Sarah, Niʔa says in my mind. We all need you to let me help you. Can you please let me help you? Or, let Goreth front so that we can function?

I can do this, Goreth tells me.

I push our head more strongly into the corner of the walls, shoulders shaking, and clench our eyes even tighter. Enough that it all hurts.

I know they are both right. I know I should do either thing, and soon. But I want the pain and agony I’ve held inside of me for my whole life to finally be visible to someone else. I need it to be seen by my aunts and uncles, at least, so that they know just how much they are hurting me. Hurting us. And I can think of no other way of doing that than to give them what they want. To make a scene.

I feel the need to scream, and all I have to do is work up the courage to let it out.

But I don’t have it.

Someone needs to take a stand sometime. Eventually. Or it’s all going to come down around us.

And I’m wretched.

I tried. I told off my family right there in front of our youngest generations. I stood up for myself and my peers, and I said the truth.

But I could see in their eyes that I hadn’t changed their minds. I’d only made them look bad in front of their children and made them retreat. But they were planning on having the last say.

They know as well as I do what is sweeping the world, and what’s coming down on our corner of the nation.

Law after law, in all the red states, the governments of the United States have been declaring that they support our family’s bigotry. And with the latest Supreme Court decision, it’s only a matter of time before Oregon, Washington, and California fall to it, too.

And that’s not even the worst of what’s going on in the world, nor what’s been going on in the U.S. since it was founded. It’s just what’s coming for me and mine.

I know.

I know that this is a generational fight. That it’s a battle that’s been going on for over two hundred years, and that I’m just the latest to be caught up in it.

I know there are whole families, whole nations of people who’ve been struggling and fighting for even longer, who’ve developed the tools and networks of strength necessary to keep a light lit against the darkness of hate. Who’ve passed it down from generation to generation. And that the reason I’m lonely and lost is that I’m a freakish reject from one of the families that spreads that hate.

None of this knowledge helps when I’m cornered in the basement of bigotry itself due to my own actions, and can’t see a way out that I’m strong enough to take.

I’m so drained.

I’m so exhausted.

And the powers that have been granted to me by my incredible, bewildering, unbelievable imaginary friends only serve to help me see just how cornered I am.

If I may make an observation, Abacus speaks up.

I growl and groan, but a part of my mind consents. I’m desperate. I need an out that involves action on my part. And I think I’m surprised enough by this relative newcomer having the audacity to approach me when I’m so furious and distraught that I’m curious about it.

Abacus is not gentle. It thinks as clearly as words, If you came here with the intention of converting your family to your ways of thinking, I believe you already knew that you would fail at that. And by your thoughts, which are echoing throughout the system, a part of you yearns for that failure, too. It was probably a bad idea to come during this gathering for any purpose like that. But your mother did pay your way, and you might not have been able to visit otherwise. And you had reason to believe that there is a time limit on your ability to visit your grandmother. There is coercion in that. Intentional or not. And now that we are here, witnessing your family, we are learning first hand the context that is vital to us being able to understand and support you.

I acknowledge that those are pretty good points, but I don’t relent.

One of the books we are debating about including in the Sunspot Chronicles is titled Crew and was written by Eh, Abacus tells me. Not that anybody or any group has the veto power to declare that it is not. But, I mean those of us who are working on the Terran translation are debating it.

I wonder where it is going with this, and find myself wanting to listen.

We don’t have time for a long discussion, Goreth interrupts. We’ve got the ball. Our family has given us tacit permission to visit our grandma next and then leave. They signaled that by following Sarah’s instructions to leave. But if we doddle, they may change their minds.

Let me relate this, please, Abacus replies. It takes two more thoughts. Maybe three.

OK.

In that book, Abacus continues, Eh talks about what it was like to live on our predecessor ship, Feruukepikape, before their revolution succeeded to create the Sunspot and leave that life behind. They gloss over a lot of it. But I can’t help, looking around at your world and how your family treats you, and how you react to it all, but to think that we’re getting a glimpse of what their daily life might have been like. Still very alien, but I feel like it fills in the blanks.

I wonder how this is supposed to help me.

It took nearly a hundred of our millennia since Eh’s birth for that revolution to come to fruition, Abacus concludes. Eh had to hide in the Network of Firuukepikape, amongst cells of the Resistance, and train for all that time, before they could take captaincy of the Sunspot. You’re not going to change what’s going on around you by allowing yourself to be captured by your enemies. You’re not going to be a martyr. It won’t work. Not in this situation. Your job, right now – our job – is to survive.

That’s an insane amount of time, Goreth thinks. That’s… How old is the Sunspot again?

One hundred thirty-one of our millennia old, plus some centuries.

How?

We’ve had a lot of practice building and maintaining Exodus Ships, Abacus responds.

I can feel Goreth dismissing that explanation in frustration but clinging to something else anyway, and they think the question clearly, How old does that make Eh in our years?

Three hundred sixty-two thousand, four hundred seventy-five Terran years and one hundred seventy three Terran days, Niʔa answers. I’m refraining from giving you minutes or hundredths of a second, but I’ve got that, too.

Jesus fucking Christ, Goreth swears.

I hate learning numbers like that, Ashwin thinks.

OK, Goreth interjects. This has my mind reeling over something completely unrelated to our situation, but I gotta think it at you all or I’ll just have to say it out loud at the worst moment.

We’re about to have a visitor, but you have time, Niʔa tells them.

Abacus, Goreth addresses the second Tutor to join our system. You’ve taken what’s being popularly called ‘the Ktletaccete form’, correct? You look kind of like you’re related to Eh and most of the Founding Crew I’ve met lately. And you did that to sooth physical dysphoria, right?

Yes.

I could be wrong, but I’m pretty sure that Eh is older than the current species of human, homo sapiens, Goreth says. But, supposedly Niʔa and Phage currently look like what the people of the Feruukepikape looked like, what Eh originally looked like. When did Eh take that Ktletaccete form?

According to their book, before their body died. They figured it out shortly after they got their neural terminal and started using the Network, Abacus replies.

How are we doing on time? Goreth asks Niʔa.

It matters less than you fear, Niʔa replies. You may be interrupted but you’ve given us enough to prompt you later if need be.

Oof, OK.

This is helping me. I’m totally distracted by this conversation and I’m feeling our body start to relax. I find that I want to learn where Goreth is taking this, though I can almost sense their deeper thoughts about it and guess.

Alright, Goreth continues. Ever since we’ve come aboard, I’ve been flabbergasted at the genetic diversity of your populace. You all look like you’re not just different species, but different families of creatures. Maybe even different orders sometimes. I don’t know. But supposedly your central nervous systems are similar enough that the neural terminals you designed work on nearly everyone, that you even have a school of neurology and psychology that’s relatively relevant to you all. And I’m no scientist by any means, but I’ve been trying to figure out how that works.

Yes, Abacus thinks.

I honestly could be so wrong, but I don’t think that if humanity had all the time you’ve had that we’d be able to genetically engineer our species like that, Goreth speculates. A lot of us dream of doing that, but I really don’t think it’s possible. From what I understand, too much of the design of our nervous system is linked to the genetics that define the rest of our bodies. Life on Earth is just not that flexible. Genes on Earth do double, triple, quadruple, multiple duties, apparently. So, if you make a human look like a bird, they might even think like a bird. But that doesn’t happen with you. And your common, instinctual sense of what form is correct for you is older than the modern species of human.

Yes?

What if you are all one species? Right now?

That’s your word for a related group of lifeforms, not ours.

I know. It doesn’t matter. What I’m suggesting is that maybe you’re more like your most distant ancestors than you realize, even now.

This sounds like a number of theories that have already been entertained and accepted by many.

Sure. OK. Maybe I am reinventing the wheel. Except I notice that you all are choosing one way of solving your dysphoria-verses-eugenics dilemma, by doing away with your current breeding program, generating children entirely on the Network and letting them custom create their own body if they want one, Goreth counters. And maybe there’s another option for you.

All of our visitors fall very quiet, leaving both Goreth and myself to wonder if Goreth is overstepping in some grievous way.

But then Phage thinks, Goreth has figured it out.

And then Abacus asks, Figured out what? 

Let’s let Goreth explain, Metabang thinks.

I can feel Goreth’s trepidation, but they proceed. What if the original Ktletaccete evolved to be extremely adaptive? Maybe there was a whole clade of life on your home planet that could do this. And I’m definitely relating part of this to some life here on Earth, but what if the forms you’re taking now that all look the same are the juvenile Ktletaccete form? What if the reason you can so easily alter how your children develop from their eggs is you’re taking advantage of something your species, your ancestors, could already do? Maybe not, like, constantly shapeshift but, perhaps, adapt to your immediate environment in adolescence? Maybe it’s epigenetics or something, I don’t know. But, what if, instead of putting your people through the trauma of trying to insert an already conscious mind into a fetus, you tried to set your genetics back to that original model and let your children go through metamorphosis at adolescence?

That sounds really scary, Ashwin replies. From what I understand about your people, Goreth, and you being transgender, is that your own adolescent metamorphosis isn’t always the right one. And, from my own original headmates, I know how bad dysphoria can be. I wouldn’t want to wish that on anyone. And I wouldn’t want to make any sort of a choice that would lead to it.

Like I said, it was just a thought I really had to get out. Goreth tells nem. It’s not a directive. But it sounds like maybe it’s a new thought?

It’s not very different from the theories that Abacus mentioned, Phage answers. But you have sparked an association in my own memories, and you have somehow described it more accurately than anyone else has.

Hailing Scales.

The best solution to Ktletaccete dysphoria may still be the one they’ve already chosen, however, Phage thinks.

And, now, Niʔa prompts.

“Tharah? What’th wrong?” a familiar little voice asks from behind us all.

I still have our head pushed into the far corner of the room from the door, our body kneeling, skirt splayed around us and hiding our legs, shoulders bare. Our hat is scrunched up from the awkward position, pressed against the walls by our head.

I feel like I’m coming back to our body from somewhere else, and our cells are waking up. Our legs are full of pins and needles. But I manage to compose myself and push away from the wall, to wipe my eyes before turning around to face Devin. And I smile at him, though I’m sure my expression is still sad looking.

Goreth’s revelation and hypeshare has really calmed me down, centered me. I think I can handle this.

Besides, I already knew Abacus was right before it even rebuked me.

“I was having a bit of a meltdown, Devin,” I tell my little cousin. I forget how old he is, really, but I’m sure he can understand this. “I get overloaded sometimes. And when I do, the best thing for me to do is find someplace private and quiet and cry about it. Then, when I’m done, I’m all better. And then I can think and talk to people again. I’m OK now.”

“Oh,” he says.

“Thank you for checking up on me,” I tell him, smiling broader, making sure I nod like most humans do. “I really appreciate it.”

“OK!” he brightens up a little, and then something else seems to occur to him and he turns to leave, running for the door and nearly careening right into my mother, who is now entering the room.

I reach for our cane, anticipating the need to stand up, and start to arrange our legs to get better circulation before seeking the leverage to stand.

“Hey, Devin. Slow down, please,” Mom says. Then she steps around him, patting him on the head, and enters the room. She’s holding our cloak in the crook of her left arm. “Are you OK?” she asks me.

It hits me just how long it’s been since I’ve heard her ask me that, and I’m almost at a loss for words, a tear welling up in my left eye again. But I manage to shake my head, and speak.

“I honestly don’t know how to answer that,” I say. “No? No. I don’t think I’ll be OK for a long time, really. Not while I live on this planet, anyway.”

She takes a deep breath and sets her mouth in an almost perfect diagonal line. I’m not sure I could command our own facial muscles to imitate the expression.

I am her daughter. Maybe I can.

“But, I’m doing better,” I say. And then I demonstrate by standing up with strength and grace I haven’t experienced in years. The pins and needles are gone, soothed away by Niʔa’s assistance. “That confrontation was stressful and scary, and I think I really needed to break down about it.”

She nods and then holds out our cloak for me to take it, saying, “Sometimes I need to do that, too.”

I blink, right hand pausing under our cloak in the act of taking it. Unusually, I’m using our cane with our left hand. Sometimes that works better.

She shrugs, laying the cloak on my arm. “It’s the adult thing to do. To let our emotions out where no one can see them. But I still have them. And sometimes they’re still too much.”

I tilt our head and ask, “Does it ever feel like just having them makes them worse? Like it’s a chain reaction or something? A feedback loop? And it feels like you’re just going to literally explode?”

She scrunches her lower lip up into her upper lip and nods. “Yes. That’s why I waited to bring this to you. You obviously needed your space.”

I want to tell her so many things now, but I’m afraid, and I could be wrong, and she might not want to hear them, so I just nod and say, “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

“Of course!” she says, and then steps forward to hug me.

I hesitate to accept, because I still don’t know what she thinks about our plurality or what her motives really are for all of this. And something about her just feels so different right now. But, I need it. I need her hug so bad, I end up accepting it.

Maybe she’s changed her mind about something, but I’m too scared to prod or ask.

She steps back and says, “I’ve been wanting to tell you. Your books aren’t the kind of thing I usually read, but you are a good writer, Sarah. Even if I don’t understand the subject matter very well, and I’m worried about what’s happening down in Portland now, your writing is very clear and easy to read. I’ve always liked your artwork, and I’m amazed you’re doing a show while writing books. But I’m proud of you. I’m so glad you’re my daughter.”

Shit.

I’m going to need to work to compose myself again before I go upstairs. If I can bring myself to go upstairs. Holy shit.

Through tears, and maybe some snot, that are suddenly coming down my face, I struggle to make my sobby voice form the words without cracking too much, “Mom. I really need… I’m scared, Mom. I’m really scared. Not about what’s happening in Portland. Yet. But you know the news. You know Congress, and the President, and the way things are going.”

She nods a little. Maybe not as firmly as I would have liked. And she remains silent, which is frustrating, but it lets me keep talking.

“I think I need more backup than what I got in there,” I tell her. “Not just for myself, but for my friends. For all trans people. And… Everyone else they’ve got in their sites, that they’ve had in their sites this whole time. We’ve got to do better.”

“I don’t know what to do,” she says. Her eyes are moving back and forth, and look like they might be fighting off some tears, too. She starts fishing in her pockets for something, and then hands me a tissue.

I never even think to ever carry tissues. I don’t know why. We certainly cry enough. But we just wipe our face off on our arms, I guess.

I gingerly take the tissue, transferring our cloak to our left armpit first, and use it to clean up my nose. Then realize it won’t be very good for my tears now, and crumple it up to use the back of my hand for that.

I work our mouth and then say, “Maybe, for us, it just starts with our family. Maybe that’s our job. Do what we can to keep your siblings from keeping the lies alive. Or at least, don’t let them push us around. You know?”

“Hm.”

“Also, we’re not alone. Camile is with us, I’m sure. Jeff, too,” I tell her. “And I think Orin might step up if we all do. But, Brenda’s a radfem, Mom. She’s totally a hippy, but she does not get it.”

She scowls, and I can see a darkness working its way toward her face. But she fights it off, and that’s when I notice what’s really going on.

And I do my best to stay focused and keep my face from showing my surprise. But I maybe slip a little bit, because she reacts more strongly at that moment.

She reaches out and puts her hand on my shoulder and says, “No, I’m sure you’re right. I just don’t know how to address that with her. She’s really a good person otherwise, though.”

I take a sharp breath in and set myself to respond, but she drops her hand and looks me in the eyes, which causes me to look away. But I also notice she breaks eye contact fairly quickly after that, too.

“You should go up and talk to my Mom,” she says. “We can talk more about this later. I’ll run interference. OK?”

And I agree wordlessly and almost sulk past her. I’m very much in a daze.

Did anyone else catch that? I ask internally as I let our vessel walk up the stairs ahead of Mom.

There is a whole chorus of yeps and yeses.

Mom’s plural. Confirmed with my sight from Phage’s gift.

She might not know it. She might not experience it as plurality. She may never identify as plural.

But, her psyche is structured so much more like mine, Erik’s, and the Murmuration’s than anyone else’s that I recognized her different selves and realized I already had my own names for them.

Grumpy Mom had almost taken over for Huggy Mom for a moment there.

Is plurality hereditary for the Ktletaccete? Goreth asks.

We don’t have heredity, Metabang replies.

Oh, right.

But, like with fibrillation, we’ve never been able to control for it. Not even on Feruukepikape, where they really tried. Some genes seem to make it more common, yes. But it can’t be eliminated nor induced.

And yet, you’ve said you still have fascists who want to keep trying, Goreth points out. You’d think with so many millennia of experimentation and proof, they’d give up.

We did think that, yes.