Not of This World

by Tracy St. John

  Instead, Kren let her go with a groan. “I wish you could see into my hearts,” he said as he stepped away heavily. “I wish you could see it is impossible for me to let you be hurt.”

  “I wish I could too,” she answered, her tone dead. “But there is no reason to believe you will. Not telling me how dangerous my position is proves that.”

  His expression grew more wretched. Jeannie couldn’t stand to gaze at that raw hurt, and turned. As she did, Kren started to reach for her. She pretended not to notice, then walked away from him and kept as much distance between them as possible for the rest of the day. She even ate apart from him, taking her dinner in the kitchen while he sat alone and hunched in the visiting partition.

  Jeannie crawled into the guest bed by the chimney, refusing to share a bed with yet another betrayer. She kept silent, hiding under the linens as hot tears slid from her eyes.

  * * *

  Kren had messed up somehow. He wasn’t sure exactly what he’d done, only that it was bad. It made Jeannie angry and hurt. It kept her separate from him.

  After she’d gone to bed, pointedly taking the guest platform he’d set up that first night, he showered and went to his own bed. He couldn’t pass into sleep, however. His head churned over what had happened to make her feel he had let her down.

  The main issue was that he hadn’t told her she might be destroyed. Of course he hadn’t. Why would her tell her such an awful thing, especially since he had decided it would not happen? But it had been important to her that she know, and so he was in the wrong.

  Wrong to protect her from being afraid? Wrong to keep her from thinking there was any chance he’d let such a sentence be passed?

  Kren rubbed his hands over his face. Mekay’s words from his childhood occurred to him: when you are beyond understanding another’s position, put yourself in that position.

  He tried to think of how he would feel if his and Jeannie’s roles were reversed. Had he been the alien on her world and she kept the secret that her people would kill him for being an enemy creation, how would he feel?

  “If I didn’t know it at all, it would be fine. It would be good to not understand something so awful,” he whispered to himself. “Less to fear.”

  Yet she had found out because Yees had told her. Again, he tried to imagine himself getting the news, this time from someone he didn’t know, one of those who held his fate in her hands. To hear the potential sentence passed in the unfeeling, flat tone Yees had used.

  This time a wave of coldness passed over Kren. Keeping up the fantasy that it was he who was the alien, that his and Jeannie’s roles were reversed, he thought about how he would feel about her. How he would react to Jeannie, who had made him feel safe and secure until that moment.

  Betrayed. Lied to. Deceived in the worst way possible.

  His hearts lurched. This was why she had withdrawn so completely from him. He had been determined to protect her from fear, but instead, he’d taken the one thing she’d thought she could rely on and destroyed it. He’d killed her belief in him.

  Kren felt sick inside. He had done a terrible wrong. Jeannie already had trust issues due to what had happened to her family. Now she couldn’t trust him either.

  He sat up, staring at her huddled form in the flickering light of the fire. He ached to go to her, to tell her he was sorry he hadn’t seen it before now. But would she listen? Would she want his apologies? His assertions that he would do better from now on?

  Kren sighed unhappily. All he could do was try again and hope she would forgive him. After seeing the stricken look on her face, he thought hope might be a slim thing indeed.

  * * *

  Jeannie fell asleep at last, but her dreams were filled with terrible images. Her father gazed at her with sad eyes, beneath which his almost-black hair dripped blood. Her mother walked through a field of broken bottles, wailing as she cut her bare feet on the glass. In the distance, her older sisters stared, their eyes flat and uncaring.

  Every time her nightmares threatened to reach a terrible crescendo, outcomes she knew all too well from having dreamed them before, a soft touch would smooth her hair. At the height of her terror and agony, invisible fingers petted her. A soft crooning wafted into her ears. When the touch and voice came, the nightmares would drift to pieces. She was set free and floated into calm, empty blackness for restorative stretches until the tormenting images returned.

  At last she opened her eyes to find morning waited for her. The soft gold of a new day lit the skies overhead, beaming through the windows of the dome. Jeannie blinked, glad to have an excuse to get up. She sat up in the bed to find Kren sitting at its foot, watching her.

  “Shall I go?” he asked before she could react. “I only came because you cried out in your sleep several times.”

  Jeannie remembered her hurt of the day before, how he’d kept the truth from her. Yet she was sure his had been the fingers stroking her hair, his the wordlessly humming voice that had rescued her from her nightmares. She hesitated, unable to decide on whether to send him away or throw herself into his arms.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, looking into her eyes. “I should have told you everything.”

  The words I’m sorry had not been spoken to Jeannie enough times through the years. When they had come, they had been through a carefully folded letter spattered with drops of blood, or from drunken lips with downcast gazes. No one had ever bothered to look her in the face and say it with their hearts in their voices.

  She crawled to Kren. She curled in his lap and huddled there, rejoicing when his arms went around her.

  “You need to understand why it hurt that you didn’t tell me what might happen to me,” she said.

  “I think I do, but I want to know all you wish me to.”

  “My father—he was our everything. When he left, we fell apart.”

  She spilled it out, all the awful details, bleeding from her soul as she had not done with anyone else. How her father had been the old-fashioned type who felt he must provide for his family, giving them a grand home beyond their means, taking on the weight of being their sole source of sustenance. How his business had failed due to the recession, leaving him with looming bankruptcy. How she’d come home from high school at the age of sixteen to find him flung out on her parents’ bed, his gun lying on the floor where it had tumbled from his hand after he’d done it.

  Then the story of her mother: forced to work two minimum-wage jobs after so many years of financial dependence, unable to cope with losing the home and the man who’d made himself her sole financial and emotional support. The drinking that was her only escape. She withdrew from Jeannie, from the whole world, until the day she finally got in her car and drove away. Jeannie had been in her sophomore year of college when her mother disappeared without a trace.

  Jeannie related with bitterness how her two older sisters, one in college and the other working far away, had recoiled from the whole affair. They had been extremely religious, she told Kren. Their faith proclaimed their father was damned for the sin of taking his life. They did not bother to hide their disgust for their mother’s descent into alcoholism, seeing weakness instead of pain.

  After years slipped by, at last they’d all agreed to have their missing mother declared dead. Jeannie had a moment of fury as she tried to cope with her parents’ desertion. She told her sisters that if there was a God, then he was a pretty sorry excuse for one. They had turned their backs on her in an instant as well. The easy laughter of childhood games and sisterly loyalty was gone in the space of a breath.

  “I loved them, trusted them,” she whispered to Kren, hunched in a ball against his chest. “But in the end, they all left me. Every single one of them. I’ve been alone ever since.”

  “Not anymore,” he insisted, holding her close and kissing the top of her head. “I’m here. I will always be here. I will not leave you.”


  Jeannie leaned her head on his shoulder so she could look in his face. He looked back, and she was bemused to note how non-alien his striped face appeared. How easily she could read the care in his starburst eyes. Or did she see what she wanted to see, that long-lost love she’d thought she’d given up on?

  “I want to believe you,” she said. “I don’t know how I can.”

  “I will earn it,” Kren said, his tone confident. “Day by day, moment by moment. It may take a while, but you will learn.”

  When he kissed her, with a toe-curling mix of tenderness and passion, a mote of hope wakened. For once, Jeannie let that tiny little spot of brightness remain, curious if it would grow.

  The kiss stretched on, demanding to become more. It might have succeeded if an insistent buzz hadn’t sounded in the dome. Kren broke off with an oath the translator didn’t decipher for Jeannie.

  “Who is it?”

  The system’s voice responded. “Arga Enrihahz Bolep.”

  Kren sighed. “I suppose he wants to know what’s going on with you.”

  She untangled herself from him with regret and reached for her skirt and blouse ensemble. “Frustration, that’s what. But I suppose the next step in the ritual of Risnarish sex would have only brought more of that on.”

  Kren’s ears perked into sharp points. A slow grin spread over his face. “Not if I perform it correctly.”

  Before she could ask for an explanation of that comment, he stood and went to the door to let his partner in. Dressed, Jeannie grumbled to herself and stepped in the bathroom to brush the sleep-tangles out of her long hair.

  She came in to find Kren dishing up breakfast: some meat she couldn’t pronounce, a bowl of red mush of porridge-like consistency that tasted reminiscent of pumpkin pie, and a wedge of something that looked and tasted similar to sharp cheddar cheese. Jeannie had no idea what the food really was, but since it tasted good, she chose not to ask. What if something on her platter came from a cute little animal? Like the adorable fuzzball Bonch babies?

  Arga was happy to partake of the breakfast as well. The three of them sat in the visiting partition. Arga sat on the opposite side of the table from where she and Kren perched on the large ottoman.

  “I just realized you two have the same last name,” she observed. “Are you related?”

  They gave her a look of confusion. “We are not biologically connected,” Kren said. “What gave you that idea?”

  “Yesterday, Yees addressed you as Kren Zvan-something Bolep. When Arga showed up, the system said he was Arga-something Bolep.”

  Their expressions cleared. “Oh no, not a name,” Arga said. “Bolep refers to our occupation. We enforce the laws.”

  “Gardner is not your trade? It does not mean body-covering-maker?” Kren asked, gesturing at her clothing.

  She chuckled. “No. It was my father’s last name. That’s how Earthlings identify ourselves. Tell me more about your names. Mekay calls you Zvan,” she said to Kren.

  He nodded. “It was the name he and Gurnal chose for me when I was assigned to be raised by them. I chose to be called Kren when I reached the age of Self-Knowledge. Kren is an old name that means protector. I always knew I wanted to serve in some capacity to keep Hahz safe.”

  “A good choice for a name,” Jeannie observed. “Zvan remains as part of your name though.”

  “I elected to keep it, so it is now joined to the name of my village. When I introduce myself as an adult or I am addressed formally as Yees did yesterday, I am called Kren Zvanhahz Bolep. My name tells people how I see myself, what my guardians called me, where I am from, and what profession I am in.”

  Jeannie found the Risnarish system of names fascinating. She turned to Arga. “What was your guardian’s name for you?”

  “Enri. It means solace, because my guardian was a man committed to spiritual pursuits.” A shadow passed over Arga’s face. “I chose Arga, which means strength, because I am more forceful than my childhood name suggests.”

  “So you are Arga Enrihahz Bolep.”

  “Yes.”

  He shifted uncomfortably. Jeannie prodded him. “Is something wrong, Arga? You started looking upset when I asked what your guardian named you.”

  The man’s lips tightened. He stared down at his almost-empty plate.

  Kren spoke gently. “Arga’s guardian was taken by the Monsuda, possibly the same ones that held you prisoner. It is a painful subject.”

  Jeannie filled with sorrow at his loss. “I don’t doubt you couldn’t find him. Those tunnels probably go for miles.”

  Arga looked at her then, his eyes narrowing. “You found your way out.”

  She blew out a heavy breath, remembering snatches of her frantic escape. “Only through dumb luck, I suppose. My memory of a lot of it is sketchy, though I’m not sure why.”

  “Panic,” Kren suggested. “Trauma.”

  “Maybe. I remember bumbling through several corridors. I hid when a drone or Monsudan came into view. At some point I figured whichever way they went, I wanted to go in the opposite direction.”

  “A good plan,” Kren agreed.

  “Eventually, I found my way out through a cave opening, which floored me. I thought I’d been aboard a spaceship. Next thing I knew, I was in the woods. Once there, I ran blindly. It’s really dumb luck that I ended up at Hahz.”

  She smiled at Kren, emphasizing the word luck. Whether or not she could trust him remained to be seen, yet she did feel lucky that her desperate wanderings had brought her to his village.

  “What I wouldn’t do to know my way around those hive tunnels,” Arga muttered. “I’d like to destroy that place. The Monsuda took men before my guardian, and they will take more when any of us are outside the boundary and vulnerable.”

  “Why don’t you destroy it?” Jeannie asked. “Why do the Risnarish not fight the Monsuda?”

  “The Assembly says no,” Kren said. “We don’t lose many people to our enemy anymore, and they cannot get inside our barriers. An all-out war would result in many deaths. Our elders do not believe the price justifies the hoped-for outcome.”

  “Not all of us agree on that,” Arga snarled. “My guardian deserved to be rescued if possible, avenged if not.”

  Kren’s gaze filled with sympathy. “It was a terrible loss. Everyone knows it. Justice was not served, but Retav would not have wanted you courting death—or worse—to come after him.”

  Arga had nothing to say to that, but Jeannie could tell anger and guilt weighed on him. She knew the feeling well.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Later that day, Jeannie and Kren received a visit from Mekay. Kren’s guardian told them, “The Elders Council is on our way to consult with the Assembly. Yees thought it best we present Jeannie’s case directly to our ruling body.”

  Jeannie watched for Kren’s reaction to this news, since she didn’t know whether it signified good or bad things headed her way. Unfortunately, Kren didn’t know how to take it either. “Do you think it will help or harm our case?” he asked Mekay.

  “I welcome the chance to tell the Assembly in person what I know,” the elder said, his smile attempting to reassure Jeannie. “Try to be patient, though. It might be several days before we receive any answer. In non-emergencies, the Assembly does nothing without lengthy contemplation and debate.”

  “My supposed creation by the enemy isn’t deemed a crisis?” Jeannie couldn’t help the note of sarcasm that crept into her voice. “That’s reassuring.”

  Mekay patted her shoulder and teased. “Since the preliminary medical results turned up no sign of biological engineering, you’re not even close to being a calamity.” He sobered again. “The majority of the council is convinced you’re not a Monsudan creation, which we will report. Given that, the Assembly will take their time in deliberating the best way to proceed.”

  While
Jeannie snorted to learn she’d not been catalogued as a disaster waiting to strike, she was relieved that her life was in no immediate danger. She’d begun planning for the contingency of running away and hiding in the woods again if things looked chancy. Kren’s assurances of protection notwithstanding, she had no intention of giving herself up peacefully to execution.

  Gurnal had opted to accompany Mekay to the Assembly’s seat of governance since he would be gone for several days. It was his idea for Jeannie to visit their home and make use of their library, stored in the computer system.

  “You can work on learning our language. The translator program can also help you become familiar with our literature and the way we think,” he said. “Once a delegation from the Assembly comes to speak to you, you’ll be better acquainted with our culture.”

  “What a wonderful idea,” Mekay enthused. He dipped the tips of his pointed ears at Jeannie, which she had figured out was the Risnarish equivalent of a teasing wink. “Now you know why I keep Gurnal around.”

  She laughed at his fooling, but she was delighted with the plan as well. “He’s no dummy,” she agreed. “Thank you for the opportunity.”

  * * *

  Before he left, Mekay took Kren aside. “Zvan, I am sure Jeannie will be quite safe once the Assembly hears all the evidence the council has gathered on her. However—”

  Mekay’s voice died. Kren rarely saw his guardian so uncomfortable. “Yes?”

  “Between you and I. No one else.”

  “Of course.”

  Mekay drew a breath. “Ready the warriors you trust the most. Prepare them.”

  “For what?” Kren’s eyes narrowed.

  “To attack the hive Jeannie came from.”

  Kren’s hearts nearly stopped. Attack the hive?

  The Risnarish did not engage the Monsuda in large battles, but they trained for it. Though the Risnarish were confident in their protective barriers, they refused to be complacent. No one ever knew if or when the tech-savvy Monsuda would find a way to break through.