your people?” Cuna asked. “I’ve noticed you have similar expressions to humans. I’ve practiced for the day when I get to speak with them and offer a hand of peace. I thought the same expressions might work on you.”
They smiled again, and this time I saw something new in it. Not a creepiness, but an unfamiliarity. What I had interpreted as a sign of smugness had been an attempt to put me at ease. A failed attempt, but the only sign I could remember—in my entire time here—of a dione trying to use one of our expressions.
Saints and stars . . . I’d built my entire gut response to this person on the fact that they couldn’t smile right.
“Winzik and I conceived the Delver Resistance Project together, but with very different motives,” Cuna said. “He saw a way to get access to a true, actively piloted starfighter corps again. I saw something different. I saw a force of lesser species serving the Superiority—protecting it.
“Perhaps it is foolish imagining, but I saw in my mind’s eye the day when a delver might come—and a person like you, or the kitsen, or some other species saved us. I saw a change in my people, a moment when they began to realize that some aggression is useful. That the different ways species act is a strength of our union, not a flaw in it. And so, I encouraged you to join us.”
They waved at the room that had held the black portal. “The Superiority is deceptively weak. We exile that which doesn’t match our ideal of nonaggression. We encourage species to be more and more like us before they can join, and there are good ideals among our people. Peace, prosperity for all. But at the cost of individuality? That we must find a way to change.”
They rested their fingers on the window again. “We have grown complacent, timid. I fear that a little aggression, a little strife, might be exactly what we need. Or else . . . or else we will fall to the first wolf that sneaks past the gates.”
I believed them. Scud, I believed Cuna was sincere. But could I trust my own assessment? The fact that I’d so grossly misread their expressions reinforced this idea. I was among aliens. They were people, with real love and emotions, but they also—by definition—wouldn’t do things the same way humans did.
Who could I trust? Cuna, Vapor, Morriumur, Hesho? Did I know enough to trust any of them? It felt like a person could spend a lifetime studying other species and still get this sort of thing wrong. Indeed, Cuna’s attempts at smiling were proof of that exact idea.
And still, I found myself reaching over and pushing back my sleeve. I undid the little latch on my bracelet that kept me from pushing the button accidentally.
Then—taking a deep breath—I deactivated my hologram.
35
Cuna’s eyes bulged practically out of their head as they stared at me. Then they bared their teeth, shying back. “What?” they demanded. “What is this?”
“I was never Alanik,” I said. “I took her place after she crashed on my planet.” Then I stuck out my hand. “My name is Spensa. You said you were waiting to hold out your hand to a human, in peace. Well . . . here I am.”
It might have been the craziest thing I’d ever done. Honestly, I’m not sure I could explain why I did it. I’d just realized that I couldn’t necessarily trust my gut when it came to aliens—their habits, expressions, and mannerisms wouldn’t match my expectations.
This was different though. This wasn’t me reacting by instinct to something an alien did. This was a choice. If there was even a chance that Cuna was sincere, it could mean an end to the war. It could mean safety for my people.
I wasn’t certain if this was what the heroes from Gran-Gran’s stories would have done. But it was what I did. In that moment. Taking that risk.
Accepting that hope.
Cuna—though they leaned back at the same time—took my hand in theirs. I guessed that part of them reviled the idea of touching me. Still, they did force themself to do it. Cuna might use terms like lesser species, but I believed that they were sincerely trying.
They looked at me closer, still holding on to my hand. “How? I don’t understand.”
“Holograms,” I said. “A portable one in my bracelet.”
“We don’t have technology to create a projector so small!” Cuna said. “But it was rumored that