rel="nofollow" href="#ubca2da7c-28d1-5585-ad0f-d48d883733ff">CHAPTER 7
Several hours later we are sitting at a large oval wooden table. Unlike many of the rustic pieces of furniture on the base, this one is polished with a slick lacquer that is so shiny I can see my face in its surface. I try to keep things as professional as possible given what happened the night before. The best way to do this is not to look too closely at Levi and Ezra. Denial will always work in a pinch.
I am sitting at one head of the table, the unofficial boss of the human race. I’m actually pleased to see Navaa at the other end. Maybe with two women in charge, communication will be front and center of these briefings. Navaa had very cleverly separated Ezra and Levi and seated them among the other Faida. If we are all to be on the same side, the three of us can’t be seen set apart from the rest.
This is a dark, lush room with a bluish light cascading down from the unusually low ceiling. The chairs are black leather with a slim column of padding for the back. It’s a highly functional piece of furniture for people with wings, but as for the rest of us … not so much. Still, the entire vibe of this space has a subdued elegance about it. This is a room meant for comfortable sequestration and I find this a bit surprising. Citadels aren’t supposed to ever get too comfortable. Then again, on our Earth, Citadels are only soldiers. But Arif had told us that on this Earth they are other things as well—doctors, engineers, diplomats. Considering that 60 percent of the Faida Citadels were annihilated, I’m not sure theirs is the better way to go.
A large, flat glass panel emerges from the center of the table. I notice again how they like to keep their technology hidden away, beneath panels, under floors. Perhaps the Faida, with their giant, glorious wings don’t like the reminder of what technology has done to them, or maybe they feel that it is somehow crass. Their posturing is disingenuous. There is only science here, all of it hard and none of it forgiving.
Navaa opens the meeting. She has an illuminated screen at her fingertips that she is using to control the images we are looking at on the panel in front of us. She brings up all seven of the Citadel races.
“Let’s begin with what we can safely assume are absolute facts,” she says with her usual air of authority with a dash of arrogance. “Ezra was able to bring us up to speed about his time on the original Roone Earth. Most of what he told us we already knew, but it was nice to hear that the original Roones want to stop their counterparts as badly as we do. Basically, what we are looking at is a game of numbers.”
“You mean, which of the Citadel races we can get to side with our cause,” Levi says. If he had any residual issues about the incident in my room, he left them outside this one. I can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. He’s not about to let what happened distract any of us from what’s truly important and by speaking up now, he’s proving the point.
“Exactly. So, the Spiradaels.” Images of the Spiradaels begin to pepper the glass in front of us. “Our team spent a considerable amount of time observing them and we have ruled that they are as brainwashed as the Settiku Hesh. It’s our conclusion they cannot be turned. Humans, do you concur?”
I don’t need to confer with my fellow humans to make a decision about this. Ezra, for all his knowledge of the Citadel races, never fought one or spoke to one. He never learned their language. Only Levi and I looked any of them in the eye and we had both agreed on this last night.
“We agree.”
“Good. Then let’s talk about the Orsalines,” Navaa says as she brings several photos and video footage up on the screen in front of us. I glance over at Ezra. I see that the interface below him has been activated as well. As Navaa speaks, lines form in an iridescent white on the table, just in Ezra’s eyeline. Somewhere in this room there is a mic and a translator hard at work. Not an actual person, but a program and I’m glad of it, because it means I don’t have to do it myself. I have to pay attention to what’s going on here and that requires all my focus.
Plus the idea of talking to Ezra right now makes my stomach roil.
“What you are looking at is over fifty-seven shrines that both our flyovers and the Roone drones have photographed. These are temples dedicated to the altered Roones. We knew they had cast themselves as deities, but we didn’t realize it was to the entire planet. Every Orsaline believes the altered Roones are their gods, not just the Citadels.”
I take a closer look at the “shrines,” squinting as I inspect them on the screen. They are massive multicolored spheres, clearly representing the bald heads of the altered Roones. Some are just three or four rocks in neat pile, while others are actual structures (of a sort) with doorways. The images show Orsalines making their way in and out of them with offerings of … rocks …
Typical.
“We made two recon trips before the sound blockade went up,” Sidra, head of the Faida’s intelligence unit, offers. She speaks with a lulling cadence. This must be muscle memory for her vocal cords. No doubt she’s been trained to keep people at ease, to get them to open up and offer their secrets. Torture really isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Sometimes, all a person needs is to feel like they have someone who’s on their side, someone who understands. Sidra, with her pearly white wings and long curly ashy-blond locks is clearly that kind of operative. “The Orsalines were living in huts when the altered Roones arrived. They were given an origin story, a bible of sorts—they aren’t big readers. The Orsalines may or may not have been drugged, but they have most certainly been brainwashed. To go against an altered Roone would be akin to blasphemy.”
“Levi and I were worried about this; they’re zealots,” I chime in. “Extremists and extremely stupid. I still find it hard to believe that given the altered Roones’ MO that they would even waste their time genetically enhancing such an infantile race.”
“Sometimes it’s good to have foot soldiers,” Donav, the munitions officer says. “Put the dumb ones in front. Let them get the worst of it. But also see what kind of damage they can do—and these guys can do some serious damage. It’s a good way to make sure that your best soldiers survive.” Donav’s voice is a syrupy baritone. I could listen to him all day, mostly because he would be talking about guns and explosives. And also—cheekbones.
Seriously, with his red hair, he’s like an insanely hot Archie Andrews with Batman’s toys.
I force myself to respond to what he’s saying, and not what my mind is imagining.
“Right,” I say. “So my feeling is that if an entire race of people have proof—well, what they think is proof—of the divine, I don’t think that’s something we could shut down. Even if we got one and explained what was going on, I doubt they’d understand it.”
“That’s our assessment as well,” Navaa said, nodding. “An Orsaline alliance is not an option. So that makes two Citadel races solidly for the altered Roones.” There’s a clear thread of frustration running through her voice.
“So what about the Daithi? Did you ever send a recon team there?” I ask hopefully.
“We did, but the sound blockade went up before they could return home,” Sidra answers in that calm, almost seductive voice of hers. I keep the sigh I want to let go of locked inside my rib cage. That’s two teams they had out and they basically cut them off before even attempting a rescue. Not cool, angel people, not cool.
“However,” Navaa jumps in, “we do believe the Daithi are our best chance at an alliance. As you know from the research, which we’ve gained even more of since you shared Edo’s computer with us, the Daithi are not a technologically advanced race, but they are a conquered people.”
That’s not as impressive to me as it sounds like it is to Navaa—it only proves to me that the Daithi are easily subjugated.
“They put up a fight, Ryn,” Navaa says as if reading my mind. I sit up a little straighter in my chair. There are few images of the Daithi on the panel in front of me. What images do exist are tiny blurs, like a dark fingerprint getting in the way of a shot. They are fast, I’ll give them that.