Sonia Lyris - Payback

“What do you seek?” I asked again. Gently, to let them know that I heard their anguish.

“We seek guidance for our future. The Givers were furious to discover that we had broken our quarantine to come to you. When we returned to our planet, they began to eradicate us. We fight a war with them now. We have lost many. We hide in caves on the planet surface. We have little left.”

“And your third?”

“Our third is dead.”

“I am sorry for your loss.”

“Our race is few. We struggle to stay alive. The Givers have strong weapons and much fury, and we—we are disheartened. We do not know if we should fight back at all. Perhaps we should let the Givers destroy us. Perhaps the universe would be better off without us.”

“And what do you seek?”

“An answer, Key Giver: do we fight the Givers or let them destroy us? If we are to fight, we must have both the will and the means. To have the will requires that we learn to breed without destroying others. To have the means requires that we quickly defeat an enemy of greater power and numbers. We are sure these things are not possible, but we come to you anyway. As our last chance.”

I reached behind me for a key. I handed them the box. Their limbs seemed to freeze in place, despair spiced with hope.

“Surely there is no answer, Key Giver?”

I took a sip of continuum.

“Your concerns are answered on the key, in reverse order, because the Givers will destroy you if you wait long enough to find the answer to your breeding wishes.”

“But we have nothing now—we can barely feed ourselves.”

I nodded. “Do not wait to return home to read the key—I will give you a device to do so. The key will provide you with a formula, the means to pay for the formula’s ingredients, and a map to those who will be willing to help you fight the Givers.”

“A formula to change the way we breed?”

“No. That you can make yourself. This formula is something else.”

They waited patiently for me to continue. It came to me slowly as I sipped at the continuum.

“The formula will produce the Giver plague.”

He pressed his pale forehead to the ground in front of me.

“You are my last hope.”

All over his skin were sores. He was very thin, and his voice was a hoarse whisper.

“You are sick with plague.”

“Almost half of us are dead. Our doctors say it is incurable. And some—” he looked up at me, fearful. “Some say you brought it on us. Some say you are not the false Giver after all, but the real one.”

“Yes.”

He exhaled, his breath weary and full of pain.

“Then we Givers—we have been horribly wrong. We have displeased you. This must be why you pursue our destruction, Great One.”

“I do not pursue your destruction. I offer keys. What do you ask or seek from me now?”

“We are all dying. Great One, I have offspring and mates who I cannot leave, who need me, and I—” he faltered, his head bowed in shame. “That’s true, but no—the real reason is that I don’t want to die. Perhaps I am not worthy to ask my life of you.”

“The Givers may judge,” I said. “But I do not. Tell me what you seek.” He looked up, breathing hard.

“A key to cure myself.”

I reached behind me and handed him the box.

He stood, shaking, and took the box, disbelief stamped on his face. “Truly?”

“You will need to find someone who can supply the formula’s ingredients and administer them to you before you are much weaker. Can you do that?”

“Yes. There is a place I know—this cure, Key Giver, will it cure others as well?”

“If you give it to them, yes.”

He blinked pastel eyes, his pale lashes wetting.

“Should I, Key Giver? Should I save my people, after what we’ve done?”

“The key is yours to do with as you wish.”

His eyes darted around the room, then back at me. “I cannot make such a decision for all of my kind, Key Giver. If we have been so horribly wrong, then—you must advise me, Giver.”

“I cannot,” I said. “I do not judge. I do not advise. I give keys. This is your key.”

“But—if you will not tell me what to do, then how will I know? The Giver faith,” he said bitterly, “is no longer my guide.”

“Do you wish a different key?”

He looked up at me, his face twisted in pain. He clutched the box very tightly to his stomach.

“No. I want to live. I will take the key. The rest—my race—I will decide about that later.”

He walked slowly toward the door, his body bent, his breath labored. At the door, he stopped and faced me, his pale features a shadow of that ice-skinned one, the first, who had come to me so long ago asking for a key to cure his people.

“Key Giver—how can I repay you for this?”

Down deep in my soul, I felt a heaviness.

“No repayment is necessary. None is desired.”

“But if this formula is all that you say it is, Key Giver, if it really will cure the plague—”

“It will. But no payment. I do not want it.”

I saw thoughts flicker across his sunken face. Plans, hopes, decisions.

“Go tend to your own health, and then decide the fate of your people,” I said. “Feel gratitude if you wish. Or feel joy. Or feel hate. But bring me nothing back.”

“Yes, Key Giver. As you wish.”

He said the words fast, as if to pacify me. Somehow, I did not believe that he would abide by them. Then he left.

I stared for a long time at the place where he had been.