Cytonic (The Skyward Series Book 3)

“And then,” I said, creeping through the circle of chairs, “the evil member of Lion Clan grinned a terrible grin. ‘No, Simba,’ he said. ‘It was not mere chance that your father fell to his fate, but it was I who cast him to it! I killed him so that I might have his throne, just as I will now kill you!’ ”

The crowd of Broadsiders gasped. To enhance the experience, I did Gran-Gran’s pantomimes—clawing at the air like a lion. I prowled back and forth before the audience. Maksim had turned on his starfighter’s floodlights, but narrowed and lowered the beams so they illuminated only me. We’d closed the blinds to create a dark atmosphere.

“Well,” I said, “Simba was so horrified by this revelation that he let his uncle advance, forcing him back, back, back to the very edge of the tower of the fortress! He had forgotten his training from the knights Timbaa and Pumon! In a moment he remembered their long sparring sessions, where he had been forced off the log and made to eat bugs as punishment.

“ ‘Remember,’ Pumon’s wise voice said in his mind, ‘never put your rear toward an enemy. And never let them control your footing in a duel.’ Wise Pumon, the stout knight, now bravely fought the endless Hyena Clan hordes upon the wall below!

“Simba stood his ground, perched atop the tip of the tower known as the Rock of Pride Fortress. ‘You fool, Uncle,’ Simba growled. ‘For though you presumed to cast me to my death like you did my father, in reality you have ceded to me the high ground, granting me the upper hand in our duel.’

“Scar shouted and lashed out, but Simba’s training as an outcast among the Knights of the Lost Savannah served him well. His ghostly father appeared behind him, glowing like a halo of light. Mighty was the clash! Perched as they were, the entirety of the kingdom could see them atop the fortification! But Scar was an assassin, no trained knight, and his subtle ways could not uphold him in the full light of day and truth!

“Channeling the No Fear of Reprisal technique taught to him by the lanky Timbaa, the bold prince grabbed his uncle by the neck and threw him to the side. The elder of Lion Clan, unable to maintain his footing, slipped and fell over the edge of the Rock, barely holding on by the tips of his fingers.”

I paused for effect, like Gran-Gran always had. Giving them time to imagine the bold warrior prince atop the tower, at last victorious after his long exile. My audience leaned forward, eager for the next words.

“Simba stood tall,” I said. “The fighting of the armies below ceased as eyes turned toward the two monarchs. ‘Now,’ Simba proclaimed, ‘you will announce your betrayal of my father to all, that they may know your treachery.’

“ ‘I admit it, nephew!’ Scar shouted. ‘I betrayed your father—the Hyenas forced me to do so! I was but a pawn! Please let me live!’

“Now, down below, the frenzied queen of the Hyena Clan warriors paused in her duel with Nala, mistress-at-arms. Among barbarian culture, you must never beg for your life. Upon seeing the cowardly act from Scar, Hyena Clan turned their weapons away as one from the Lions—refusing the fight.

“Simba looked down upon his uncle, the author of so much pain and suffering. ‘I cannot forgive you, Uncle,’ he declared, ‘for the gods themselves demand justice. And so, as rightful king, I now declare your sentence to be death.’

“And then, with a mighty roar, Simba cast his uncle to his doom. Now his father’s wandering soul could finally rest. Revenge had been exacted, and balance had returned to the land. The circle was at long last complete.”

There was some romance stuff after that, which I didn’t mind so much now as I had when younger, but this had always felt like a better ending to me. It was a story about barbarians and knights, after all.

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.”

“This place changes you fast,” Maksim said. “And then makes you feel like you’re in limbo…” After trying the beat, he walked back to the table to get some other samples.

Chet wandered over to Shiver, who was talking about how odd she found our means of ingesting. So inefficient, in her words. Better to just grow over patches of minerals and use them as you need them. I rested back against the wall and found myself smiling again.

I belonged here. Granted, I’d belonged other places too. I could faintly remember similar evenings with my friends at the DDF headquarters. But I also remembered pain. Fear. Loss. Hurl’s death. Worry for Jorgen.

Here, I didn’t have those same fears. And scud, I had to admit these last few weeks had been invigorating—exciting. First the exploration, then infiltrating pirates? Now earning their trust, defeating their champion?

This had been thrilling. Like a story, like the things I’d always imagined myself doing. As before, while exploring with Chet, I felt a faint sense of guilt to be enjoying myself while my friends back home were in danger. But then again, the real danger was the delvers, and I was working on that as best I could. And didn’t I deserve to rest between fights?

Every warrior needed a break, didn’t they? A Valhalla? An Elysium? The stories understood. In the greatest of warrior societies, there was a reward for those who spent their days killing.

The group began calling for me to tell another story, so I walked back toward the light. I’d offer them three different options, like Gran-Gran had done for me when I was a child.

I did love my friends, and I was doing everything I could to help them. So I determined not to feel guilty for finding a place where I could live the life I’d always wanted. I had been exiled. But in that, like Satan from the stories, I had found a place I could make into heaven itself.

Right then, the base’s scanner’s alarm started going crazy.