Kaiser was almost as eager to offload Hawk on the outside world as she was to get the hell away from him. When she asked for a helicopter to the airport, he became sublimely solicitous. She was pretty sure it wasn’t her, though. Alex spent the morning glowering and lingering and acting like he didn't want her to go. Hawk, having been married to her husband for a while, took a cue from his behavior and acted like she was pissed with him. It was easy enough. No talking. No long loving looks. Snapping at each other was a must. She'd never really tried to play-act like her marriage was dissolving, and decided that it was rather fun as long as both she and Alex understood it was all fiction. It still opened great wounds in her psyche. Part of her started to panic that she might lose Alex, that he might take her seriously, that this morning he wasn’t playing but really meant those hurtful barbs. Then, as they faced each other across the coffee pot like two combatants, he gave her a wink and let his hand linger on hers as she grabbed for creamer. It’s okay, that touch said, it’s just the game. So she accepted Kaiser’s offer of a helicopter and a plane ticket with all the scorn a discarded wife could manage, and chose not to say goodbye before heading out.

It was a good play. Before Hawk got her ride to the airport, Em pulled her aside.

"Are you and Alex, like...okay? You're acting—"

"It's acting," she whispered. "Keep it on the down-low." And Em knew her well enough to let it go.

The helicopter ride to the airport was brief. Hawk wished she could say the same of the plane ride. Kaiser hadn't bothered getting her anything better than commercial economy, which she read as part of his discard process. She was fine with that.

The plane ride gave her enough time to think about the best way to hide the Orb.

By the time she landed in Phoenix, she knew exactly what to do. Starting with an Uber home, seeing as how her car was still sitting in Emile Yung's front yard.

Arriving at her house felt strange. Alien. Someone who had endured the past few days’ events had no business living in Hawk West's home. Not even Hawk West herself. She had to ignore the feeling, pay her driver, take the short walk to her front door, and ignore the feeling that she did not belong here. The walk was too neat, the low grass too perfect. There were no crisis here, nothing to panic over. Nothing to fear. There was a mess, of course, because there’d been cops and Kaiser’s lackeys in there, digging around and doing god knows what to her ants.

She froze when she opened it. Because her house should have looked like the proverbial bull stopped by on his way to the china shop, and instead it was perfectly neat. Military trim, almost. In the hallway where she’d last seen books strewn across the ground, her valuables haphazardly tossed by careless fingers, the bookcase and nic-nak shelf were perfectly neat, if not arranged the way Hawk would like. Her kitchen floor was so clean, the grout was shiny. And there were roses on the counter above the sink. A huge bouquet of several dozen perfect red blooms, with a red ribbon and a card.

She already knew who had sent them—She hated red roses. Alex would have sent her a bouquet of lilies, or gone out for wildflowers if he’d really screwed up. These roses screamed money and disinterest. Indeed, the card proved it was from Kaiser...and he'd included money. In the spirit of cash on a mattress, Hawk thought.

Dear Ms. West, the card read, Please forgive my intrusions into your humble home. I hope this check will provide you with due compensation for my transgressions. Be at PEACE, Ms. West.

Your loving friend,

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

Kaiser.

Be at PEACE, Ms. West. That offensive son of a bitch. Like he wasn’t the cause of her disquiet. Also, nice job ignoring both the fact of her doctorate and the fact of her wedding, while still deliberately addressing her with her husband’s name. Misogyny, thy name is Kaiser, and you’re a right jerk. She nodded to herself. Picked up the bouquet by the vase, as if it were rabid. Carried it to the trash can. Dropped it in. The vase broke in three large pieces, water gushed across the bottom of the garbage can, and Hawk knew she was going to have to clean it out before she could put a fresh bag in there. She rolled her eyes at her own theatrics; still, she felt better, having jettisoned the roses.

Her ants.

Panic set in. Cleaners really would take a can of Raid to her collection. They’d think it overrun, fear her wrath at their carelessness. She glanced in at the living room colonies—black carpenter ants crawled across a wooden structure, and big-headed pogos searched desperately for seeds; both colonies were alright—and then headed into her ant-room.

And everything, and everyone was there. She stood there realizing that she had expected them gone. Her years of work, of care, of study, evaporated by a cleaner’s efficiency…and Kaiser’s cruelty. She’d expected him to do it. She’d expected him to kill her ants, just because he could. The same way he misgendered Em or forgot about Hawk’s doctorate and marriage. He hurt people, not through something as casual and benign as forgetfulness, but willfully, and as close to the bone as he could.

She shuddered.

Now it was time to hide the Orb.

It was inside her purse. Its weight called to her, seeming to heat up as time passed. She walked it into the garage, set her purse on a bench, and then went through her fish tank graveyard. Usually she was careful at this stage, but Hawk didn't have time to be choosey...and the species she intended for this wouldn't care one iota for the flavor of fish tank she chose. The nearest, largest would do. She hauled it down, set it on a work bench, then rummaged through a box of tubing and feeders and other Anting supplies, until she found her tiny bottle of fluon.

She'd tried lots of ant barriers over her career as an ant-keeper. Oil, baby powder and rubbing alcohol, Vaseline. Any line of something an ant either couldn't cross, or wouldn't. But the best, in her experience, was fluon suspension. She applied the milky liquid to the top two inches of the tank, on the inside. Normally she did one inch, but not with this species.

Tank barrier dry, she went to her purse and put the Orb inside of the tank. Paused. Grabbed a handful of test tubes and set them up for ant habitation, (fill halfway with water or sugar syrup, add cotton ball. It’s now an ant-shelter) then tossed those in there for good measure. Then she hauled the tank and the Orb outside.

Where there was a very large Red Imported Fire Ant nest.

She gritted her teeth as she set the tank down. The Red Imported Fire Ant is the worst ant on the planet. It belonged in some tiny part of the Amazon, where things had to be fierce and fight for survival, but human exploration and globalization had brought the little shits to damn near every continent, with the possible exception of Antarctica. They were nasty, aggressive, and very, very bitey. Today, however, she was doing something she had promised both herself and Alex she would never do. She was going to keep RIFAs as pets.

She had to go back to their shed for a tools and gloves. And maybe so she could put the agony off for a few more minutes. She was doing this. She was actually, actively doing this.

Shovel after shovel of red, angry, poisonous creatures came up out of the ground. She saw the white bliss of brood, nestled in clods of dirt. Sometimes she could see the beauty of RIFA nesting lines, the neat precision of their mindless creation. Normally, she'd be watching each shovel-full intently, hoping against hope that she'd get a Queen. But today, she didn't bother. Hopefully, she wasn't going to have these things long enough to need one. Each shovel of prickly red-ant horror rained down upon the Orb itself. In two shovel-fulls it was buried, hidden away entirely by the ants, and the dirt. But Hawk kept going. Anywhere she saw tunnels or brood or shiny red bodies, she scooped them up with her shovel. She stopped only when she hit her weight limit. She'd need to carry the terrarium inside, after all.

Thank God, most people hate ants. She thought. In a few minutes she'd haul this thing to one of the few vacant shelves in the house, chuck in some food, and wait to hear from Alex. But for now, she was going to sit in the Arizona sunlight, watch the ants to make sure they couldn't get past her barrier, and acknowledge that soon and very soon, she'd be able to go back to bed.