VOX PROTOCOL: Chapter Seven

Kh'shae Is Life

Vox Protocol Table of Contents

Kh’shae Is Life

Big Wing finally brought the large-bedded vehicle to a halt on a dirt track well off the road, after the Vox-Lance gave instructions to park the ground car somewhere unnoticeable. In this case, that meant the back of a hexagonal silo made of treated, pale wood, its rust-red roof coated in ash.

“Breathers?” Lance asked, watching a fresh flurry of ash outside.

“Ja-khae,” the Vox answered mysteriously, pulling a round bottle from his pocket and shaking flat yellow tabs from it, counting under his breath.

“Is it going to be safe for An—ah, the attaché?”

Andri have Lance a quick and very intense look for his lapse, hearing the worry in his voice, and the Vox’s eyebrow twitched once, as if intrigued.

“I checked with the ambassador, and his medical staff recommended she receive a half dose.” He split a pill in two. “Attaché, you’ll share this with Little Scribe.”

The tab more tore than broke, and Andri watched the others, quickly figuring out the tabs were sublingual. She let it melt under her tongue, detecting a licorice-like flavor.

“Kh’zo?” she asked, arching an eyebrow. The Vox nodded graciously.

“A keen nose and palate you have. Let’s move.”

The farm the Vox had chosen lay in the shadow of the nearest mountain peak, even darker than out on the mesa. The team gave Andri space to look around, accompanied by the Vox and his scribes, while the security professionals fanned out strategically—all except Lance, who remained a couple meters from Andri at all times.

No one had farmed this land in a couple years. Scrubby wild plants invaded the fallow ground, grown during the rainy season—whatever it was—before dying back to thick mats of glass and brown foliage. Being flash-in-the-pan weeds, they had extremely twisted mutated appearances, with asymmetrical leaves and shriveled, likely dysfunctional seed falls. When Andri found an insect—some sort of beetle—its spot pattern looked blotchy and strange.

“Those are typically patterned like kh’shae flowers, with defined spots,” the Vox said, seeing Andri scrutinizing the little insect in the palm of one hand. She ran a scan on it.

“Shows signs of ongoing genetic mutations. I don’t have its DNA in my database to see if it’s got germline mutations, but I suspect so, with those spots. Never good, seeing it in the fauna. Any megafauna still around here?”

“Migratory species, mostly,” he told her, as Lance offered her a hand up. “I’d like to direct your attention to the soil. I’m told many of the problems reside there.”

Andri nodded, following him through the large acreage and running scans, frowning at the data. Here, large cracks slithered and diverged in meandering paths through the earth, and she crouched, picking up a handful. The soil came up red and dense, caking together when she made a fist, despite the parched appearance. Clay.

The Vox stared at the sky, where thunderclouds of dark crimson roiled. Andri smoothed the handful of red, powdery clay across her fingers, enjoying its velvety texture. High iron content, rich, well-nourished over generations. Few stones and pebbles.

“Your pottery here must be beautiful,” she mused. “Terra Cotta. Or Zehyra Cotta, I suppose.”

The Vox’s tone lilted upward with surprise. “I think so. Largely a forgotten skill, even in an area once shaped by pottery, but some artisans still exist. Skelow fabrication tech is too cheap and beguiling for young Zehyrians and cosmopolitans to enjoy old pottery and fermented chaff.”

Andri stood again, hunting about for clues like a bloodhound. “Don’t people across the STF want rare artisan goods like handmade pottery? I thought those sorts of things were highly desired.”

The Vox laughed in a sudden bark. “Oh, yes. Rich Skelow guild masters and Kimbelites love to collect little trophies from the unique cultures that have vanished because of their trade federation. There simply aren’t enough of them to keep the kilns warm... and there are so many cultures to collect, after all. Aedanian red clay pottery is one product from one region in a galactic backwater.”

“True.” Andri ached as she buried her sadness as far down as she could. “I suppose Earth is ‘trending’ these days in the Trade Federation, in any case.”

The Vox opened his arms, as if powerless. “And so you see: we are the rusty blade, and you the newly fired. The scrapheap comes for us all in the end. Any clue what’s troubling the soil, Attaché?”

Andri studied her scans, considered the soil, examined the feel of it. “It’s been quite wet lately, judging by the state of the weeds. I would expect a large number of nematodes or some exobiotic equivalent, and my scans show some signs of dead exohelminth remains. There are very few living in the soil now, and very few available nutrients. Weed overgrowth explain some of that, but since so many have died back, I’d expect those nutrients to start returning to the soil—if something’s helping to break them down.”

The Vox nodded. “The year after the attack, we had a harvest. The plants were strange and small, but they grew. The next year, we had a blight of yellow leaves and dying plants, no matter how much fertilizer we used. The soil continues to degrade, not improve, in the seasons since the gamma ray burst.”

Andri frowned to herself at his use of “we.” Did he mean the collective “we” of Zehyr, being the Voice of the planet? It sounded more like he meant Aedani Province; she guessed the government had taken control of the planet’s bread basket to get matters under control.

“I’ll check for bacterium still in the soil. What did you do with the affected plants?”

“Sampled their tissue and DNA, then neutralized them with plasma. No sign of a new bacterium, nor a fungi mutated into a fresh blight affecting kh’shae plants. They’ve struggled with fungi in the past, during wet years.”

Andri nodded thoughtfully. “Given the traces of a large nematode population, I suspect kh’shae is reliant on nematode activity in the soil to get the nutrients it requires. The blast or the subsequent radioactive contamination looks like it decimated your nematodes—not just mutated them, but killed them off outright.” She shook her head, staring out at the field. “That’s a huge and thorny problem. I take it the clay conditions on these mesas in the Aedanian slopes are unique on your planet? A feature not repeated elsewhere.”

The Vox paused, stopping their walk and scrutinizing her. “I don’t like the way you’re talking. It sounds as if there’s bad news you’re hesitating to tell me.”

Andri glanced at his eyes, then back at the sweep of the former farm. A longhouse in traditional Zehyrian style occupied the corner of the plot, large enough to house fifty people—an extended family and hangers-on, wards and friends and laborers treated like family, over multiple generations. She’d only seen houses of that kind in briefings, accounting some of the social history of Zehyr. Here in Aedani, she’d already seen several longhouses as the ground car traversed the province, all raised three meters off the ground to avoid floods. Each had a sheen of brick-red paint like the clay in the soil, with complex black markings on their exteriors.

“Just answer my question, and I’ll know what we’re dealing with.”

The Vox took a deep breath. “Very well. The features of the mesas and plateaus in the Aedanian slopes are unique and ideal for growing kh’shae. The grain evolved in this place, and it grows best here. We’ve long associated it with the clay, and pottery in this region frequently features kh’shae bundles and flower designs for decoration.”

Andri swallowed. “The clay’s complex and unique, rich in minerals usually found deep inside a planet’s crust in trace amounts, but kh’shae may not be capable of absorbing those minerals in their raw forms; the nematodes likely made them bioavailable to the roots. It’s likely the nematode population was unique and complex as well, and that you had some success in that first year because there was still a repository of those bioavailable nutrients in the soil, even after the nematodes died. I don’t suppose you have a specimen library or a genetic repository of soil microbes somewhere on the planet?”

The Vox laughed. “Yes. Of course—we have many, one for each region. The Aedanian genetic repository went to the capital of the province, in the city of Mhyo-zhae.”

Andri frowned at him, not sure why he’d laughed; a darkness lurked in his eyes, and he began to walk quickly, forcing her to scurry to keep up.

“That’s good. If there’s a repository, then there’s technically a way to—”

“Attaché Kordova, I appreciate your skilled eye—and your ability to ascertain in only a few moments what it took our scientists months to guess at. Your experience is impeccable.” The Vox knelt and picked up a handful of red earth, allowing the soft, powdery clay to flow between his fingers.

“But?” Andri guessed, hearing the baiting tone in his voice.

“But…” He laughed again. “Haven’t you guessed with that quick brain of yours? Mhyo-zhae was on the edge of the red zone, in the beam of the gamma-ray burst. Everything inside that repository was irradiated out of existence—staff, samples, genetic codes, computer codes, everything. It’s gone.”

~*~

Big Scribe and Vox-Lance reminded them that the train needed to head back to P’aetre-zhae soon, and that night would fast dog their heels, so Andri took all the readings she possibly could. She looked under heavy rocks, enlisting the help of Big Wing and Big Shield, in hopes of finding DNA traces of nematodes and helpful bacteria.

She walked, thinking, pacing, poking around. The longhouse kept catching her eye, with its veneer of thick red paint, hardly weathered at all, despite the elements and lack of upkeep. She remembered some old materials history from Earth, scanning around for heavy metals and having an instinct that she might be onto something. After taking some readings regarding directions and shadows, and after thinking about a book she’d loved as a child, she found “the lee of the stone”—or so she hoped. The “lee of the stone” from the gamma-ray burst, here in the shadow of the mountains, would be on the damp side of the longhouse; sure enough, her scanner showed more biological activity there than the rest of the farm.

She found an old farmer’s shovel and dug, and when Little Scribe saw her, he joined in with a touching gusto, asking if he could help her take samples. About a meter down, Andri and Little Scribe found some nematodes—not as many as she wanted, but some.

“Yes!” she whooped, and after a confused moment, Little Scribe joined in, before they started sampling soil. Only proper lab analysis and database scrutiny would help her get a sense of how these nematodes interacted with kh’shae roots. For all she knew, they were interlopers or irrelevant, and not helpful at all.

Lance had wandered some during her digging, surveying the ruined farm on his own, watching the gathering storm above with its crimson light and rain of ash. When she finished her survey, Andri approached him, finding him uncharacteristically staring up at the sky and the purple slopes of Aedani, at the angry red and black of the clouds. Normally he would be a fixed point, focused, quick eyes scanning for threats… ever the professional. Now we seemed strangely young, almost lost, amidst the endless dead plains and distant mountains.

“Hey. Are you okay?”

He glanced at her, unsurprised by her approach; knowing him, he knew the sounds of her footfalls, even crunching over dead grass and cracked clay. Then he turned his eyes back on the angry churn of clouds. A narrow line of smoke billowed from a fissure in Zehyr’s crust between two craggy, white-capped slopes, and Andri knew already the white atop those mountains was radioactive ash… not snow.

He took a long time in answering. “I should have come back sooner.”

Her heart fell. “Lance… you had good reasons for not—”

He interrupted her, likely not wishing to hear any excuses for himself; he seldom did. “I fought in the war against the Pyramid Incursion, believing that would be best for my people… and then when the AMG sent me to the Odyssey, I believed the outreach and the chance to forge a working relationship with the yumei military might be best for my people.” He swallowed, probably tasting high-potassium ash. “Anything to avoid coming back here. Any reason, any excuse… I’ve been sharp in finding them.”

Andri knew he didn’t want to hear or entertain excuses, even when she found his actions and his reasons for them perfectly understandable. Instead, she stood at his shoulder without touching, hoping he might find some comfort in her silent presence… and just let him process as long as he needed.

“Is it hopeless to recover this place?” Lance asked as last. “Kh’shae has never responded well to hydroponics. We attempted to grow it in the AMG, using space station hydroponics or the facilities on Melor. It’s always been a failure.”

Andri breathed in deep through her nose, burying a sigh. “It’s a unique grass from a unique mesa, which grew in highly unique circumstances. I found some samples in the soil that look hopeful… but I don’t want to make them any promises just yet. Reestablishing several nematode species with this much contamination still falling every day… it’s a mammoth task. Whatever else is true, Zehyr is in for a lot more change before anything gets better. Farming here will never be simple again—not for thousands of years.”

“That much was obvious to me from the calm of space,” Lance admitted softly, looking back at their hosts, red clouds reflecting in his steel-gleaming eyes. The team generously volunteered to refill the hole, while a couple of them dug another one in the shadow of the longhouse, so Andri could take one more round of samples. “It’s less obvious for them, here on the ground, living in the center of the storm. Knowing Zehyr… it’s the general belief that everything shall and must return to the way it was, before the wounds can properly heal. I doubt they have ten years to change their minds, let alone a thousand.”

Andri cleared her throat. “I can’t speak to that, and I don’t judge it. I can only make a study of the situation and see what can be done, make recommendations, then allow my government to offer our help according to our resources and priorities.” She eyed him. “How are you feeling about all this?”

“I don’t know.” Silence fell between them. “Aedani is a beautiful place… one of the natural wonders of Zehyr, but also rich with the beauties of Abni-planetary interface, where farmers and pottery makers shaped the landscape with their activities. Without kh’shae, all of that will vanish: the landscape, the traditions, and the culture along with it. Kh’shae is a cornerstone of traditional food all over the planet now, going back centuries to the early days of global trade. I can hardly imagine Zehyr without it.”

Andri’s throat grew dry. “You’ve gone years without eating kh’shae… and you’re still properly Abni-S’zaelyn. You don’t think so?”

“But not Zehyrian… not really,” he confessed, clouds reflecting in his eyes. “I took it for granted, that my world and its steadfastness to tradition would always be here… that I could come back and nothing would have changed. To see the Karabari Priests hit not only the planet, but that they destroyed the fields of Aedani… it’s like watching my world slashed through its heart, in slow motion.”

Making sure her body hid the move, Andri brushed the back of her hand along his forearm and fingers. “If we make it back tonight, we’ll barricade ourselves in the room. Okay? And you can watch whichever historom you want. With popcorn.”

Lance frowned, almost like he didn’t understand her words. “I appreciate it, Shield of Beauty… but it’s not to my taste right now. I’d like to be with you, to give you pleasure and feel myself complete… and shut out all this death and suffering, if I can.” His frown didn’t leave him. “I’m not sure that’s even possible. The slash to the planet’s heart remains my own. It travels back with me—as it should.”

He accompanied her in contemplative silence back to the team, where Andri took a boatload of samples… burdened with the very real feeling that Lance, at least, felt that the fate of part of his world rested in her hands.

Vox Protocol Table of Contents

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On Monday, a story from me appeared in the latest romance zine from Tender and Tempting Tales, Fantastical Foes, edited by Parrish Baker. I’m very proud to have been part of this zine, from cover to layout to a story, and I hope folks will check it out. This zine with its romance “quickies” is a great way to see if romantasy is something you like. You can find the zine here. Tender and Tempting Tales is a small, indie press, showcasing new and emerging indie authors, so your reads, purchases, support, and reviews are all so incredibly important. We appreciate our readers, so if you know a romance lover or you love romance yourself, consider grabbing a copy. You can also read it as a gorgeous ezine on KU.

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