by Ann Aguirre
Snaps wasted no time in trotting in, sniffing everything by the inch. Then he said, “Where’s the food?”
We’re on the same page.
“Apologies. I should have offered. This is…a new situation for me,” Zylar said.
“Having guests?”
“Making someone feel at home. Come, I’ll see what the manufacturer can produce.”
The next room did offer more visual interest. Still no windows, but it was broader with glowing spots on the floor and ceiling, and there were swirls of subtle color, sometimes rose, sometimes blue, sometimes green, depending on where she stood. She remembered the red tile that she’d peed on and wondered if one of these color patches served the same function. She also spied the faint outline of a camouflaged hatch on the wall close to the floor. Another cleaning bot, maybe?
It was exhausting not to know what—or where—anything was. Zylar puttered at the far side of the room, tapping colors and sigils that appeared on the wall, seemingly at random, but then, a hidden panel opened with a hiss and a square tray slid out. On it sat a mauve, gelatinous square, opaque like a yogurt Jell-O parfait. He offered it to her with a little dip of his head.
“This is plant-based protein, completely safe to consume. Based on analysis of my scans, this will nourish you sufficiently.”
“Thanks.” She picked up the cube and took a bite, almost spat it back out again.
Safe to consume and sufficiently nourishing were not high recommendations. This crap tasted like lawn clippings and beets, her least favorite vegetable. With a grimace, she forced it down while Zylar produced another one for Snaps. The translation device didn’t let her follow what he was doing with the lights and symbols. If I’m staying here, I’ll have to learn to read in Barathi. Wonder if there’s a chip for that.
“You are making a custom meal for him, right? Our dietary needs aren’t the same.”
“Of course. Caloric and nutritional adjustments will be made.”
Caloric… “Wait, is this a day’s worth of food?” Even as she asked, she could feel the stuff expanding in her stomach. Though she hadn’t eaten much, at least she was full.
Snaps was begging for his cube, poor dog, but then, he’d been known to eat half-rotten birds and unidentifiable stuff he found on the sidewalk, so it didn’t surprise Beryl when he devoured the grass-and-beet delight with every indication of enjoyment. Once he slurped it down, he licked his chops and demanded, “More!”
“That should have been adequate,” Zylar said.
Clearly he had no experience with the greed of canines. Snaps bounced around their ankles. “More! More!”
Beryl sighed. “That’s enough. It’s late.” It felt like she’d been awake for days anyway. “We should get some sleep.”
“I need to poop,” said Snaps.
This should be fun.
Fortunately, the translator made the meaning clear to Zylar as well. “The waste facility is here.” He guided the dog to the corner, where there was a red tile, like the one she’d used before. Interesting that she’d correctly chosen the Barathi toilet solution, among all the other unfamiliar options.
Snaps started sniffing around, and when he started to leave the zone, Beryl got in front of him. “Look you can smell all you want, but you have to poop from here to here. Understood?”
“Fine,” Snaps said.
He nosed every inch of the floor tile before finally assuming the position, tail pointing behind him, and it was straight up wild to see his business vanish as soon as it hit the floor. The burst of warm air startled a yelp out of him, and he shot an accusing look at Beryl, as if she were responsible for weird alien sanitation practices.
Zylar was waiting some distance away, his gaze politely averted. “We should talk about the Choosing.”
She stifled a groan. “Does it have to be right now? I feel like I’d listen and comprehend better if I got some sleep first.”
“We should have time tomorrow. I don’t know how humans take their rest.” He gestured around the room. “Does anything I’ve arranged look sufficient?”
After a quick survey, Beryl pointed at a flat rectangle, two feet off the floor. “That should work.”
It looked hard, but it probably wouldn’t be worse than crashing on somebody’s floor. From what she’d seen, Barathi style didn’t stretch to warmth or softness. Maybe she ought to worry about that. With a groan, she stretched out and curled up on her side. Snaps settled in the crook of her knees. A blanket and pillow would be nice, but he probably didn’t have them, and he was trying so hard already.
This whole alien abduction thing isn’t the worst thing that has ever happened to me.
“Are you warm enough?” Zylar asked.
“Not quite.”
“Just a moment.” He input some commands on the wall, and the surface she was lying on heated up.
She felt like a lizard sunning herself on a rock, but it was oddly relaxing. “That’s perfect. Thank you.”
That was the last she heard or saw for a while. When she woke, her butt seemed to be probe-free, and Snaps was gone. He couldn’t have gotten far, but worry still prickled her as she prowled through the…alien apartment. Hard to believe that was a thought she could have so easily.
Beryl found Snaps sitting near some equipment in the next room; it must be the Barathi equivalent to a bed. The closest comparison she could find in her frame of reference was for a zero-gravity chair that had been converted for kinky sex usage. Zylar was strapped in loosely, tilted at a sixty-degree angle, legs and arms supported by the device. And he seemed to be sleeping, both eyelids closed.
“What are you doing?” she whispered to Snaps.
“Watching.”
At first, she didn’t understand why, but as her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she discerned the reason for the dog’s fascination. Lights ran beneath the surface of Zylar’s skin, delicately illuminating the patterns on his arms and legs. It responded to his breathing, little zips and flutters akin to luminescence she’d admired in certain undersea photos. Her breath caught with the wonder of it.
Just then, Zylar’s eyes snapped open, catching them red-handed. With efficient motions, he unfastened the straps and dropped to the floor, more graceful than Beryl would’ve been right after waking up. “You require something of me?”
“Ah, no. That is, I woke up and went looking for Snaps. What time is it?”
“We have two intervals until we must participate in the Choosing’s inaugural event.”
Beryl guessed that must be like an hour, and even if it wasn’t, it would be for her going forward, because that was the only frame of reference she had. “Okay, so yesterday you wanted to talk about the Choosing. I’m wide awake now. Give me the rundown.”
“In the first stage, you will prove your worth as a nest-guardian through a series of challenges. The nature of the tests is confidential and changes each cycle to prevent unfair advance preparations.”
A series of challenges? That sounded ominous. “I guess there’s a round two?”
“Yes. It focuses on establishing desirability of the prospective Barathi matches.”
“So that would be your part?” she asked.
“Yes.” From his flat tone, she suspected he hadn’t done well in the rankings, or however they rated the contest. “That’s when you would confirm me—or someone else—as your Chosen, and then we complete the final round together, earning our place permanently in Kith B’alak as rightful progenitors.”
“Wait, so I pick you in round two, but then, we have to win the right to get married, basically? It’s not guaranteed.”
“Precisely. I have never participated in the final phase, so I cannot give you an accurate assessment of the trials we may face.”
Damn, they took weddings and reproduction dead serious on Barath. Nobody would get knocked up here after a wild night. This is definitely not space Vegas.
[ 5 ]
The morning before the first trial, Zylar had to explain how
to bathe.
Both Beryl and Snaps seemed overly startled by the steam and dry-heat sterilization technology that permitted perfect hygiene without wasting resources. But it was a little disconcerting how committed Beryl was to serving Snaps. She helped him through the process before cleansing herself. If others learned that she was a servitor, her fitness to compete in the Choosing might be questioned. Sometimes it felt more like he’d taken on a couple of unruly nestlings to raise, but then, Beryl would surprise him, as she had done when she impressed the Matriarch.
After their morning meal, the fur-person attempted to follow them, but Zylar firmly said, “You may not attend, Snaps. The Choosing is only for those who watch and those who compete. I do not believe you would sit quietly in the audience.”
“That’s true,” Beryl said, letting out a gust of audible breath. “If I’m not supervising him directly, there’s no telling what kind of trouble he’ll get into here, especially when I think about his close encounter of the electrical kind.”
She was showing her teeth again, and the threat appeared to cow Snaps, who sat down. “Fine. I’ll stay here.”
“Will Snaps be all right?” Zylar asked, as they moved off.
“Yeah, I’ve left him home alone before. The worst he’ll do is chew something he’s not supposed to. You don’t have any family heirlooms lying around, do you?”
“If you mean personal treasures, I have little. Ryzven has claimed most of Kith B’alak’s assets, due to his exceptional—”
“Whatever,” Beryl cut in. “I have no interest in Ryzven.”
Pleasure frilled up his neck ruff. Nobody had ever said such a thing to him, but there was no doubt how much he enjoyed hearing it. “I appreciate your loyalty, and I will repay it if we pass all stages of the Choosing.”
“This is all happening so fast.”
“Apologies. You must feel quite confused and overwhelmed.”
“That’s one way to put it.”
“Is there anything I can do to ease your path?” Zylar paused then, waiting for her reply. She gazed up at him for a moment in silence.
“No. But to be honest, it helps that you asked. I can’t remember anyone ever saying that to me before.”
“Then we’re attuned in that as well,” he offered.
“Attuned?”
“I thought the same in regard to your immunity to Ryzven’s legendary charm.”
She made a noise that the translator couldn’t interpret. “He’s not charming at all. He’s a tool. But never mind that. We should get going. Wouldn’t do to be late for such an important occasion.”
“That is true. This way.” Awkwardly, he added, “If you have questions, please ask. I suspect it would be a great trial to adapt to a strange world with unfamiliar customs.”
“You can say that again.”
“Did you not hear me?” Zylar asked.
“No, it’s an Earth expression. It means that you’re right.”
“Ah, you ask for repetition to emphasize the correctness of the point?”
“Basically. Also, I’ve been meaning to explain this to you. When I show my teeth, it’s not a display of power or dominance. I’m smiling. It means I’m amused or happy.”
“Truly?” That astonished him. He never would have made that connection on his own. “Would it trouble you not to clarify this to others? It makes you less imposing.”
“Uh, sure. They can keep thinking it’s a scary battle face, I don’t mind.”
“Thank you, Terrible One.”
“What did I say about working on your endearments?” she snapped.
Zylar processed the reaction, but he didn’t understand her outrage. “It is a compliment. You will behold many fearsome competitors in the Choosing, but I do not believe anyone can best you.”
“It’s a cultural thing, I get that. But if you want to put a smile on my face, call me sweetheart or baby or…” She stopped talking, likely reading his horror.
“Why would I comment on the delectable nature of your organs?” Zylar shuddered delicately. “It’s even worse to infantilize you.”
She tilted her head. “Shit, since you put it that way, now I don’t like those options either. Then…just use my name, okay?”
“Yes, Beryl. That I will do gladly.” He set off again, pleased with how readily they’d reached a sensible compromise. “What does your name mean?”
“It’s a mineral found on Earth. A gemstone, to be precise. The best known types are emerald and aquamarine, but I’m honestly glad my mom didn’t get more specific.”
“These gemstones are valuable, yes?”
“Some of them. Why?”
Ignoring the question, Zylar churred in satisfaction. “You are well named, my unexpected treasure.”
“I…thanks.” She ducked her head, and the color of her cheeks shifted, darkening with what looked like it might be an injury.
“Are you well enough to compete?” he asked.
“We’ll find out.”
“Try not to be nervous. I know this must be very strange, and if you have any doubts, we can still withdraw.”
“No, I said I’d give this a shot. It’d be ridiculous to quit before I set foot in the ring.”
“What ring?”
“Not important. Just show me where to go.”
Despite Beryl’s profession of confidence, Zylar registered a distinct frisson of unease. This small being would be competing against Revak warriors, Xolani doomsayers, and the fittest prospects among the Barathi as well. Other than her sonic weapon, her stature didn’t offer much of an advantage for the challenges, but she did have experience as a nest-guardian, so he hoped that might give her an edge.
There was no point in puzzling in hypotheticals. Thinking too much; that was always your problem, he heard the Matriarch say as much in her supercilious tone. Too much fear, too much caution. Those would be his gifts to the next generation, and he knew that Matriarch had reservations about whether he could pass this final Choosing. If he failed, he could serve the kith faithfully as a drone without passing on his faulty genes.
He didn’t object to certain aspects of drone life, but for once, he would like for someone to see his merits and choose him. Beryl’s unexpected loyalty—even after an inauspicious beginning—might mean she could be that someone. After so many disappointments, hope was painful, fluttering to life inside him.
He didn’t speak as they passed from kith holdings to public passages. She was like a nestling, craning her neck to peer at everything with great interest. The other Barathi were staring at her again, and his spines flared, as their interest bordered on offensive. They were acting as if she was an oddity, not a person, and that, he would not tolerate. Zylar hissed in the back of his throat, and the kith nearest to him started guiltily and went about their business.
“This pod will take us to the arena,” he said.
“Arena? Hope I don’t have to fight to the death, gladiator-style.” She showed her teeth, so Zylar guessed she was joking.
“That would be barbaric. I cannot guess what may be asked of you, however.”
“You’re not reassuring me,” she mumbled. “How many rounds are we talking about in stage one anyway?”
“Five. Each challenge will test a certain aspect, such as strength, wit, resourcefulness, creativity, or problem-solving. The Council ensures that only the best and brightest are blessed to bond and become progenitors.”
“Damn. Back on Earth, it’s embarrassingly easy to have a kid, probably too much so, but I kind of think your people lean too far the other way, Zylar.”
“Perhaps this is true,” he acknowledged, “but we no longer struggle with overpopulation, and we have added the best of other species to our lineage by adhering to the rules set forth in the Choosing.”
The fur on her face came together in a pleat of skin. “You got me there. Overpopulation was a problem here too?”
“It is on your Aerth as well? But I saw no one.”
“That w
as a fluke. If you’d landed an hour earlier, the place would’ve been swarming with people in antiquated costumes.”
Zylar wished he understood her better. Sometimes the translator didn’t seem to grasp the nuances either. “Are they time travelers?”
“What? No. Some people have fun dressing up and pretending to fight old wars—” She broke off as the pod arrived at their platform, and they boarded along with ten other Barathi who were most likely headed to watch the Choosing.
“That is an exceedingly odd pastime,” he said. “Your people venerate war so much that they elect to relive old battles?”
She paused as she gazed out over the city view. As before, Zylar placed himself between her and the rest of the Barathi, blocking their curious gazes. Since she was the only one of her kind here, their interest was understandable, if rude and irritating.
Finally she said, “You know, that’s kind of…right. My people do glorify war.”
He thought she sounded sad about it. But the revelation comforted him. “If you share that disposition, you should do well today.”
Beryl stood in a room full of aliens.
They all had to be competing, and they all seemed to know what was up. Strange beings jostled around her, as the competition grabbed gear and strapped on armor. Holy shit, they take this seriously.
Five different languages buzzed around her, and it was so confusing with the translator whispering multiple translations at the back of her head. It became less useful and intelligible, the more conversations she was trying to track. Beryl figured that made sense if this tech was designed for beasts of burden. Normally, they’d just need to understand whoever gave them orders.
Since Zylar wasn’t allowed to accompany her in here, she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to be doing, and she didn’t read Barathi, so the signs that hung around the huge equivalent to a space locker room were totally useless to her. There were no lockers, per se, but rectangles scattered around the space could pass for benches, and others were pulling objects from octagonal storage containers. Maybe one of them even belonged to her, but damn if she could find it.
