very short time ago. That’s why I’m here, to try and figure out fact from hyperbole. I took Arif at his word when he said you rebelled against the altered Roones, but I gotta say, you’re not doing a lot to get the whole trust ball rolling by throwing me in a cell.”
Navaa shakes her long strawberry trusses as if we’re in some kind of a shampoo commercial instead of what this actually is. An interrogation. “Oh, come now,” she practically purrs. “We’re both soldiers. You must have known a debrief was necessary. Besides, I’ve never seen a human Kir-Abisat. You are untrained and therefore dangerous. I can’t allow you into the general population until I have a better understanding of your relationship with Rift matter.”
“Yeah,” I tell her uncomfortably. “Let’s table that just for a minute. The whole Kir thing—I’m just trying to get some answers to a few of the basics first. Why don’t you tell me what happened here. How did you win?”
Navaa’s jaw sets, making her heart-shaped face almost square. “I would hardly say we won. We survived. Some of us, and just barely.”
I shake my head warily. “I don’t get it. You knew. You all knew what the altered Roones were capable of. How could there have been dissension among the ranks?”
“Power is intoxicating. The Faida are a proud and privileged people, and the Roones played on that pride and that sense of superiority. I couldn’t have imagined that we, who had seen so much, who had persevered through eras of infighting and bloodshed, could ever be seduced into believing that some of us were better than others. That those of us who had been altered were more deserving of authority and command because of genetics, but that’s what happened.”
I scratch my head. “So it was ego? God complexes?” I ask in disbelief, because despite how they look, they really do seem like they’d moved beyond all that, like they were more evolved as an entire race—and not just the genetically altered ones.
Navaa huffs out a sarcastic, two-syllable laugh. “Yes, in the most basic of terms, I suppose it was. And those of us who opposed that kind of thinking were ultimately naive enough to think we could win because we had morality on our side. But we weren’t that naive.” As she says this, Navaa straightens the fabric of her uniform, as if it could wrinkle, with her palms. “Even before we told every single Citadel what we had uncovered, we began to build a weapon. A sound barrier that could block a QOINS’s ability to function. It was our intention to rally the Citadels, throw out the Roones and any Karekin—excuse me, Settiku Hesh—forces they might deploy, and use the weapon, but we didn’t know that so many of us would side with the altered Roones. It’s not like the fighting started immediately.”
I let Navaa’s words bloom in my brain. I imagine all the different outcomes and strategies and plans. The Faida are not human, and they are certainly not teenagers. They are thoughtful, cautious even. They probably would have talked, a lot, before they started killing one another. “So you told the truth and you began to get pushback. That’s when you realized you might need other Citadel races and then you sent out recon parties to see if there might be any help on that front. That’s why Arif was on the Spiradael Earth.”
“Exactly.” Navaa answers with such force that her voice bounces and echoes off the tall plaster walls of the cell. “But after Arif left, things escalated very quickly. It was only days, really. The Settiku Hesh troops started coming in alarming numbers and we had to deploy the sound blockade. After that, there was no more room for diplomacy. The war began in earnest. Between the Settiku Hesh and the loyalists we lost almost sixty percent of our Citadels, though we have re-created the formula in our own labs and we have increased our numbers back up to fifty-two percent.”
“And what about the altered Roones that were here?”
“Very few were stationed on this Earth. We executed them,” she says, almost casually.
“All except for one. There is one, right? And you’re still making more Citadels. Don’t you think, after everything you went through, that might not be the smartest move?” I ask her with genuine curiosity.
An ever-so-slight flicker of disgust flashes over Navaa’s face. “How did you know about him?”
“Technology, from our travels in the Multiverse,” I tell her honestly. The SenMachs are going to play a part in this and the Faida are going to be all over it. For now, though, I’m sticking to the topic at hand.
Perhaps surprisingly, Navaa doesn’t press. Instead, she gives me a sly half smile. “We have a single Roone prisoner whose mind is so broken that he’s mostly catatonic with intermittent episodes of lunacy. We keep him only to open a Rift to the original Roone Earth when the time comes for it. As for the Citadels … the sound blockade was a stopgap. Your naïveté, is it genuine? Or some sort of ploy?”
I throw my hands up in the air and thrust my neck forward. “A ploy for what? I want this to end. That means fewer Citadels in the Multiverse, not more.”
Navaa grunts and folds her arms. “Do you truly not understand what a threat we are? The fact that you, a human, are sitting here on this Earth, is changing the balance of power. The altered Roones will find a way through and they will slaughter us all. It’s going to take more than an army of Citadels to defeat them—it’s going to take legions of armies. It is a risk, creating more Citadels, but believe me when I tell you that it is far more of a risk to be without them in a battle.”
I close my eyes. I gently stroke the delicate paper-like skin of my lids with my fingers. I am built for war. I am built to lie. I was made to protect my Earth, but this room is getting too loud. Each one of Navaa’s words feels like a lit match thrown at my face. It’s just too much. There are so many worlds, hundreds of thousands of troops. I know I have to find my way through this, but I ache, and not just physically. My personal life is a disaster and I suddenly feel so crushingly alone that I’m tempted to open a Rift right in that tall, slim cell and go home to my team. I need my friends. I need people around me that I know, really know.
I put both hands on my head and squeeze. I can’t leave, but everything is starting to buzz, or maybe it’s just me. I think about it more and realize that, actually, I am the one who’s buzzing.
“How did you get through the sound barricade?” Navaa’s voice cuts through the noise.
I look up at her and squint. “I told you. We made friends in the Multiverse,” I tell her, maybe a little too loudly, just so I can hear myself. “They gave us some toys. Don’t worry, though—we’re the only ones with this tech. For one thing, the Roones don’t know where their Earth is and even if they did, this particular race will only share with humans. I’m not saying they’re invulnerable, but they’re pretty damn close.”
I put my head in my hands and drag my fingernails across my scalp. I want to get out of here, but mostly I just want this woman to leave me alone. There is a steady thumping to my headache. The pain is keeping time. If I could just lie down, maybe put a pillow over my head, this screeching in my ears would go away.
I wasn’t looking, so it is a surprise when I feel the weight of Navaa’s body sink into the bed beside me. “Our alliance is new and fragile,” she tells me softly. “And, honestly, in this moment, I am less concerned with sizing you up as a human or a soldier than I am with your Kir-Abisat gift. It is a very distinct kind of pain you are feeling right now, with a distinct presentation. Even though we are not the same species, I recognize it on your face and it tells me the Kir-Abisat is controlling you instead of the other way around.”
“You can literally see it on my face?” I ask in surprise.
“Yes, but also, I can hear it. We do not sound the same, because we are from different Earths, but because we are both Kir-Abisat, there is an additional shared tonal layer. It’s like the same instrument being used in two different songs. I know that does not make sense to you right now, but it will.”
“All right,” I concede, sighing in frustration. “But why?” I ask, trying very hard not to whine. “Why make a person do what a machine