the hyperdrive forever,” Cuna said. “In truth, it shouldn’t have outlasted the human wars. We endured a dozen close calls when the secret started to leak. Our stranglehold on interstellar communication was always enough, just barely, to keep the truth contained.”
“You won’t keep this secret much longer,” I said. “It’s going to get out.”
“I know,” Cuna said. “Haven’t you been listening?” They nodded toward the window.
A set of doors down below opened, and a pair of diones entered, pulling someone by the arms. I . . . I recognized them. It was Gul’zah the burl—the gorilla alien who had been kicked out of the pilot program way back after the test, then had been protesting against the Superiority.
“I heard that the Superiority made a deal with the protesters!” I said.
“Winzik was called in to handle the issue,” Cuna replied. “His department has been gaining too much authority. He claims to have negotiated a deal where the dissidents turned over their leader. I can’t track any longer how much of what he says is true and how much is false.”
Those diones, I thought, noting the brown-striped clothing they wore. I saw some like them cleaning up after the protesters vanished.
“This burl has been in custody since then,” Cuna said, nodding to Gul’zah. “Some fear that the incident on the Weights and Measures today was caused by revolutionaries. So the exile has been moved up. And I have little doubt that Winzik will seek other ways to use your attack on us to further his goals.”
Below, one of the dione technicians typed on a console at the side of the room. The center of the room shimmered, and then something appeared—a black sphere the size of a person’s head. It seemed to suck all light into it as it floated there. It was pure darkness. An absolute blackness that I knew intimately.
The nowhere. Somehow, they had opened up a hole into the nowhere.
The kitsen had mentioned to me that the Superiority—and the human empires as well—had mined acclivity stone from the nowhere. I knew they had portals into the place. But still, seeing that dark sphere affected me on a primal level. That was a darkness that should not exist, a darkness beyond the mere lack of light. A wrongness.
They lived in there.
I suspected what would come next, but was still horrified when it happened. The guards took the struggling prisoner and forced their face to touch the dark sphere. The protester began to stretch, then was absorbed into the darkness.
The technician collapsed the sphere. As everyone left, I spun on Cuna. “Why?” I demanded. “Why show me this?”
“Because,” Cuna said, “before your stunt today, you were my best hope at stopping this abomination.”
“You seriously expect me to believe that a Superiority official cares what happens to ‘lesser species’?” I spat the words, perhaps too fervently. I should have been political, kept my emotions in check, tried to get Cuna to talk.
But I was mad. Furious. I’d just been forced to watch an exile, maybe even an execution. I was mad at myself for getting caught, frustrated to finally know the secret to hyperdrives—to be so close to bringing the secret back to my people—only to be threatened by Cuna. That was why they’d brought me here, of course. To warn me what awaited me if I didn’t obey.
Cuna stood up. I was short compared to average humans, so Cuna towered over me as they walked to the glass, then rested a blue hand against it. “You think of us as being of one mind,” they said. “Which is the exact flaw held by many in the Superiority itself. Presumption.
“You may choose not to believe it, Alanik, but my entire purpose has been to change the way my people view other species. Once the secret of hyperdrives escapes our grasp, we will need something new to keep us together. We won’t be able to rely on our monopoly on travel. We need to be able to offer something else.”
Cuna turned toward me and smiled. That same creepy, off-putting smile. This time it struck me, and I realized something.
Had I ever seen any other diones try to smile?
It wasn’t a dione expression. They pulled their lips tight into a line to express joy, and they bared their teeth to express dislike. They gestured with their hands sometimes, like the Krell. I couldn’t think of any of the others, Morriumur included, ever smiling.
“You smile,” I said.
“Isn’t this facial expression a sign of friendship among