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Luka cannot understand what the staff are saying. They’ve already taken his translator, and he can only really understand his father’s dialect without help. He’s also, in losing that precious device, lost his only way of contacting Heperu.
There are other children outside this room. He can hear laughter, distant voices. He doesn’t think any of them were taken aside like this.
“Ki ploye,” he starts to say, my father, yet they do not hear him. His voice is quiet, his tongue clumsy around the unfamiliar syllables. It is easiest to give up, so Luka allows them to check him over before he is unceremoniously forced outside.
He stumbles over soft grass, so used to being treated as something fragile. The children’s voices are clearer now – unme, kiyo, pliye, hako and so on. It’s a counting game, he thinks, so they can learn both languages at once. Segyeinko’s not a language made for pet-humans, and it’s got so many variations and dialects that most won’t bother teaching it.
Still, they’re all sitting in groups or two or three, probably already forming connections with each other. Luka is alone. He picks his way across the field, settling himself against a solitary tree. The shade is nice. The artificial green of the artificial grass is so painfully bright that it hurts his eyes when he looks at it too long.
Luka knows that, physically, he is older than them, though mentally there is little difference. That alone is grounds for being an outcast.
All alone as he is, Luka begins to count. The words come easy to him, the repetitive motions soothing. It’s peaceful, idyllic, a far cry from the noise and darkness of his father’s laboratory. The segyeinri here are kinder than the scientists, despite the fact that they’re all under strict orders to be careful with him.
He sits there for about an hour, curled in on himself like a much younger child. He almost forgets to be lonely, focusing on nothing but his hands. He even starts tuning out the dull hum of the collar around his neck.
Unme, kiyo, pliye, hako, ito, over and over like a mantra. At some point he starts saying it out loud.
“Unme, kiyo, pliye, hako, ito,” he repeats, voice soft, starting to disappear, “Unme, kiyo, pliye, hako…”
Suddenly, a warm hand against his own, a cheerful voice finishing before he can. “Ito!” says a girl with green eyes, flower-pink hair. She’s as vibrant as the garden itself, a tentative grin on her face. He doesn’t recognise her. He doesn’t like memorising human faces.
And yet she’s laughing, acting like they’re friends already. “You don’t have to sit out here,” she admonishes, “Isn’t it boring being on your own?”
Luka doesn’t have the heart to tell her it’s because he can’t get on with most children. He’s always going to be better than them, made to outgrow and outperform because he is supposed to be a masterpiece.
She’s watching him curiously, so he just slowly shakes his head. “I’m okay,” he mumbles, “Really.”
She takes his hand again, counting his fingers. “Unme… kiyo… pliye… hako… ito!” She giggles, clearly pleased with herself. It seems not everyone has such a handle on the language, so he can understand her look of triumph.
They sit like this for some time, counting each other’s fingers. She looks very impressed. He supposes, coming from him and his gentle voice, such perfect segyeinko is rather impressive. He doesn’t see the challenge, but he laughs and smiles anyway.
“What’s your name?” she asks suddenly, cocking her head slightly.
“Luka,” he tells her, unsure what else to say.
“That’s so pretty,” she replies, voice wistful, almost envious, before she brightens, “I’m Mizi!”
Luka briefly wonders who on earth would give their pet-human such a silly name. But there are some odd guardians out there, and he doesn’t care that much to implore further. Faintly, even with Mizi’s laughter - she’s always laughing, somehow - filling his ears, he hears the faint rustle of bare feet over grass. He glances over Mizi’s shoulder, wary of this silent spectator.
There’s another child, a girl, lurking a short distance away, sharp lavender eyes fixated on her friend. Luka recognises her, vaguely. As if he’s seen her face once or twice before. His father knows a lot of people, and a lot of them are well-known for keeping humans.
He has no time to truly study this strange new girl, because it is then that Mizi drops his hands and throws her arms around his neck. He has no idea how he is expected to react. He’s been cradled before, clutching at his father’s robes, and he’s been treated like he can’t move himself, but he has never once been hugged.
The pink-haired girl takes his lack of reaction as nothing more than surprise, even though she apologises hurriedly as she pulls away. Luka does not want her to do that. He isn't used to the contact, but he likes it. And still he does not say a word. He's never been in this sort of situation before. Are all humans this affectionate, or is it just her?
That said, it seems she has decided that they are friends, and when she scrambles to her feet, she takes him with her. Luka stumbles as he is pulled along, feet clumsy, but as she laughs he finds he is laughing too.
Mizi bounds over to the ever-silent girl watching them, who blinks and laughs in a surprised sort of way. Her smile is too wide. It does not reach her eyes. Luka averts his own in an instant, because there is nothing but apprehension in that deep purple gaze.
"Sua," Mizi says brightly, grabbing her hand without warning, “Is it okay if Luka plays with us?”
Sua hesitates. She grips the hem of her skirt so tightly it creases. Luka realises then that she recognises him. He feels terrible. He does not recall her face at all, and it’s the kind of face that sticks out. Like his. “That’s alright,” she mumbles, the words a little stilted. As if she really, really does not want Luka around.
Luka considers pretending. He considers plastering on the charm how his father does, but he has the sudden feeling that it will not work on this strange dark-haired girl. And thus he does not reply, absent-mindedly fidgeting with his sleeve instead.
Sua stares at him for a good, long moment, takes in Mizi’s baffled expression, and then she manages a small, genuine smile. It’s like her guard dropped the second Luka decided not to lie. Mizi prods her cheek once, twice, telling her she’s too serious sometimes, and then they both dissolve into peals of laughter. Mizi has still not let go of his hand.
When the two of them have remembered how to breathe, Mizi beams at him, pausing to wipe tears of mirth from her eyes. "So-o," she says, drawing out the word, "Luka, do you like singing too?"
He nods. Of course he does. Why would he be here if he didn't? He's yet to properly perform, because as much as his father wanted to push him into the spotlight, a business partner had talked him out of it. But when Luka sings he feels like he's finally, finally in control. Of what, he isn't sure.
Before he can figure out how to word that without sounding odd, most of the other children come stampeding past, a rampant horde headed towards a certain, previously very empty, building. Maybe they've all been called for a meal. Luka didn't hear anything.
Mizi looks a little put-out by this, but she pulls both Sua and Luka towards the canteen nonetheless. It's packed, so Luka sticks close, even as Sua drifts towards another part of the room. Watching her go, Mizi loudly proclaims that she wants something sweet. Luka doesn't really care. It's not like they let him eat as much as he wants anyway. He trails after Mizi, fully intending to get his food and disappear, and then this silver-haired boy shoves past him. His eyes are fixed on Mizi, as if he can see nothing but her.
Luka just picks up his own tray - today's meal is something pink and sickly-sweet - and walks off. He seats himself beside Sua and a boy with dark hair he doesn't want to talk to. Mizi practically throws herself into the seat opposite.
Sua has less food than the two of them, he realises, but then he's not allowed to eat as much as he likes either. It's just how it is.
He watches Mizi talking animatedly about her mama’s aquarium, and Sua occasionally chipping in to mention her sisters (he doesn’t like to think of his own siblings, all the other Lukas still sleeping), and he smiles a small, private smile.
He doesn't say a lot himself. His mind wanders as he thinks about making a song with Sua, performing with Mizi and the others here.
Maybe, in this place so far from his father's lab, Luka can find some semblance of peace.
It feels nice, knowing he's finally found somewhere to belong.