Sarah Zettel - Reclamation

“Wouldn’t have thought so.” Zur-Allenden planted his stocking feet on the tile floor and folded his arms across his skinny chest.

Aria bent over the table and ran her finger down the line of glowing figures, slowly reading each one. Myra Lar had been overly diligent in explaining the importance of a manual check. “Be surprised, you would.”

Zur-Allenden sat silently for a moment and Aria tried not to wonder what was going on inside his head. She’d used every trick she knew to try to get him to drop his guard around her. She’d worked diligently. She’d volunteered to run extra errands. She’d been overflustered and profusely apologetic when she’d made mistakes. She’d occasionally “let slip” remarks about her children and her sisters. The performance had gained the confidence, even the friendship, of almost everyone else in the lab, but not Allenden, and Aria was beginning to wonder why.

Blasted Skymen. You all look alike but you all act differently. There’s no way to tell who’s going to do what. Why can’t you just mark your hands so a person can tell who you are by looking? Her hand twitched like it wanted to move to her pouch. She pressed it harder against the tabletop.

She had asked Iyal if there were other places where the people were marked so they could be told apart, and had received a strangely sad smile from her. “Almost everywhere has a social hierarchy, Aria. It seems to be part of being human. Some places use tattoos, or natural appearance to enforce it. Some places use family names or histories…” Her sentence had trailed off, and her face had turned thoughtful. “I’d be willing to speculate that maybe your world’s hierarchy came from genotype…family…but if that was it, what’re you doing on the bottom?”

“Oh, I forgot.” Allenden snapped his fingers, interrupting her reverie. “Zur-Iyal wanted me to remind you to make sure you’ve got the lab cleaned and locked down by hour six. Maintenance is running the building check tonight and we all have to clear out early.”

Blast, blast, blast. I had work I wanted to do tonight. Her eyes flickered involuntarily toward Allenden’s keyboard. Aria was glad she had her back to him so he couldn’t see. “Thank you, Zur-Allenden. I’ll have it done.”

“Good enough.” Boots under one arm, computer pad under the other, he shuffled out, trying to keep himself from sliding on the tiles.

When the door swung shut, Aria let her shoulders sag. She couldn’t have said who wore her out more, Allenden or Evran.

At least Allenden tries to keep a lock on it. She sighed and started on the next set of numbers. Why do they nag at me like this ? The Nameless Powers have seen me deal with worse, most of my life, in fact. The Skymen just give me words.

Words and plenty of them. Iyal and her cohorts honked like geese sometimes about the contents of Aria’s blood and bones.

“You are saying that some person decided how I should be?” Aria had asked Iyal once.

Iyal had come into the lab just to stare at her. A recent analysis had just come out of the machines and Iyal was more confused than usual.

“Basically, yes. Not you, personally, of course, but at least one set of your ancestors. Probably more than one.”

And the Nameless Powers spoke the names of all the People that would be and in each name declared the soul and life that it would have…

“That’s not unheard of.” Iyal leaned against the wall. “I’ve met GE descendants before. What’s incredible about you is what your…engineers bred for.”

“What is that?”

“I don’t know.” She threw up her hands. “That’s the problem. Usually it’s obvious. Strength, speed, intelligence, creativity. You, though, you make no sense.”

Neither do you, but she didn’t say that.

Zur-Iyal spread her hands. “Let me try to explain this. We’ve talked about cells, right? Cells in a body communicate via a series of messengers. Chemicals emitted by one cell cause a reaction in second cell. That second cell might undergo an internal change, or it might send off its own messenger. That’s extremely simplified, of course.”

“Of course,” said Aria humbly.

Zur-Iyal’s eyebrows went up. Her puckered mouth twitched into a half smile. “Deserved that, I suppose.” Iyal was quicker than most of them to pick up on when Aria was acting. Around Iyal she had to be extremely careful how she played the Notouch.

“All right,” Iyal went on, “your people are, obviously, from the same Evolution Point as mine. That should mean you have the same messengers in your cells, plus or minus three or four to allow for your native environment.

“As far as I can tell, your cells will react to twenty separate messengers that aren’t present in any other known Human variant. Then there’s your brain.” She shook her head. “The brain, as we know it, is a complicated, disorganized organ with three or four backups for every function. It stores information, but it stores it wherever there’s room and reacts according to a branch of chaos theory. That doesn’t even begin to cover how it decides whether the information gets stored as short-term, or long-term, or muscular memory.” She scowled at Aria. Aria didn’t flinch. She had learned fairly early on that Zur-Iyal’s scowls had nothing to do with her personally. The woman was annoyed with her cells, or her brain, or whatever it was that she couldn’t understand today. “Your brain, on the other hand, is more tightly organized than a Vitae datastore. I can predict, PREDICT, where a given piece of information is going to end up, down to the cell. Your short-term memory is ridiculously huge, and your long-term memory defies description, and you’ve got no backups.” She frowned even more deeply. “You should be a flipping genius, but you’re not. You should be totally impossible, but you’re not. Although for the life of me I don’t know why.” Again she shook her head. “I find it hard to believe that someone so carefully constructed has no idea of her function.” Zur-Iyal looked at her very hard, as if trying to pull the ideas out with her eyes.

“Would help if I could, Zur-Iyal,” Aria told her honestly. “But there’s too much I don’t understand.”

“I was afraid you were going to say that.” Iyal had sighed and stumped out again.

I could tell her the apocrypha, but, Garismit’s Eyes, how would I make her understand it? Aria stared out the laboratory window. There were fifteen separate stories about the Nameless and the Servant that the Teachers had declared to be lies. One of them told about her family and her namestones.

The gardens’ flat, cultivated land spread out in front of her. The window frame gave it just enough shape to keep her leftover fears quiet. Silver drones bobbed between the long rows of plants, checking soil quality, watching for parasites and fungi, administering fertilizer or pesticides as necessary, or harvesting the mid-season crops. Not all of what they harvested would be used as it was. Even through the window, Aria could catch the faint green scent of the processing sheds, where the raw organic materials were augmented with artificially produced animal products and turned into a variety of unpronounceable things that had mechanical or medicinal uses.

The cleanliness and precision of the place was the most completely and utterly alien sight for Aria on the entire world.

She leaned her hip against the counter and watched the drone’s movements. She remembered the smell of animal pens where she spent what felt like half her life in the Realm. She remembered the ache in her shoulders as she dug out the manure and mud. Chilblains broke through her hands from spending hours up to her knees and elbows in water harvesting grain. She lived with the rain, the stink, the ache, and the Teachers coming once a month to her village to tell them all it was what the Nameless meant for them. And she had believed. From the time she could hear and understand, she’d believed because everyone around her did.