I can’t see Patricia. David’s voice goes breathlessly on.
“...Rowan took the larva away from it for examination...the mantis found Rowan and the larva, gored Rowan to death and took its larva. We’re in the airships now seeking the mantis, but Kay, you’ve got to go back to the base.”
“Understood,” I say quickly flipping off the communicator. “Patricia, Patricia!” I scream. I can hear her gurgling happily, but I can’t see her.
“Patricia!” I scream again. My heart has stopped beating. The forest that was just a moment ago lovely, almost magical, is suddenly sinister and foreboding.
I spin around. The undergrowth isn’t dense or tall, but all I see is trees and more trees, and in my panic, every direction looks the same. I feel like I’m in a carnival house of mirrors.
A happy screech fills my ears and I move in that direction. In a few steps, bright light of unfiltered sunshine appears ahead, and I run to it. I come to a clearing with a sunny bluff with what is Murphy 3 equivalent of flowers: colored leaves of buttercup yellow and tangerine orange. There at the top of the bluff is Patricia and her insectoid friend, now on her hand. She is squealing with delight; I hear a strange noise at the periphery of my consciousness like chattering teeth. Heat rushes to my face, my heart makes one mighty beat of relief, and then stops again. She is not alone.
Next to her, waving its antennae madly and clacking its sharp teeth together, is the larva thing. Squealing with delight Patricia grins as it lifts its upper body, so it is nearly her height. Is it going to bite her with those pointed little teeth? Is it poisonous?
“Patricia,” I scream. Running a few steps towards her, weapon ready, I stop. There beyond Patricia and the larva is the mantis. It seems frozen in place just as I am. I look at my daughter and the larva, and back to the mantis. It has a tranquilizer gun in one of those too human hands—I’m too terrified to fully explore the implications of that.
Cocking its head it lifts the gun and aims in my direction...but does not fire. Its child is in the way of any clear shot at me or Patricia. And Patricia is in the way of any clear shot at it or its child. The mantis moves sideways, the gun in its hand and at the ready. I move in the opposite direction, circling the hill. My jaw is tight my lip curling. Flipping a button I set the power on my piece to maximum—if the mantis harms Patricia, so help me they’ll be picking it and its larva’s hide off every surface in this clearing.
The creature stops and so do I. It slowly moves back in the direction it came, and I do the same. We do this dance, our children happy hostages between us. I can hear my breathing in my ears. I’m furious and terrified and part of me just wants to charge up the hill right now, but any sudden moves could be death for Patricia.
Changing tactics, the mantis suddenly drops down low and begins rubbing its hind most legs together. Thinking it must be getting ready to charge or pounce, I take aim at its larva. If it makes one false move, I’ll fire.
It does not charge, and I become aware of another sound over the beat of my own heart, something like the chirp of a thousand crickets. The mantis waves its antenna furiously towards its larva and I think I understand. Squatting down, gun still at the ready, I change tactics, too. “Patricia, come here, come to mama, Patricia, Patricia!” I hold my free arm out entreatingly.
Patricia looks at me briefly and giggles, then turns her head and reaches a hand to one of the larva’s swaying antennae. Brushing her hand across it she coos. The chattering increases in volume, all the larva’s antennae are reaching in Patricia’s direction now.
Bobbing a bit on my heals I beg, “Patricia, come here. Come here. Come to mama.”
Across the bluff I can still hear the mantis rubbing its hind limbs together, waving its own antennae frantically.
And it suddenly occurs to me, the mantis and I, we have something in common.
Both our children are idiots.
After aborting her young, the lower ranking banded mongoose may be allowed to return to the communal den. When she returns, she will find that her tormentors have given birth. She could extract revenge by mauling the higher ranking females’ offspring; but this does not happen. In fact, the returnee becomes surrogate mother to the higher ranking females’ pups. Helping to clean them, find food for them, and protect them.
What compels her to do this? Fear of being driven out again? It is speculated that it is the flood of pregnancy hormones still in her system that cause her to behave in a mothering way. Although, presumably, the higher ranking pregnant females who evicted her were also caught up in a hormonal tide, with a decidedly different outcome.
We coax, we cajole, we beg, the mantis mother and I, for what seems like an eternity, although in reality is probably only a few minutes. I am filled with panic that does not relent or abate. I don’t know how I’m still breathing, or how my eyes haven’t been blinded by tears.
There is a whine in the background. At first, it’s barely noticeable and I don’t pay attention to it; I can’t pay attention to anything but my child. The whine grows louder. I can’t turn away from my baby, but I know what it is, and I feel hope swelling in me. An airship is coming. The crew will have tranquilizer guns and will be able to take aim from above. I feel lighter and bounce a little higher. I just have to keep her alive until the ship gets here.
The mantis is waving its antennae more wildly, the rubbing of its back legs becomes so fierce it becomes a hum. Does it know they’re coming too?
The sound of the airship’s engines becomes louder. Abruptly throwing its weapon to the ground, the mantis rushes up the bluff. My weapon is still drawn, but with no clear shot I can do nothing but race to my baby, too.
The mantis is faster. It scoops up her larva, and towers above Patricia.
It could gore her as an afterthought. But it doesn’t.
Aiming my pistol at the creature, I kneel down by Patricia and pick her up with one arm.
I could shoot then. But I don’t.
The mantis skitters backwards a few steps. We regard each other as the airship engines become a roar.
Patricia begins to whimper and the larva's clicking noises become higher pitched—its antennae wave frantically in Patricia’s direction.
I lower my weapon.
Tilting her head once, the mantis turns and runs, scooping up the abandoned tranquilizer gun as she goes. It’s an odd thing to notice, but it strikes me that Vega has fixed her carapace.
I feel the hot wind of the airship’s engines. Directly overhead the airship’s roar is nearly deafening. It isn’t quite enough to block out Patricia’s wail.
The mantis used a gun. It had been able to plan and behave rationally even in the heat of its frenzy to protect its young. I have a sneaking suspicion that the geomagnetically induced currents are somehow tied to the mantises—it would explain the creatures escape from the electric containment field.
I rub the now sobbing Patricia on the back as I move out of the clearing, my communicator is crackling and the airship is preparing for landing.
I follow the path the mantis took with my eyes. My rage is gone now, I feel bewildered, and sad. She’ll need our help to escape the island and get back home. Maybe that help includes me and the tiny ambassador now leaving a trail of snot and tears on my shoulder.
My own eyes feel hot and wet. Humans aren’t alone in the universe anymore. Although lately, I’ve been feeling like we never really were.
~ Fin ~
C. Gockel is the author of the space opera Archangel Project trilogy, and I Bring the Fire, the USA Today bestselling series about Loki Norse God of Mischief and Chaos.
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INTERFERENCE
A NOVELLA
By Michelle Diener
ABOUT INTERFERENCE
Interference can go either way . . .
Cepi may be an archaeologic
al wonder, but it's on a countdown to destruction, and while Nyha Bartarli has been persuaded to take her four wards for a final look at the tiny moon, now she's eager to leave. The only problem is, someone has other plans—plans to exploit Nyha and her wards’ status as the betrayed orphans of the Verdant String.
As survivors of the destruction of Halatia, and the subsequent disaster that tarnished every remaining planet of the Verdant String's moral code, no one is willing to go in hard and risk Nyha and her wards' lives—something the hostage-takers know very well. What they don't know is that there is an Arkhoran Special Forces team on the moon with them.
Mak Carep knows his team's presence on Cepi is the last flex of Arkhor's muscle before Kalastoni blows its moon to bits. Arkhor has interfered on Cepi since it discovered the ruins four hundred years ago, but sometimes, interference can have unexpected consequences. When Nyha and her four girls are taken hostage, Mak and his team are the only ones who have any hope of rescuing them, and they're ready and willing to do what Arkhor does best.
Interfere.
1
“The transmission cut off.” Nyha unhooked the tiny comm set from her ear and laid it down on the console in front of her, her gaze going to Catano.
The comms officer frowned.
“Interference?” Garett turned to Catano as well, his tone more annoyed than concerned.
Nyha knew he was impatient to get back to his job, irritated that he'd been forced to accompany her to the comm station located at the top of the Cepi ruins. The fact that it seemed the trip was a waste of time obviously hadn't improved his mood.
Catano shook her head. “No reason for interference.” She lifted her own comm set and tapped her fingers on the screen in front of her, looking more and more tense as she did so.
Nyha watched her and felt a stir of worry. “I could stay until—”
“No.” Garret's tone was harsh.
She and Catano turned to stare at him, and he blinked, as shocked, Nyha thought, as they were at the explosiveness of his response.
“Sorry.” He cleared his throat, still shaking his head. “We're on a tight schedule. The Calling have put us all in a difficult position, and there is simply no time.”
That was indisputably true. Nyha dipped her head in agreement.
Catano picked up the comm set Nyha had left on the console and did something to it before holding it out to her.
“It may be it just needs to be recalibrated. I've rebooted it. Put it back on, and if that's the problem, you'll be in touch with your retrieval ship as soon as the comm set comes back online.”
Nyha took it, slipped it on, and thought Catano seemed a little too focused on her until it was securely in place.
She opened her mouth to ask what was wrong, but Garett put a hand on her arm.
“No time.” He squeezed and let go, but she had the sense he wanted to physically jerk her out of the room.
There was no time, she conceded again, and nodded, mouthing a thank you to Catano as she left.
The comms officer watched her with a considering expression and then turned back to her screen, her fingers dancing across the black and green in a pattern almost as intricate as the ones carved into the walls around her.
Garett waited for Nyha at the central spiral, jaw tight. He made a sound that might have been exasperation as she stepped up to his side and she felt the familiar spike of annoyance that had been her constant companion since she and the girls had arrived on Cepi.
Their presence was resented here.
Nyha knew it was because the ruins were due to be blown up in less than a week, and she and the girls were obviously in the way, but they had been invited.
Garett stepped onto the thin ribbon of the downward spiral, and Nyha followed behind him. She gripped the handle which protruded from the central column with her left hand as it spun them down, and let her right arm swing out, held suspended by the centrifugal force.
Garett glanced at her over his shoulder, his gaze going to her arm, and she watched him fight a sneer. She smiled serenely at him in response, then threw back her head, closed her eyes, and enjoyed the sensation.
She only opened them again when they reached the bottom, and found Garett had his back to her again.
The walk to the room the girls were studying was less than a minute, and she purposely trailed behind Garett, knowing he wouldn't be able to help himself in turning back to hurry her along, while simultaneously refusing to shorten his step.
The result was a strange dance, and while it was petty of her, she had to get her revenge where she could.
When they reached their destination, he went straight to Professor Faro, and as Nyha looked around the room she had to fight the fury that rose up in her.
The archeological team could at least have tried to be accommodating, but instead . . . they truly were dismantling everything here. Not only that, the girls would have to be blind not to see the annoyance, the side-long glances of irritation, that had become the standard greeting they'd been met with over the last three days.
Since she'd been taken in as a child, Nyha's presence had evoked strong emotion in others. Sometimes it was guilt, sometimes sympathy; most often it was caution—as if she were a ticking bomb they had no clue how to dismantle. The girls were used to it, too, they'd been exposed to it all their lives, although it was her job to make sure they were shielded as much as possible.
Professor Faro would have to be a lot more openly hostile before he made a dent in the thick shell she'd grown over the years, but the fact that he had taken that tack at all, and set the tone for the rest of his team, did not sit well.
“Problem, Professor?” she asked him now as she approached him, keeping her tone even.
“It's just . . . we're clearing this room.” The professor met her gaze with a hard one of his own, but whatever he saw on her face made him lower his gaze almost immediately.
“I know.” She tipped her head. “That's why we're here. To see it before it's cleared.” She looked away from him and nodded to the girls, who'd all stopped and looked toward her when she'd come in.
With a return nod, they went back to lifting their screens to scan pictures, or crouching beside the intricately carved walls and the strange squares scattered around the room.
The professor sighed.
“I know you have a time limit, Professor. We aren't here to get in your way. We're being picked up shortly, anyway. At least, that's what our ship's captain told me before I lost the connection.” She remembered the comm set, but didn't touch it. It was silent, so it must still be going through its reboot.
At the news they were leaving, the professor's eyes lit up, and she had to swallow back a cynical laugh.
She laid a hand on his arm. “Tilla will never forget this. The other girls, too, but this has been a way of closure for her that she will treasure forever.”
He seemed to deflate a little under her hand, and she let it drop back to her side.
“Of course,” he said. “Professor Dasty was the foremost authority on Cepi, and for her daughter to see it before it's destroyed is only right. If only the timing were better, but that hasn't been your fault. Not your fault at all. If it weren't for The Calling . . .” He trailed off, the fury and bitterness in his voice evident before he took a deep breath. “Forgive us if we've seemed a little . . .” He looked down.
“Distracted?” Nyha knew she was being particularly kind with that description.
“Yes. Distracted.”
He latched onto the word with alacrity, and she almost regretted being so forgiving. Almost, but not quite—because as she turned away from him, she knew that she had him twisted up in guilt and relief. He'd allow them free reign until they left.
Maybe they could go somewhere without Garett hovering over their shoulder.
Give and take, she told herself. If being gracious bought Tilla the freedom to go wherever she wanted for the short time she had left on the tiny moon, then it was a price s
he was willing to pay.
“What did you say to him?” Vika fell into step with her as she walked across the room, and Nyha glanced eye to eye with her charge. Of the four girls, only Fran was shorter than she was.
“He's been close to throwing us out a few times since you went to the comm station, but now it looks like he's finally taken the stick out of his butt—”
“Vik.” She kept her voice low, tried to keep her expression somber.
Vika grinned, unrepentant.
“Dr. Bartali.” Garett was suddenly beside her again, and his tone was that slightly condescending, slightly apologetic one she'd come to truly despise over the last three days.
Nyha caught the edge of Vika's smirk before she turned. “Yes?”
“Any response from your ship?”
She shook her head. “Nothing.” She looked at him expectantly, and he flushed under her scrutiny.
“Well, sorry to hear it.” He walked away, leaving her frowning after him.
He hadn't seemed that interested in the problem before, and she had difficulty believing he'd suddenly developed an interest now. Unless he thought the loss of comms signaled a delay in their departure.
That would worry him. He hadn't wanted them here.
“You know, Garett was the one who suggested Tilla come?” Vika said quietly in her ear.
“What?” She didn't believe it.
“It's true. Sugal told us.” Vik tipped her head in the direction of a member of the archaeological team. “There was apparently a lot of argument about it, and the professor was adamant we'd get in the way, but Garett had already sent a message about it to someone on the administrative council, and they thought it was a great idea.”
Nyha highly doubted the whole administrative council thought it was a good idea. If ever there was a confusing mix of ownership claims, Cepi was it. To the point they had had to set up an administrative council in the first place.
Orphans In the Black: A Space Opera Anthology Page 38
