After one fleeting rest day that gave Zylar a taste of what life would be like with Beryl once they passed the Choosing, the final phase began.
The silence from Ryzven was unnerving.
Through private gossip, he knew Ryzven had been formally reprimanded which was why he hadn’t attended the last two contests in the prior round. The flavork had to be seething. Yet Zylar heard nothing.
Odd and unsettling.
He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing hearts.
Never before had he come this far, waiting to be confirmed by his intended. The Chosen stood in a straight line, sharply at attention while the intended nest-guardians faced them from across the arena. In the center, the host played to the audience.
“Are you ready? Now we will find out whether old alliances hold fast, or if new matches have been made in secret. We’ll start with our top-ranking intended. Beryl Bowman of Aerth, who is your Chosen?”
Zylar tensed. All their promises hung on this moment. If she opted to betray him and select another, one of the unmatched Chosen, only drone life awaited.
She won’t fail me. She will not.
Beryl stepped out of formation and called out, “Zylar of Kith B’alak.”
It took a few seconds for the translators to confirm her primitive preposition, then the host flourished a limb in his direction. “Congratulations, Zylar! You embody the axiom that persistence ultimately prevails! Fifth time lucky, join your intended!”
He thought that was an unnecessary insult, but he kept his gaze high and strode toward the circle to meet Beryl. She reached for his claw with her soft grabber, and the spectators reacted in audible fashion when he completed the hold.
Zylar’s hearts eased, the faint fear softening to incredulous pleasure. Finally, he had been Chosen.
She kept her promise. He wanted to show even greater affection than the clasp of their extremities, but respect for propriety kept him still. When Beryl showed her teeth, he churred.
She is so very precious.
Beryl had told him of Kurr’s reckless plan, but he didn’t see how it could come to fruition. Though he sympathized, Ryzven wasn’t someone who could be easily destroyed, or jealous rivals would have come for him long ago. He certainly hadn’t retained his power through kindness and generosity.
The host called Kurr next. “Though you have suffered a grievous loss, you may Choose another. Will you quit the contest or will you—”
“I Choose Catyr of Kith Ka’mat.”
“Fascinating! Our Greenspirit elects to be pragmatic and thus will stay the course. And you, Catyr?”
A bright blue-patterned Barathi came forward, radiating pleasure and relief. His intended had died to the Destroyer early on, so Kurr’s favor must feel like a miracle.
“I accept. We will move forward together.”
The pair joined Beryl and Zylar in the center. Thus, the event continued as intended, and the Chosen confirmed their bonds. At the end, there were several Chosen left without potential partners, and they trudged from the arena with a despondent aura that Zylar remembered all too well.
This is how it feels to stand on the other side.
“Our first contest is a game of chance,” the host went on. “Luck is a part of life. It allows some to rise, while others remain firmly in the dust. Let’s test our teams now! Who are fortune’s favorites?” He went on to explain the rules.
Zylar bent to catch Beryl’s soft question. “We just…pick a number?”
“Essentially, yes. Prizes are random, each coded to a different digit. The highest-value reward provides congruent ranking.” He paused. “You should choose for us, Terrible One. My luck was dreadful until I abducted you, and that was a mix-up, not something I achieved on purpose. Any luck I have comes from you.”
“That is…”
The signal sounded. “Begin!”
“…so sweet!” The pause came as she tossed the words over her shoulder, already sprinting toward her target.
Another intended tried to intercept, attempting to siphon Beryl’s luck, but she put on a burst of speed, deceptively fast for her small size, and she snatched up the code just before her rival. Zylar churred as Beryl did one of her strange battle dances. Much of it involved shaking her back end and waving her limbs around.
“You can’t beat me! I’m ______” The translator didn’t know what Beryl was saying, but Zylar could fill it in.
She bounded back to him. “Now what?”
“We take this to the officials over there and find out what we’ve won. Once all the couples have selected a prize, the results will be tallied.”
“That’s pretty quick. Will we do another contest today?”
“It’s likely. They sometimes combine shorter events. Otherwise the Choosing would take entirely too long.”
“Makes sense. Let’s go find out how we did.”
Zylar led the way, adroitly stepping around those who would inhibit them. A few even tried to snatch the code from Beryl’s grabbers, but he hissed, shielding her with his whole body. Before, he had been less aggressive, less sure of his ability to attract and keep such a magnificent nest-guardian, but she was slowly boosting his self-confidence, filling him with surety of his own worth.
I deserve her. I deserve to be with her.
Once Beryl turned over their code, they waited. She gazed toward the exit. “I wish Snaps could be here, but there’s nobody to watch him. You think he’s okay alone?”
“I regret leaving our nestling unattended, but I do not believe he will come to harm. There are only a few more days. If we can endure the tests a bit longer, then we can begin our life together.”
“You think we’ll get approved?”
“I see no reason why not, if our ranks are good.”
“What about Ryzven?”
“Don’t think of him. He can’t hurt us.”
That was bravado, most likely, and from the way Beryl tilted her head, she suspected as much.
“You’re a bad liar,” she said.
“It is not a skill much in demand.”
“I’m glad about that. It’s better if you’re honest, even if the situation is difficult.”
“We’ve surmounted everything so far. We can achieve anything together.”
She squeezed his claw without speaking.
Not too much longer, and the host announced the results. “Kurr and Catyr take the top prize, a collection of priceless gems mined on…” A few more names followed, and then, “At number five, Beryl and Zylar achieve respectable placement with rare seeds, imported from the Farshine Nebula!”
“Pretty good,” Beryl noted.
“You may not have gleaned this from the explanation earlier, but we keep the prizes we choose. They are considered ceremonial gifts, put toward the life we build once the Choosing ends.”
“Oh wow. So we’ve got seeds to plant later? Snaps will be so excited about having more tiny green dirt dogs to guard.”
“He will be a fine elder nestling,” Zylar said.
“I hope so.” From Beryl’s expression, something was bothering her, confirmed by her next question. “Do you think Kurr has given up on their plan? They even Chose someone else.”
He considered. “I am uncertain. This may be a strategic move. They also took first in the joint competition, reinforcing their allure. It’s possible they hope to attract Ryzven before the final stage is complete.”
“But they Chose Catyr—”
“Do you truly think that such a small matter would stop Ryzven?”
Beryl huffed, a sound that approximated a Barathi hiss. “No. He’s a dirty ______ and I bet he’d find some way to get what he wants, no matter who he has to hurt.”
“The correct assessment.”
Soon after, the next test began. Strategic thinking this time, where they had to compete against another team. Those lots were chosen at random, and Zylar took the lead, as Beryl had no idea about this Barathi game. They beat their first two sets of challengers and were defeated around the middle of the tournament, not exceptional, but safe.
Zylar didn’t care if they excelled. He only wanted to score well enough to receive the Matriarch’s blessing and get past all of this for good. Five times was too many, and with each step they took toward the end, his fear grew, sometimes to the point that he couldn’t breathe.
Losing now would be worse than ever before. It might mean the end of him.
Not because life as a drone was so awful, but because life without Beryl was a prospect so bleak that both his hearts ached, merely thinking of the possibility.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, as they left the arena together.
That was how good she’d grown at reading his moods, even though there were no visual cues that she could recognize. But her heart knew both of his.
“Nothing,” he lied.
Her eyes were steady and soft, such a bright color in her squishy face. She knew, again, but she let the fiction stand.
“Snaps is waiting. Let’s go home.”
Beryl could tell that Zylar was worried, likely about Ryzven, and possibly about Kurr as well. It was especially troubling when there was nothing she could do. Being helpless sucked.
That did remind her of one issue, however, that could be addressed. “Would you teach me to read Barathi?” she asked, as they headed for their quarters.
Funny, how this weird world had come to feel like home.
“It would be my pleasure.” He didn’t call her primitive or suggest she wasn’t capable of learning.
Negging just wasn’t part of Zylar’s personality. In being with him, she’d already received more praise and appreciation than she had in her whole life on Earth. Before she met him, nobody except Snaps thought she was anything special.
As they reached the lift, his comm lit up and sounded with the chime for an incoming message. Beryl glanced over, but she couldn’t read what was on the display. Zylar stilled, his nictitating membrane fluttering, surprise or distress, maybe.
“What happened?” she asked.
“I am instructed to go to Technical. If you’re concerned about Snaps, you can return without me. I’ll follow presently.” Something in his tone alarmed her.
This had to be about Helix. “It’s bad news, right? Snaps will be fine. He had his food cube this morning, he has water, and he knows what square to pee on. I’d rather go with you if that’s all right.”
“Yes,” he said. “I always prefer your company, Terrible One.”
“Then come on. Let’s find out what the damage is.”
She remembered where the Technical Department was, so she led the way when he hesitated. Whatever the issue, they’d face it together. Mostly, she feared him losing the AI who had been his only friend.
The same supercilious Barathi greeted them on arrival. “You’ve come to reclaim the restored version of Helix?”
Surprised, Beryl turned to Zylar. “Restored? That’s fantastic news! They got Helix back for you.”
“Partly,” Zylar said. “The truth is, they deleted the corrupted code and reverted Helix to a prior version. All memories of our trip to Aerth have been permanently lost.”
Oh. That revelation knocked her back, and her breath went. I can never go home again. I’m really stuck here. No visits. No cheeseburgers. She squatted and wrapped her arms around her knees, head down. For a few seconds, she fought tears because she didn’t want to hurt Zylar, but this…this was confirmation that her old life was lost forever.
Zylar knelt beside her and touched a claw to her hair, gentle as a butterfly landing on a flower. “I’m sorry. I cannot truly fathom how you feel, but please know—”
“It’s okay,” she said.
Beryl was used to life giving her the toughest breaks. Before her mom died, the woman hadn’t been the best, full of dire predictions and negative energy, and she when Beryl was twenty. Never even met my dad. Without parental support, she’d gotten an associate’s degree in early childhood education and found a job at a daycare. After that, life was a series of people passing through—a couple of girlfriends, a few boyfriends—but nobody ever stuck around. She’d had casual friends, but not the sort who would grieve deeply over her disappearance. The fact was, she didn’t have anyone to go back to, and while it was crappy that she couldn’t enjoy certain things again—like Jacuzzi tubs and ice cream—she had a new life here, one where she mattered.
The tears dried. While her existence on Barath might be batshit in some ways, it was also a nonstop adventure. And she wasn’t sorry about meeting Zylar.
“You gave me choices all along,” she said. “And at every turn, I picked you.”
“Stop talking to your pet,” the Technical staffer snapped. “And accept the transfer of your restored AI. Once we have your approval, we will reactivate Helix’s access to your quarters and your personal vessel.”
“She is my intended, not my pet.” After standing up for Beryl, Zylar went and did the red tape stuff that existed even on an alien world like Barath.
By the time he finished dealing with the details, Beryl had herself under control. Now it was more important than ever that they complete the Choosing together and get approval from the Matriarch. There was no road home anymore, only the path she would walk here with Zylar.
She didn’t cry in the end. Just as well, it would probably upset Zylar if he saw her eyes leaking. He already thought humans had extremely weird physiology.
“That’s everything,” said the Technical Department worker. “Thank you for your patronage. The service fee has been deducted, as previously agreed.”
“Understood. I’ll expect to find Helix active on our return.” Zylar gestured at Beryl, and she followed him out of the office.
Things were quiet on the way back, and Beryl suspected he was blaming himself, despite the fact that she’d cleared him. It wasn’t like he’d caused the sun flares or sabotaged his own AI. They’d ended up together through a massive screw-up of cosmic proportions, and maybe such a complex series of missteps could also be viewed as fate. We’re supposed to be together, right?
She chose to believe that, anyway.
Hurrying to catch up, she set a hand on his neck, the soft skin where she was sure he could feel the touch. At first he flinched away, then he quieted and eased back into her touch. It seemed like the Barathi didn’t do soft contact this way.
“No regrets,” she said quietly.
“I will make you happy.”
“You already do.”
When they stepped into their quarters, Snaps went wild, circling their legs with happy bounces, bumping against them both until he got scratches and pets. “How long do I have to be alone, alone, so completely alone?” he whined, rolling over to display a pink belly lightly covered with curly beige fur.
“Not too much longer,” Beryl promised. “I appreciate how good you’re being. We’ll go visit the garden in a bit.”
“After food?” he asked.
“You got it, buddy.”
“Greetings, Zylar. Who are these strangers?” That was Helix, unscrambled but also unfamiliar with Beryl and Snaps.
He doesn’t remember us.
She let Zylar sum up the situation, and then her Chosen—how cool to call him that officially—performed the introductions. “It’s nice to meet you,” Beryl said.
“Let me explain how I can assist you. This is a smart habitat, and I can be useful in many capacities. For instance, if you require sustenance—”
“Do not take orders from Snaps,” she cut in quickly.
God, imagine if the dog could order as many food cubes as he wanted. Instant chaos.
“The small one is incapable of directing me?” Helix asked.
“That’s mean. I’m a very good boy,” said Snaps. He put his face under his front paws.
Beryl tried to comfort him while Zylar skirted the issue. “Snaps is young and unfamiliar with our customs. When he matures, we will revisit the issue of his command permissions.”
“Understood,” Helix said. “Just let me express how pleased I am for you, Zylar. As a drone, you would no longer qualify to receive my assistance, and it is good to see that you will not live out your existence in grim solitude.”
Beryl tried not to laugh. That didn’t come across as much of a blessing. “Is he always this much fun?”
Zylar churred. “Still, I’m glad to have him back.”
“I have a question…”
“Speak,” said Helix.
“Er, I’m talking to Zylar.” This would take some getting used to. “If I’m addressing you, I’ll use your name. How’s that?”
“Disappointing, but I shall make a note of this preference,” the AI said.
“Since the technology exists to create offspring for us, could they make a few siblings for Snaps, from his DNA?”
Barath could totally use more dogs. Though Beryl hadn’t been to every planet, she’d stand firm on the opinion that most worlds could benefit from canines.
“It is possible. We would need to file an application after our union is approved.”
“Then that’s my first request as your Terrible One.” What the hell. If she couldn’t get him to change that endearment, she might as well lean into it.
“I’ll see to it,” he promised.
Snaps perked up. “More dogs? Best day!”
They fed him his dinner, and Beryl ate her own cube, and she was about to remind Zylar about the reading lessons when the chime sounded.
“Ryzven has arrived,” Helix announced. “Shall I let him in?”
“Go ahead,” Zylar said.
Ryzven strode in like he owned the place, and he arrowed to Zylar, for once not even glancing at Beryl. His anger practically surrounded him like an electrical field, creating an uncomfortable charge.
“I can’t prove it, but I know you’re the one who reported me.”
Beryl didn’t move, afraid that she might make matters worse, no matter what she said. And Zylar was so afraid of Ryzven—
Or he had been.
This was a new Zylar, who didn’t flinch or avert his gaze. In fact, he even flared his spines to show he wasn’t intimidated. “Your accusations are unwelcome,” he said coolly. “And thus, so are you. Please leave.”
Ryzven hissed, his own spines spiking out in a display of utter aggression. “No one crosses me and goes on to prosper. You’ll regret what you’ve done, and I will gloat when I take everything from you.” He flicked a look at Beryl, and then stormed out.
Zylar hurried to her side, as if he feared she would be wrecked by these threats. He grasped her shoulders carefully and stared down into her face. “I’m sorry. But don’t worry, I won’t let him—”
“He’s nothing. And I think he’s starting to realize it. Assholes are always angry when they figure out how little they matter. I’m your Chosen, no matter what.”
As he turned away, Zylar spoke so softly that he probably didn’t realize she could hear him. “Please, let that be true.”