Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 63580 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63580 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
“That circular logic will get you nowhere, and I have no notion of why you have bothered to form those words,” she says. “Something was, and now is not, and the difference is you.”
“True,” I agree. “And every day, trillions of creatures eat billions of eggs, and none of them are charged with wiping out what has yet to be.”
“Again, not an argument we accept, and you know it.”
“You accept no arguments,” I say. “But I will tell you this: the time in which I now stand, is a time in which I did not spend three years trapped and experimented on. It is a time in which our offenses have not been rendered neutral. They were on the verge of an invasion of the home realm, you can be sure of that.”
“There are other evils in their place, and you can be sure of that,” Alara replies. “I am tired of arguing with you. There is nothing to say. Sentence must be passed.”
“Then pass your judgment,” I say calmly. “I am ready to forego my existence, for I know what matters most to me is safe. The home realm is not going to be invaded, and my pet is not going to be captive to those monsters. She will live her life in the place she belongs, and I will have the satisfaction of…”
“I could just kill her,” Alara says.
“That would be illegal. She is no threat to you. Human lives are sacred, as well you know.”
“All lives are sacred,” she says.
I give a shrug. “Perhaps some are more sacred than others.”
“A human life, is that what you want?” Alara smirks as the idea comes to her. “You are so very concerned about this single animal creature who can barely moderate the volume of her thoughts, let alone control them. Maybe it is time you gave up more than your life, Tasin.”
“Just kill me,” I say. “Take your vengeance on me.”
“I’m not going to kill you,” she laughs. “I am going to send you into the exile you deserve. You are going to live a short, brutal life. And at the end of it, you are going to die the way animals do. I am going to sever you from the home realm. You will wander this universe lost, unable to return home until eventually your body winds down and you pass from the world forever. I sentence you to the one thing a Psyon is never supposed to know. I sentence you to death.”
CHAPTER 12
Mara
“Mara, get that box of transistors out of the back, will you?” my father calls for me. He’s busy and he sounds harried. We’ve never had so much demand. There’s going to be a market on Saturday and he wants to be prepared. We’re going to have to clear out all the old stock, he says.
I have been cataloging old parts all morning. My neck and back hurt from bending over them and copying down serial numbers so we can assure people that they’re all genuine, and provide warranties if necessary. My father insists on us having more information than anybody else, and also not accepting returns on goods we didn’t sell.
My life is a list of serial numbers, all copied down meticulously in his book. It’s good work, steady work, and as the rains are back, it’s frequent work. There’s a lot to be done to restore the environment to its previous state, and we are all hands on deck.
The elders talk about the drought, and how lucky we are it broke, and I agree about that. It should feel satisfying. It does feel satisfying, I tell myself. But, from time to time, I feel a strange pang. A memory of something I can’t quite reach for.
I have a certain sense of nervousness any time my father talks about going on trade missions without me. So far, with the rains being here, and the growing season extending, he’s mostly staying on the planet to supply the local farmers with what they need, so that’s not so bad.
* * *
The market is bustling. Seeds are being sold, animals are being traded, and home crafts are being exchanged. I want to get to the jam tent, but there’s a steady stream of tractor parts being sold and my father is insistent I copy down every last detail for the receipts.
By the time I get out of here, there’s not going to be so much as a solitary jam crumb left over.
“Dad? Can I have a break? Just ten minutes?”
My father turns around. “We’ve got a line the size of an anaconda, and you want a break?”
“I’m hungry,” I say. “I can’t eat the tractor parts. Or the ledger. I’ve already chewed the pencil.”
“Very well,” he sighs. “You know, if you’d take Jimothy as a husband, you’d be spared all this admin.”