Back in the bedroom, he checked the bars again and found everything as impenetrable as before. He looked around for anything meant to entertain, and found nothing. Going back to the large window, Cole pressed both hands to the glass and cupped his face. He still couldn’t see anything through the blinding glare.

The silk sheet hit the floor.

He bent to pick it up, wondering if he should just poke two holes in the fabric, drape the damn thing over his head, and walk around like a ghost.

Surveying the room one more time, Cole figured this was one of the most perplexing jams he’d ever been in. He was being forced to luxuriate in conditions beyond his upbringing. Nobody seemed to be expecting anything of him right now. He could crawl back in bed and sleep for days or take another bath until he was one giant wrinkle.

But those bars made it hard to relax. Especially since he didn’t know what they were for.

As tempting as it was to laze around until the answers came, Cole decided to prepare for the worst. He went back to the bathroom and drank as much water as he could, then splashed some on his face to jolt his senses. Setting his bed-sheet aside, he launched into a standard-grav exercise routine: stretching, push-ups, sit-ups, and an hour of tai chi.

The Drenards came for him just as he was switching from his tai chi routine to shadowboxing. He threw out his fists in snappy jabs, the head in the mirror ducking and weaving to avoid each blow. Combining uppercuts, elbow strikes and body-blows, he imagined a roomful of foes coming at him one at a time. With each punch, he blew out his breath, tightening his stomach muscles to absorb every possible counter from his opponent.

His grunting and hissing, and the squeaking of his feet on the cool marble, masked the sound of the gold bars retreating into the jamb. Cole threw a few new combos together and worked on a feint that would set up his uppercut—just as the massive aliens crossed the plush carpet and arrived at the open bathroom door.

It wasn’t until one of them spoke that Cole realized he had visitors—and that he was dancing around with no clothes on. He whirled around, his hands still up in a defensive posture.

The Drenard in the doorway cooed pleasantly, but the sight of his lance sent a zap of fear through Cole’s spine. Around this guard stepped one of the ornate Drenards dressed in layers, but this time with an additional cloak that covered his arms, a gold braid tied around his waist to link the open sides together. His longer tunics were pulled up through this belt and folded over, freeing his hands.

It could have been the same male from the ship, Cole couldn’t be sure. The red band around his blue head was different, but the face looked similar, as alien races tend to do until you get to know them. The large alien approached on bare feet and held out a small bundle. He continued to make the pleasant sounds that had disturbed Cole’s exercises.

Cole accepted the proffered gift; it was a colorful tunic, similar to one the guard was wearing. He draped it over his head and the hem almost went to the floor. He looked back to the Drenard, whose identical tunic barely fell to his knees.

Turning to glance at himself in the mirror, Cole saw a little boy playing dress-up—a pauper pretending to be a prince. He decided it was more humiliating than being stark naked.

The Drenard waved at him, breaking his spell and gesturing toward the door.

“Fine,” Cole said. “Lead the way.” He waved a hand toward the door and followed the large alien into the bedroom. The obligatory escort of double guards, each with a ferocious lance, formed up on either side. Cole cast a wary glance at them, happy to see the infernal devices aimed at the ground. He was also ecstatic to see the bars in the doorway were up.

The cloaked alien led the two guards into the hall, then turned and looked back at Cole. He shrugged, mostly to himself, and strolled out to join them. Judging from the odd mix of treatment thus far, he figured they were either going to lead him to a sumptuous feast or a torturous interrogation.

But certainly not both.

8

The Drenards led Cole down the ornate hallway, past a series of marble doors with lowered gold bars, until they came to a doorway that stood open. They waved inside where he found a table hewn out of the now-familiar grainy rock. It was covered with plates and bowls of foodstuffs, but only a single chair sat before it. The Drenards moved Cole to the chair, then gestured to the victuals, almost as if to say “whatever you subsist on can be found here” rather than “look at all the yummy stuff we made for you.”

Cole sampled a few things and didn’t find any of it too unpleasant.

“Thank you very much,” he offered.

None of the Drenards budged. Cole could sense they were waiting for him to get his fill before whatever came next. He felt tempted to draw the meal out, to stall for time, but the cold politeness was unbearable, and his curiosity growled louder than his stomach. He really wanted to know whether they considered him a prisoner or a cherished guest, so he ate just enough to energize him for the day before pushing the bowls away, making several hand gestures he hoped would suggest “no more.”

The leader nodded and said something to the other two in that gentle voice of his. The guards strapped their lances across their backs and began clearing the table; another Drenard entered with a second chair and topped Cole’s water up.

Having the large creatures swirl around him in furious activity completed the young prince illusion from the bathroom mirror, making him feel extra ridiculous. Even more so when he was “crowned” a few moments later by yet another Drenard male, who came in and showed him a red headband just like the one his escort wore. The thing was held reverently for Cole to see, then the alien reached up and placed it around his forehead—arranging it just so.

The rough material itched his scalp; Cole reached up to scratch it, but the Drenard pushed his hand down gently. He decided it was best to quietly bear the discomfort.

While the new Drenard tended to him, the others finished cleaning up, their movements uncannily orchestrated. Every action was performed with a precision that reminded Cole of his own military training. When the maneuvers finally completed, he found himself left in the room with just the presumed officer seated across the table. A glass of water stood before the Drenard, full, and sweating slightly.

“My name is Dani Rooo,” Cole thought.

But why did he think that?

His right hand came up to touch the red band, as if it knew the answer.

“No it’s not. My name is Cole,” he thought to himself.

“Hello, Cole.” The Drenard across from him opened his mouth and made a funny shape with it. The voice in Cole’s head was his own, but they weren’t his words.

“You have to think on the surface, or speak aloud. I cannot hear you unless you’re forming the words in your head.”

An image flashed in Cole’s head. A woman. Aunt Carol? Crazy aunt Carol who heard voices. Gods, he hadn’t thought about her since he left Portugal. What in the world made her come to mind?

“Let’s start with where you found Anlyn Hooo, Cole.”

Now he understood how Aunt Carol felt. His own voice was in his head, and it was telling him to do things. He had a powerful urge to grab the red band and throw it across the room.

But something told him that wouldn’t be a wise move.

“Can you hear me?” Cole thought it out loud in his head.

“Very good. Now, where did you find Lady Hooo?”

“How does this work?” Cole asked, unable to concentrate on the alien’s question with so many of his own, both sets of thoughts jumbled up in the same head. “Do you speak English?” he added, tossing another on the pile.

Dani Rooo leaned back in his chair. There was silence in Cole’s head for a moment.

“Do you know why life forms are so similar, Cole?”

It seemed a bit off-topic, but he was interested in playing along. Not so much by the question—a classic in xenophilosophy—but by the tone of his own voice. It was as if the alien across from him knew the answer and was just testing him.

“Because they’re the simplest solutions to common problems? Problems of survival?”

Dani made the shape with his mouth from earlier. Cole labeled the expression a “smile,” then realized he no longer had to guess.

“Do you find my answer funny?”

“No. But it does make me happy. Women and youth are not very good at keeping secrets. The combination almost guarantees a spill of information. With Lady Hooo unconscious, there’s no way of knowing what you know or don’t know.”

“Trust me,” Cole thought to Dani, “I know less than nothing. Why don’t you fill me in—how’s Anlyn? Am I a prisoner here? Where are my friends? And how are you talking in my head?”

Dani leaned forward and placed both hands, wide apart, on the table. “Whose soldiers are outside the door, boy?”

They stared at one another for a while. Both thinking—but deeply. Silently. Dani leaned back again, folding his hands in his lap. “Forgive my outburst. I am worried for Lady Hooo as well; as such, I am not myself. According to Lady Fyde—”

“Molly?! Where is she—?” But Cole couldn’t force his thoughts to rise above the alien’s.

“—insists that you rescued Anlyn from captivity, and if this is true, you deserve an answer. So. I will give you one before we begin our session. One answer, an honest one, to any question you like. And then you will begin responding to my questions.”

Cole considered the offer. In his heart, he wanted to know where Molly was and whether she and the rest of the crew were safe. His natural curiosity, however, wanted to riddle the inner workings of the red bands. Meanwhile, the philosopher in him shouted down the rest, wanting to know the root of common forms, the riddle that taunts every theory in the field of biology and serves as the foundation for all major religions.

These questions and more rattled around in Cole’s head. He saw the muscles in Dani’s vast neck twitch under his blue skin and could sense—could almost know—that he was becoming impatient. It just made it harder for Cole to think. To choose.

Panic spilled over his litany of queries, drowning them, making it impossible to pick the best response. The pressure to get it right dried his mouth out. He felt as if something important was taking place—and he was about to blow it. He reached for his sweating glass of water.

Dani leaned forward, mirroring his movement, his mouth contorting into a new expression. “Well?” The strong and confident version of Cole’s voice sliced through his worrisome thoughts.

Then, in a flash, Cole’s very confusion provided the answer he was looking for. It dawned on him that he was being offered a single answer from Dani, but that didn’t mean it would be the last question he ever asked anyone. Many of the trivial ones would be answered in time, if he was patient. In fact, the reason he had an impossible time choosing was because he didn’t know the trivial from the profound. And that was the question.

Cole’s hand, still frozen in the shape of a cylinder, stopped short of the dripping glass of water. He brought his other hand up and clasped the two of them together. Leaning toward Dani, he forced a calm thought to the surface:

“My question is this—” Cole took a deep breath. “Which question should I have asked?”

Dani froze for a moment, then his mouth changed into something new. A shape with teeth. One of his large, powerful hands shot up into the air between he and Cole and came crashing down with lightning speed. When his flat palm hit the stone table, it rang out like a cracked whip, an impossibly high note ringing in the air for too brief a time to have been so loud. The glass of water leapt up, throwing a small wave over the lip to join the puddle of condensation below.

Dani’s entire body shook, his cooing transforming into a growl as throaty pockets of air moved back and forth through his vibrating cheeks. The Drenard raised his hand from the table, pointed at Cole, then made a fist. He shook his head, which roared with the vibrato of a small engine. He waved his fist in the air and hit the table with it again.

Cole leaned back in his chair, distancing himself from the display. When Dani shot out of the seat across from him, he wondered if he’d been wrong—if he really did have only one question left in him. But Dani didn’t rush around the table in attack, he strode out of the room and into the hallway, fighting to form words through the amplified and gruff cooing sound.

Swiveling in his chair to watch the alien go, Cole felt his body surge with adrenaline, preparing for danger and defense. He heard Dani struggling to give commands to someone outside, the sound of coarse hacks mixing with the forced purring of their language.

Less than a minute later, his interrogator returned and stood in the doorway, a beverage of some sort in his hand. The Drenard took long swigs from it, his physical attack subsiding.

“Dani?” Cole squeezed the mental word through a crack in his confusion.

His interrogator raised one hand and continued to drink. “I am fine. I just haven’t laughed that hard since I was your size. It felt . . . amazing.”

Dani lowered the glass and tilted his blue head slightly to one side, took a deep breath, then let it out. “There are two ways I could answer your question. If I answer it honestly, I will cheat you, for the truth is: that was the question you should have asked. I only realized this as soon as you thought it to me.

“I could satisfy my end of the bargain by admitting this, couldn’t I? I could point out that you did ask me the right question and you would get nothing. But your choice suggests something interesting: that you are looking for the beginning of a path, rather than a method of skipping to the end. And even though you will never walk down the trail you seek—not now that you are here with us on Drenard—I would like to reward you with more answers than I initially promised.”