The first thing I do when I'm back on my wobbly legs is find Lishka, who is propped against a tree having her minor wounds perfunctorily cleaned by her female Casti friend, whose name escapes me. She might be new: it's been several days since I was booted.
Having seen Lishka is okay, I maintain enough distance that she doesn't notice me, thereby avoiding the awkward thank you/you're welcome exchange. The admiration radiating off of Nolan is plenty to keep me warm at night, thank you. A certain degree of smugness emanates from me, though it flags slightly in the face of Cathy's appearance from the hubbub.
"Hello, Cathy," I greet my former employee guardedly. I completely expect her to hate my guts: I stuck her with this job (though Kara's untimely departure had a hand in it). I left her in the lurch.
The human Latina surprises me by closing the distance and hugging me firmly. "Betta," she murmurs. "It's good to see you again."
Processing the shock, I slowly lift my arms and return the hug. "You too," I reply.
Nolan goes over to talk with the group who are keeping the Hellbug under control, leaving me and Cathy alone. I'm glad the action isn't centered on me, as my nerves are rather jangled as I come down from the high.
"How's it going?" I blurt, for lack of a better question.
Cathy's face goes gloomy but tough, and she replies, "Kara and you were both great losses to this farm. I have big shoes to fill."
And here I was avoiding Lishka because of the social awkwardness. "If anyone can, it's you," I respond, finding the words ring true. Cathy is an extraordinarily hard worker, and she led the field's human standard for as long as I worked the land for the town. "I know the adjustment is rocky," I continue, rewrapping my stretched-out sling and looping it around my neck. "Is there anything I can do to... ?" As I speak, I look past her at the Hellbug bound on the ground, and beyond it, to the field it decimated.
When I lived with Deerik and Croau, whenever I made a mess, I was responsible for cleaning it up.
"Thanks," Cathy smiles. "But I think the kind of help I need is beyond your current capacity."
"I've got it!" I whoop. Grasping her arm, I drag her towards the Hellbug and the group of workers. "I may not be able to lend a hand," I tell Cathy. "But guess who can lend six?"
Cathy stares at the Hellbug, and a grin grows slowly on her face.
"Go on," I urge. "Talk to your people." Letting go of that internal hold I had kept on my old job was a palpable weight off my heart, head, and shoulders. I relinquish the possibility of ever going backwards, in favor of moving on.
Nolan looks at the devious expressions on our faces and sighs. "We're not killing the thing, are we?"
The newest head grower steps up to the plate. "No, we are not. In fact, we're harnessing this Hellbug to do our dirty work. Literally."
A few of my more engineer-minded ex-employees step up, including Deyobo, with eyes gleaming in interest, as Cathy takes my seed and causes it to flourish. Within ten minutes of debating the design, an idea is finalized. The next ten minutes see tree limbs cut with coldfire blades, dovetailed together in a simple form, and fitted with braided rope straps for a harness.
The bravest souls muzzle the Hellbug, making all of us jumpy as it snarls and snaps, then hobble its six legs so it won't dig or bolt. When all but those holding the reins step back, we jointly admire the thing of beauty created. A plow now cages, hobbles, and justifies the existence of the Hellbug.
"What are we waiting for?" Cathy calls. "Vamanos!"
With that, Borush gracefully swings his heavy frame onto my vacated seat and wraps the reins around his fists. With a nod at those holding the tethers and a war-whoop, the Hellbug takes off at a much more manageable pace. In seconds, the weighted plow has dug in and is furrowing the earth. Borush redirects the creature towards the trampled bar-wheat field, aligns with the previous furrows, and starts to mark the ground again. The crew cheers and stomps, somebody hands out bags of seed, and soon there is a row for half the crew to walk down, broadcasting the fresh crop. The other half of the crew follows with short-tined rakes, covering the seed against birds and vermin.
"I could wipe a tear," I joke proudly, observing the farm's newest tool in action.
Nolan scratches his beard. "I still think we should kill the thing."
"It'll probably stress out and die by the end of the season, anyway," I reply serenely. "We'll have to capture a new one."
The Lawkeeper gives me a sidelong glance. "Eager for another ride, huh?"
I roll my bum hand's shoulder with a wince. "Hardly."
He chuckles. There is a pause wherein I contemplate the innuendo in his comment with hazed vision and a warm face before he comments, "Sun's going down fast."
I stiffen. "Shtako! I gotta make a drop to Kenya!" With a beggy purse of my lips and a downward tip of my shades, I eye him pitifully.
Nolan gives a half scoff, pressing the shades back up my nose. "No need to bat your lashes at me, missy. I dragged you out here, I'll take you back."
I deepen the expression to a near-nuclear level of pleading, knowing it's becoming comical by this point.
"Fine!" he throws his hand up between my face and his. "And I'll drop you at the NeedWant for your trouble."
"That would be very helpful," I agree, brightening. "I mean, I am handicapped."
Nolan snorts sarcastically. "Sure. Whatever you say, sweetheart."
We start to walk back through the woods towards Horace's house, where the Charger was left. "Hey Nolan?"
"Hmm?"
"What's a sweetheart?"
The man looks at me strangely, clearly trying to find a safe explanation. "In days before my time, it was somebody close to someone's heart."
"And now, it's sort of... an endearment," I surmise, fathoming the gist.
"Yeah," Nolan says with a crooked smile. "That's it."
By the time Nolan swings me past my apartment, through town, and finally to the NeedWant, over three hours have passed since I promised Kenya her booze.
"We still need to investigate that Ark," Nolan reminds me.
"I know. Hail me later tonight." I pile out of the Charger with a hollered, "Thanks for the ride!" over my shoulder.
The NeedWant is as packed as ever on the last night of the workweek with everybody looking to blow their pay on sex, booze, and drugs. Vice and wanton behavior is thick in the air. As I muscle through the door and dance through the swarm of post-work partiers, I begin to chant as soon as I round the bar, "I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry - "
Kenya has one sleeve fallen from her shoulder, a few hairs in her face, and a slight smudge to her lipstick. It's the most disheveled I've ever seen her: madam or not, she's a queen. "You're late as three hells," she gripes, pouring two shots simultaneously.
"I know, I'm sorry," I reply contritely. "What can I do?"
Kenya jerks her ebony head in the direction of a thinly curtained round table in the corner of the room. Where the curtain falters, the heavy haze of smoke and pheromones take over. "Take one flask over to them. They've already paid for it."
"You sold a whole flask already?" I ask, tone pitching dangerously high.
"I told you, the Castithans have a hard-on for the stuff: now move it!"
"Yes, ma'am!" I swing through the pressing crowd, which is thickest at the bar. Guarding the flask and my injured arm at the same time is hard, so by the time I part the gossamer curtain, I'm distracted enough to be startled when a massively muscled, hairy arm clotheslines my chest. I follow it to the owner's face, finding a gnarly, mean-looking Sensoth scowling down at me.
A bouncer? For whom? I think, looking over at the Castithans lounging on cushions or short sofas around the table. They are all in various states of alcohol toxicity, and every glass on the table is tinged green. When my eyes land on the one at the head of the table, I realize the Sensoth is not a bouncer, but a bodyguard for one man. "Datak Tarr," I whisper aloud, before I can stop myself.
The platinum hair of the baddest crime kingpin in Defiance shines clean as snow as the pale man throws back the last of his shots. He smiles loosely when he sees the flask in my hand. "Let her through, Raiga."
With a nervous swallow, I place the flask on the low table. I can feel every eye around the table on me, even though they continue to slur and laugh in their native tongue. I nearly flinch visibly when Datak's voice washes over me. "Kenya sang your praises over Green Fairy," he says, an arrogant and powerful outward cant to his knees. "Or I might never have tried it."
I get the feeling I'm not supposed to reply to that, so I school my face and posture into neutral attentiveness. Respect, respect, respect - or I might get a charge blade to the ribs.
Datak leans forward carefully, pink eyes appraising. "I am glad I did."
A dangerous bravery steals into my chest, like a tiny echo of my Hellbug ride. An idea forms in my head for how I might further my new business venture. With a little bending of my pride, and a lot of pandering to foreign custom... "You flatter me, sir," I say quietly, like I'm awed by his recognition.
I find myself sinking to my knees beside the low table, slowly pulling Datak's shot glass closer, and carefully pouring from the flask. His men take no real notice of me, but having served the master as etiquette dictates, I begin to serve his captains.
Datak's gaze roams me, appreciating my posture, my grace, my exposed shoulders. I have read about old world geishas, who by merit of their completely clothed movements and fluid conversationalism gained status, suitors, and fame. "Your name escapes me," he states, voicing it like the honor it is.
"Betta, sir," I reply.
"You manage delicate feats well with one hand, Betta," he says, tossing back the shot. "What about rougher ones?" Now there's a tone that leaves nothing to the imagination.
I know this is typical Castithan alpha male peacocking. They make passes at everything in a skirt, and a few things without. So instead of giving in to the panic that skitters across my scalp, I smile coquettishly up at him and channel my inner Casti, "My singular hand demands rationing. Brewing is an engrossing business." He can get handjobs anywhere. My brew? Not nearly as common.
Datak is well and truly drunk, or he might not have let me off the hook with a laugh. I take the opportunity to refill his shot. "What I fail to see," I sigh with soft disappointment. "Is how my wares attract such pleasure from one so cultured as yourself."
The Castithan kingpin eyes the green drink, held to the digba tree's wane light. "On Casti," he starts pensively. "We made a similar drink from plants grown there. It was drank strictly by men when they bedded their first."
I look up to find him looking down at me, eyes heavy with heat. Reminiscing on happier, simpler times may stir passion, but under the man's smolder, there is also remorse for that which was lost. In a moment's flash, I feel the weight of that loss. "I know what it is like to lose a piece of your history," I murmur honestly, my parents drifting through my mind. "I am happy to remind you of yours."
The Castithan grunts softly as he leans back and drinks his renewed shot, breaking the moment.
"Would you be interested in more regular retrospection?" I query, taking the condensation off the flask with a fingertip.
After a long minute of silence, during which I expect to be thrown out of the building in several pieces by Raiga, Datak replies, "Yes." He places his shot down near my hand for refilling. "I would."
When I make it back to my apartment to await Nolan's hail, I fall asleep and find myself caged in dreams.
A tiny, blue-green marble floats in space, hovering in the crook of Orion's arm. I am engulfed in a swarm of small white lights, whose whisperings reveal them to be the Gulanee. We cascade through the dark, falling towards the planet. It is less of a controlled descent, and more of a tumble. I can feel the lights' exhaustion from their light years of travel. They are clinging to their final reserves, holding on for dear life to their last energies.
That seems important to them, somehow. Like they have a goal in mind.
In orbit around the planet are several Arks. In fact, it looks like the entire Ark Fleet of metal ships, their disk-like bellies glow with Gulanite fueled mechanics. Why is the Ark Fleet here?
As the Gulanee and I near the marble sheathed in lacy clouds, I peer through the gaps in the white to see what the planet looks like. My metaphorical jaw drops as I take in the sway of South America, the spatter of Europe, the icy caps of the Poles. It's exactly like the geography section of my Earthling child's textbook. The planet is Earth!
It all crashes together in my mind. This is around the time when the Votanis Collective first made contact with humans on Earth, before the Pale Wars and the terraforming.
The lights form a loose cloud several times the size of the largest ship, whispering among themselves just as the first Ark begins to list...veer...and finally fall in dreadful, dead silence of space.
NOOO! I shout, useless to right the ship or slow its descent or even float closer.
I suck a huge breath as I helplessly watch thousands of Votan lifeforms burn through the stratosphere and blink out of existence. Thousands more follow: sleepers whose dreams will never end. Those that do not fall from orbit explode in space: the lack of fire like a horrible dishonor to the lives lost. Each one feels like a punch to the gut. In these constraining dreams, my mouth cannot make noises of horror. The only sound is the whispering of the Gulanee cloud behind me.
Somewhere in this tragedy, I know there are survivors of the Arkfall. Some Votans make it safely to the planet's face, with my parents being two of them. Somehow, though, that cannot console me.
Soon, all that is left are the floating remains of a few Arks that detonated in place, jagged fragments spewing cables and debris. Terrible sadness wells up in me as time begins to speed up, as it had with the sun that swallowed the Votanis star system. The Earth's continents rearrange like smearing mud due to the technology spilled from the crashed Arks, changing colors and textures as their surfaces are rewritten into the world I walk today.
The whisperings grow more intense behind me, and I turn my perspective to find the white lights settling along the hulls of a dozen or so wreckages. They flare brightly on contact, then fade to nearly nothing as though falling asleep, like hot steel cooling. A handful do not land, but choose to float amongst the Arks like restless stars. As their brethren slowly darken, they grow like white flames.
They are becoming vessels for their people's energies, I marvel, though confused.
The bright remainder slowly float closer to each other, drawn like magnets.
Why are they being so conservative? I wonder. Why don't they enter the cracked Arks, find their remaining brethren, and share the biosuits? Or even cascade to Earth for the same purpose?
I wake up when my door is firmly knocked upon. "Betta, it's Nolan!" comes the Lawkeeper's voice. He sounds equally parts miffed and worried.
I rouse from my bed, noting I must have fallen onto it and conked out with no prelude upon returning home. This dream sleep is so deep and engrossing, apparently, I lose track of time. "I'm coming, Nolan!" I grouse, stiffly waddling over to the door and throwing it open.
He folds his arms when he sees me. "What, you can't answer a hailer one-handed?"
I grope my own breast for the hailer I keep slipped in my undergarment, earning a ticked brow from Nolan and a scowl from myself when I see the screen. I've missed four hails from him.
"Sorry," I mutter, rubbing sleep from my eyes. "I crashed when I got home." My dreams come flooding back painfully, poignantly.
"Are you alright?" Nolan asks, noticing the mistiness in my eyes.
"Yeah," I croak. Just some really bad dreams, I'll walk it off.
"Still feel up to Ark hunting?" he asks.
I reply, "Hells yes. I want to know what's in that Ark." I could not be any more untruthful: seeing that Ark dead and buried is going to remind me that I saw it careen through space and perish in flames.
But I can't handle being stuck in my room, haunted by these shadows thrown long and deep into my psyche. I'll wind up drinking myself to sleep again, and Nolan won't be back to wake me.
No. A little treasure hunting will do me good.
I spend the ride propped on the inner sill of the Charger's window, wishing the retrofitted vehicle would go faster, carry me away from my thoughts.
The dreams have never bothered me so much. They have never been this detailed. For the longest time, they were of a single light. It was nearly peaceful. Why have they changed?
Why am I tormented by these visions of the past? Is it my mind snapping under the pressure of finally knowing what I am? Is this the inevitable breakdown of my unnatural body, beginning in my head?
If it's not from within me, then who or what is causing me to dream of Gulanee? Why must I witness tragedy at the whim of some -
"We're here," Nolan interrupts my railing.
Without a word, I throw myself from the car and stalk into the whipping wind. The wildness of the terraformed Earth is uncomfortable. Who is to know what approaches, masked by the movement of barwheat and corn and trees?
The impact of a hand on my shoulder makes me jerk mightily. Before I realize what I've done I've ducked, stepped, and put my fists up.
Nolan eyes me warily, two shovels in his other hand. That sharp, scruffy jaw clenches as recognition appears in his eyes. "I know that look," he says simply.
My fists don't unclench as they fall to my sides. "Don't," I warn.
"I saw that look every day in the mirror for a long time," Nolan continues. "Hell, still see it some days."
"Just stop," I seethe, breathing heavily. "I don't wanna talk about it." Where is this coming from?
The Lawkeeper closes the distance between us, like a soldier advancing fearlessly. "Then don't," he says shortly.
His advance has the intended effect. I am knocked off metaphorical balance, looking up into his snapping raptor's gaze.
"I'm serious, don't talk about it. Don't think about it. Live like it doesn't exist."
"It's nightmares!" I shout. "How am I supposed to ignore dreams I can't escape?!"
He leans into my personal space, sticking the shovel up between us. "You work it out."