by Lee Winter
“It was already inhabited. Yeah. Talon Man told that part of the story a few times.”
“Although he left out the bit about what a charming population we found when we landed. Not paranoid or prone to screaming about alien invasions at all.”
Lena’s jaw worked. “Surely it was better than nothing? And what did you expect from a pre-space flight planet? We didn’t know any better. It would have been terrifying. Not to mention you challenged every religious doctrine on Earth by your mere existence.”
“True,” Nyah said. “It took a lot of adjustments to deal with your people’s baser impulses being so close to the surface. We were a peaceful, science-based people. And you were embroiled in a seemingly endless series of wars. Your love of killing yourselves in inventive ways is only bettered by your greedy and mean-spirited natures. The people of Earth make quite an impression.”
“Nice,” Lena said icily, feeling a surge of defensiveness. “You do get that you’d all be dead if not for us?”
“Us? You personally saved us then?”
“My ancestors did.”
“I actually knew your ancestors, Lena. They were uncultured, unhealthy, ignorant, hysteria-prone, racist, misogynistic, homophobic, violent, and borderline xenophobes. It’s been such a pleasure sacrificing my happiness for those knuckle-draggers for the past century.”
Lena had had enough. Earth wasn’t perfect by any means, but neither were the smug guardians with all their endless moaning. They’d come here uninvited, and Earth’s people, for all their flaws and initial fears, had been more than welcoming. That was a straight-up fact.
“Your happiness?” Lena asked with deceptive softness. “Let me guess: the woman you were kissing? I notice she’s never been seen anywhere near you since you were outed. Did you end things because she was another lowly, uncivilized common? Or did she dump your ass because of your superior attitude?”
Nyah stood abruptly, her eyes slits of anger. “I was wrong. You’re not a shark, you’re a viper. Leave. NOW.”
Lena clanged her mouth shut, furious at her own lapse. She’d stuck the knife in out of pure, petty annoyance, gouging at Nyah’s infamous weak spot. Since when did she forget her mission? She stared at the annoying guardian, disconcerted at how a few irritated sentences—hardly the worst she’d ever had slung at her by a talent—had so easily undone her. Lena had to get her head in the game. Nyah looked about two seconds away from hurling her off the cliff. For real this time.
“Well?” Nyah snapped. “I’d go now before you make me question whether I’m truly not a killer.”
Lena held up a hand. “For what it’s worth,” she tried, “I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s just…that’s my world you’re trashing. I know we’re fucked up at times, but it struck a nerve, okay?”
Nyah gave her a mocking look. “Tell me that you even like the humans you blindly defended just now,” she said. “The ones who regarded women, non-whites, and migrants as inferior.”
Lena stopped. “Not especially,” she admitted.
“And yet you would lash out at me for saying the same.”
That’s different, she wanted to say. It just was. Only family got to bitch about family.
Nyah raked her with a vicious, pitying look.
Lena wanted to squirm under the scrutiny, but she wouldn’t give Nyah the satisfaction. She wouldn’t leave either. Hell no, she could sit up here for hours if she had to. At least until Nyah understood that she wasn’t giving up easily and the guardian would have to eventually deal with…
The guardian tilted her head back and abruptly shot off into the sky. Lena stared after her in astonishment.
Oh.
Or she could do that.
Nyah’s body was almost immediately a blurred, elongated streak, a sign she was traveling exceptionally fast. Sure enough, a sonic boom followed, vibrating Lena’s ear drums, causing unsettling rumbling and skittering noises in every direction as pebbles bounced towards earth from the surrounding mountains. Only then did Nyah disappear from sight.
Well.
Lena peered at where she’d been. If that wasn’t the ultimate screw-you.
CHAPTER 5
Lena woke the next day under a tree that made zero sense and rubbed her eyes. It was like a waxy water balloon had mated with a crocheted tea cozy.
This felt like home for Nyah?
The memories of yesterday’s screw-up returned, followed by Lena’s crawl of shame back down the cliff to make camp for the night.
Oh yeah, she’d handled Nyah like a pro. The most reclusive guardian in history had finally begun talking, and Lena had jumped up and down on all her soft spots like a petulant teenager. For what? Planetary pride?
Nyah was right—Lena didn’t have any love for Earth’s commons from a century ago. Hell, she barely liked her contemporaries.
Lena sat up morosely and unzipped her sleeping bag. It was one of the micro ones that rolled up to the size of a brick. More alien tech the guardians had bestowed upon Earth. They had at least been forthcoming with their advanced gadgets. For instance, she vaguely recalled from history class that everyone used to have something called “watches” before the guardians showed up. These ancient devices were apparently just time tellers that had none of the interactivity of even a basic timeslide. Why bother?
Lena stuffed her sleeping bag into her backpack and rose, unkinking her muscles that were still sore from yesterday’s hike and cliff climb. She strolled over to a nearby stream, stripped, and had a rudimentary wash. Lena glanced at the sky as she toweled dry. It was gray, and the darkening streaks of cloud looked ominous.
She quickly dressed, hunted around for some sticks for kindling, and ambled back over to the stream again. A few fish slithered past as she contemplated her breakfast options. A ration pack full of granola bars and various other Facility-issued supplies were crammed in her backpack, so Lena could afford to leave the local wildlife in peace for now. Besides, if today went anything like yesterday, she’d probably be dumped at Socotra’s airport from a great height before she got her greeting out.
With that sobering thought playing pinball around her head, she tossed her kindling in her backpack and slung it over her shoulders.
It took a little less time to scale Nyah’s cliff on this attempt as Lena knew where all the handholds were, having mastered an ascent and a descent by now. By the time she reached the top, she wasn’t entirely surprised to see the imposing guardian standing there, watching, her eyes hooded. Her stance was aggressive, but her expression wasn’t radiating fury as it had been yesterday.
Lena rolled over the edge, splaying out in a heap at Nyah’s feet as she caught her breath. When she focused again, she was caught in a glare.
“I’d thought you’d gone for good.” Nyah’s voice was dripping with acid.
“You hoped, you mean?”
“Yes. What else is left to discuss?”
“So much.”
“Doubtful.” Nyah turned and headed back inside her cave.
Pensively, Lena watched her leave. No invitation had been extended for her to enter what was essentially Nyah’s home, so she drew herself up into a cross-legged position and evaluated her options. The wind whipped around the ledge so she tightened her scarf as she decided.
Time for the big guns.
She cracked open her backpack, took out the kindling, and set about making a small fire. It wasn’t protected up here, so she was forced to use her body to block the worst of the wind. Lena took out a plastic container, her water bottle, and a tiny tin pot. She placed the pot gingerly on a tepee of sticks, then filled it with water. The fire might have been on the pathetic side, but it did heat Lena’s pot. As she warmed her hands over the flames, the water gradually came to the boil.
“Are you trying to smoke me out?”
She turned to find Nyah watching her from the mouth of the cave.
“Because you’ll need a considerably bigger fire for that.”
Lena smirked. Unde
terred, she rattled the container which held ground beans. “Want a coffee?”
Without waiting for an answer, she cracked the lid, pulled out a mug, and measured a spoonful into it. She made the drink and stirred vigorously, hearing Nyah’s footsteps near.
This was the guardians’ drink of choice. It was one of the few things that could make any of them weak at the knees. Lena knew most of them used to grow these beans in their homes the way humans might pots of herbs. The handful of beans the founders had brought with them to Earth had been carefully cultivated and turned into a well-kept crop on the fourth floor of the Facility. Only Talon Man and a few of his chosen ones were even aware it existed. Plus Lena. The Facility’s gardener kept her well stocked in exchange for a small, regular bump in his account balance. It had been her secret weapon with taciturn overdues for years.
Sure enough, Nyah’s nose twitched and her face shifted to surprise and recognition. “Where did you get klava?” she whispered reverently. She sank to her knees and leaned closer to it.
The wash of scents was heady. Lena hadn’t found a direct Earth comparison, but it smelled to her strongly of a sort-of coffee with undertones of cinnamon and chili. For guardians, the rush was a euphoric high because it mixed the beans’ alluring, addictive flavors with something they believed was long gone: their world, Aril.
“I have my ways,” Lena said casually, holding out the mug to her. “I thought you might like a taste of home. You probably need this more than me.”
Lena had developed her own fondness for the potent stuff, but she wasn’t wasting the precious brew. Nor was she screwing up again with this target.
Nyah reached for the steaming mug, hand trembling, and paused for a moment as though not quite believing what was in front of her. Her fingers curled around the white enamel and she lifted the mug to her lips. Instead of drinking, though, she inhaled deeply and uttered a low hiss. Her eyes fluttered closed and, finally, she sipped. Slowly.
A swallow came, and then a soft, pleased moan that was completely unexpected.
“Um…rain’s coming,” Lena said abruptly, tearing her gaze away from the intensely private moment. Her cheeks burned at that low, evocative sound, and she peered up at the skies. “Clouds are pretty ominous, right? Might throw it down soon. Get real wet out here, huh? Way up here?”
Nyah didn’t answer, so Lena settled for picking at the seam of her leather cuff like it was the most interesting thing she’d ever seen. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Nyah eagerly swallow the rest of the brew and return the mug to the ground in front of Lena. She did it reverently and slowly, like a reluctant temple offering.
Her gaze flashed back up to meet Lena’s. “All right,” Nyah said, voice low and hoarse. She looked appreciatively at Lena, then gestured at the mug. “That earns you more discussion. But this time if you mention…that topic…again, I will toss you over the edge. Do you hear me?”
“Sure. No problem,” Lena said contritely. She reached for her backpack to get her notepad and pen out, and felt Nyah’s gaze still on her, studying her face.
“Are you of this faith?” she asked suddenly, pointing to the headscarf.
“No,” Lena said, pulling out her writing gear after a wriggle, and placing it in front of her. “Me and religion don’t see eye to eye. But ‘when in Socotra…’ and all that. It’s also good for keeping off the wind. Pretty chilly this high up.”
Nyah leaned forward and touched the scarf, pausing as though waiting for an objection. Finding none, she slid it off Lena’s short hair and studied her face more closely. Her scrutiny shifted back down to Lena’s cuff and toughened boots, well-worn from spending months at a time in the field on assignment.
“Not exactly Earth standard are you?” she drawled.
“Normal is overrated,” Lena shot back.
“Yes,” Nyah said, replacing the scarf carefully and sitting back on her haunches. “On that we can agree.”
Their gazes locked and Lena felt a flare of mutual understanding. Nyah rose and walked to the ledge facing the wadi below. She lowered herself down, dropping her legs over the edge, then turned back to look expectantly at Lena—a silent invitation—before resuming her observation of the landscape.
“It’s peaceful here,” Nyah said evenly.
Lena joined her, dropping her notebook to the ground beside herself, and mirrored Nyah’s pose, leaning against one arm, resting her other hand on her thigh. It was something she’d figured out early on as a tracker—copying body language fosters an artificial sense of kinship. It leads to faster breakthroughs.
Lena stopped cold. She just did this by rote now, she realized with surprise. Hell, she barely even noticed when she was manipulating people these days. It was second nature. When had she stopped relating to people like everyone else? When had she forgotten how to even have a normal conversation? Did she no longer even care?
Lena deliberately altered her body language and felt a tiny burst of satisfaction.
Apparently she did care.
“Before we begin,” Nyah said coolly, studying the horizon, “your turn.”
“What?”
“I did all the talking yesterday. So talk.”
“I’m not the one being interviewed. I’m boring, remember.”
“So you keep saying. I thought about it last night. Somehow you have managed the rare feat of getting me discussing myself. For you to have achieved that, there must be more to you than what you present yourself as. I want to know what that is. So, tell me your story and then we will resume your interview.”
“I don’t feel comfortable talking about myself.” Lena wasn’t lying. She’d never felt at ease baring any part of herself. The truth was that she wasn’t any good at interpersonal stuff. She might excel at putting others at ease and drawing them out, but she had yet to work out how to turn the mirror around.
“Well now, isn’t that a coincidence?”
Lena flicked her gaze to Nyah. “How could I ever be interesting?” she asked. “Especially compared to you?”
“Let’s find out. What’s your story? Start with this.” She waved her hand in front of Lena’s check shirt and jeans. “Why this look? I know it’s not just practical. You wear it like a uniform.”
Lena wondered how to answer that. She mentally flipped through all her usual stories, the ones she rolled out on cue whenever anyone got too chatty. She had so many personas. So many lies. Any would do, really.
“Why not this look?” Lena finally replied, dispensing with them all.
“It’s unusual.”
“Is it?”
Nyah tapped her wrist cuff pointedly. “You know it is.”
Lena shifted uncomfortably under her drilling stare. “This is what I wore as a teenager and felt comfortable in. Never felt a need to change.”
“I see. And does your family appreciate your display of rugged individuality?” The tone was faintly amused.
Lena narrowed her eyes. “Let’s just say my mother never gave up hope I’d find my inner girly girl. How about you?” she asked suddenly. “What did your family think of your look?”
It was a deceptively daring question. Nyah’s appearance had been a source of much discussion on Earth—her failure to conform to traditional female stereotypes had been duly noted by all the pearl clutchers, commentators, and radio shock jocks. Nyah had never been drawn into answering any of them.
“It’s clothing,” she said with impatience. “I find it aerodynamic and functional. What other point is there? Now can we talk about why we’re even doing this exercise in futility? Going through the motions of you getting to know me? You don’t actually care, do you? You’re not even really a writer. So tell me, what are you?”
“If you think I’m a liar,” Lena asked, “why are you allowing me to talk to you at all?”
There was silence as Nyah turned back to study the horizon. “I’m not sure.”
“Really?” Lena lifted her eyebrows. “I’ve never heard any guardian say that.�
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“How many of us have you met? You do get around for a humble writer.”
Lena fell silent. Crap.
“Tell me Lena, what’s a Dazr? I mentioned it yesterday. Few commons have ever heard of it as it’s a weapon to bring down a rogue guardian. Yet you show no curiosity at all in something new. I find that hard to believe in one so smart.”
“Smart?” Lena repeated. She offered a crooked smile. “I think I was allergic to school.”
“What has school got to do with a person’s worth or intelligence?”
Lena looked at her uncertainly.
Nyah tilted her head. “Regardless of your education, or lack of it, what I see is that clever brain of yours whirring furiously, cooking up lies.” Giving Lena a hard look, she pointed at her wristband. “Here’s an easier question—will you take this off?”
Lena reflexively covered it with her other hand. “Why?”
“Why not?”
Lena’s pulse jumped. What the hell could she say now?
Turning to peer off into the distance, Nyah said flatly, “I’ll save you the effort of lying to me again. It hides the mark of Beast Lord. I saw the injury when you first came over the ledge yesterday and your cuff slid up.”
“It was a cooking accident,” Lena said, wincing internally at how bad that sounded.
“You don’t cook,” Nyah told her certainly and turned back to eyeball her. “You camp. It’s second nature to you. You made that fire as expertly as any survival expert. In the same way you scaled a sheer cliff at remarkable speed. You have no desk job, Lena Martin. You don’t even own a desk. Do you?”
“So I’m fit and I like camping. So what?” Lena shrugged.
Nyah stared her down. “But the biggest giveaway? Your second question in our interview.”
“Second question?” Lena was mystified. What on earth had she asked? What was she supposed to ask? Did writers always ask the same thing? Why hadn’t that come up in her research into biographers?
“Question one, ‘What’s your name?’” Nyah said, sounding bored, as though she was reading a list. “Every writer worth that title knows that question two is always ‘And how do you spell that?’”