by Ann Aguirre
By the time they transferred pods and rode even longer—mostly in silence now that her chatter battery had run down—she was one raw bundle of agitation. Snaps got bored and fell asleep in her arms, so he was dead weight. She followed Zylar out of the pod onto the disc, but instead of going down, he led her to what looked like a private pod.
“This will convey us to Kith B’alak, where you will meet my progenitors and any nest-mates who may be in residence.”
“Nest-mates? You mean, like, siblings?”
“I suppose that is one way to put it, though I’m not certain the nuance is being conveyed.”
Beryl agreed, as she couldn’t get a handle on the “progenitors” thing, either. Taking a deep breath, she said, “Okay, but is there anywhere I could pee? I’ve been holding it forever, and Snaps probably has to go too. We need different facilities, though. I use a toilet, and Snaps is used to grass.”
Actually, never mind. Snaps peed on the chair, so he’s probably fine.
“Waste facilities? I will see what can be arranged once we arrive at Kith B’alak. Can you manage your needs for a little longer?”
“We’ll see,” she muttered.
Fortunately, he was telling the truth about it being a short ride in a private pod. His people occupied the high ground, an astonishing view from what little she saw, but he hurried her along a latticed metal bridge into a cool, shady inner terrace. The alien flora stole her breath, blooming in colors so lush and vibrant, beyond the wildest dreams of any Earth botanist. Huge fronds tipped scarlet and yellow waved as she went by, though there was no wind.
“Here. These are the guest facilities reserved for visiting dignitaries. I hope you’ll find something that suffices.” With a flourish, Zylar indicated two intricately etched doors.
They looked heavy, but they parted with a swish as Beryl approached. Inside, she found all manner of technology, and none of it rang any bells. She put Snaps down, and he investigated all the corners, sleepily snooping. With a mental shrug, she dropped her pants and squatted on a red square. She nearly fell over in her own pee stream when the thing lit up beneath her and hissed, drying the fluid as soon as it trickled out of her. A sudden burst of air went straight up her crotch—a cleaning-drying process? Then a tiny mechanical creature scuttled out of the wall and moved across the tile, noises that made Beryl think it was a cleaning bot.
There were no mirrors in here, unlike a human restroom, but the backs of the doors were somewhat reflective. She paused just before she got close enough to activate them, taking stock of the impression she was about to make on these progenitors. Her brown hair was windblown and badly tangled; she hadn’t put on sunscreen the day of the reenactment, so her cheeks and nose were burnt, and she rarely wore lipstick. Fortunately, these aliens had no idea what an attractive human looked like, so maybe they’d assume Beryl epitomized peak Earth allure.
Probably not.
Squaring her shoulders, she snapped her fingers, and Snaps trotted to her side. Which was exactly how he’d earned his name—as soon as she noticed he was halfway trained to heel at a click of her fingers. “Come on. How bad could it be?”
That was a rhetorical question, but nobody had explained that concept to dogs because he answered, “They could eat us. Burn us. Or put us in cages. Not all at once.”
“Thanks.”
“I’m here to help,” said Snaps.
Beryl ran her fingers through her hair and gave up on the rest, then joined Zylar in the inner garden. The beauty of the place rushed her senses anew, soft perfumes she hadn’t noticed the first time tickling her nose—something like pears and jasmine, but not exactly. The scent made her feel loopy-smiley, and she gave Zylar a silly grin.
“Save your fearsome threats for the meeting to come,” he said.
“Eh? Right.”
Kith B’alak was extensive, and she lost track of all the twists and turns, her mind gradually growing numb to each new wonder. After they passed a shining indoor oasis, complete with what appeared to be blue water, she finally asked, “How much farther?”
“Just ahead. After we are announced, I will make the introductions. They will not expect you to know our ways, so comport yourself as you would for an important occasion on your homeworld.”
Zylar wouldn’t know that Beryl’s life hadn’t offered many of those. Maybe Parents’ Night at the daycare, but that was handshake territory, and she had a feeling that this was more bow-or-curtsy land. Her palms started to sweat.
“Sure. I’ll just act like I’m meeting the queen,” she said.
“Good idea.”
The long, shadowed hallway ended in a set of massive double doors. This place was built of material that was neither metal nor stone, but incorporated properties of both. A lone Barathi stood outside, maybe as a guard, and like the others she’d seen, the colors were significantly brighter and more appealing than Zylar’s. She admired the yellow with citrine streaks for a few seconds as the alien snapped to attention.
“You were not expected.” Not quite a reproach, but it wasn’t a greeting either.
“This is Beryl Bowman and Snaps, hailing from Aerth, the States United of Missouri, city of St. Louis. Announce us.”
The coldness of Zylar’s tone alarmed Beryl and sobered her up swiftly. He wasn’t looking forward to this either. But his attitude worked on the guard, who stepped in ahead and made the pronouncement. About thirty seconds later, Zylar touched his claw to her back, urging her into the unknown.
If she’d thought the lavish display in the corridors was impressive, it had nothing on the mind-boggling splendor she stumbled into, with Snaps frolicking at her ankles. Holy shit, he’s got to be, like, a space prince or something. First off, the room was huge, like football field enormous, and half of the walls were missing—she guessed it must be force fields in play—giving the illusion that this was all open space with red sunlight streaming in, tinting everything in warm hues. There was a tinkling fountain in the center, and Barathi lounged on rectangular units, eating stuff she couldn’t identify, and she registered the gentle noise she associated with conversation. Her translator couldn’t process so much input so it just came across as sounds, just as she heard when Zylar first took her.
Her arrival stalled the talk, just as it had on the platform.
These can’t all be his progenitors?
Then again, Beryl knew nothing about Barathi breeding or life cycles, nothing about nest sizes either. Will I be expected to look after four hundred larvae? Devoid of her concerns, Snaps pranced to the center of the room and slurped from the fountain; hopefully Zylar would stop Snaps if the liquid would hurt the dog. Beryl would have scolded him, except her feet were frozen.
A tall Barathi was gliding toward her, impossibly graceful and majestic. This one had silver skin, crimson highlights, and a banded pattern that reminded her of a sea krait. Thanks to Stuart, she knew way too much about snakes, and while the Barathi had coloring in common with serpents, they seemed more insectoid overall. She risked a glance at Zylar, but she couldn’t tell anything from his expression.
No surprise there. Fuck it, let’s go all in.
Beryl pretended she was wearing a fancy gown, dipping into what she hoped what was a greet-the-queen curtsy. “Nice to meet you.”
Crap, he said he’d introduce us.
Hopefully, she hadn’t screwed things up too much. The other Barathi didn’t so much as glance at her, attention aimed at Zylar with laser focus. “What is the meaning of…” The look Beryl received didn’t feel flattering. “This. Explain yourself.”
Before Beryl’s own mother died, she sounded about the same way, and her hackles went up. If he had a parent like hers had been, God help him. She bit her lower lip to stay quiet, as he’d made it sound like this meeting was a big deal. If it went sideways, it wouldn’t be because of her.
Zylar dipped forward, two claws vertical to his body in what she judged a respectful gesture. “I greet you, Matriarch. I’ve come to present my
potential match, as is required before our joint participation in the Choosing. Beryl Bowman of Aerth has come a long way to compete, and I believe our Kith will not be disappointed.”
[ 4 ]
At least Zylar hoped that was true.
He’d planned to present Asvi for approval, but then solar flares ambushed the ship, and Helix might have been wiped from existence already. That twisted his insides, as the AI was essentially his only friend, and he hadn’t checked with Technical yet to learn how Helix was faring. All things considered, he was in no mood to swap barbs with the Matriarch, who had practically repossessed his private quarters already in anticipation of his shift to drone status. Deisera turned to Beryl then, taking so long in her scrutiny that if the human had known their ways, she would have certainly been offended.
“This creature understands our customs and consents to the Choosing?”
“You can ask me directly,” Beryl said.
Deisera faced the human in visible surprise. “You understand Barathi? Exceptionable. Zylar said you come from…Aerth?”
“That’s right. And I agreed to the…Choosing.”
Only Zylar would have detected that faint hesitation, and a pang of guilt assailed him. He hadn’t even explained to her what the competition entailed. If they passed this first hurdle, he’d amend that lack straightaway. So far, she was bearing up well under intense inspection.
Zylar cut in to get the ritual back on track. “Deisera, I formally present Beryl to you. Beryl, I make known to you, First Matriarch, Deisera Ma—”
“Will you introduce your intended to me, nest-mate?” Before Zylar could complete his task, a familiar voice cut in.
Both Zylar’s hearts sank. It had to be Ryzven. What’s he doing here? He had always been their progenitors’ favorite, but surely he had far more important things to do. While Red Pit Fever had been cured, other plagues still threatened the populace, and he must have had multiple innovations to invent. That didn’t seem to be the case, however, as the older Barathi waited for Zylar to perform the courtesy.
Something about his nest-mate kindled the fires of discord, yet it would be rude to demur. “I’m sure you heard the announcement. This is Beryl Bowman…and Snaps.” He indicated the small fur-person who was currently frolicking in the fountain, much to the dismay of the assembled kith. Zylar tried to ignore that small misstep, as Beryl was doing. Possibly, on her world, Snaps was of such important personage that correcting his behavior might result in severe consequences.
By now, Beryl would be noting the differences between their colors, wondering how Ryzven could offer such variegated perfection in hues, especially in comparison to his lacking nest-mate. Still, he was determined to muddle through to the end of this disaster, as he’d promised the human that she could rest once this was finished.
This time, Beryl didn’t say nice to meet you. Her eyes narrowed on Ryzven, and she shook her head with a sigh. “Didn’t anyone teach you that it’s rude to interrupt? Even my dog knows that much.”
“I do!” said Snaps.
He wasn’t drinking from the fountain anymore, but was full-on paddling in it, chasing after some rare, sleek-finned kra that were housed as kith treasures. There would be hell to pay if Snaps caught any of them, but Zylar had to admit privately that he was enjoying the shockwaves rippling through the onlookers, not to mention this was the fastest he’d ever seen the kra move.
Beryl turned to Zylar, and her scent smelled sharp and peppery, though he wasn’t sure what to make of that. “What’s next? I met this progenitor like you asked, but I’m hungry and I want a bath, if that’s possible. I’ll meet the rest of your family later. No offense,” she added to Ryzven and showed her teeth in the aggressive manner that Zylar was coming to admire.
Ryzven stood there, speechless. Ryzven was never speechless. He began to think that this human might be the priceless treasure, not the kra.
Finally, Ryzven said, “Do you understand who I am?”
She let out a raucous sound that startled everyone present. “If you have to ask, you’re embarrassing yourself. I know you’re his relative, that’s about it. Don’t feel bad. There’s probably a lesson about staying humble in this for you.” Then she turned from Ryzven with complete disinterest—likely the first time in his life that had ever happened—and said, “Zylar? Can we go now?”
“Wait.” First Matriarch’s commanding tone froze Zylar in his tracks, but she wasn’t talking to him. “You choose to accompany this one rather than claim your space in the housing reserved for off-world participants?”
“Uh, yeah. I’m guessing you mean an alien dormitory…and no thanks. This one”—Beryl did a fair job of mimicking Deisera’s supercilious tone—“has been candid and courteous from the minute he…” Here, she stumbled, and Zylar guessed she was trying to avoid shaming him with their disastrous first encounter. “Er, since we first met. So yes, I’m positive I’d rather stay with him. Unless that breaks one of your many rules?”
Deisera gave him a long, hard look, as if she suspected him of inciting some subtle insurrection, but the truth was, this human already seemed fairly ungovernable. It was unlikely that Beryl would say whatever he asked her to, should he prove that imprudent. Zylar spread his claws in a gesture of disavowal.
There was no mistaking the displeasure behind the sudden flare of Deisera’s throat frill, but she merely said, “It is somewhat unusual for a candidate to display so much favor before the second round of the Choosing, but…you have my blessing to proceed.”
For a few spans, he could hardly believe what he’d heard. Similarly, a rumble ran through the spectators, for Deisera had just granted formal permission upon his intended. When the Choosing began in earnest, they could go forth with the full backing of his kith, a boon he hadn’t been entirely sure he’d earn even by presenting Asvi, his Tiralan match.
Beryl seemed oblivious to the nuances, as she made noises with one of her grabbers and the fur-person eventually emerged from the fountain and shook himself with impressive vigor. Liquid spattered everywhere, and Zylar tried to conceal his amusement when an elderly progenitor who had always tormented him got drenched.
Then Snaps trotted over to Beryl’s side. “Time to eat? I’m hungry.”
“Me too. I hope Z can find something edible for us.”
Zee? Outwardly, he didn’t react to the butchery of his name. When Zylar signaled his farewell, the human caught on and she tried to emulate his body language. The room was quiet as he led the way out, containing the jubilation until the doors shut behind them. Only then did he cut loose, letting his neck ruff flare with pride.
“We did it,” he said softly. “Now I’ll show you the nest I’ve prepared.”
That small deception didn’t sit quite right, as technically, he’d built everything for Asvi, trying to anticipate her needs and wants. He’d possessed plenty of information on Tiralan society, whereas he knew next to nothing about humans. Well, if she hated it, he’d just have to start over, not that there was time before the Choosing.
We need to talk about that.
“Okay. But food when we get there?”
“Of course. I have your scans on file, and I will compile data on what cuisine offers optimum nutrition.”
“You don’t promise it’ll taste good, huh?” She showed him her teeth again, promising vicious consequences if he displeased her. Though she was small, clearly she was cut from warrior cloth, just like Snaps.
“I understand why you want to establish dominance,” he said, “but it was a tactical error to flaunt your power in front of Ryzven.”
“My what?”
His words appeared to surprise her, so much that she stumbled, and he caught her by the shoulders. She was light enough that he held her full weight for a few seconds, then she struggled, limbs flailing, much like Snaps, so he set her down. She shoved some fur out of her face and stared up at him.
“Your power,” he repeated. “From the stories I’ve heard, he is susceptible
to temptation, although he is already Chosen.”
“Like, he’s married or something? But he cheats?”
“Most of us find it best not to meddle in Ryzven’s business. If his Terrible One does not complain, we cannot judge.”
“Well, I do,” Beryl said. “I’m not sure what smiling has to do with power, but if he thinks I was _______ with him, he’s out of his ______.”
Her words couldn’t be coming across correctly. Most of them were incomprehensible, but to Zylar, it sounded like she had no interest in Ryzven. Truly? She wasn’t pretending to be immune? Even now, wistful, would-be matches cast their lures at him, hoping he would set aside his First or perhaps accept a Second. For most Barathi, the idea of multiple nest-guardians was preposterous.
But then, Ryzven was special, he had been since the auspicious day of his birth. Just not, apparently, in Beryl Bowman’s eyes. And that made her a gem beyond price.
Beryl was tired and hungry, so much that she was bordering on hangry.
That Ryzven asshole seemed to think he was God’s gift to, well, everyone. At least, that was how he came across with his dumb-ass Do you know who I am? tactic. To Beryl, he didn’t look better than any other alien she’d seen, and he had considerably less manners. About the only difference she could spot was the fact that he had three colors, not just two, so maybe that made him rare? Whatever, she didn’t care that he had patterns in jade, gold, and azure. At this point, she would slap a nun for a ham sandwich.
Finally, they reached what must be Zylar’s quarters. His space was much lower in the holding—a sign of rank, maybe—but he ushered her in with a look of pride. Everything was gray…and weird. Again, the furniture defied description; some of the pieces looked more like modern art with sharp angles that would play hell on a human back. With a smirk, she noted the chair that Snaps had peed on. Moving around the room, she decided that she could sit on these flat rectangles. The light was strange too, filtering from the ceiling, though she couldn’t see a source. There were no windows in this first space, but it was more like a tunnel entrance, curving around to a hopefully more inviting environment.
