“I see it!” Bluejay said, his voice coming through distorted on Xipa’s helmet radio. “Damn, what a sight. It looks a hell of a lot bigger from the ground.”
She hurriedly switched to his camera feed, blowing up the window to get a higher resolution view. Rising above the reds, browns, and oranges of the autumn canopy in the distance was the city wall – a massive edifice that towered some two hundred meters into the sky. No longer pristine, weather and time had stained it, the dark streaks from decades of water spilling down its face making it look like a failing dam. It was still wholly intact – Valbaran engineering could probably withstand the elements for hundreds of rotations more – but the forest had begun to claw its way up. Vines and mosses flourished, coating it in a carpet of red, the creeping plants like veins at this distance. She could see the watchtowers that were spaced along its length at regular intervals, used primarily for weather monitoring. They were too high up to have been colonized by any plant life, but she felt her stomach twist when she saw the faded remnants of plasma burns on some of them. Shrouded in atmospheric haze were the skyscrapers that rose up from the city’s center, too far away to make out in any detail, but she could tell that they had been damaged from their uneven silhouettes.
“That’s a fucking big wall,” Fletcher whistled, no doubt watching the same feed. “How exactly were you planning to get us inside, Ensi? I don’t think we brought enough rope.”
“There are four gates that face the cardinal directions,” she explained. “My hope is that at least one of them will be ajar, or that we can find a way to open them.”
“You reckon the machinery will have survived all this time?” he asked skeptically.
“If that fails, we can enter through the spill gates,” she replied. “I don’t see a reason that they would have been closed.”
“What’s a spill gate?” Fletcher asked. The team entered a patch of tall fungi, the Earth’nay glancing up at them as he weaved between their spongy trunks.
“They’re openings that allow water from outside the walls to flow into the city,” she explained, leaning away as Gustave simply plowed through one of the mushrooms that was in his path, sending a cloud of spores floating through the air. “Our cities are living ecosystems with waterways and lakes. Most of them are built near rivers so we can access fresh water.”
“Hang on, are these gates gonna be underwater?” Fletcher asked. It was the first time she had heard a hint of fear in his voice.
“Naturally,” she replied, glancing down at him. “I’d expect some flooding after so many rotations without maintenance, too.”
“Fucking water,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I don’t do water.”
“Can you not swim?” Xipa asked, a flutter of amused yellow passing through her headdress.
“You misunderstand,” he began, waving a polymer hand at her. “My prosthetic limbs are a hell of a lot denser than my organic ones, and they make swimming impossible. The best I can do is walk along the bottom for as long as my suit’s air supply lasts and hope I don’t get stuck in the silt.”
“Gustave carries little one, carries angry one, will carry metal one,” the Krell’nay rumbled.
“I guess that would work,” Fletcher said with a shrug. “I keep forgetting that you’re amphibious.”
They walked for a while longer, Bluejay eventually dropping down through the trees to join them as they approached the foot of the wall. It still wasn’t in sight from the ground, the dense forest obscuring it from view.
“We’re close,” he said, his shining wings sliding back into their protective covers. “I saw what I think is a door maybe a klick to the South of us. We should probably head in that direction.”
It took Xipa a moment to even realize that they had reached the base of the wall. Back when the cities had been maintained, the inhabitants would have kept the forest from encroaching so close, ensuring that there was a clearing between it and the wall. Now, the roots of the trees were breaking soil right next to it. The dense vines and weeds that had colonized the barrier made it almost invisible, and Xipa had to crane her neck to see the point where it transitioned into faded white.
They followed its gentle curve Southward, Xipa taking in the odd scenery as they went. She had expected damage and disrepair, but this was like coming upon the ruins of an ancient civilization. It was almost insulting in a way – that their presence on Kerguela had been reduced to this in so little time, as though the very moon itself was trying to erase their history.
The exterior wall was mostly featureless, so there wasn’t much to see until they reached one of the entrances. The gate was much easier to spot from the air than from the ground, designed to blend seamlessly with the wall, the covering of plants and vines only adding to the effect. The doors were made up of two large panels that would slide apart, fifty meters high and almost as wide, occupying about a quarter of the wall’s overall height.
“Well, this doesn’t look very promising,” Fletcher said as he appraised the vine-covered obstacle. He let his rifle hang from its sling, then pushed his fingers into the narrow gap between the doors, straining against them. They didn’t budge an inch, so he stepped back, rolling his shoulders. “Yeah, I don’t know what I was expecting. You said there’d be like a control panel or something, Ensi?”
Xipa hopped down from Gustave’s shoulders, then walked over to the left side of the gate. After feeling around for a minute, she found what she was looking for, tearing off the clinging vines to reveal a small touch display mounted at chest height. It was recessed into the wall, hidden beneath a sliding panel that matched the material around it.
“Auxiliary controls,” she explained, brushing the grime from the screen with her glove. “It should work, even if the connection to the primary system has been severed. They used to be connected to backup generators in case the power grid failed.”
“I guess you know all the ins and outs of these places,” Fletcher said, moving up to peer over her shoulder.
“It’s part of my job,” she replied, pressing her finger against the touch display. “Hmm, no power,” she grumbled. “Not unexpected.” She reached into the recess behind the panel and felt around for a rocker switch, feeling the tactile click as she pressed it down. “That…should have activated the backup generator,” she sighed. “It looks like the backup is down too.”
Fletcher took a few steps back, planting his hands on his hips as he appraised the towering wall.
“I don’t think Gustave is gonna be able to walk through this one,” he muttered. “Can we blast our way inside?”
“We use carbcrete in our construction,” Xipa explained. “It’s concrete infused with a self-aligning carbon fiber lattice to give it more rigidity. Only a high-powered plasma weapon will be able to melt through it. Trust me, I’ve seen it firsthand…”
“Hey, Bug boy. Can you fly us over?” Fletcher said, turning to Bluejay.
“The Ensi, maybe,” Bluejay replied as he gave Fletcher an irritated glance. “The rest of you, not a chance. The gravity here is low, but we’re not on Luna.”
“We’ll have to go through the spill gates, then,” Fletcher sighed as he threw his hands up in exasperation. “Of course, why would I expect anything else? Why did you build these walls anyway?” he asked, turning back to Xipa. “Your cities are built like fortresses, but what was there to be scared of at the time?”
“These are copies of the layouts and technologies used to build cities on Valbara,” she explained, gesturing to the vine-covered edifice. “Their original purpose was twofold – to control the climate within the walls and to protect the inhabitants from the large predators that roam Valbara’s wilderness. There are no such predators here, but the walls still have their uses.”
“I feel like climate control could be accomplished with a fan and a humidifier,” he grumbled, giving the base of the wall a kick with his boot. “Fine. Take us to the spill gates.”
“Bluejay, did you see which direction the river was from the air?” Xipa asked.
“It’s a little further south,” he replied. “Shouldn’t take more than a couple of hours to reach it.”
***
They heard the roar of the river before they saw it, rounding the curving wall of the city to see it winding through the forest in the distance. It was sizable, maybe sixty meters wide, flowing fast enough to create whitewater on its churning surface. Erosion had stripped away the soil at the banks to leave them jagged and rocky, the trees giving it a wide berth. The river was some distance from the city walls, and rather than flowing directly into it, a carbcrete chute maybe half the breadth of the river had been constructed to redirect some of the flow. It formed a long, wide channel, a series of hydraulic gates at its mouth controlling the flow of water. Or, they would have controlled the flow of water if they hadn’t been left to decay for thirty rotations.
The mechanical systems had failed at some point, jamming the gates open, the chute full to capacity. The water flowed down a slight incline towards the base of the wall, where there was another set of gates below ground level. These, too, had been forced open by the flow over time. It looked like everything was running at maximum capacity.
Fletcher walked up to the chute, peering over the edge. The water wasn’t flowing as fast as the river at its source, still somewhat limited by the gates, but it would still be enough to drag a person under.
“Are you sure this is the only way in?” he asked, making no attempt to disguise his displeasure. “No service tunnels, no air vents? Maybe a fucking ladder?”
“Not without power,” Xipa replied. “There’s a whole network of service tunnels that run throughout the structure, but without electricity, there’s no way to get inside.”
“You didn’t think of putting a hand crank somewhere?” Fletcher asked skeptically.
“There were backups, of course, but we didn’t plan for the end of civilization.”
“How do we even know we can make it through there?” he continued, walking along the edge of the carbcrete slope. “The gates are all fucked. There could be damage on the inside.”
Gustave walked up beside him, Xipa hopping off his shoulder as he neared the edge. He slid his heavy ammo drum off his back, setting it down gently beside his massive rotary cannon, then carried on. Without hesitating, he began to walk down the incline, the weight of his long tail stopping him from falling forward. He waded into the rushing water, sinking up to his knees, then up to his waist. When he reached the middle of the chute, the water rose to his shoulders, pouring over his bony scutes. The Krell’nay seemed large and heavy enough that he could resist being swept away. He kicked his feet off the bottom, leveling out as he let the flow carry him along, his oar-like tail waving back and forth to help him steer. Aiming for one of the gates, he slowly floated through it, the aperture just large enough to let his broad shoulders pass.
“I guess he’s gonna go take a look for us,” Fletcher said, watching the tip of the reptile’s scaly tail vanish into the dark tunnel.
“What happens if he becomes stuck?” Ruza asked, Fletcher and Bluejay shrugging in tandem.
They waited for a few minutes, then a few more, Xipa starting to wonder if he really had gotten trapped down there. Fletcher was pacing beside the chute restlessly, stooping to pick up a rock as he walked along its length. He tossed it into the air and caught it a few times, then threw it into the water, watching the splash that it made.
“Anyone know how long a Krell can hold its breath?” he asked.
“He has a radio, does he not?” Ruza replied. “Why not simply ask him?”
“I’ve never heard the fucker say anything coherent,” Fletcher grumbled, tossing another rock. “He’s either laughing, or he’s talking complete nonsense about circles or something.”
“He is not responding,” Xipa replied, tapping at the touch panel on her wrist. “The wall is likely blocking the signal.”
There was another splash, but this time, it wasn’t a rock. Gustave’s head rose from the surface, the reptile wading into the shallows as the water sloughed off his dark scales. His poncho was soaked through, but it didn’t seem to hinder him at all. He had something silvery trapped between his jaws, Xipa realizing that it was a large fish. The animal was still alive, flapping its tail, Gustave throwing back his head as he swallowed it whole.
“Well?” Fletcher asked, frustrated by the creature’s plodding pace. “What did you find?”
“The way is clear,” he replied, his resonating voice making the water around him vibrate like someone had immersed a subwoofer just below its surface.
“This isn’t a fishing trip,” Fletcher chided, shrugging off his pack. “Alright, who’s going first?”
“I’m not going down there,” Bluejay protested, shaking his horned head. “I’ll fly over the wall and meet you guys on the other side. It’ll give me a chance to scope out the area.”
“Good, then you can carry our gear over,” Fletcher added. He swung his rucksack towards Bluejay, the insect stumbling as he caught it in his four arms.
“Fine,” Bluejay sighed. “Just put your stuff in a pile, and I’ll bring it over.”
They stacked their packs and weapons on the ground, Bluejay slinging a couple of XMRs over his shoulders before hoisting one of the rucksacks, flying off into the air. He couldn’t carry much weight – only one pack at a time.
Xipa heard Fletcher yell in alarm, snapping her head around to see Gustave lifting him off the ground. The reptile tucked the struggling Earth’nay under his arm, then started to walk back towards the spill gates.
“Hang on, you walking handbag!” Fletcher complained as he fumbled with the clasp on his belt. “I don’t have my helmet on yet!”
Once Fletcher’s suit was sealed, Gustave waded back into the water, dragging the Earth’nay along with him as he slipped below its surface. After a few minutes, he resurfaced again, Xipa stepping forward as she closed her visor. Gustave was a little gentler with her than he had been with Fletcher, either because of her size or because he had been toying with the Earth’nay deliberately. He lifted her off the bank, cradling her in his arm, Xipa feeling the smooth scales of his leathery belly through her suit as he pressed her up against his underside.
Despite the fact that her suit was rated for vacuum, and its oxygen supply could last for far longer than it would take to complete the trip, her panels flashed purple with apprehension as she sank into the cold water. Every instinct she had warned her that she was going to drown as her visor was plunged beneath the surface, the muffled sounds of rushing liquid filling her helmet. Gustave cut through the water like a scaly torpedo, his sheer strength surprising her once again. He pushed off the bottom, using his tail to steer as the water pulled them along. It was hard to see much in the murky water, but it went as dark as a grave as they coasted into the tunnel. It had been a long time since Xipa had felt so helpless, so reliant on someone else, like a baby being carried in its father’s arms. Valbara’nay were very buoyant due to their hollow bones, so drowning was uncommon, but that didn’t make them good swimmers.
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They coasted beneath the wall, floating down the long, dark tunnel. Xipa switched on her helmet flashlight, scanning the beam across the rounded walls. The structure hadn’t fared quite as well as she had imagined. While there were no obvious cracks in the carbcrete, its surface was covered in mineral buildup that created a stony layer, making it look more like a cave than an artificial structure. Clinging to that layer were carpets of water weeds that swayed in the current, along with clusters of freshwater invertebrates, their conical shells jutting from the walls. A solitary fish swam past, its silver scales reflecting her beam, the animal darting away in alarm.
It couldn’t have taken more than a minute or two, but it felt like an age to Xipa, sunlight finally letting her know that they had emerged on the far side. The tunnel gave way to silt, Gustave kicking up clouds of it as he began to walk along what looked like a lake bottom. He disturbed another shoal of fish, the scaly creatures powering through the water. They had long, serpentine bodies, their frilly fins arranged in a trilateral pattern. Xipa remembered the taste of their grilled meat, but that was a lifetime ago.
Gustave began to walk up an incline, heading towards the surface, the silt transitioning to red grass. When Xipa’s head surfaced above the water, she was met with a sight that made her breath catch in her throat.
They had emerged on the outskirts of the city – the outermost band near the base of the wall. This area had once been parkland, dotted with footpaths, botanical gardens, and scenic lakes that were designed to be enjoyed by the inhabitants. It had been left to run wild after the invasion, now rendered unrecognizable. The once carefully-tended lakes and streams had overflowed, the broken spill gates no longer able to regulate the volume of water that was let into the walls. The peaks of the hills jutted from the water like tiny islands, unkempt weeds and shrubs sprouting from them. What sections of the winding footpaths that were still visible were being reclaimed by the tall grass, others submerged by the flooding, shoals of fish coasting across the ground that the city’s people had once walked in their leisure time.
In the distance, she could see the residential band, clusters of domed houses that were nestled among the rolling hills and patches of forest. These, too, had been flooded and overwhelmed by the unchecked growth. Beyond them were the limits of the city proper, the pristine white of the towering structures stained and streaked by time, painted red by Kerguela’s ravenous plant life. From a distance, it looked like they had been dipped in a giant paint bucket, trails of crimson left to drip down their facades. Many were listing, their foundations likely eroded by water damage, but she couldn’t make out much more from where she was standing.
Xipa climbed up the hill, finding Fletcher waiting there, his pressure suit dripping with water. He took off his helmet, then stooped to retrieve his pack from the pile that Bluejay had created, slinging it over his shoulder.
“I’m guessing this place wasn’t a water park when you left,” he mused, peering out at the city beyond. “We’re gonna need a fucking boat at this rate. Maybe we can ride Gustave like a raft.”
“I see a path through,” Xipa replied, not sure if he was joking or not. “Without anyone to stem the flow or repair the spill gates, it looks like everything has flooded. These used to be beautiful lakes and rivers.”
As Gustave headed back into the water, Bluejay descended from the sky, another rucksack clutched in his arms. He set it down on the ground, his wings folding back into their protective covers.
“That’s the last of them,” he said, taking a moment to rest. Though he didn’t breathe using lungs, and so it was not conveyed in his speech, Xipa could tell that he was exhausted. “I can’t bring Gustave’s gear over – it’s too heavy. He’ll have to swim it through.”
“Before we go any further, we should plan for how we’re going to get out of here if we need to evacuate quickly,” Xipa said as she turned to look back at the wall.
“We’re leaving this city in a shuttle,” Fletcher replied. “There will be clear landing zones with plenty of cover deeper inside. I’m not fucking around swimming through any more sewer pipes. We hoof it to the beacon ASAP, check it out, then we’re out of here.”
“What if further investigation is warranted?” Xipa asked. “You discount the possibility of there being survivors, but it is a possibility that we must plan for all the same.”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” he said, avoiding the question.
A flash of irritated red passed through her suit panels. It wasn’t a secret that Fletcher had no faith in this mission – that he was merely here as a favor to Vos, but his attitude irked her all the same. Every Earth’nay that she had spoken to on the subject had been skeptical at best and condescending at worst, as though the prospect of her people surviving on the surface for any length of time was preposterous. To even set out on this expedition, she had been forced to threaten and coerce. If her hopes were realized, and there truly were survivors holding out in these ruins, she would make Vos and Fletcher eat their words.
After a minute, Gustave reemerged from the lake, hauling Ruza along with him. The feline hadn’t donned his boots or gloves, and his furry tail was waterlogged, but he didn’t seem to mind being wet as much as Fletcher did. He took off his helmet, then shook his tail dry, marching up the slope towards them. When he reached the top of the hill, he paused to take in the scenery, looking out at the ruined towers beyond.
“I did not expect the city to be in such a state,” he grumbled, reaching down to pick up his long rifle from the grass. “Reaching the source of the signal may prove more difficult than anticipated.”
“Have you ever even been to a city before?” Fletcher asked. “Last time I visited Elysia, it was all cobbled streets and sandstone. I doubt the Rask territory was any better.”
“None like this,” he admitted. “We cannot build so tall on Borealis. The gravity is too punishing. The only structures that came close to these were the ancient watchtowers of the East Gate, some of the largest ever constructed.”
“Were?” Fletcher asked. “What happened to them?”
“Your people destroyed them during the rebellion,” he growled, narrowing his yellow eyes. “Demolished by tank fire during a battle with the Palace Guard, I believe.”
“Play stupid games,” Fletcher said with a shrug, Xipa unfamiliar with the phrase.
When Gustave returned, he was carrying his unwieldy cannon and its drum-shaped magazine, which were apparently unharmed by the water. After spinning the barrel experimentally, he returned the drum to his back. The rest of the team collected their packs and weapons, then set off towards the city, following the winding paths that were still above water level.
***
“What are these?” Fletcher asked, the team walking along a footpath that rounded a small hill. “Looks like the lab we found a few days back.”
On the other side was a cluster of dome-shaped buildings, connected together like soap bubbles. They were made from the usual white-colored carbcrete, with round windows that looked out onto the surrounding land. There was a patch of forest nearby that had expanded beyond its original bounds to dominate the hillside, the trees growing tall and straight, decades of fallen leaves carpeting the furthest dome in a layer of soil that had eventually been claimed by colonies of red weeds. The lake, too, had overflowed to encroach upon the building. A small outhouse some distance away from the structure had already been submerged a good meter below the surface. The landscapers had made clever use of nature to hide the dwellings from view, ensuring that the owners had some privacy without the need for obstructing walls or fences, but it was running wild now.
“This is the residential band, where the city’s inhabitants used to live,” Xipa explained from Gustave’s shoulder. “This was once a flock’s home, or a family, as you might call it. That large dome in the center is the main room, and the two attached to it are probably the kitchen and bedroom. That was the standard layout.”
“The place looks like a fucking golf course,” Fletcher muttered. “All it’s missing are the sand traps.”
“What about that one?” Bluejay asked, pointing to the sunken outhouse.
“That’s the bathroom,” she replied.
“Your bathrooms are outside your houses?” Fletcher asked skeptically. “What if you need to take a piss at two in the morning?”
“Then you walk,” Xipa replied tersely. “For such a technologically advanced species, you Earth’nay have a strange idea of hygiene.”
“We should stop here and rest,” Fletcher added, turning off the overgrown path. “I dunno how long we’ve been walking with this non-existent day and night cycle, but I’m fucked.” He began to trudge through the tall grass, the mud squelching under his boots. “This structure looks intact. It’s as good a place as any.”
The rest of the team followed, making their way over to the building’s rounded vestibule. Just like the research station that they had stumbled across by the roadside, the door had been blocked by a buildup of soil, but Fletcher was able to leverage his strength to tear it off its hinges. Xipa hopped down from Gustave’s shoulder, watching as Bluejay moved to the front of the group.
“I don’t smell any Bugs,” he announced, waving his antennae as he ducked inside. “Seems clear.”
“Looks like Gustave will have to make his own doorway again,” Fletcher sighed. “Just try not to bring the whole fucking roof down on us. Hey, where are you going?” he added as he watched the giant reptile start to lumber away. Gustave was headed for the small lake nearby, tossing his gear aside before wading into the water up to his waist. He flopped down onto his belly with a splash, the displacement creating lapping waves, then swam over to rest his long snout in the water weeds at the lake’s edge.
“I guess there’s no rule that says you can’t sleep in a lake, you weirdo,” Fletcher muttered. “You can take first watch.”
Gustave rumbled in response, wriggling to bury himself deeper in the slippery mud.
Fletcher ducked into the low vestibule, making his way inside the building. Xipa waited a few moments, then saw him reemerge again in a notable hurry.
“Yeah, we should pick a different one,” he said cryptically. “Come on, let’s go.”
“Wait, why?” Bluejay asked. “Are there bodies?”
“Let’s just go,” he insisted, but Xipa reached out to grab his polymer forearm as he passed her by. He glanced down at her gloved hand, but he didn’t try to pull away from her, his gaze rising to meet hers.
“What’s wrong?” she demanded, confused by his sudden change in attitude. She had never seen him act this way before.
“It’s full of kid’s toys,” he admitted, keeping his voice low. “You don’t need to see that shit right now.”
“I do not shy away from the realities of war,” she replied. “This city is a graveyard. Hundreds of thousands met their end here, males and children included.”
She made her way into the vestibule, Bluejay stepping aside to let her through. When she emerged into the main dome, she saw what had rattled Fletcher so. A flock with one or more children had indeed lived here. The colorful shapes and patterns on the faded carpet were still visible, mushrooms sprouting near the base of the wall, where it was damp and shadowy. There was some musty furniture, a few seats and a dining table occupying most of the space, the shelves on the curving walls lined with old keepsakes and inactive photo projectors. There were dusty old toys strewn about the floor, as though a child had been playing with them before the alarm had been raised, and had been forced to abandon them in a hurry. As Xipa glanced into the adjoining kitchen dome, she saw that there were still dishes on the counter filled with desiccated meals. Whatever had happened in this city had happened fast.
The bedroom had been spared much of the damp, and there were relatively few mushrooms growing on the room-spanning mattress. She noted that there was an incubator placed against the far wall, a large, transparent box with a nest of blankets and pillows inside it. She walked up to it, wiping some of the dust from the glass, seeing that the interior had been left remarkably untouched by the elements.
“What is that?” Fletcher asked, Xipa turning her head to see him standing in the arched doorway behind her.
“It’s an incubator,” she said solemnly. “When Valbaran babies are born, they have trouble regulating their body temperature on their own, so they sleep beneath heat lamps until they’re a few months older. It means that this flock was caring for an infant.”
She anticipated some jibe about egg-laying or fish tanks, but Fletcher remained respectfully silent.
“We don’t have to stay here,” he finally said. “We can find somewhere else.”
“This has been my reality for thirty rotations,” she replied, keeping her voice level despite the flare of emotion that was making her headdress flush purple. “It does not disturb me. Come, we can eat a meal at a table for a change.”
***
As strange as it felt to eat a meal in someone else’s home, having everyone save for Gustave eating around the same table helped to reinforce the idea that their disparate group was a team. Once again, Fletcher shared his MRE with her, sliding a stack of food packets over to her side of the table. He made the excuse that he didn’t need all of those calories with his prosthetic limbs, but she found it odd that such a seasoned warrior would burden himself with more supplies than he needed. As sharp as his tongue was, she was beginning to realize that he cared more for those under his command than he wanted to admit.
She watched him as he thrust a cup of rehydrated fluid in front of Bluejay, insisting that the alien try it, laughing at his displeasure as he spat the brown liquid out of his proboscis like a straw.
The last time they had spoken privately, Fletcher had told her of how he had burned all of his bridges, that he had pushed away all of the people who were close to him. Maybe that was the source of his abrasive attitude – an attempt to keep the team at arm’s length lest they get too close. Was that the same reason she had condemned herself to a life of solitude for all this time? She had told herself that she was being strong, that it was a sign of her commitment to her cause, but maybe she was more like the Earth’nay than she cared to admit. Just as he had fled towards battle, perhaps she had fled towards grand projects that would let her avoid confronting her past.
What was she supposed to do about that, though? Fletcher had told her that it was too late for him, but that she had yet to cross a line from which there would be no return. What was that line? How would she know when she reached it – that she hadn’t crossed it long ago?
Somehow, having a glimmer of insight into the inner workings of her mind was worse than being ignorant – to know that there was a problem but to have no idea how to fix it. It was not a conundrum that could be solved with space stations or fleets.
“How are you liking the chicken salad?” Fletcher asked, snapping her out of her stupor. Her feathers flashed a surprised yellow, and she blinked back at him.
“G-good,” she replied hastily. “It tastes like grilled Gue’tra meat. That’s my favorite dish.”
“Yet another thing to add to the ever-growing list of things that taste like chicken,” he chuckled.
When they were done eating, they spread out into the dwelling’s rooms to sleep. Fletcher and Ruza set up their sleeping bags in the bedroom while Bluejay remained in the main dome. Xipa didn’t want to have to look at the incubator – even the company of the insect would be more tolerable – so she laid out her sleeping bag far away from him on the circular floor. The cushions on the chairs weren’t in too bad shape, so she stacked them behind her head, using them as pillows. Before long, she could hear Ruza snoring, but she found herself able to do little other than stare at the patches of damp on the domed ceiling.
As she rolled onto her side restlessly, she saw that Bluejay wasn’t asleep yet either. The insect was sitting on the floor on the other side of the dining table, having no need for a sleeping bag. He had cleared away the toys that were strewn across the carpet to make room for himself, sweeping them into a pile, which he was now examining. As she watched, he reached for one of them, lifting it up to examine it. She had seen toys like this before – soft dolls in the shape of Valbara’nay that were often stitched together from scrap fabric by fathers for their newborns. It was a tradition that had seen a resurgence on the colony, where such commercial products were not yet available in abundance, and importing them from the homeworld incurred an extra cost.
His eyes lingered on it, his furry antennae reaching out to touch gently against its stuffed snout. She waited to see what he would do next, her blood starting to boil. Seeing him there, holding a toy whose owner had probably died at the hands of his kin, was a form of desecration. Slowly, he reached for his rig, opening one of the pouches quietly so as not to wake the others.
“What are you doing?” Xipa hissed, the sudden sound startling Bluejay. He quickly dropped the doll as though embarrassed at being caught. “Why are you taking that? Put it back where you found it.”
“I…” he hesitated, glancing down at the fallen toy again. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“What do you think you’re doing?” she repeated, glaring at him from across the room. “That belongs to the people who lived here. It’s not yours to take.”
“I just…” Bluejay trailed off again, then seemed to find his confidence, his drooping antennae standing erect. “You have a personal stake in this fight,” he began. “You knew this world back when it was a thriving colony, when cities like this one were full of life, full of families. I don’t have that connection. I just wanted to remind myself that this is what it’s really about,” he continued, picking up the doll again. “All the things that I think are important, all my reasons for coming here, they’re all secondary to making this a place where children can play again. And if there really are people holed up here, people who need our help, then we’re their only chance. That’s more important than my hive’s reputation – than just looking good to appease the Coalition. Maybe I can look at this doll if I ever lose that perspective.”
Xipa was taken aback by his earnestness, by the emotion in his eyes as he stared at the rag toy. This was not a performance for her benefit. She had caught him in the act, taken him by surprise, and his cheerful mask had slipped for a moment. The monster that she had expected to find lurking beneath it wasn’t there…
“I like kids,” he added with a weak chuckle. “One of my jobs back on Jarilo was guarding the playgrounds, keeping watch in case a knife-tooth tried to hop the fence and grab a snack. I’d just be sat up in a tree watching them run around and play for hours. It was a lot more fun than minding the chickens.”
“You guarded children?” Xipa asked, cocking her head at him.
“There are daycares and schools in the settlement near my hive,” he explained. “The frontier colony life keeps people busy, and they need someone to mind their kids while they work.”
“And, the Earth’nay parents leave their offspring in the care of insects?” she added skeptically. “They put that much trust in you, after everything that they have seen?”
“The people on Jarilo have little choice but to work together,” he replied. “They don’t have the luxury of turning down our help when we offer it. It might be born more of necessity than willingness at first, sure, but they warm up to us over time. They realize that we’re not playing some long con, and that we genuinely do want to help the colony thrive. What’s good for them is good for us. The rising tide lifts all boats, as my father says.”
“These children…they do not fear you?” Xipa asked.
“That’s one of the things I like about them,” he replied with a smile. “They’re too young to be scared of me.”
“What of your own children?” she continued. “Do…do your kind have them? I don’t know how you reproduce.”
“In a way. Jarilans are kept in brood chambers while they’re in their larval form, and they only leave when they mature into their adult phase. They’re cuter than you’d think,” he added, noticing Xipa grimace at the thought. “They have these big, curious eyes that dart about all over the place. They kind of look like a swaddled baby, just…meatier. Anyway, I’ll just…yeah.”
He set the doll back down on the pile, then began to lie down, but Xipa raised a hand to stop him.
“Wait,” she began, Bluejay blinking back at her in surprise. “Take the doll.”
He smiled at her – a genuine one this time. She could see it in his eyes. He reached for the toy again, stowing it in one of the pockets on his rig, then settled in to sleep.