Zylar had never successfully intimidated anyone in his life, possibly part of why he’d been consistently overlooked in the Choosing.
This was clearly a day for firsts, as the clerical worker uttered subharmonic protests, but he did process the 5476. “Present your…appendage,” he said in a decidedly cross tone.
Beryl extended a grabber, emitting a squeak when the clerk chipped her—a supposedly painless installation, but their tech wasn’t meant for soft-skins. She jerked her limb back and rubbed it a few times. “What was that?”
“Your immigration clearance. We’ll take care of Snaps next.”
She started to say something, studying the small being currently cradled in her arms. When she lifted Snaps to be chipped, he attempted to taste her. “Fine, let’s get this over with.”
“I’m a big deal,” Snaps said, whipping his rear appendage in various directions.
Zylar believed that must be true, as Beryl seemed more concerned about Snaps than herself. That was surely the mark of a higher social caste. Quietly, he ran another scan, but the shock hadn’t harmed the fur-person in any manner his equipment could detect. While he couldn’t find much to appreciate in Beryl’s appearance, he was grateful she didn’t have as much fur as Snaps.
The clerk completed the next form, based on Snaps’s short, often puzzling replies, then he input the immigration data. Snaps didn’t flinch or cry out, making Zylar wonder if he was of warrior caste. Beryl didn’t set him down, so Zylar guessed she must have intended to port him as an honored guest.
“This is wild. I have the same status as my dog.”
Zylar beckoned. “I know it’s been a long, strange day, but we’re coming to the end of it soon. The only thing left is for you to greet my progenitors.”
“You have pro-generators?” Snaps asked. “What’s a pro-generator?”
Beryl answered in a low voice. “We’re meeting his parents, I think.”
“New friends!” Snaps crowed in a gleeful tone.
“That remains to be seen.” Zylar hated to quash their enthusiasm, but his progenitors could be difficult. They’d long since lost interest in his personal business, and had, he suspected, resigned themselves to him becoming a drone.
“Not very comforting,” she mumbled.
With a sideways glance, he assured himself that she was following and led the way out of the spaceport warren. This corridor was a honeycomb of little-used offices. Across the way, some enterprising merchants had set up food stalls and souvenir stands, nothing official or licensed, so the moment anyone in authority glanced in that direction, the vendors would scramble, wreaking havoc among the aliens that thronged the walkways looking for transport off-world.
Outside, he took a deep breath, luxuriating in the fresh air and sunlight. Beryl put a grabber over her eyes, so perhaps the sun was brighter than she was used to. “Is it too strong? I’ll look into a solar-shielding treatment.”
“It’s no worse than ______,” she said.
That didn’t clarify anything, but he hurried them to a connected building that would take them up to the platform where they’d wait for transit. His progenitors lived across the sprawl at the highest point in Srila, the undisputed heart of Kith B’alak. While Beryl might not grasp the gravitas of belonging to one of the Founding families, Zylar had carried that weight long enough to be well-acquainted with it. There was always an unspoken demand to be better and do more, a requirement he often failed.
At least they aren’t comparing me with Ryzven anymore.
Ryzven graduated first in his class. Ryzven invented a vaccine that will cure Red Pit Fever. Ryzven was Chosen before anyone else—in his first season. Zylar had heard all those accomplishments and readily acknowledged that his elder nest-mate was exceptional. Just as Zylar was not.
Belatedly, he realized they were still standing on the platform, but he hadn’t activated the controls, and both his primitive associates were staring at him. “My apologies. It’s been a long day for me as well.”
Zylar input the commands and the mechanism smoothly flowed into motion, hovering with technology that was, frankly, a mystery to him as well. Ryzven could probably explain it. Beryl let out a shrill sound and scrambled behind him, peering toward the edge in tiny, abrupt motions.
“Is this thing… We could fall out!” she babbled.
Her terror communicated itself through her voice, body language, and the smell wafting from her. At least he would always know when she was frightened, even if he couldn’t interpret anything else. “Easy,” he soothed. “There’s an energy field around the platform.” To her, it must seem as though they were floating, vulnerable to attack.
Snaps took advantage of her distraction to leap from her arms and scamper toward the edge of the disc. Based on past precedent, Zylar expected him to charge the protective shield, but instead, the fur-person paused at the edge and lifted a limb. Tap. Tap. Tap. Blue light rippled outward, and Snaps spun to face them, mouth open.
“Awesome! It’s awesome! It’s a wall that’s not a wall,” he declared.
“Come here, little daredevil,” Beryl whispered. “You’ll scare me to death before we manage to meet these progenitors.”
She scooped him up and rubbed her cheek against his hairy head. For one that Zylar had taken as a fearless warrior, Snaps didn’t object to her handling. In fact, he settled in with a comfortable sound and rested his head against her. Watching them, Zylar registered an inexplicable lightness of being, nothing he could easily define or express.
He was so caught up in his observations that he startled when the disc clicked into the upper platform, connecting them to the sprawl’s transit system. Here, twenty Barathi were already waiting for the next arrival, and they all stared at Zylar—well, to be more precise, they gawked at Beryl and Snaps.
The shielding at the back flickered out, allowing them to disembark. Beryl was too busy looking at the sky-station to notice the attention at first. “Are we taking one of the pods that I saw coming in? The ones that’re like cable cars? If you have that hover technology, how come there are lines everywhere? Is it in case someone hacks the grid and suddenly all the pods go crashing down?” Her acuity surprised him so much that he blinked both membranes, and she goggled at him. “Whoa, you have an extra eyelid. Is one a nictitating membrane that—wait, no, you didn’t answer any of my other questions yet.”
“Yes,” Zylar finally said, when she gave him space to speak. “You’re correct. Long ago, they did experiment with the discs, but between security threats and the energy cost to maintain that many shields, it was deemed inefficient for traversing longer distances.”
The initial interest had died away, though other commuters were still sneaking looks at their group, and a few were openly eavesdropping. Beryl met those stares with frank curiosity of her own, and Zylar didn’t know if he should be encouraging that. While he couldn’t keep her in isolation, the more Barathi she met, the faster she’d realize he was nobody special. Her attention drifted to the approaching transit unit, her whole aspect brightening. Even her scent changed, a sweetness that drew a few more eyes to her.
How intriguing. Many of her moods came across his olfactory sense like colors. Her enthusiasm had a sunshine feel to it, all cheerful and warm.
“Oh, the sky pod is here. Can we all fit?” Even as she asked, she was already hurrying toward it with no prompting from Zylar.
He tried to imagine how he’d react in her situation, stranded with an unknown being on an alien world, and he concluded that he wouldn’t bear up so well. Her adaptability alone would mark her as highly desirable in the Choosing, maybe even enough to make up for her dearth of physical beauty. When the other contenders learn about her experience as a nest-guardian, Zylar’s chances would diminish further.
Hastily, he followed her, just before the unit sealed. It would be a disaster if they got separated. Zylar worked his way to the back, where she’d found a spot near the viewport so she could admire the sprawl. Most Barathi were bored to the vista by this point, so he tried to see Srila through her eyes. There was no need to answer her question, as everyone crammed in, leaving him to serve as a shield since she didn’t have any protective chitin. He didn’t hate standing behind her like that, though she was engrossed in the buildings that spun so slowly that one could spend all day waiting for a complete revolution.
“How long will it take?” she asked.
“One transfer.” That probably didn’t tell her much, and he wasn’t sure if their means of demarcating time translated properly.
Between them, so much—everything, truly—was unknown, but he was starting to look forward to discovering the answers.
This is no big deal.
Maybe if Beryl told herself that enough, she would be calm instead of faking it with everything she had. Nervous jitters ran down her spine so often that it felt like fever chills from when she had chicken pox as a kid. Standing in a sky pod with a bunch of aliens? No big thing. She did appreciate it when Zylar put himself between her and the rest of them, helping to block some of those invasive stares.
By the time they transferred pods and rode even longer—mostly in silence now that her chatter battery had run down—she was one raw bundle of agitation. Snaps got bored and fell asleep in her arms, so he was dead weight. She followed Zylar out of the pod onto the disc, but instead of going down, he led her to what looked like a private pod.
“This will convey us to Kith B’alak, where you will meet my progenitors and any nest-mates who may be in residence.”
“Nest-mates? You mean, like, siblings?”
“I suppose that is one way to put it, though I’m not certain the nuance is being conveyed.”
Beryl agreed, as she couldn’t get a handle on the “progenitors” thing, either. Taking a deep breath, she said, “Okay, but is there anywhere I could pee? I’ve been holding it forever, and Snaps probably has to go too. We need different facilities, though. I use a toilet, and Snaps is used to grass.”
Actually, never mind. Snaps peed on the chair, so he’s probably fine.
“Waste facilities? I will see what can be arranged once we arrive at Kith B’alak. Can you manage your needs for a little longer?”
“We’ll see,” she muttered.
Fortunately, he was telling the truth about it being a short ride in a private pod. His people occupied the high ground, an astonishing view from what little she saw, but he hurried her along a latticed metal bridge into a cool, shady inner terrace. The alien flora stole her breath, blooming in colors so lush and vibrant, beyond the wildest dreams of any Earth botanist. Huge fronds tipped scarlet and yellow waved as she went by, though there was no wind.
“Here. These are the guest facilities reserved for visiting dignitaries. I hope you’ll find something that suffices.” With a flourish, Zylar indicated two intricately etched doors.
They looked heavy, but they parted with a swish as Beryl approached. Inside, she found all manner of technology, and none of it rang any bells. She put Snaps down, and he investigated all the corners, sleepily snooping. With a mental shrug, she dropped her pants and squatted on a red square. She nearly fell over in her own pee stream when the thing lit up beneath her and hissed, drying the fluid as soon as it trickled out of her. A sudden burst of air went straight up her crotch—a cleaning-drying process? Then a tiny mechanical creature scuttled out of the wall and moved across the tile, noises that made Beryl think it was a cleaning bot.
There were no mirrors in here, unlike a human restroom, but the backs of the doors were somewhat reflective. She paused just before she got close enough to activate them, taking stock of the impression she was about to make on these progenitors. Her brown hair was windblown and badly tangled; she hadn’t put on sunscreen the day of the reenactment, so her cheeks and nose were burnt, and she rarely wore lipstick. Fortunately, these aliens had no idea what an attractive human looked like, so maybe they’d assume Beryl epitomized peak Earth allure.
Probably not.
Squaring her shoulders, she snapped her fingers, and Snaps trotted to her side. Which was exactly how he’d earned his name—as soon as she noticed he was halfway trained to heel at a click of her fingers. “Come on. How bad could it be?”
That was a rhetorical question, but nobody had explained that concept to dogs because he answered, “They could eat us. Burn us. Or put us in cages. Not all at once.”
“Thanks.”
“I’m here to help,” said Snaps.
Beryl ran her fingers through her hair and gave up on the rest, then joined Zylar in the inner garden. The beauty of the place rushed her senses anew, soft perfumes she hadn’t noticed the first time tickling her nose—something like pears and jasmine, but not exactly. The scent made her feel loopy-smiley, and she gave Zylar a silly grin.
“Save your fearsome threats for the meeting to come,” he said.
“Eh? Right.”
Kith B’alak was extensive, and she lost track of all the twists and turns, her mind gradually growing numb to each new wonder. After they passed a shining indoor oasis, complete with what appeared to be blue water, she finally asked, “How much farther?”
“Just ahead. After we are announced, I will make the introductions. They will not expect you to know our ways, so comport yourself as you would for an important occasion on your homeworld.”
Zylar wouldn’t know that Beryl’s life hadn’t offered many of those. Maybe Parents’ Night at the daycare, but that was handshake territory, and she had a feeling that this was more bow-or-curtsy land. Her palms started to sweat.
“Sure. I’ll just act like I’m meeting the queen,” she said.
“Good idea.”
The long, shadowed hallway ended in a set of massive double doors. This place was built of material that was neither metal nor stone, but incorporated properties of both. A lone Barathi stood outside, maybe as a guard, and like the others she’d seen, the colors were significantly brighter and more appealing than Zylar’s. She admired the yellow with citrine streaks for a few seconds as the alien snapped to attention.
“You were not expected.” Not quite a reproach, but it wasn’t a greeting either.
“This is Beryl Bowman and Snaps, hailing from Aerth, the States United of Missouri, city of St. Louis. Announce us.”
The coldness of Zylar’s tone alarmed Beryl and sobered her up swiftly. He wasn’t looking forward to this either. But his attitude worked on the guard, who stepped in ahead and made the pronouncement. About thirty seconds later, Zylar touched his claw to her back, urging her into the unknown.
If she’d thought the lavish display in the corridors was impressive, it had nothing on the mind-boggling splendor she stumbled into, with Snaps frolicking at her ankles. Holy shit, he’s got to be, like, a space prince or something. First off, the room was huge, like football field enormous, and half of the walls were missing—she guessed it must be force fields in play—giving the illusion that this was all open space with red sunlight streaming in, tinting everything in warm hues. There was a tinkling fountain in the center, and Barathi lounged on rectangular units, eating stuff she couldn’t identify, and she registered the gentle noise she associated with conversation. Her translator couldn’t process so much input so it just came across as sounds, just as she heard when Zylar first took her.
Her arrival stalled the talk, just as it had on the platform.
These can’t all be his progenitors?
Then again, Beryl knew nothing about Barathi breeding or life cycles, nothing about nest sizes either. Will I be expected to look after four hundred larvae? Devoid of her concerns, Snaps pranced to the center of the room and slurped from the fountain; hopefully Zylar would stop Snaps if the liquid would hurt the dog. Beryl would have scolded him, except her feet were frozen.
A tall Barathi was gliding toward her, impossibly graceful and majestic. This one had silver skin, crimson highlights, and a banded pattern that reminded her of a sea krait. Thanks to Stuart, she knew way too much about snakes, and while the Barathi had coloring in common with serpents, they seemed more insectoid overall. She risked a glance at Zylar, but she couldn’t tell anything from his expression.
No surprise there. Fuck it, let’s go all in.
Beryl pretended she was wearing a fancy gown, dipping into what she hoped what was a greet-the-queen curtsy. “Nice to meet you.”
Crap, he said he’d introduce us.
Hopefully, she hadn’t screwed things up too much. The other Barathi didn’t so much as glance at her, attention aimed at Zylar with laser focus. “What is the meaning of…” The look Beryl received didn’t feel flattering. “This. Explain yourself.”
Before Beryl’s own mother died, she sounded about the same way, and her hackles went up. If he had a parent like hers had been, God help him. She bit her lower lip to stay quiet, as he’d made it sound like this meeting was a big deal. If it went sideways, it wouldn’t be because of her.
Zylar dipped forward, two claws vertical to his body in what she judged a respectful gesture. “I greet you, Matriarch. I’ve come to present my potential match, as is required before our joint participation in the Choosing. Beryl Bowman of Aerth has come a long way to compete, and I believe our Kith will not be disappointed.”