Брендон Сандерсон - Cytonic

It was strange to me how well I remembered the story—all of the stories, actually. Other things about my past were fading, but the stories remained perfectly cemented in my mind. Like an anchor in my past, tied to my soul.

The conclusion brought cheers from the other pilots, and Nuluba—ever quietly going about making life easier for everyone else—opened the blinds to better light the hangar. We’d all gathered to feast our victory, and I had offered a story. I hadn’t realized how well it would be received.

They’re eager for reminders of the world outside, I thought, watching the pirates chat. Even if they come from a different culture.

Others wandered toward the tables, where we’d set out various foods that had been found on salvage runs or raids. We didn’t need food anymore, but Maksim said there was something about the act of tasting that helped restore memories.

I spotted the other human chatting with RayZed, a young female tanuzedran from one of the other flights, whose species looked kind of like red pandas. She was nibbling at the food on a little plate. I felt like I should recognize the varieties, but…that part of my memory had well and truly faded. There was a red bit of food, and…and some little yellow bits of something?

Chet wandered over to me, his arm still in its sling. “Spensa,” he said, “that story was fantastic! I feel as if I once knew it. At least, parts are familiar to me.”

“Gran-Gran loved it because it spoke of a warrior in exile,” I said. “She taught me that although my people had been exiled, we could remain strong.”

“Your performance at the duel today was inspiring,” he said. “You are truly as skilled as your earlier boasts implied. And these, they are a good family to you.” He nodded toward the gathered pirates, but I sensed a certain melancholy to his tone.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Merely an old man’s foolishness,” he said to me. “I fear I am not of much use to pilots. What need have these for an explorer who cannot fly?”

“ I have need of you,” I said. “You led me to those ruins—and you knew that the next stop was in Surehold. And besides, there’s your hunt…”

Chet had been quietly going among the pirates, asking carefully about icons and reality ashes. I’d finally asked Peg about my icon, and she had been surprised—claiming that none of her people had seen it. I didn’t know that she would lie to me, but Chet and I had decided it would be good for him to investigate a little on his own.

“You’ve been great at this part,” I whispered to him. “Far better than I’d be. People genuinely like you, Chet. They talk to you.”

“If that were true,” he said, “and if I were as good at this quest as you indicate, I’d have located the…missing item by now.” He shook his head, then glanced at me and raised his good hand. “No need to bolster my ego further. It is taking on a little water, but not sinking. I merely…I fear we stay here too long. I fear being in one place.”

“We’ll move soon enough,” I said.

“And the delvers?” he asked. “Did you…feel them earlier today, in the duel?”

“Yeah,” I admitted.

“If they have located us, and decide to move against us…”

“We’ll be gone in a few days,” I repeated. “Don’t worry. Relax, let your arm heal. We’ll be at Surehold before you know it.”

“Yes,” he said, then nodded. “Yes, of course. Thank you, Spensa. I believe I needed to hear that.” He smiled toward Maksim as the bearded young man wandered over carrying a plate of food.

“That was a great story, Spin,” Maksim said. “I like the parts about honor. When I was young, I believed that all humankind was these rampaging monsters. I always wondered when that would manifest in me. When I’d start killing.” He looked down. “I read some of the records when I was older. We…did attack a lot of people. So it’s good to hear we had stories of honor as well. Even if they’re fanciful. I mean, lions couldn’t actually talk, could they?”

“I’ve always interpreted it,” I said, “as different clans of samurai who took the names of fearsome beasts in order to intimidate their enemies.”

“Lions and hyenas?” Maksim said. “I don’t think they had those in Japan, Spin.”

I’ll admit, my Old Earth geography was spotty. Hadn’t Gran-Gran said the story was from Denmark? Anyway, Chet was inspecting the bits of food as Maksim offered us the plate. I hesitated; the longer I spent in here, the stranger an activity eating seemed. Had I really done that every day of my life? Stuffing things in my mouth?

I picked up one of the yellow bits, holding it pinched between my fingers. “What is it?”

“Can said ‘corn,’ ” Maksim explained. “In English.”

“I do not know the word,” Chet said, selecting a piece. “It is an alien color for a plant. I believe those on Earth were normally green, were they not?”

“This one isn’t,” Maksim said. “I’ve been saving it, and a can of this red stuff. The label said ‘beets.’ Either of you remember anything about them?”

“Nope,” I said, turning the little corn chunk in my fingers. “ ‘Beats’ is a cool name though. Isn’t it strange that we used to consume piles of this stuff every day ?”

“Yeah,” Maksim said. “The names and…and the…mouth smell? The way your mouth distinguishes foods? That stuff? All gone. Can’t remember for the life of me. I swear I used to like some of this stuff and hate some of it.”

“I am fortunate to have lost that part of my memory entirely,” Chet said. “I don’t recall ever eating. And I’m happy for it. Mashing such things up inside your mouth? It would stick to your teeth and tongue! Then you swallow ? Force it down your throat in wet clumps held together by saliva? No, I shall pass, my friends.” He set the corn on the plate.

I understood the sentiment; thinking about it made my skin crawl. And yet, I did recall some…latent happiness associated with eating. I put the little bit of corn in my mouth, then winced. It was somehow both slimy and firm at the same time. I mashed it between my teeth a few times, and it popped, releasing the most awful texture. Like it had been filled with mud. I barely prevented myself from gagging.

“Surreal, isn’t it?” Maksim ate one of the bits, his eye twitching as he forced himself to swallow it. Swallowing food…how had I never noticed how bizarre that was? M-Bot was right. Why did we put food where air went?

I spat my corn bits into a napkin Maksim handed me. “That’s disgusting,” I said, then wiped off my tongue. “That definitely didn’t inspire me to remember anything.”

Still, I forced myself to try the other stuff. It at least appeared to be bleeding, which might have been where the cool name came from. It was even more slimy, but this time I was prepared. I was a warrior descended from warriors. I could eat a beat. It was nauseating. It…

Wait.

What was that? I…had tried this once, in the mess hall at the DDF, where they had odd heritage foods from the gardens. I remembered Nedd’s face as he laughed—I’d made the very same joke about the name. I remembered Jorgen smiling, FM explaining how much she liked the food, Kimmalyn watching and nodding, Arturo lecturing us on how it was grown…

A perfect picture in time, all of their faces suddenly clear to me. Scud, I missed them. I needed to get home, to be with them again.

More, I needed to protect them. From the delvers.

I’m trying, I thought. And I’m coming. I promise.

“That was disgusting and wonderful together at once,” I said to Maksim and Chet. “It’s so strange that it is so strange. I only left the somewhere…” How long ago had it been? I forcibly brought out the numbers M-Bot gave me each morning. “…just under a month ago.”