Alien Hope, page 6
She laughed again, a soft chuckle that made sweet warmth bloom beneath my scales.
“That’s fair. I have been pretty cryptic about everything. But I can definitely tell you a little more about myself if you want.”
Please, I thought to myself. Curse the waves, I thought you’d never ask.
I didn’t say that out loud. Even someone such as myself, who was not granted much in the way of social graces, knew that I’d sound entirely too obsessive with such a reply. I did not want Abby to run from me as she had run from the settlement. So instead, I settled on a mangled reply of, “That is agreeable.”
Well, that’s what I meant to say, anyway. But I garbled the words, combining two different phrases, so that I actually said, “You are agreeable.”
“Well, thank you! I’d also like to think I’m agreeable. What a great place to start when talking about myself, ha!” Abby said. I could hear the smile in her voice from my back as I padded over the sand with her. Curse me, she was a generous sort. She didn’t remark upon my obvious twisting of tongues. She just continued on in the conversation as if I were not the mud-brained fool I felt I was.
“Well, let’s see. You already know my name, Abby. That’s short for Abigail Levine Matthews. I’m thirty-two years old. Oh wait, you guys don’t count in years, right?”
“Do you mean ages? One age is one hundred days,” I answered.
“Right. Then I am...” She paused. “I’m about 117 ages old.”
“We are closer in age than I thought,” I rumbled, pleased by that for some reason. “I was born 142 ages ago.”
“So that would make you... What? 38? 39 years old?”
“I do not know. I do not understand the relationship between ages and years.”
“A year is 365 days.”
I frowned into the dark air.
“Hmm. And you can switch back and forth between them that quickly?” I would be able to do such a thing, too, but only with sufficient time to think about the numbers.
“It’s no big deal. I’ve always been good at math.”
I wanted to ask what math was, but didn’t want to appear even more ignorant than I already was. Luckily, she just kept on talking. And I just kept on carrying her.
“Where was I? So, I’m 32... 117 ages. I’m a pharmacological chemist, an optimist, and I am also tragically single.”
More things I did not understand. The more she tells me about herself, the less she makes sense to me.
“I like key lime pie and sunrises and coffee,” she continued. “I love the idea of the beach but hate actually going there. Too much sand. So, you can imagine how I’ve felt here so far!”
“I have not been all the way into the mountains, but from what I’ve seen, there is not much sand in the Deep Sky,” I said. I was glad to have something meaningful to contribute to the conversation and hoped it was helpful.
“Well, that’s just dandy. Glad to hear it. Alright, enough about me.”
Already? It did not feel like enough to me.
“What about you, Kohka?”
“What about me?” I grunted.
“Tell me about yourself! I know you’re a Bitter Sea Warrior. I know how old you are now. But what else? What do you like?”
You.
Blast.
“I like... Quiet.”
“Is that it?”
“I like swimming. And eating.”
Her laugh was the tinkle of water breaking over rock.
I like making you laugh.
“You must be excited about going back to the Deep Sky. I’ve heard there’s a lot more water around.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “The hot water in the Cliffs of Uruzai is not quite the same. Does your kind swim?”
“Oh, yes! I may not like the beach, but I really like swimming.”
I felt my brow furrow as I tried to picture it. Without large, wide feet and a powerful tail, the idea of someone like Abby swimming could not quite take shape inside my mind.
“You got quiet,” Abby observed.
I snorted.
“It’s something I hope you can get used to. It tends to be my natural state.”
“Well, I hope you can get used to the fact that I am decidedly unquiet,” she said. Her tone felt teasing, but in a good way.
“Do not worry on that account. I like to hear what you’re thinking.”
“Ditto,” she replied. “So?”
“So?”
“So, what got you all quiet? What were you thinking about?”
“Ah. I was trying to imagine you swimming. I cannot picture it.”
She made an affronted, gasping sound. I wasn’t exactly sure what she was doing, but it felt like she was poking at the scales of my shoulder with a tiny, accusing finger. The finger jabbed me in time with each word.
“Are you saying you don’t believe I can swim?!”
“No. Simply saying I cannot imagine it.”
“Well, I’ll prove it to you the first chance I get!”
“There’s no need. I believe you. I’d probably believe you capable of anything you told me you could do.”
She chuckled. “Missed opportunity. I should have really talked myself up more before! Made myself sound even better than I really am.”
“Now, that is something I do not believe that you could do.”
“How so?”
I paused, rolling words around in my head as the dark sand cooled my claws. I could not decide on a better way to phrase it, so I went with my first, honest instinct.
“You astonish just as you are.”
There was a stretch of silence so long I was sure I’d said something wrong. I stopped walking, tension collecting along my spine.
I took a great breath, about to apologize for whatever I’d said, when Abby’s words interrupted me.
“Jeez, Kohka, you really know how to charm a lady. What, have you guys got poetry baked into your dee enn ay or something?”
“I do not have a dee enn ay,” I muttered, unsure how to respond to anything else she’d said. I crouched low to the sand, and this time, Abby slid off my back. She did it carefully, so there was no need to grab her to steady her. Something I had to remind my own hands of as they reached for her anyway.
“You most definitely do have dee enn ay,” she said, turning to face me. “It’s in the fluid you gave me.”
“Is it... Is it supposed to be there?” I asked uneasily. For some reason I would not be surprised to find out there was something wrong with my mating fluid. Perhaps that is why the Kell has not yet called me...
“Oh, yes, it’s supposed to be there! Dee enn ay is like... The instructions for your cells. It tells your body how to grow, what shape to become, what colour. You inherit it from your parents.”
I stood, letting grains of sand fall away from the claws of my hands.
“So, you saw mine... In the mating fluid. Was it... Did it seem adequate?”
Abby’s little eyebrows rose. She regarded me for a moment, then grinned.
“I didn’t analyze the dee enn ay in your mating fluid, no. But I wouldn’t need to do that to see that it’s pretty incredible! I mean, just look at you!”
I frowned, looking down the front of my body, trying to understand what in the deep waves she meant by that comment. Scales, claws, chest, tail, legs. I supposed everything was accounted for, all the parts in basically the right places and in decent working order.
“Don’t forget what I said before, Kohka,” Abby said, distracting me from my own self-observation. “You’re a marvel.”
“I am decidedly average. You have just not been among us long enough to know that,” I informed her.
Her head dropped back, laughter flying from her throat. I could not help but stare at the slim, pale column. Her chin lowered, her gaze meeting mine once more.
“You’re not average, Kohka. At least, not to me.”
I was not sure what else to say to that. I was more than aware that I was not the biggest nor the strongest Bitter Sea Warrior. I was not the boldest nor the most beautiful. Those things had never bothered me much before. I was diligent. And dutiful. And did what needed to be done with little fanfare.
But Abby apparently saw other things in me. Things that made me, in her pretty human eyes, special.
I liked the feeling more than I wanted to admit.
Even though he was long dead, I could still hear my father’s voice in the back of my skull, telling me not to think so much of myself.
You are not special, Kohka. He’d told me that many times in childhood. We are here to serve the Hakah, not ourselves.
But you are special, I’d replied, when I was too young to know better. You are the right claw to Hakah Gog!
I never forgot the narrowed look of disappointment in his eyes.
I am the right claw precisely because I know that I am not special, either. Duty is more important than any one man’s desires or worth.
I remembered being confused by that. My father was honest, often bluntly so. But that was the first time he’d ever said something that didn’t feel quite true. He was special. He’d been an extraordinary warrior in his time. But perhaps even more impressive than that, at least to me, was the way that he always knew exactly what to do. He never doubted, never wavered. Never stammered, never stumbled.
“Well, what do you think? We’re setting up camp here, right?”
Abby’s voice vibrated in the air around me. Pulled me from the seas of my past.
Memories rolled down my scales like drops of water, then scattered.
“Yes,” I replied, entirely focused now on my odd, unexpectedly lovely present. “Here.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Abby
The place we’d stopped was pretty good as far as camping out on the open sands. There was a low outcropping of black boulders and babkit trees that gave at least the semblance of shelter as Kohka unstrapped my packs from his sides. As I went to remove the stuff I needed to set up my tent, a sharp kick to my bladder reminded me I desperately needed to pee.
“One second!” I said, taking a deep breath before slowly straightening up from one of my packs on the sand. I’d been on Kohka’s back for a pretty long stretch in my need to get away from the settlement as quickly as possible. There was a very good chance that if I made a sudden movement now, I’d piss myself. “I just need to... Um... Relieve myself.”
I felt more than a little awkward saying that to Kohka for some reason. Which was stupid, because we were going to be travelling together for a while. I hoped I wouldn’t need to explain any further. But thankfully, he just grunted in understanding.
“I spent a lot of time with Camille, Priya, and the Gahnala Jocelyn,” he replied. “I am aware of your frequent bodily needs.”
I squeezed my thighs together and tried not to laugh.
Oh, boy. None of them were nine-months-pregnant, my friend. You don’t even know the meaning of ‘frequent’ yet.
I hurried around one of the larger boulders, pulled down my pants, then crouched, keeping one hand against the stone for balance. Even though it was night, the boulder’s surface held some residual heat from the hot alien sun of the daytime. It felt nice against the skin of my palm, contrasting with the chill of the evening. I grimaced at the thought of sleeping in a tent alone tonight. It wasn’t going to be nearly as cozy as the big human tent with its air warmed by the other sleeping women.
I placed my hand on my belly in response to a twinge of movement there.
You’re right, Peanut. I won’t be alone.
I rubbed my hand back and forth, biting back a gasp of delight when a hand or foot or... Something... bulged outwards to meet my touch.
Absolutely none of this was ideal. This was already an unplanned pregnancy that I was navigating without a partner. It would have been hard enough on Earth. Now, I was about to give birth on a hostile alien planet, and as of this moment, I didn’t have a better plan other than to somehow do it all alone. Frankly, any way you looked at it, the situation was a hot fucking mess. But every time I felt Peanut move, I was gripped by gratitude so overwhelming it made my chest ache.
The other human women who’d been brought here had nothing left of their old lives. Nothing from our old world to hold onto.
I had something.
Someone.
Someone I already loved more than I loved myself. Someone I couldn’t wait to meet and I’d do anything to protect.
After giving my belly one last pat, I stood, dressed, then walked back around the boulder.
In the short time I’d been gone, Kohka had already managed to kill a desert rakdo, a long, lynx-like creature with floppy, bunny-like ears. Kohka was crouched on the sand, deftly stripping the rakdo of its shining copper-coloured fur and butchering the meat.
“Wow,” I said, nodding appreciatively, “that was fast.”
Kohka looked up from his work. Christ, his eyes were something else. So reflective and silver that at first glance they almost seemed flat. But once you got a closer look, you could see the depths below the shining surface. Like the moon glinting on the water of a well, concealing just how far down it went.
“I’ve never been a hunter to prolong a creature’s pain if I can help it.”
I sat across from him on the sand.
“I respect that,” I said, meaning it. “But still! I was only gone a couple minutes! Pretty impressive that you’ve already caught us dinner!”
“My aim with a spear is serviceable enough,” he grunted. “And the rakdo crossed by quite close to camp.” If Kohka had been human, I was sure he would have shrugged nonchalantly.
“Serviceable? Pfft. Are you kidding? That’s one clean kill,” I said. The spear had gone through the rakdo’s neck, leaving the rest of its body intact for carving and cooking. I wasn’t a hunting expert by any means, but “serviceable” didn’t seem anywhere close to describing Kohka’s skills.
Kohka didn’t respond to my comments, continuing the quick, sure motions of his claws. It was an odd sight – such a huge, toothy alien calmly slicing up meat the way a human would instead of tearing it apart with his fangs.
He’s doing this for your benefit, I realized. I’d seen other Bitter Sea warriors eat from time to time around the settlement. They didn’t carve or even cook their meat.
“Thank you, Kohka,” I said softly.
“No need for thanks,” he said, brushing off my words. “As soon as I am finished with this, I will start the fire. I assume that, like the other new women, you prefer your meat burnt.”
“Hey! Definitely not burnt! How about roasted to perfection?” I said, laughing.
Kohka paused, his heavy scaly brows lowering.
“I... I do not know how to do that. I’ve never roasted meat in my life, let alone to whatever standard you would consider perfection.” He leaned back on his haunches, staring intently at the meat as if it had become some kind of puzzle to be solved. Then his gaze snapped to mine. “But if you teach me, I will learn.”
God, this guy is a sweetheart.
“You don’t need to worry about it. I’ll be in charge of the fire and the cooking,” I said, standing. “My mama didn’t raise me to sit on my backside and let others do everything for me.”
I went to one of my packs, opening it, and removing a small hatchet I’d brought. As Kohka finished up with the rakdo, I set myself to hacking off some of the flat, paddle-like branches of the babkit trees between the boulders. I was used to stuff like this. It was true what I’d told Kohka about my mom. My dad died right before I was born, and my mom raised me all on her own. She’d made a pointed effort to teach me all kinds of useful skills – how to change a flat tire, how to cook, how to read a map and use a compass, how to catch fish, how to chop wood, how to build a fire. “You never know what life’s gonna throw at you, Chickadee,” she would tell me on one camping excursion or another. “Best make sure you’re ready for it. Because whatever it is, there’s a good chance you’ll eventually be facing it alone.” Her eyes would often have unshed tears in them, but her voice was always steady when she said, “So you gotta know your fucking shit. Knowing shit means surviving. Don’t rely on anyone else to know it for you.”
I had a feeling that when the strongest woman I’d ever known talked about life throwing stuff at me, she didn’t mean getting abducted and taken to a brutal alien planet. But still. The lesson had stuck.
So, even exhausted and sore and panting due to a severely reduced lung capacity courtesy of the human who’d taken up residence in my abdomen, I got my shit done. Muscle memory propelled me, my hatchet swung and struck, and before long I had a nice pile of wood ready for our fire. Luckily, I didn’t have to pull any old-school fire-starting stuff by rubbing sticks together. I had matches and a lighter in my pack, along with a notebook. A couple crumpled pages from the notebook, one strike of a match, and the fire was happily crackling.
That job done, I plopped down heavily, wincing at the stiffness of my back and hips. God, I miss my comfy lab chair.
“What’s wrong?”
I jumped. In all my focus on getting the wood and the fire, I’d nearly forgotten Kohka was there. For someone so huge, he was enormously accomplished at being completely still and silent.
“Nothing’s wrong. Why?” I asked.
“You made a face.”
I chuckled, picking up my hatchet once more to hack a spare plank of babkit wood into skewers for the meat.
“I make faces all the time,” I said, aiming a few solid blows at the babkit branch. “I’ve been told I’m very expressive.”
“That is consistent with what I have observed,” Kohka rumbled. “But usually, the expressions are happier ones. Or ones of surprise, like when I say something you do not expect me to say.”
I could feel one such look of surprise unfurl on my face at his words.
“You’ve been keeping an awfully close eye on my facial expressions,” I teased.
But all traces of joking got choked down in my throat when Kohka simply answered, “I have.”
“Why?” I asked. I loaded some of the meat onto my new skewer. It was a bit of a hack job, so I made sure not to give myself a splinter as I held it over the glowing flames. Kohka stared at me from the other side of the fire. The orange-tinted light glanced off his scales, turning him into burnished bronze and copper. I flushed under the force of his relentless, unblinking gaze. It wasn’t an unpleasant sensation, though. For some reason, I kind of liked the idea that he’d been looking at me. That he’d been paying close enough attention to know what kind of faces I made, and when, and how often.
