Ascending (The Vardeshi Saga Book One)

Chapter Two

I was sitting in the student center on a Thursday afternoon with my computer and books fanned out in front of me and the trifecta of student nutrition at my elbow: energy bar, latte, bottle of water. Outside the windows a chilly coastal rain was sheeting down. I was working in earnest, this time, trying to salvage a failing grade in a course I should have found riveting. I had attended all the lectures—for the last three weeks, anyway—and asked perfunctory questions and taken perfunctory notes. It all felt dull and empty after Vardeshi. Why had I thought I could make a career out of linguistics? It had no hold on me anymore. It had been a pathway to something better. Now it felt like a dead end.

But I needed to graduate, I reminded myself. What choice did I have? What else was I going to do with my life?

The hum of conversation seemed to be growing louder. It was crowded in the student center. Nearly all the tables were full. People came inside to study when it rained. I took a sip of my now-cold latte and tried to recenter my attention on the journal article in front of me. I picked up my highlighter. There was sense to be made here, somewhere, even if just now it felt more cryptic than . . . well, it felt cryptic.

I wasn't imagining it. The noise was getting louder. I sighed, looked up. Everyone seemed to be clustered around the oversized televisions that hung at opposite ends of the room. I wondered if I should take my work elsewhere. It was hard enough to focus without—

My phone buzzed. I picked it up. It was a message from Dr. Sawyer. My office, it read. Nothing more.

I dropped the highlighter and ran.

"It's on every news channel." Dr. Sawyer looked remarkably calm, but the light in his eyes was nearly incandescent. "They've returned. And they've reconsidered." He had the video queued up on his computer. I leaned in behind him as the message began.

"People of Earth," said a serene young woman with dark eyes and close-cropped white hair. "The Vardeshi people send their greetings to you across the long night between our worlds. Twenty-five years ago we made the decision to turn away from you. It was not an easy choice, and there were many among us who questioned its wisdom. In the years that have passed since then, the questioning voices have come to outnumber the confident ones. We have tried and failed to reach a resolution regarding further contact with your world. Earth, or the potential of Earth, divides us as nothing ever has before.

"We come to you therefore with a proposition. We know too little of your people to rush forward into a binding alliance; on that, at least, our factions agree. What we suggest instead is a cultural exchange. Send one hundred of your people to live among us for one Earth year. Let us come to know you, not through the bright shards of yourselves that you send out into the void—your music, your television, your video calls—but through the true sharing that comes of companionship, of living and working and speaking together. Send us the best of yourselves. We, in turn, will send you the best of us: one hundred Vardeshi to be placed as you see fit in cities across your world. At the end of one year we will gather our delegates together and weigh what we have learned. Please consider our proposal and respond with your decision within one Earth month."

She paused. "I will conclude with a request. For all that our races are strange to each other, there are likenesses between us. We feel, as deeply as you do, the fear of sending our loved ones to dwell among strangers. If you consent to send your citizens to us, we promise to shelter and protect them as if they were our own. We ask that you make the same promise. Some of us doubt that you can be trusted so far, but all of us hope that you will prove the doubters wrong. Refuse our offer if you must; but if you accept it, honor your promise. We will honor ours." The recording ended there.

I looked at Dr. Sawyer. His eyes were already on me, expectant. "One hundred of our people," I repeated. "A hundred. Out of billions."

"Assuming the Unified Earth Council accepts the proposal," he reminded me.