by Aguirre, Ann
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Others may judge if they discover that you prefer to nest in refuse.”
She rapped gently on the chitin that armored his side. “Don’t look at it that way. Instead, consider how frugal I am and how good this is for the environment.” Since he was simply staring at her, she went on, trying to get her point across. “You know, it’s better to reuse stuff, isn’t it? Make something from nothing?”
“I understand. You are very resourceful,” he said, though she wasn’t sure if he really meant it as a compliment.
“Exactly.”
Though they had been gone maybe half an hour, according to her internal time clock, Snaps still went wild when they walked in, prancing around their legs with exclamations of “Welcome, welcome! I’m so glad you’re here! Welcome! Gosh! Welcome!”
Dogs were fucking great. Beryl set down her stuff and let Snaps smell it all, then she rubbed his head, massaged his ears, and scratched his belly until his back leg kicked.
Snaps rolled over and shook himself, bounding to his feet. “Did you bring this for me? Is it for me?” He ran in a circle around her bed pile and started to run off with one of the pods, but she caught him and took it out of his mouth.
“Nope, this is mine, though if it turns out well, you can share the bed with me.”
“Awesome! I love beds. Beds are soft and snuggly and best.”
“Hopefully,” she said. “That’s the goal anyway. Hey, Zylar, can the manufacturer make some adhesive? Something with a clean seal that won’t decay or start smelling bad.”
“Yes, I can fashion it. Just a moment.”
While he rushed off to do her bidding—and hell, wasn’t that an incredible change of pace—she laid out the material as she’d envisioned, shooing Snaps away now and then. She had just enough pods and petals to create a nice futon, similar to something she’d seen in a documentary about Japan. When Zylar returned with the glue, she dabbed it along the edges, then folded the material over, leaving her with a mattress that was just big enough for her and Snaps. She repeated the steps to create a comforter, more because she couldn’t sleep without covers than for actual warmth, since the rectangular platform had heating.
“Perfect,” she said, standing back to admire her handiwork.
“The nest is complete?” Zylar had been watching her in silence, and now he stepped up to inspect what she had created. “How does this function?”
“I’m not sure if I should move it—no, get off of there, Snaps. How long does the adhesive take to dry?”
“It should be sealed,” Zylar said.
“Okay, let’s give this a shot.” She laid the thicker one on the rectangle, settled in, and pulled the comforter over her. “Ah, very nice. If I get time, I’ll make a pillow too, but this is pretty good.”
“You burrow and hide while you sleep. But you’re safe here, precious gem. During the Choosing, you need not concern yourself with such protective measures.”
First, she got all warm and gooey inside when he called her precious gem, which maybe made her not as interested in the last part of his statement, even if it was slightly alarming. During the Choosing did make it sound like there might be danger afterward.
Before she could ask about that, he went on, “Is this more comfortable? I apologize for offering such a substandard nest.”
“It’s fine,” she said. “It’s not like you planned to abduct me. You thought you were saving…whoever you were supposed to meet, the one you chatted up on alien Tinder.”
His silence said some of that was probably lost in translation. Finally, he said, “You accept my apology?”
“I accept. We’re doing great, aren’t we?” That was a rhetorical question, but she wasn’t actually sure if that was a thing in Barathi, and she figured she had taxed the translator enough, so she indulged some idle curiosity. “But I’m wondering…”
“Ask,” Zylar said quickly.
Snaps was at the far edge of her nest, circling as dogs did until they found the perfect spot. He groaned as he curled up, still completely unfazed by their adventures.
“You sleep in that contraption…but I can’t sleep sitting up even if they made a double-decker, so what are we going to do about that?”
He churred. “I don’t understand the question.”
“Well, once we’re approved and out-bonded, won’t we be sleeping together? It seems like our styles are a bit incompatible…” She stopped talking, abashed beneath the intensity of the gaze fixated on her.
His eye membrane fluttered. That was good, right? Beryl guessed she’d pleased him somehow, but he also seemed…speechless.
“You’re already imagining how we will nest together?” he finally asked.
That made it sound like she was full of lurid fantasies instead of wondering about simple logistics. The blush started again. “Well, yeah. It seems like we’ll need to work out a solution, unless you’re open to lying here with me?”
“I cannot,” he said. “The pressure would be most uncomfortable, and I would develop respiratory issues.”
“Well, I can’t sleep in the weird apparatus you use either.” Sudden inspiration struck, a happy medium that might work for both of them, though she’d need padding between them or she might get hurt rubbing against his hard plates and spines in the night. “Do you have anything I can draw on?”
She sprang out of the covers, startling Snaps who raised a sleepy head to say, “Snacks?” and when she said, “Nope,” he lost interest in her doings.
“You are the most interesting being,” Zylar said, as he indicated a clear part of the wall with one claw. “Illustrate whatever you wish here.”
To her amazement, the wall reacted to her touch like a drawing tablet, and she quickly sketched her idea, a sort of space hammock big enough to cradle them both. He could remain more upright while she curled up next to him. Excitedly she started describing what she had in mind. “The material I found for my bedding could work for this part of it, and the cord—what we used for Snaps’s leash—could serve as the supports as shown here. Do you think it’s something we could create?”
Zylar was staring at her in silence, but she couldn’t read his expression, and then he crouched before her, bowing his head low. “I am humbled, Beryl Bowman. This is a beautiful invention, and I am deeply unworthy of a Terrible One who already puts so much thought into ways in which we can nest in utmost safety and comfort.”
“Hey,” she said uneasily. “Get up. It’s not that big of a deal. Just…thank me if you like it, I guess?”
Still, he didn’t rise, until she couldn’t stand it and she dropped to her knees in front of him. Carefully, she reached out and tilted his face up, remembering how he’d done that to her, and how it started all those interesting feelings. She had the flutters again. Because what the hell, why he was so moved over a space hammock?
“You do not understand,” he said quietly. “But this is further proof that you intend to Choose me. That you prefer me over all others, against all colors and qualifications. You would not offer me such a lovely gift, only to proffer it to someone else later?”
“I definitely would not,” Beryl said.
“Then you see why I feel so unworthy. Nobody has ever—”
“Enough of that. I get that I’m the first, but you’re not unworthy. You’ve so kind and considerate, and I’d really like it if you could see how awesome you are.”
“I’m…awesome?”
“You are.”
“I will try to remember that.” He hesitated, neck ruff frilling a little, then he added, “The cord… It is something I invented that was deemed impracticable, a waste of resources. Yet you have devised two uses for it already.”
“Well, there you go.” Beryl smiled up at him, her heart aching at how damn sweet he was. “Clearly we’re meant to be.”
9
Zylar couldn’t believe how smoothly the competition had gone so far. In fact, it was going so well tha
t he was starting to worry that such a winning streak couldn’t last. Beryl and Kurr had dominated in the last three events, climbing steadily in the rankings. Even Snaps seemed to enjoy watching Beryl compete in the challenges.
Though the contest had been fierce and grueling, Beryl kept surprising him with her quick thinking and phenomenal reflexes. The officials seemed to agree, and she was even winning the hearts of other Chosen. For the last span, he had heard murmurs of admiration from those around him, and that was starting to worry him as well, for there were now only forty-four prospective nest-guardians and there were still fifty would-be Chosen, most of whom were posturing, trying to catch Beryl’s eye. Technically, it was too soon for that—they should be waiting for the second phase to commence—but this was the last event in the first round, so the officials wouldn’t intervene.
Though he trusted her—he did—it was still painful to see how desirable she had become. Even if she was loyal, she might soon realize that she had better options. Snaps stirred in his hold and licked the side of his face, startling him out of his grim thoughts.
“I have told you not to do that,” he scolded.
“Sorry!” The fur-person didn’t sound or look remotely remorseful, his taster lolling out one side of his mouth. “I want your attention.”
“You have it. What do you require?”
“Is she coming out soon? I’m bored!”
Before he could reply, the host spoke. “It has been a grueling first stage, but we’re approaching the end of round one. We’ve seen tests of agility, strength, problem-solving, and creativity so far. Today, we take the challenge to a new level! It has been cycles since Contenders faced the Destroyer…and it has been even longer since you saw a Free-for-All.”
Zylar froze as Snaps squirmed in his hold. “What’s that? Is it fun?”
He didn’t know how to explain the situation to the fur-person, but fear sank its talons in and he couldn’t shake it loose. The remaining competitors took the field as cages, platforms, and other devices were deployed from various hidden access points. Snaps tapped his forelimbs against Zylar’s chitin, impatient or demanding attention or both.
“Zylar? What—”
The other Chosen cast sidelong looks in his direction, seething with irritation because he’d already been granted what they considered special treatment since he was allowed to bring Snaps with him to the Choosing. Whispers of corruption and favoritism were already circulating, and he detected Ryzven’s involvement in that. His brother was such a flavork.
“Be quiet,” he whispered. “If you sit still, I’ll explain what’s happening.”
“I’m quiet,” said Snaps.
“Beryl will be given a replica of a nestling, and she will have to guard it against all harm. She may not inflict severe bodily injuries upon her competitors, but she also must not permit any damage to her nestling before the allotted time elapses.”
The fur-person was silent for a long time, then he finally said, “Fight and guard?”
“Yes, that’s essentially what is about to occur.”
He had a bad feeling, though there was no point in burdening Snaps with his dread. Since Beryl and Kurr ranked highest, the others would focus on them, likely teaming up against them. Ulian Greenspirits were not particularly aggressive, and Beryl had no natural weapons. He had no idea how they were going to pass this final trial, especially under these circumstances.
“Contenders, this is your final chance to impress officiants and secure your spots for the second round! Are you ready to begin?” The host directed the question at the audience, who rumbled in response. “And…go!”
Beryl immediately leapt into motion, racing toward one of the platforms with her nestling in one arm, Kurr close behind her. He surmised that they had discussed their strategy beforehand, likely while the host was providing commentary. Six of the other contestants chased the two of them, and his hearts pounded in trepidation. Beryl snapped her hook stick out, but instead of whirling to attack with it, as it was a weapon, she used it to vault into the air, landing neatly on the platform. Kurr planted themself in front of the lattice that the other contestants used to climb and then lifted their nestling out of reach with their fronds. To his surprise, Beryl snatched the nestling and cradled both of them against her body, and then the Greenspirit thickened. It was the only way to describe what happened. Kurr’s body grew wide and dense and the fronds wove together to form a barrier and thorns erupted from the silver foliage, sharp ones that would rend the flesh of any contestant who got too close.
The noise intensified from the spectators and Chosen alike, and the host said, “Unprecedented! We have never seen this level of trust and cooperation so early in the Choosing! It is a bold strategy, as any harm to Beryl Bowman’s charges will eliminate them both simultaneously.”
Yet from what Zylar could see, it wouldn’t be easy for anyone to reach her. Defending the platform in such a way already had the other contenders cursing in frustration, pacing around, until one of them launched a hook stick, trying to use it as a distance weapon. Beryl dropped to a crouch with her back to the attackers, covering the nestlings with her own body. He could smell the visceral reaction from that maneuver, shock and excitement releasing in spiced bursts from the other Chosen. Everyone desired a nest-guardian who would shield their offspring from harm even at the cost of their own lives, but for most, that was an unattainable dream.
It’s within my reach.
He’d never experienced anything like the rush of pride he felt as the other Chosen gazed at him with ill-concealed envy. Whispers reached him from the back: “Where did Zylar find such a treasure?”
“It doesn’t matter,” someone else said. “Beryl will never Choose him in the second stage. She will be enticed by someone else’s colors.”
He had heard such things before, cycle after cycle, and he always sat in bitter, seething silence, because they had always been speaking the truth. Today, they were not.
Zylar shifted and fixed a furious stare on the offenders. “Keep her name from your mouth. You do not know her. You have no right to speak of her with such intimacy. As for what happens in the second round, you’ll see how wrong you are and how singular she is.”
Even more Chosen were gaping at him, instead of watching the action, for he wasn’t known for aggressive speech. Yet he could not allow them to malign her—it was an insult as he factored such things—and to impugn her loyalty. She had touched his neck ruff and designed a nest for them to share. Zylar trusted that she had not done either of those things lightly or casually.
“You tell them,” said Snaps. “Beryl is our human.”
On the field, a few of them were still throwing weapons at Beryl, but the platform was big enough that she could dodge and squat, keeping the nestlings safe. Below, Kurr was an impassable blockade, and the contestants soon appeared to realize that. At which point, they turned on each other with vicious quickness, fighting with a desperation that turned his stomach. When the first replica “died,” the crowd clicked and hissed in disapproval.
On some level, it bothered him that these aspirants were willing to inflict bodily harm on someone else’s nestling in order to move forward. It spoke to a level of ruthlessness and self-interest that made him uncomfortable. To think we’re entrusting the future of our people to such souls… Zylar much preferred the solution Beryl and Kurr had devised. Their efforts did no harm and kept their young ones safe at the same time.
The fighting on the ground intensified, and the whole zone reeked of aggression and blood, the last thing he would want for his actual nestlings. But that was the point of the Choosing, he supposed—to find nest-guardians who could keep their offspring alive, no matter the circumstances. To some, this contest might seem extreme, but for those familiar with Barathi history, it must be more comprehensible, as their people had brushed perilously close to extinction.
“Look, they’re coming in from the top, on the back side!”
The shout dir
ected Zylar’s attention back to Beryl and Kurr. Somehow, a contender with incredible climbing ability had scaled the wall and was coming for their nestlings via what Beryl and Kurr must have deemed an impassable approach. The competitor—a Xolani doomsayer—had a weapon clenched in their fangs, along with incredibly sharp talons. Beryl was watching the carnage on the ground with a dazed expression, oblivious to the approaching danger.
He called a warning, but Beryl probably wouldn’t hear him above the cries of the fighting competitors and the din of the crowd. Turn around, he willed her silently. If she didn’t move soon, it would be too late. For both of them.
Beryl couldn’t have said why she turned at precisely that moment, instinct prickling her raw nerves. A terrifying alien was trying to haul onto the platform, head and shoulders already on board. It slashed at her legs with fearsome claws and the pain nearly dropped her to her knees. Adrenaline kicked in—fight or flight—and with both nestlings screeching in her ears, she reacted, kicking the climber in the skull with all her might.
As the combatant fell, she shouted, “This is Sparta!” Because obviously.
The audience couldn’t have any idea what that meant, but they still reacted with appreciation as Kurr snatched at the enemy, fronds tightening around both nestling and opponent until Beryl thought she heard snapping bones, then Kurr flung the alien into a cluster of contenders, and whirled with utmost ferocity, scenting a weakened foe.
Beryl panted, checking the condition of her two nestlings, and tried to ignore the slashes on her calves. Not easy with blood trickling down her legs. She wished there was a timer showing numbers somewhere; that way she’d have some idea how much longer she’d have to do this. That near miss taught her about vigilance, though, and she spun in a slow, limping circle, making sure nobody else was trying to knock her off her perch.
This was like a seriously fucked-up game of King of the Mountain, one where she was also babysitting a pair of infant twins. Thankfully the nestlings didn’t move too much, but they did struggle against her hold sometimes. They were about the size of nine month old humans, but they were covered in chitin, and they looked a lot like adult Barathi, only their neck ruffs and spinal spikes weren’t fully developed. Her arms and shoulders were burning from the effort of keeping them close and protected. Soon, this has to be over soon.