2. I understood, then, why xenodiversity mattered.

TWO

I understood, then, why xenodiversity mattered.

The mercy ship, named Dauntless for the captain’s tendency to be willing to travel to any sector of explored or unexplored space, resembled a pearl drifting in the planet’s orbit. Unlike most large spacefaring vessels, Dauntless would forever remain in space until her decommissioning.

Officially, her name was a string of numbers and letters, but nobody used those.

Dauntless deserved better.

Those she served rejected the lifeless numbers and letters, embracing her casual name with the love and respect owed to her. I counted as one of those, and I’d held the record for the fastest a patient had demanded to know her name rather than her designation.

In the long tradition of mercy ships, the day her tour of duty ended, she would face one of two fates: she would be decked out with instruments and either propelled into some dying star or into a black hole. In either case, she would go out as she had come into the universe, in an act of service.

Every mercy ship sent off in some fashion offered new knowledge to the universe, immortalizing her in her final act of heroism.

Every time I saw Dauntless , I hoped the ship made her way to some planet who wished for her to become a glorious museum, preserved for generations to come. The thought of such a vessel coming to a destructive end pained me.

Thus far, no mercy ship had enjoyed such a fate.

As the ferry approached, a giant door in Dauntless’s hull opened to reveal a landing bay within, made of sterile stainless steel. The pilot landed on the pad, and we waited for the doors to close, the landing bay to be pressurized, and oxygen to be flushed into the area. On our way out, the process would be reversed, although I questioned how the ship managed to suck air in and out of the bay.

I’d always assumed large ships came with myriads of various crystals capable of producing oxygen. I regretted not having focused much of my education on evolvulite. The common name of shiftgems intrigued me. What gave the strange stones their properties? How did the mineral impurities responsible for their various colors transform their abilities?

Were the different colors the reason they’d been dubbed shiftgems? Or could the crystal actually change its properties?

Outside of the very basics, I hadn’t paid much attention to the stones. With one embedded in my brain, I needed to learn. It would become my responsibility, assuming the color of the stone could be determined, to avoid situations where resonance might occur.

The last thing I needed was the crystal resonating while lodged within my brain.

Twenty minutes after we landed, Olivier came into the passenger area, gesturing for me to follow him. I unbuckled my belt, got to my feet, and carried my purse with me, wondering if I’d be able to keep it if I did venture off on some experimental voyage.

I hoped so. I had the shiftgem I’d found inside, and I had no interest in parting ways with it.

On the landing pad, a man with dark hair, vivid blue eyes, and a scowl waited, and at his feet rested a small spotted cat with rings around its tail. At roughly twice the size of the domesticated cats exported from Earth to take over numerous planets in the universe, I suspected the beast was descended from a wild species. The animal’s brown and gray fur, with some white on the tail, chin, and underbelly, shone in the overhead lights. The man said something, and I only knew the pilot replied because he made a gesture towards me.

For the next few minutes, I dealt with waiting, wondering what they discussed and why. The cat eyed me with interest, and after a while, it sauntered my way, giving my shoes a sniff. To keep from startling the animal, I bent over instead of crouching, holding out my hand.

The cat breathed in my scent, decided I beat whatever conversation the men held, and demanded to be pet. As I would never refuse an opportunity to pet something I shouldn’t, I sat on the landing pad, ignored the chill of the space-exposed steel, and stroked the animal’s thick fur. A vibration beneath my fingers indicated the feline appreciated my attention.

As far as I could tell, the conversation ended, and Olivier wrote something on the board, which he showed me.

The man’s name was Waldren, and the cat’s name was Palta. If I consented to the experiment, passed the medical tests, and qualified for the link operation, Palta would be the source of my new genetics. I would maintain my status as homo sapiens Schwana , something that would offer me certain protections—assuming I survived the operation and the subsequent voyage. According to the note, Waldren belonged to a Veloc clan, and the experiment would involve close contact with the predatory species.

I understood, then, why xenodiversity mattered.

The Veloc tended to terrify those without special training. The species stood at least seven feet tall, boasted talons capable of punching through steel, and could—and did—eat anyone or anything stupid enough to irritate them. I tilted my head, considered Waldren, who eyed me with open suspicion, and wrote a reply inquiring on his species.

Olivier grinned and wrote a reply indicating the man was a variant of homo sapiens , and if I wanted to know more, I’d have to wait until after I conquered the operation so he could tell me himself.

When I had the clipboard back in my hands, I broached the next problem: the shiftgem I had found. I informed Olivier of my find at the crash site and inquired if I might keep the jewel.

Once he read my note, he nodded and jotted a note indicating that any shards or pieces of shiftgem material found at the site at this stage belonged to the finder and would be registered as mine.

I dug through my purse, found the stone, and held it out to him. He raised a brow, took it, and held it up to reflect it in the bay’s light. After a few moments, he dug out a magnifier from his pocket before resuming his examination. Once done, he gave me the gem back and wrote on the digital board, informing me he would register the stone, transfer ownership of it to me, and that it had likely been part of the ship’s medical systems before the crash.

I thanked him and returned the digital board before giving Palta another pat and a scratch before rising to my feet, placing my palms against my upper legs, and bowing deep to indicate my gratitude. I held the posture for the thirty or so seconds as was our way and straightened.

Waldren’s brows furrowed, and his lips moved. I wondered at many things, from the tone of his words, the sound of his voice, and his volume. All three things could reveal much of his character, if only I could hear him.

If only.

The doctors had promised, over time, I would adapt to the loss of my hearing. After all, hadn’t I grown in other ways? They’d focused on what I could do, accepting my fate. They wanted me to do the same.

Until every possibility proved impossible, I refused.

I decided to take the man’s stance, his expression, and the hints of doubt as a challenge. If he thought I’d fail the qualifications, I would conquer every test thrown at me. If he believed I lacked the gumption and drive to succeed, I would remain, more persistent than any burr. If he said I couldn’t, I would.

I engaged him in a staring contest, and to indicate I would not be backing down without a fight, I narrowed my eyes. Otherwise, I kept my body language relaxed and calm, aware animals perceived more than most homo sapiens .

His mouth moved again, and Palta lashed her tail. After a few moments, the cat decided the best place for her was stretched out over my feet. While she still beat at the floor with her tail, she vibrated. I couldn’t tell if she purred or growled, but something about her behavior irritated Waldren.

I assumed he had attempted to call her over, and the cat had opted against listening to him.

With a rather amused grin, Olivier wrote something on the board and showed it to me.

I almost laughed at the request to see if I could pick up the cat and carry her, as it seems she had opinions, and Waldren had not been wise enough to harness and leash her.

I bent over, petted the cat, and worked my hands beneath her. Once I had a good hold, I hauled her up, situated her front paws on my shoulders, and made certain to cradle her back legs against my arm so she wouldn’t claw the hell out of me trying to secure her position.

Palta’s rumbles intensified, and I stroked her thick fur with my free hand.

Olivier gestured for me to follow. Careful to keep from startling the cat, I obeyed. As I refused to be brought low by some stranger’s doubt, I engaged Waldren in another staring contest, and rather than express doubt, I went with open skepticism, doing my best to raise a single brow.

For some reason, my brows appreciated uniformity, so rather than skepticism, I tended towards a more jovial expression. Either I’d managed to get my face to cooperate with me for once or he’d read between the lines, but it was his turn to narrow his eyes.

I allowed myself a smile and gave Olivier my full attention, as he retained control over the one viable way of communicating with me. With my first victory in hand, I worried about handling the cat more than the scowling man with vivid blue eyes who would become a significant part of my future, like it or not.

Rather than return to his ship after leading me through the mercy ship, Olivier stayed, and his job was to write down what the doctors said and handle basic communications. The method worked well, especially as Palta enjoyed being petted and tended to mouth at my hand if I ignored her for more than a few seconds. A rather grumpy Waldren decorated one of the nearby walls, keeping a careful eye on his cat. While I recognized I played with fire and would get burned, I found his jealousy over the animal’s affections intriguing.

He resented the feline’s abandonment of his person. Personally, I couldn’t blame Palta. When given an option between sitting at his feet or occupying a warm lap, I would pick the lap, too. While my loss of hearing scarred me, nothing hampered my vision. If he descended to Schwana Major, I held zero doubt the single women would drool all over him and do their best to take him home.

Every time someone new and handsome came to our world, the single women hunted, often in packs. The man in question typically escaped when the women fought among themselves, resulting in nobody winning. Before the accident, I’d managed to lure off three handsome gentlemen, but I’d never done anything nefarious to them or taken them home.

I’d offered them an easy escape route, as I’d gotten the feeling they hadn’t gone to the local watering hole to be the latest addition to the menu.

In one of the many waits for the medical staff to clarify part of the procedure to Olivier, I considered what I would have done had Waldren gone to one of the local watering holes. He would have become one of the planet’s grand prizes, and had he greeted me with a smile rather than a scowl, I might’ve been tempted to test my luck. I drew lines, however.

I wouldn’t fight other women over a man.

After what felt like an eternity but couldn’t have been more than fifteen or twenty minutes, Olivier tapped my elbow to catch my attention and handed me the digital board along with a clipboard loaded with papers. According to his notes, the papers explained the procedures, the requirements for the voyage I would take to cover the costs of care, the risks associated with the procedures and the journey, and the waivers required for the operation to begin.

Then, to my dismay, I learned Waldren was only part of the group that had come calling. He owned and cared for the donor animal, Palta. He also held responsibility for the team of four surgeons and the medical equipment required for the link installation and the genetic manipulation to restore my hearing.

Most importantly, they had the machines required to determine which color of crystal resided within my brain.

I took my time reading through the papers, making notations on the digital board for clarifications, particularly regarding the voyage. The paperwork simply stated I needed to go, not what I would be doing.

I handed the board to Olivier, who spent a few minutes conferring with Waldren and the doctors. I regretted I couldn’t read lips.

What did I miss in the conversation? What tiny details did Olivier gloss over that might make a difference for me? I longed to listen to the tone and nuances of their discussions, identifying what wasn’t being said through the subtle pauses and changes in someone’s voice.

My inability to comprehend the discussion added to my resolve. Even if I needed to stay on the mercy ship before venturing out into space, I would. Sending word to my parents would pain me, as the paperwork made it clear they could not control all circumstances and I might never return to my home again.

Some risks were worth taking.

Olivier wrote a note and held it out to me, and I frowned at the indication I would essentially be the experiment, and my job would be to endure being monitored. Should I become bored, I would have sufficient educational opportunities, and if the voyage happened to venture to habitable planets, arrangements could be made to allow me to test my training in a controlled fashion.

I could work with that, and I nodded, returned to the paperwork, and signed in the appropriate places, initialed where requested, and triple checked everything before handing the clipboard over to Olivier.

No matter what, I would be ready.

Over the next five days, I dealt with test after test. While Waldren’s team evaluated my health, probability of survival, and otherwise prepared me for the series of operations that would either kill me or restore my hearing, the mercy ship planned its departure. On the sixth day, I wrote a letter to my parents that Olivier would deliver, acknowledged I understood the risks associated with my impending surgeries, and followed my pre-op directions to the letter, erring on the side of caution.

In the late afternoon the same day, I underwent sedation with the understanding one of three things might happen: I might die, I might live but remain deaf, or I would have restored hearing.

Technology had advanced in such a way where most disabilities, including deafness and blindness, could be conquered through operations. The crystal in my skull changed everything.

For the first time in at least a hundred years, there was a medical mystery. Some people had accidentally been caught in blasts involving evolvulite, but they’d had the shards removed or they were deemed low risk. For those patients, life went on as normal. They avoided situations that might result in resonance, which involved dodging trips into space and picking their home world with care.

After the number of operations and times sedated, I’d grown accustomed to my tendency to pick up where I’d left off. However, something had changed. Rather than snap to full consciousness, I lingered in a disorienting numbness, something I’d experienced few times prior. Training only went so far, and for those who might need it, coping with the consequences of stasis involved undergoing the procedure at least twice. In the paperwork I’d signed, I’d been aware I might be put into stasis as one of many post-op tests. I’d accepted the risk, especially as I rated higher than average in my responses to revival.

My heart and bodily fluids resumed normal operations at approximately twenty percent faster, with my hearing, sense of taste, and sense of touch reviving five percent faster.

What my time in stasis meant for me, I wasn’t sure—and until I revived completely, I wouldn’t begin to guess.

I’d survived, unless the afterlife was a disappointing continuation of life, outside of the body rather than within it. Only time would tell if I’d be trapped in silence forever, or if I’d be able to adjust to a new way of hearing.

While a struggle, I forced myself to be patient. Nothing I did would change the outcome.

And so I waited.