Afterburn

by S. L. Viehl

  Using her wings was rude—one should never fly when others could not—but they allowed her to move over the clearing without disturbing the soil or what lay beneath it. Vibrations from the subterranean excavation and construction washed over her, and carried the same strong scent she had picked up before. She studied the few insects on the surface, mostly sentries posted at the mounds to protect against invaders, and spotted a quartet dragging a large chunk of dead wood out from where it was buried under fallen leaves. Two others emerged from the hive and trundled over to meet them.

  Workers.

  T’Kaf moved to hover as quietly as she could over the barax, and lowered a nictitating membrane over her fourth eye to pick up the colors of the conversation being transmitted between the workers. The chemicals that had filled her nostrils since entering the area were coming from them.

  She had once tried to explain a chemical conversation to Teresa Selmar, who, like other endos, depended almost exclusively on sound to transmit information. “You already know nonverbal species that use body language or specific behavior to communicate. Chemical conversations are conducted in much the same way, although specific shared concepts are expressed through taste or odor, often in combination with some body movement.”

  “But what is the language of a chemical conversation?” Teresa asked.

  “Not words as you understand them; exo brains don’t function in that manner. It is more like a shared series of images. Let me demonstrate.” T’Kaf released a bit of plant sap she had gathered and stored in one of her leg parts. “Breathe in and tell me the first thing that comes into your mind.”

  Teresa closed her eyes and tested the air. Her lips curved. “Mmmmm. Pancakes with maple syrup.”

  “Rellim tree sap does strongly resemble that of Terran maple, although I would not recommend pouring it on your cakes from the pan. It is highly toxic to your kind. This is how I say where I found it.” T’Kaf made the appropriate accompanying motions with her arms, legs, and head.

  Teresa admired her body-speech. “It’s as if you’re dancing.”

  T’Kaf was not dancing now. From the conversation she was tasting, the barax were feeling particularly irate about the two males at the edge of the clearing. They had noticed her as well, but dismissed her as a nonthreat because she was on wing. She listened for another few exchanges before flying back to where Paal and Moleon waited for her.

  “You cannot move into the clearing,” she told the males. “These creatures know you are here, and they have memories of the last time they encountered you. They will not permit you to damage the hive again.”

  “That was an accident,” Paal said at once, “and barax do not attack people.”

  She looked back at the workers, who had abandoned the wood chunk and were hurrying toward a mound entry. “They do now.”

  “How will they defend the hive?” the Skartesh asked.

  “With their numbers.” She made a sweeping gesture toward the center of the clearing. “There are millions of drones under the surface, and the sentries are prepared to signal them if you walk out over the hive. They will not spare your lives this time.”

  Paal became agitated. “How do you know how many there are? And their intentions?”

  “They have a very sophisticated vocabulary, almost as complex as the one my species uses.” T’Kaf took out a live specimen container from her pack. “I will capture one of the barax for further study, but you must leave the area first.”

  “Why?” Paal demanded.

  “The barax cannot attack me while I am in the air. They now see the three of us together, so they will come for you.”

  “If we leave, will they attack the colony instead?” Moleon asked.

  She shook her head. “It is too far from the hive for now. People will not be in danger for several weeks.”

  “What are you talking about?” Paal demanded. “The barax do not pose a threat to us.”

  “They will when they finish building their hive,” T’Kaf told him. “Their excavators are continuing to dig east, and will not stop.”

  Paal looked back toward the embassy and, beyond it, the structures built on the outskirts of the settlement. Comprehension rendered him speechless.

  Moleon looked into the forest, then at the clearing, and back at the way they had come. “They are tunneling directly toward the colony.”

  Emily could barely contain her excitement as she rushed from work to meet Hkyrim at the Trading Center. Ana Hansen hadn’t been angry about the official approval Emily had given Hkyrim to search the mercenary ships for poison; rather she had commended her on her quick thinking.

  “Now that we’re moving the summit down to the surface, I should be able to make it into the office more often,” the administrator told her. “But in case I don’t, keep doing what you’re doing.”

  Earning her supervisor’s trust made Emily feel like singing. Ana had always been kind and considerate, of course, but a wall of reserve had been kept firmly in place. Emily felt as if she had knocked down the wall for good.

  She couldn’t wait to tell Hkyrim about how his investigation had helped Ana and the other people running the summit better safeguard the delegates, as well as leading to the discovery of a survivor in one of the derelicts. He needed to know how valuable his work was.

  What slowed Emily to a full stop was the sight of Hkyrim sitting and talking with a group of other Omorr.

  So he’s made some new friends.

  The fact that Emily hadn’t done the same didn’t bother her so much—she had been insanely busy at the office—and she knew he missed being around his own kind. With the exception of Ana, she wouldn’t care if she ever saw another Terran again for as long as she lived.

  Oh, no, you’re not jealous.

  Emily turned to move in a different direction and promptly bumped into a very solid chest covered by greenish-gray scales and an intricately scrolled white tattoo. She looked up and saw fangs the size of daggers flash.

  “Watch where you walk, Terran,” the snake-headed being said.

  “Sorry. I mean, I will, and I’m sorry.” She went around it and walked blindly until she saw a sign posted in stanTerran. She went to the serving counter of the outdoor café, behind which stood a statuesque Terran female with long, curly golden hair and lovely, dramatic features.

  Emily wondered if every other Terran woman on colony was beautiful and blond. If they were, she was going to get a complex.

  “Well?” The proprietress had a gorgeous French accent to go with her commanding presence. Naturally. “Do you wish to order, block my counter, or ask for a job?”

  Emily wasn’t sure what she wanted, but she was going to need a tissue in a minute.

  “I usually don’t hire other Terrans,” the Frenchwoman said. “Too much trouble with the customers; they think they will spit in their food.”

  Was she being funny, or serious? “I have a job already.”

  “No crying, then.” The tall woman pointed to a nearby empty table. “Go and sit down.”

  Emily went and sat down. A moment later the café owner brought two long-stemmed servers of wine and a plate of bread and cheese to the table. “I’m sorry, but I don’t drink.”

  “You do not drink this. You bask in it.” She handed Emily one of the servers. “I am Lisette Dubois. You are Ana Hansen’s new assistant, oui?”

  Emily nodded. “I’m Emily Kim.” She gingerly sampled the wine. It was cold and soft and tasted like flowers smelled. “This is wonderful.”

  “Naturalement. It is from my cousin’s vineyard. He cannot keep his wife happy, but he is the genius with grapes.” Lisette studied her. “What are you doing here?”

  Emily told her about her safe, quiet life back on Terra, and how much she had hated it, and her decision to strike out and find a new place in the universe for herself.

  Lisette listened and when Emily was finished, asked, “Good. Now why are you wandering the Trading Center and walking into Tingaleans?”

>   It took a moment for Emily to connect Tingalean with the snake-headed being she had bumped into. “I was going to meet a friend, but he was busy, and I guess I got distracted.”

  “He is the Omorr I see you with sometimes?” Lisette smiled at Emily’s wide-eyed reaction. “You are Terran. He is not. You stand out like the banged thumbs. I am surprised no one has started a petition against it.”

  Emily took another sip of the wine, but she couldn’t taste it anymore. “I thought I left all the prejudice back on Terra.”

  “Non, it follows you, like the le petite yapping dog.” The Frenchwoman made a dismissive gesture. “You have two choices.”

  “I do?”

  Lisette nodded. “You can run away and cry and mope over him alone in your room. You will write much bad poetry, get the hiccups, and sleep on damp pillows.”

  Emily could see herself doing that. “What’s the other choice?”

  “Go to him, as you planned. Meet his friends. If they are rude to you, say nothing, but smile as if you know a secret.” Lisette leaned over. “Omorr have to know everything, so this makes them crazy.”

  She toyed with the thin stem of her server. “Pretend it doesn’t matter, in other words.”

  “Oh, it matters.” Lisette waggled a finger at her. “You do not show them this matters. You show him, later.”

  Emily drained her wineglass and stood up. “I’m going to him.” She paused and reached for her credit holder.

  “Non, non.” Lisette waved her off. “You only pay if you are running home to weep.”

  Emily grinned. “Then next time, I buy the wine and you tell me how you ended up here.”

  “Of course. Only there is much crying and damp pillows in my tale, I will warn you now.” The Frenchwoman lifted her glass in a toast. “Salut.”

  It was easier to say she was going to walk over and see Hkyrim than to actually do it, Emily decided as she drew near the group of Omorr. In fact, leaving the homeworld hadn’t been quite this hard. “Hello, Hkyrim.”

  “Emily.” Hkyrim seemed surprised to see her. “Come, join us.”

  The other Omorr didn’t look as happy to see her, but two of them moved over as Hkyrim found an empty chair and pulled it up to the table.

  “I did not know you were contracted, Hkyr,” the thinnest of the Omorr said, rather snidely.

  “Her name is Emily,” Hkyrim told him.

  The thin one waved some gildrells in a negligent fashion. “Pardon my error, if that is what it was.”

  Some of the other Omorr made a snickering sound.

  Emily tried not to notice that, along with all the things that were hopping, crawling, and chirping in the bowls on the table, and instead focused on Hkyrim. “I spoke with Administrator Hansen today, and she was very pleased with the results of your investigation. I’m pretty sure she’s going to speak with Dr. Mayer about it.”

  “It doesn’t matter if she does.” Hkyrim looked pleased, though. “I was glad to be of assistance.”

  “I know you were a big help.” Emily smiled at him.

  “Hkyr lives to be of assistance,” an older-looking Omorr said. “You should consider that in any future negotiations.”

  The other Omorr seemed to find that very funny, too. Emily was starting to feel like the only one not in on the joke.

  “Let me introduce my friends.” With icy polite-ness, Hkyrim identified the others sitting around the table, all of whom worked either at the FreeClinic or in Environmental Services.

  The names were confusing, so Emily didn’t try to remember them all, but nodded to each one in turn. “I’m pleased to meet you.”

  “Would you care to share my meal?” one of the Omorr sitting beside her asked, and offered a bowl filled with something green and long and slithering.

  “Careful, Tpyg,” another said. “You don’t know where her mouth has been.” He gave Hkyrim a direct look. “Do you, Hkyr?”

  More snickers, quickly smothered.

  Emily had eaten with Hkyrim often enough not to show any repugnance over the food, but she was having a hard time doing the same for his friends. They didn’t like her, she got that much. If she fell into a ten-thousand-foot hole, they’d probably stand around the edge, criticizing the way she fell and waiting to hear the thump when she hit bottom.

  You do not show them this matters, Lisette had said.

  “Thank you for offering,” she told the one with the bowl, “but Omorr food doesn’t appeal to me.”

  The one named Tpyg nudged Hkyrim with one arm. “Good thing she doesn’t feel that way toward all things Omorr, eh?”

  Hkyrim nudged back, and not very gently. “Quiet, Tpygon.”

  “Terrans do not eat their food alive, I understand,” another Omorr, the only one who had not been laughing at her, said. “How do you absorb the nutrients properly if you process and burn everything?”

  “I can’t really say,” Emily admitted. “Nutrition isn’t my field. I’m an administrative assistant.”

  “Not much value there,” a third mentioned, as if she were some sort of commodity.

  “Emily and I are friends,” Hkyrim said, his voice taking on a hard edge. His gildrells were so stiff they barely moved. “If you’ll excuse us, there are matters we must discuss privately now.”

  The other Omorr exchanged some knowing glances before they all rose and collectively bid Hkyrim farewell. No one said anything to Emily, who sat with what she hoped was a mysterious smile pasted on her face.

  “I apologize,” Hkyrim said as soon as they were alone. “I never realized how rude my kind can be until now.”

  “It’s my fault.” She felt miserable again. “I shouldn’t have interrupted you.”

  “If they cannot accept our friendship, then I do not require theirs.”

  Emily could tell that he meant it, and knowing that made all the difference. “What was all the business about contracts and negotiations?”

  Hkyrim sighed. “It is your name. At first they thought I called you ‘Adorelee.’ ”

  “That’s pretty.”

  “It is the word for a female to whom one wishes to contract marriage. The male word is ‘Adoren.’ ”

  “Oh.” Could that ten-thousand-foot hole appear under her chair? Sometime within the next three seconds?

  “Your name, Emily, is not so similar in sound, but I think they were making assumptions out of turn. Our friendship . . . disconcerts them.”

  Right. They hate me. “If you remove the first vowel sound of your name, Hkyrim, it would be identical to my surname.” She tried to sound droll and witty, so that when he told her he didn’t want to see her anymore he wouldn’t think she was crushed. “That doesn’t require you to marry me, by the way, and no one would mistake us for relatives.”

  “No, I suppose they would not.” His gildrells relaxed a little more. “Names are overly important to my species. They are used to convey more than the individual’s identity. They reflect status, social place, and importance. One could say they sometimes reflect the hope of another, as Adoren and Adorelee do.”

  “You could call me Terran when we’re around your Omorr friends, if that would make things simpler.” She liked the unique intonations that he gave her name whenever he said it, though, and it was something of a wrench to make the offer.

  “I do not wish to call you what you are not, Emily Kim.”

  “I don’t understand.” She looked down at herself. “You don’t get more Terran than this.”

  “You may be biologically Terran, but there is more to you than your species. You may lead an evolution.”

  He seemed serious. “We Terrans aren’t evolving very much these days,” she said sadly. “The war has made things so much worse on my planet. Everyone is fighting about whether we should stay in the League or break away from them. If anything, my people are becoming more bigoted than they ever were.”

  “You must stand and challenge that which your people—and mine—accept as standard view. Claim more for yourself
than the strangled, frightened existence of those narrow minds. I wish you had been born Omorr.” He looked in the direction his friends had walked. “Or more Omorr were like you.”

  “If I had been born to your species, we might never have met,” she told him. “I don’t think I would have wanted to leave your homeworld.” Or you, she added mentally.

  “If I had met you on Omorr, I doubt I would ever have left.” He stood and offered her one of his spade-shaped hands. “Would you care to walk with me before I report back to the hospital for my shift?”

  Their friendship was odd, and they did stand out, as Lisette said, like banged thumbs. Suddenly Emily didn’t care what anyone thought of them.

  What we think is important. “I’d be delighted.”

  The membranes that functioned as his fingers were soft and sensitive, and wrapped with gentle strength around her hand as soon as she touched his.

  “Just one more question,” she said as they left the Trading Center. “Were those green things worms?”

  This is a beautiful world, Graleba said as she swam with Liana over the elongated, colorful reefs bordering the ’Zangian coastal pod’s territory. Although I must say it takes some getting used to the water. Even after three days I find it tastes strange. What do you think, my lady?

  Liana thought she might bite her attendant if she didn’t get away from her soon. It is time for you to feed. I will go and find my night guard.

  I am not supposed to leave you alone, my lady, Graleba said.

  Liana faced the older female. It is not as if I will cast myself into the depths and sacrifice myself to one of their monsters.

  As you say. Graleba suddenly came forward and glided her cheek against Liana’s. Do not be so sad, child. We will return home soon.

  Liana returned the maternal caress. Thank you, Attendant.

  She watched Graleba wander cautiously into the ’Zangian feeding grounds, and then shot into a nearby powerful current that helped speed her away from the summit and the ever-inquisitive members of the ’Zangian coastal pod.

  They had all been briefed about where to go, and what to avoid. The dark column of water at the very fringe of the pod’s territory was too cold to be mistaken for anything but what it was: the outer currents, where civilization ended and the monsters roamed freely.