by Vicky L Holt
Was there some possibility we could work together? To find a civilized intergalactic society? I grimaced. Maybe these aliens were civilized. I took a restorative breath and cracked my neck. Time for Interplanetary Peace Relations 201. I grabbed a few pouches of food, hesitated over the water pouches, but pulled my hand away, and egressed.
They regarded me with an eerie stillness.
I offered them each a pouch. The pouches resembled ramen noodle seasoning packets in their big hands. Oops.
I demonstrated opening one up and took the water canister I had filled at the lake out of my pack. I poured it in each of their pouches. Then I ate. They watched me and each other with raised brows and wide eyes.
Finally, Red slurped up his meal in one gulp. He cocked his head then licked his lips. He smiled and nodded. Beef stroganoff. Check.
The rest of them ate theirs in one bite as well. They nodded but withheld smiles. That was okay. I wasn’t a fan of spaghetti and meatballs or beefy mac either. That’s why I gave Red my favorite. I winked at him, but he just stared. Okay, winks weren’t universal.
“Well, we should talk,” I said, and sat on the ground with crossed legs. I patted the ground. “Actually, I need you guys to talk. So my computer can decipher your language. There’s a lot of “ex” sounds and “kay” sounds and basically a lot of hard consonants.” I smiled at them. They returned my gaze with blank looks.
I motioned to Red, then the others. “Talk, you know, blah blah blah?” I pointed to my mouth, and then Red’s. He paused, but then sat beside me. I pointed to his mouth again. “Talk.” I pointed to the others. “Blah blah blah.”
Abject confusion.
I smacked my head. Ugh! I stood and walked up to the pod. I put my hand on it. “Ship.” I repeated myself. Then I waited.
Naraxthel’s eyes lit up. “Woashegoshenaiksheza.”
“That’s your word for ship? Holy crap.” I slumped my shoulders. No way I was learning their language. They needed to learn mine.
Shark-face spoke up. “I, i, i. Yasheza Mahavelt pa woahoza.”
Naraxthel stood and joined me at the pod. He put his hand lower, right by the engines and thrusters. “Woashegoshenaiksheza.”
Shark-face stalked over. He put his hand on mine. “Woahoza.”
“Okay, um,” I stammered over the words. “Wo-uh-hoe …?”
Shark-face smiled at me. “Ik! Woahoza!” He slapped me on the shoulder so hard I spun. Red frowned and barked something at Shark-face. He called him Raxthezana. Um. I couldn’t call him Rax, because the other one was Rax. Maybe Thezana? I rubbed my shoulder.
Naraxthel knelt by the engines. “Woashegoshenaiksheza,” he said quietly. Oh crap. He wanted me to say the long word. It must mean engine.
“Okay, uh, wo-uh-sha-gosha-na-ick-sha-za?” I put my hand on the main thruster.
“Ik!” He beamed at me, those pearly fangs gleaming in the fading light. My heart did a flip-flop.
The afternoon suns cast a rosy glow upon our faces. Even so, it was a hundred degrees or more. I didn’t have my helmet, so no more temperature control. It made me think of another word we could try. I pointed to the suns. “Suns.” Then I thought better of it. I held up two fingers. “Sun,” I said, and pointed to one. “Sun.” Pointed to the other. “Suns.”
“Ah.” Hivelt nodded from his spot on the ground. The others had sat. “Shegoshe. Shegoshe. Shegoshel.” He pointed with long claws to the suns.
Wow. We were talking. I stumbled a little and Red caught my elbow. He showed me to my spot. He raised his eyebrows and lifted the water canister from my tool belt. He offered me a drink and said, “Hohishe.”
Water. I drank and sat, suddenly very weak. It had been a long day, after all.
“Hohishe. Water.”
They all murmured “Water,” tripping over the “er” pronunciation a little, but it made my heart swell. We were having a Helen Keller moment, and it was awesome.
30
If another hunter laid a hand on my soft traveler, I would remove his head from his body. For the sake of peace and the Holy Sisters of Shegoshel, I remained calm. But I had seen the curiosity and wonder in the hunters’ eyes when her suit was open. Esra was mine.
After some stumbling attempts at speech, we learned she wanted to sleep inside her ship. She also made a show of placing her helmet near all of us, and made an odd motion with her hands, bringing her thumb in contact with her four fingers in a repetitive movement. She pointed to all of us, at our mouths and ears, and patted her helmet. We did not know what she wanted, but we had no quarrel with tending her helmet, if that was what she wished. She also showed us the interior of her ship, though we were too large to fit in the doorway. It was as we suspected. Her ship was created to land, not to leave. She was trapped on Ikthe.
Our language was not developed enough to ask why she came to Ikthe in the first place. But with time, we would speak together.
My brethren and I created a perimeter around her small ship, rather than return to mine. I walked around her pod, inspecting the alien design. I noticed several scratches and the prints of the rokhura as if it had been stepped upon. One of the legs was propped up on a flat rock, but otherwise, there was no extensive damage. I wondered what material her ship was constructed with.
I joined my brethren in making a fire and cooking some of the butchered meat and smoking the rest for our cross-planet journey. I considered retrieving my ship, but our path to the mountains did not provide a convenient place to land. We would hike. I added a large piece of deadwood to one of the fires and glanced at the soft traveler’s ship. I puzzled at her fragility and my own curiosity. I snorted. What of it? My brethren and I would take turns at watch this night.
I was satisfied she was well protected within the walls of her little ship. I sat against a tree, a few veltiks from her ship, facing the hatch.
“The soft traveler has a hardness about her,” Natheka said. He sat down beside me. “I have never seen a female ride a grass-eater.”
“Have you ever seen Theraxl ride a grass-eater?” I asked him.
“No.” He stuck a long blade of jokal grass between his teeth. “I have also never seen a female cause Hivelt to turn away in shame.”
“You know the songs,” I said.
“Yes, yes, the songs of raxshe and raxma. Should you make your female cry, the Sisters will bleed you dry,” he said. “It is an Elder Sister’s tale to scare the younglings.”
“And yet do you know of any hunter who will willingly cause a female to cry?” I stared at his calm face, the pale moonlight casting his red eyes into shadow.
He snuck a glance at me and grinned. “I am looking at one.”
He referred to our Ikma. “She did not cry.”
“Not with her eyes, fool,” he said. He considered the small moon. “She cried with her anger. Commanding us to retrieve the Waters of Shegoshel and the cold lava.”
I sneered. “If those are her tears, then I am truly afraid of her fury.”
“You know Raxkarax is right,” he said after a tik. “Yasheza Mahavelt comes with us to the mountains of Shegoshel.”
“If the Ikthekal Raxthel die so easily in the mountains, what will the soft traveler do?” I asked quietly, staring at the ship limned by blue moonlight.
“Perhaps she will ride the agothe-faxl and lead us into battle.”
I laughed. I had forgotten Natheka was a good friend with humor to lighten a dark day.
“I do not want to put her in further danger,” I began. “But Ikthe is danger. She will be safer with me.”
“With all of us,” he parried.
“You, yes,” I said and pulled my own shaft of jokal grass. Bit into the peppery blade. “But I do not trust Raxthezana.”
“He doesn’t trust you, either,” he said. “You are the reason we are not enjoying the act of creating more mighty hunters of our own.”
I pondered his accusation. I wondered if I should confide in my friend, the odd behaviors of my own heart. Pe
rhaps it was the ingestion of too much fruited wine.
“How are your two offspring? You have two hunters, no?”
He shrugged. “They are two and four. Their mothers say they are mighty, mightier than their father.”
Something in his tone was sad.
“Is it not the pinnacle of your life? Your lineage continues onward,” I said. “You are a true Iktheka. Theraxl with posterity.”
The nighttime insects sawed in our ears, escalating with the deepening gloom.
“Sometimes I wish for my adolescence again,” he said quietly. “When my heart and heart-home were free of one another for three cycles. Do you ever wonder why …?”
“What are you two sods talking about?” Raxkarax lumbered over and sat with a huff. “These damned bugs are so loud. I miss my ship,” he said. “Why are we not bedding down in your ship, Naraxthel?”
“We leave for the Great Mountain on the morrow,” I said simply. “Good night.”
I wondered what Natheka had been about to say. I suspected it was the same thing I had wondered for many cycles. Why would the Goddesses give adolescents the sensation of finding their Heart Mates, that fleeting liberation of hearts from heart homes for three cycles, only to reintroduce the heart to its cage, never to release again? The old tales made no sense of our physiology. But I did remember that exquisite torture of my youth, when my heart breathed free and optimism shone from every light in the sky.
31
“Would you like to hear what I have deduced from the language so far?” VELMA asked me just as the second sun came up.
“Um, how about in two hours? I’m exhausted.” It didn’t matter how much sleep I got, I always felt tired. Plus, I tossed and turned all night, knowing they were right outside my ship. I didn’t know if I should feel safe or oppressed.
“You were snoring. I will run a diagnostic scan for sleep apnea and administer the necessary medicines as needed.”
“No, VELMA, that won’t be necessary. I think I just have some allergies.” Allergies to nosy artificial intelligences. “I don’t suppose you’re going to let me go back to sleep, are you?”
“The hunters outside the EEP are eating a morning meal,” she said. “They appear to be waiting for you.”
I sighed and stood up, stretching. They were the reason I couldn’t sleep. And now the reason I couldn’t sleep in. Somebody was going to pay for this.
I took care of my morning ablutions and then mulled over the idea that kept me up half the night. VELMA reminded me they had interplanetary travel. There were no signs of dwellings on this planet. Presumably, these hulks came from somewhere. I slid open a drawer of pouches and counted them. Took a deep breath and closed my eyes. Was this fun? No. Could I live here for… a while? Yes. I shelved my idea for now.
I peeked out the window again to watch them mill around, scratch themselves and spit. They had constructed a rack over a smoking fire; it appeared they had been smoking meat all night. I raised a brow then turned away. I found the vial of water from yesterday’s adventure and popped it into the analyzer. “VELMA, this sample is from the pool in the spider cave. Check it for precipitates such as calcite, or for bioluminescent bacteria.”
The analysis wasn’t necessary for my survival. Just my curiosity.
I reviewed my new to-do list. Reframe my life on a predator planet. Make friends with the warriors. Finagle another bath, although I’d probably have to go without soap. I wouldn’t want to kill the harmless jam blobs.
I paced inside my pod. I needed to go out and face them. I needed to prove to them I was valuable. But how? I rapped the wall of my pod with my knuckle and took a deep breath. It was go-time.
“Naraxthel?”
He stepped from behind my pod, bigger than I remembered. More handsome than I remembered, and that was strange because, you know, different evolutionary path and all that.
“Esra?” He crooked his brows and cocked his head.
I offered him a pouch of hydrated scrambled eggs. I searched out the others and noted one stood aloof and three others stood together murmuring among themselves.
Naraxthel took my offering with a gracious nod. I strode to the group of three and offered them food as well. I watched the play of emotion on their faces, amused to recognize discomfort as they shuffled, frowned and avoided eye contact. They didn’t like the food. I smiled and shrugged at them, retaining the eggs for my storage. In all honesty, I couldn’t afford to share so generously. I spied the lone warrior, the one with the shark-like helmet of yesterday, though he didn’t wear it at present. I racked my brain to recall his name. Rax something. Rax…the…Zana!
“Raxthezana,” I said. His head shot up. He brushed his boot over several scratches in the ground. At a glance, it appeared to be a map. I offered him a pouch. He stared at it a long second. Then held out his hand.
My heart burst with a tiny joy bubble. “Eggs.” I pointed to the food.
“Aygzz,” he repeated. I smiled at him.
He took a bite and chewed, then swiped at his lips with a thick tongue. I glimpsed his fangs; one was broken. He nodded.
“Ik. Hirax,” he said.
I felt my face grow warm when the others looked at me but remained silent. He stared at me while he chewed his bite, so I ate mine and stared back. When we both finished, I held my hand out for the pouch. He turned a quarter-turn away from me and inspected the pouch. His dour expression returned, and he brushed at me with his hand, as if to shoo me away. He kept the pouch.
“Um, okay then. Bye.” I backed away, but let my gaze fall to his dirt sketch. What was left of it showed crude renderings of mountains and something resembling the spider-scorpion creature. My heart stuttered, and I swallowed. He grunted at me, seeing my face, and rubbed out the rest of the scratches with his big boot.
I walked past the three who stared. Naraxthel leaned against my pod, sharpening one of his knives with a whetstone. I watched his eyes as they traveled from my boots up to my braids. It quickened my breaths. I felt sweat bead at my hairline. I couldn’t help the curiosity, wondering what it had felt like to have his fingers twist and pull my locks into braids. I wiped my eyes with a hand and shook my head.
“Are you finished?” I pointed to the pouch he’d stashed in a loop at his waist.
He sheathed his knife and pulled the pouch out, handing it to me with a small smile. He nodded at the group of males who now talked quietly, occasionally glancing at us.
“No pax,” he said. I frowned and shook my head. I thought he learned “no” last night, but I didn’t know what pax meant.
He pretended to eat. “Pax.” He nodded to the others again. “No pax.” He shrugged.
I laughed. “Oh. Right. No pax.” I looked beyond the group to Raxthezana. “Uh, Raxthezana pax.”
“Ik, ik.” He pocketed his whetstone and stood to his full height, taking my breath away. He spoke loud enough for the others to hear, but he looked at me. “Shegoshel havelt.”
The others, including Raxthezana, bent to retrieve their packs or weapons and helmets.
Taking my cue from the others, I grabbed my helmet and put it on.
“Woa is the word for sky,” VELMA said. “Woahoza means ship. Woashegoshenaiksheza is the word for engine.”
“Uh, VELMA, I already know all those. Add “Shegoshel” to your dictionary. It means “suns”.”
She ignored me and kept speaking. “I have parsed out some of the phonemes and their morphology.”
“Oh,” I said. I watched the huge males methodically pace the perimeter of my landing site, gathering the dried meat, putting out the fire, sweeping away signs of their presence and going so far as to fluff up flattened grasses. They shouted and gestured at each other, distracting me, but I wanted to pay closer attention to VELMA. I glanced at Red and pointed to my ship, then entered it.
When I entered, VELMA picked up her lesson right away. “The following phonemes stand out. Woa, as you know, means sky. When placed next to the phoneme “ho”, it s
eems to denote movement, such as come or go.”
“Go on,” I said, trying to remember everything.
“The phoneme “za” might be a particle denoting an object. For example, in the word for engine, “za” is found at the end of the collection of phonemes.”
“Okay,” I said and sniffed as I stared out the porthole. They tightened scabbards and adjusted their armor.
“Would you like me to administer an allergy shot?”
“Thank you, no. It’s not a big deal,” I said.
“Would you permit me to test your blood for mild dehydration? Or perhaps you would like to utilize my psychotherapy program?”
“No.” Not what I needed. “Listen, VELMA, I wondered about asking the aliens if they could take me off-planet and contact the Lucidity or the Unification somehow.” I sniffed again. “But I’m not sure if I trust them just yet. So, I guess I’ll bide my time.”
Sniffing reminded me of when I cried in front of them yesterday. Why did they act strange every time I shed a couple tears? So many barriers. Language, cultural, physical ….
“Have you received any pings?” I asked.
“I have not received any pings. The beacon is functioning properly.” She paused. “Your repair was adequate.”
I laughed a little. “Thank you for the compliment.”
A slap on the outside of the hatch startled me.
“VELMA, who’s at the door?”
“The one called Naraxthel. I have deduced the phoneme “ell” signifies a plural. When I have the lexicon established, I will be able to translate the noun in Naraxthel’s name.”
“Okay,” I said. “Thanks.”
I opened the hatch but didn’t go out. I stayed right inside.
“Ah, Esra?” He gestured “come here” with a clawed hand. “Esra hicon Naraxthel.” His helmet was under his arm, so at least I could attempt to decipher his expressions.
I scowled but raised an eyebrow. “Esra hicon Naraxthel now?”
