I Am Not Junco Omnibus: Books Four - Six (70 page)

“You will learn to love it, she said.”

I turn to face him. “Did she, now?”

“She sees, Lucan. She sees the path to claiming Earth and the Sol System. She sees you win, Nephew.”

“Does she see herself, Uncle? Because I’ve been unfortunate enough to catch a glimpse here and there. I’ve see her shattered into billions of pieces. I’ve see you left out in the dark nothing all alone, with no way home. I see
him
”—I nod to my father down below—“in yet another punishment cycle. And neither you nor Inanna would be propositioning me if you saw these things. I want no part of this war. I want to go home, Uncle. My tenure here was over a long time ago, I’m practically a prisoner. I see my future on the home world, doing anything but this.”

“It’s not my place to see my own end. Nor hers. But I will tell you, we
will
win. Regardless of what you see in my future. Regardless of what you see in Inanna’s future. I have seen victory.”

I see insanity, that’s what I see. But I keep it to myself. I’m just not interested. I’m indifferent to this request. I have no desire, no stake, nothing. I want to complete this mission and leave. I want to be out in space again. There’s nothing here for me. I’d be banished from my home, stuck on this rock with its fast time and short lifespans.

Crage has been pushing Aesin since we landed here. He’s already interfered once with the natives. He altered them, made them aware, made them beautiful, more like us. And that’s why Aesin is so perturbed in the first place. Crage made the women beautiful to our eyes.

What did he expect Aesin to do? Ignore them? They walk around half naked, they flaunt themselves at us. They wash themselves in the river with a recipe for sweet soap that came from Inanna’s maids. It’s like they’re tempting him on purpose. And maybe they are. I would not put it past those two to do whatever it takes to claim this planet as their realm. And of course there’s the little matter of the portal. Another universe, they say, has been discovered hovering at the site of an ancient collision between two planets just before you reach Mars entering the system.

What did he expect Aesin to do?

That’s just a silly question. Crage has farsight. He knew exactly how Aesin would react.

Farsight is not a science, it’s an art. And some are better at it than others. But my uncle is asking me to believe he’s incompetent if he thinks I’ll believe his feigned ignorance of these end visions.

All of Aesin’s sons get this farsight gift, it’s genetically attached to the unconditional love—which Crage conveniently forgets about in this conversation. Even if it was possible to kill my father, I cannot do it. Just like Crage can’t kill his brother. It’s an insurance policy, so the sons can’t overthrow the elders. High Order beings live by special rules. And one of them is that we may not end the existence of another. There are ways around the rule, all rules have loopholes. But how to kill and yet not?

It’s a difficult puzzle. Not one that can be solved quickly. It would take much planning and preparation. Many, many, generations of characters and plotting to write the end of a High Order being.

I turn to Crage. “No. My answer is no.”

And then I walk away.

My sleep is uneasy tonight.

I blame Crage and his offer. I cannot stop thinking about the future. I want to leave so badly. I want to be rid of this job, I want to be freed from my father’s control. How much longer?

It drives me to madness. It’s all I think about. And I can’t stop thinking about it because I hate this place.

It’s hot. So, so, so hot. My skin is wet with heat, sweating, matting my wings up, making my feathers damp and useless. Even if I was a flyer—and I’m not, I think the wings are a useless appendage and I cannot wait for my Archer morph—but even if I were a flyer, I’d not be able to fly here. The gravity is strong, the air is thick, and my body is constantly sticky from heat.

I get up, slip on my sandals, slide my armored shirt across my chest and seal it up, and then walk outside.

A swim in the river is what I need. It’s dark, no one is about, the sun will not rise for hours yet. No one will see me bathe and I can have a private moment.

When I get to the river the moon appears from behind the nearby mountains, shining a long silver path across the water. I strip and walk into the water along that moonbeam, then throw my arms out and dive under.

I do enjoy the water they have here. The Origin has no natural water. It’s an artificial world. And I admit, I also enjoy the mud bottom of the river. It feels good between my toes. I laugh at that thought and then a giggle from behind makes me turn with a start.

A girl.

She stares at me, her eyes flickering in and out of that moonbeam path so I can see their color. Blue-green-brown-yellow. How unusual.

The native women have brown eyes. All of them. They do not have eyes like that. Only the goddesses have eyes that are not brown, but this girl is not a goddess. I know them all, and this one is too young to be an Archer. She has no wings, so she must be native.

“Who are you?” I ask, striding forward. She averts her eyes when I walk out of the water naked, then steals a look and blushes profusely. “I asked you a question, I expect an answer.”

“I am Amelia,” she whispers.

“Amelia,” I repeat after her. “You are stunning. Who is your father?” I continue walking as she considers my question and then stop a few feet from her, pick up my armor, and dress. She watches me. She watches every move. It excites me to no end. “Who is your father?” I repeat after I’m properly clothed.

“I am made, not grown,” she replies softly.

Hmmm. “By whom?”

“Gib. My father is Gib. He’s a talented geneticist.”

“Yes, I suppose he is, if he made you. But”—I laugh a little here—“you’re not legal, darling. What are you doing outside his lab?”

“I bathe in the river each night when no one is around. I just came to wash.” She dips her head again, like she’s embarrassed.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’ll leave you alone then.”

I walk away trying my best to not look back. But when I reach the top of the sandy outer bank of the river I turn. She’s slipping a strap of her hemp gown down one arm. She must feel the heat of my gaze because she looks over her shoulder and stares at me, those multi-colored eyes lit up with a stray moonbeam.

Instead of blushing, or waiting for me to leave, she slips the other strap down and lets her dress fall to the sand.

And then she smiles, turns away, and walks into the water.

I sit on the sand on the top of that little hill in between two palm trees, my attention captivated by her figure as she slips into the water and begins to swim. There are no crocodiles here. We clean them out regularly. But surely it must scare her a little? To swim alone at night?

After she swims she comes back towards shore. She sees me, she looks directly at me several times. But she says nothing. Just dresses and walks off. Leaving me there, my eyes fixed on her disappearing form as it passes into the dark night.

It’s dawn before I come back to my senses due to the laughter. There are avian children here, playing and chatting as they splash and clean up. It’s odd to be around children. We don’t have clutches here like at home. The children are raised in family groups by whomever makes them biologically. I shudder at the thought. It’s a strange arrangement. One that I’m not sure I care for. Not because I especially hate children, although they try my patience when I have to interact with them. But because it’s not how we are raised. At home we grow the children in a clutch, they are birthed and raised together until they are ready for their fledge. And then they prove themselves worthy and move into adult status. Some will became Archers, if they are exceptional. But most will just live out their lives working for their Cluster. The way we raise the avian children here on Earth makes them soft compared to the children of the Clutch. I’d be willing to bet not one of these Earth-raised children would qualify for warrior status.

I rise from the sand and wonder about the girl. About Amelia, I correct myself.

Amelia. I’ve never heard the name before. It’s not avian, it’s not Archer.

But she is made, not grown. She said that so easily, like her father taught her to say it proudly.

I am made, not grown.

I am Amelia.

The next night I go out earlier, just in case her bathing time fluctuates. But she comes at the same time. Early in the new day. “Hi, Amelia,” I say this time.

She smiles at me. I’m in my armor, my legs stretched out in front of me, leaning back on my elbows in the sand.

She slips the strap down her shoulder just like she did last night, looks over at me, and then slides the other one down as well. “Should I leave?” I ask.

She lets the dress fall in the sand and I take that as a no. She says nothing this time, just walks out to the river, slides in, and splashes as she dives forward.

I take a deep, deep breath and let it out slowly. Women.
It’s always the women.

When she’s done she walks out, her head down a little but smiling. I have to bite my cheek to keep from laughing. “Would you like to know my name, Amelia?” I ask her as she dresses.

“I know your name. I asked my father when I got home.”

“Does he know me?”

She nods. “He does.”

“Then what’s my name?”

“Lucan,” she says.

I laugh. “You must know my uncle as well? Eh?”

“My father says you like that name better than Lucifer.”

“Did he now?”

She frowns and walks over, stopping within inches of me. My heart skips a beat.

“It’s not true?”

I grab her hand and tug. “Sit with me.” She bends her knees and sinks into the sand. “I like it OK. You can call me Lucan if you want.”

“I can call you Lucifer.”

“No, it’s fine. I love the new name. Lucan. It’s shorter, easier to say. Softer.” I breathe out a long breath that is a little too close to a sigh for my comfort level. “Where is your father’s lab?”

She points to the east. “The far side of the city.”

“Oh, it’s a long walk to the river, then?”

“Yes.” She nods in confirmation.

“Would you like me to walk you home?”

“No,” she says quickly. My heart palpitates from the rejection. “I mean,” she stammers, “I would, but not yet. I’d like to see the sunrise today. It’s the Solstice.”

“Ah, so it is. There will be a crowd.”

“At the mouth, yes. But not here. We could watch from here. It could just be us.”

The way she says we and us so casually takes me by surprise. We. Us.

“I’d like that, Amelia.”

Chapter Fifteen—LUCAN

I never go home. Amelia never goes home, either. If her father worries about her, I’d never know. She is not concerned. She’s not concerned about anything.

Not her father, not being seen in public, not her telling eyes, not my fingers as I twine hers with mine. Not anything.

We watched the sunrise on the longest day of the year, mostly alone on the riverbank. Almost everyone went to the port where there were ceremonies to the gods.

I’m not required to go. I
am
a god. And Amelia’s not required to go either, because she was made, not grown.

The others with us on the river are all gods and goddesses. They never say a word about Amelia and me.

Since it’s a special day, I do not have to show up for work so I spend my time with Amelia. We walk around the festival and eat. I dance with her—she is clumsy, she has never been taught the steps, but I guide her and it makes me feel competent. We watch the street magicians, the parade, and wander through the market looking at goods. We walk back to the river at the end of the day and sit on the high east bank to wait for the last sunset of the year.

“Do you think your father is worried?” I ask her when the sky begins to turn orange.

“I told him I’d spend the day with you. He’s not worried.”

“How did you know I would?”