might hold their hand to let them know you’re there for them.” I looked at Dayan. “Is that the same for your people?”
“Sure,” Dayan said. “Not everyone is a big hand-holder, but some people do.”
“What if no one is crying?” Alanik asked. “What does it mean then?”
I watched the way my paddle sent ripples through the water. My arms were starting to ache, but I wasn’t going to complain. “It depends on the context, I guess.” I had a pretty good idea where this was going, but I wanted to be sure. “Is there a context?”
Alanik squirmed in her seat. I never in a million years thought I would see Alanik uncomfortable. She always breezed right through everyone else’s discomfort.
“Did someone hold your hand?” I asked. The other canoe was even farther ahead of ours, now, so there was no chance of the boys hearing us, but I lowered my voice anyway. “Was it Arturo? You guys went into the coliseum alone.”
“Yes,” Alanik said. She was clearly trying to sound like this was not a big deal, but if that were true, she wouldn’t be asking about it.
I was not the expert on hand-holding, or any other kind of romantic gesture.
I’d never even had a boyfriend. The guys I was interested in never seemed to like me back.
But I still probably understood its cultural significance better than Alanik.
“If no one was injured or crying, it was probably a gesture of affection, rather than comfort.”
“We were in danger,” Alanik said. “We could easily have been discovered.”
“Okay,” I said. “So maybe there was some comfort involved.”
“Would you hold Arturo’s hand in such a situation?” Alanik asked, looking at me sharply over her shoulder.
“No!” I probably shouldn’t have shouted, but I felt pretty emphatic about it. I lowered my voice again. “I’m not interested in Arturo!”
Alanik paused to consider this. “So, in that case, holding hands would not be an appropriate gesture of comfort between a flightleader and one of his pilots.”
“No,” I said. “Not unless they were romantically involved.” Oh, scud. “Not that I’m saying you are! I mean, I don’t know what you are.” I leaned forward in my seat. “Are you?”
“We are not,” Alanik said. “But the gesture indicates interest?” She seemed to be trying really hard to follow me.
“Yeah,” I said. “Unless there’s some really important context I’m missing, that’s what it means.”
Alanik looked back at Dayan. “You agree?”
“I don’t know the first thing about either of your cultures.
If this is what you eat”—they indicated the remains of their algae strip—“then we probably have some pretty big differences. But yeah, if I wasn’t crying and someone I wasn’t related to decided to hold my hand, I would assume they were probably interested in me. ”
“This can’t be right,” Alanik said. “Once, when I was sedated in a medical lab, FM held my hand. I don’t think that indicated interest.”
“True,” I said. “But you were in a hospital. That’s different.”
Alanik sighed. “So holding hands is a romantic gesture unless someone is crying, injured, genetically related, or in a hospital.”
I was glad she had her translator pin for this conversation. We definitely didn’t need to have any more misunderstandings than we were already having. “Well, you were both injured and in the hospital, right?”
“Right,” Alanik said. She still seemed confused. “Are there any other exceptions? I want to avoid…cultural misunderstandings.”
That was a reasonable fear. There was enough confusion inherent to relationships, even between people who came from the same planet.
“Maybe we should ask Suki,” I said. “She’s the one who studies us.”
“I am interested,” Suki said, “but I think I mean that in a very different way than any of you do.”
I couldn’t be certain, but I thought she was taking notes again.
“I think the question,” I said, “is whether or not you’re interested in Arturo.”
I expected her to tell me that was none of my business, but instead she looked thoughtfully out at the forest.
Scud. Was I actually having a conversation about feelings with Alanik? “I enjoy his company,” she said. “And I enjoyed holding his hand.”
I smiled. “So you like him.”
“Yes,” Alanik said, though she appeared troubled by it.
I was probably pushing this conversation further than I should, but I was scudding curious, so if Alanik kept talking, I was going to keep asking. “Do you want to kiss him? Do your people kiss?”
“Yes,” Alanik said. She paused. “To both. But I’m not clear on human customs, and I would like to avoid doing anything rash before I understand the full implications.”
Stars. “I’m not sure anyone understands the full implications of kissing. It can mean different things to different people. Actually, if you want to know what holding hands means to Arturo, you should ask him.”
“That’s good advice,” Dayan said. “Though you risk getting an answer you don’t like.”
I didn’t think she would. It was obvious to everyone that Arturo was interested in Alanik. He’d been practically glued to her side since she’d joined our flight.
“Do you think I should ask him about it?” she asked. “Is that your custom?”
I shrugged. “I think the human custom is not to talk about relationships even when we should. But that’s by no means true of everyone. If you’re interested, you should go for it and see what happens. Or I guess you could just enjoy it, see where it goes naturally.”
“Maybe I will,” Alanik said. “I’m enjoying what’s happening naturally very much.”
That made me feel all fuzzy inside. I hoped things worked out for them. “Good,” I said. “I think you guys would be adorable together.”
She looked at me sharply again, and I wondered if I’d said something offensive. “Please don’t tell him we spoke of this.”
“No, of course not! Girl code. I promise.”
“Girl code,” Alanik said experimentally. I expected her to ask me to explain, but she didn’t.
“I’m not a girl,” Dayan said. “But I won’t tell him either.”
“Right,” I said. “Friend code. That’s better.”
Alanik seemed more puzzled by the idea that the three of us might be friends than she did about the cultural meaning of hand-holding, and for some reason, I found that hilarious.