Chapter thirteen: Questions
2:23, a.m. November 13.
We've been walking for only three minutes, but the shock of hearing my recorded voice from his wrist cuff devise was still fresh in my mind. Millions of questions burned holes in my head about this alien. I need to know what he is and why he's here; especially why it recorded me singing.
So while we walked, I began to ask my questions.
"How long have you been watching me?'
He didn't respond at all. I still went on with my questions.
"Why did you record me? What are you here for?"
He continued to ignore me. This made me ask more.
"Where are you from?"
His ignoring me was finally getting me mad.
"Why won't you answer me?"
He finally acknowledged me and turned his masked face down to face me.
"Why do you pestering me with your endless chattering? You are irritating me"
He called my questions chattering. I wanted to hit him, but it would hurt me more if I did.
"I'm chattering because it's too quiet. I don't like it too quiet, that irritates me."
I was close to yelling. Funny, now that I'm not scared of him anymore, I can yell at him like any other man who gets me mad. Maybe I'm just tired of being scared all the time.
"Why won't you answer any of my questions?"
He turned his face forward.
"I have no obligation to entertain your nonsensical chattering ooman."
I stopped in my tracks at his rude remark.
"I'm . . . Not . . . Ooman! I'm Artemis! What does ooman even mean?"
Like before, he ignored me. But, I had an idea of how to get my answers.
"Fine, be that way. Just know that whatever questions you ask me, like how to get out of this place and where the dangerous parts of the caverns are for examples, I won't answer them. I won't entertain your nonsensical chattering."
He stopped walking and sharply turned around to face me. I crossed my arms and stuck out my chin to show how serious I was. After a minute or so, he made a rumbling noise under his throat as if he was thinking. I stood firm. He finally spoke.
"Very well Artemis. I will answer your previous questions. I record everything I see and hear to recapture my past actions and to use later. I am not from this galaxy at all. I call you ooman because it is what my kind call your kind"
It finally made sense now.
"Oh, you meant human. I get it now. Wait, what is your kind?"
He began to walk away. I trailed next to him by two feet a before.
"I am an Yautja."
I looked up in confusion.
"E what ya?"
He looked down at me.
"Exactly. My kind are larger than your kind and smarter. We live far away from your galaxy, but it takes only a few of your planets weeks to arrive here with our ships. Our technology far surpassed your ooman technology. We can learn and adapt faster i replicating your languages and fighting styles. We are true hunters."
I couldn't help hearing pride in his voice. I couldn't help but be astounded by what he told me. I felt fear creep up inside me again. It didn't stop my questions though.
"Why are you here on my planet in the first place? Are you here to study humans?"
Then I realized why without him telling me. I stopped walking. The weapons, the recording devices, the deadly technology, the fighting techniques. It wasn't for studying humans, it's all for hunting humans like animals.
"You're hunting humans. Why? What did we ever do to you?"
I felt defensive.
"Your kind does not have to do anything. Your kind is dangerous enough game for my kind to hunt and earn as trophies. You are prey to us."
Any fear I had left was gone now and replaced with rage.
"We are not prey, we're sentient beings with morals, laws and integrity. We're not stupid animals for you to hunt. What you said is bullshit. What gives you the right to come to our planet and hunt us? We didn't do anything to you, we don't even know you exist. We don't deserve this, I don't deserve this. You're just a bunch of . . . "
He hit the wall hard with his fist shaking the cavern. "Enough, you talk too much." He shouted and roared at the same time. It only phased me for a second.
"Actually, I rarely ever talk. This is the longest conversation I've ever had in four years."
He pulled his hand from the wall.
"Why is is that? Is it because you are a nuisance to listen to?"
Jackass.
"No, I rarely talk because the people the people I used to talk to and cared about the most are gone and I'm alone. The only time I talk to people anymore is when I need to, even if I dislike them, like you."
He growled.
"So why do you need to talk to me?"
I put my hands on my hips.
"Because you're the only one here to talk to and you understand me."
He mimicked my body gesture.
"Then I regret I have ever spoken to you."
I stuck my tongue at him.
The female poked her tasting organ out. I know that it means she is displeased with my last response. She is angered easily and stubborn in her own ways. If she was taller and had mandibles on her face, he would make a perfect female Yautja. Even her ways of asking her endless amount of questions was perfect for our females. The're endless chatter is frustrating for any male Yautja to suffer. Why do females talk so much? This female was no different. Still, if answering her ridiculous questions will get us out of this godforsaken place faster, then so be it. With all of her endless questions, she has now implanted the need to ask my own questions of her. I deserve that much from suffering her nonsense.
"So where are your so called people you care for? Why are you so alone?"
I do not know why this matters to me, but this question went through my mind since I first saw he. I want to know. She looked away but kept her stance.
"They're . . . all dead. My parents and my uncle were the only people who I cared about and cared about me. They're dead and the rest of my family are nothing but selfish white trash racists with no sense of loyalty and honor. They never cared about me, only themselves. I hate them." The way she spoke of her own blood made it sound a if they were all bad-bloods.
"What makes you hate your own blood?"
To know why one is a bad-blood is important in Yautja society. This is no different. She began to walk. Finally. My patience was working.
"Why shouldn't I hate them. They hated my father for being Native American, not Caucasian. They thought he wasn't good enough for my mother because of that alone. He was a good man, a hard working man who could take care of my mom. They just hated his race and nothing more. They hated him more when my mom got pregnant with me. They all wanted her to abort me and never see my father again. They never wanted me. I don't want people who don't want me." Her words managed to connect to how unwanted I was with my own clan. I will always be apart of the clan and have to report when summoned, but no matter what I do, I will never belong."
Then she let out a long sigh of sadness
"No matter what I did, I never belonged."
Did she read my thoughts? How did she know? Another question arose.
"What does it mean to abort you?"
The small creature looked up at me. She took a breath.
"It means to . . . end an unborn babies life. To take it out piece by piece out of the womb."
I was sickened by her words, so was she. I roared with anger.
"Disgusting, such evil to take the life of the unborn. Only dishonorable bad-bloods would do such a crime punishable by death or life banishment."
She had the right to hate her own blood.
"I agree, many people here don't feel like that way though. When my mother refused to kill me, her own mother and father disowned her. She loved me enough to leave her family and to choose my father over them."
Her mother did this for her?
"Your mother and father were honorable oomans."
This made the ends of her mouth curl upwards. I knew it as a ooman gesture of happiness known as a smile. What I said delighted her. It is better than her anger. I will keep this in mind when I speak to her.
"They were very young too, seventeen years old when I was born and when they got married."
Young bloods. Her mother and father were young bloods. Yautja are not allowed mates until they are blooded after 150 ooman years. Oomans age so m much faster and are only considered young bloods until they are eighteen years old. Yet, her mother and father chose each other as life mates at such a young age. The practice is only done by the elders but it is so common for oomans. This seemed strange to me at first, but now I wonder what a life mating is like. I'll never know any kind of mating for I have been rejected many times for being too small and weak for the females. I pulled out of myself from such thoughts.
"What became of them?"
Why would I ask such a personal question? It was a disrespectful notion to speak of the dead, but I want to know why they died. She answered me.
"All I remember is my parents and me in a car at night and another car hitting us head on during a stop light. My parents died shielding me from being killed too. I was the only survivor in that crash and I almost lost my left arm. I was only five. The scar on my arm always reminds me I'm an orphan."
This female was stronger than I thought. I wanted to know more.
"Who cared for you then?"
Her mood changed back to positive.
"My father's brother. He was my only family when I was growing up. Nobody else cared about me but him. He was pretty old but very strong being over 47 when he adopted me. He taught me everything I know about how to be a great hunter and warrior like him."
She has warriors blood in her veins and thought highly of her father's blood. Very respectful. She continued continued and I listened.
"He was a Vietnam war veteran too. He joined when I was only eighteen years old in 1970 as a sniper and had great fighting skills from our ancestors. He was as tough as could be, but two years into the war he was injured in an attack that cost him his ability to have children."
How awful.
"He told me that he felt like a disgrace for a long time until my father was born in 1982 but became like a father to him when there parents died. My uncle Brian called me and my father his redemption for having no children of his own. He treated me like a daughter when my father died. I miss him."
For whatever reason, talking for her made her happy. It had a similar effect on me.
"What became of your uncle?"
She paused for a few seconds until she spoke again.
"He died a hero protecting many lives from being taken by bad bloods a you call them. He stopped an armed bank robbery but got shot. I saw everything. I was just fourteen. I miss him too."
She became quiet and still. This female suffered so much in such a short life. No wonder she was alone and did not speak. To speak of such trauma is hard for any steadfast Yautja to bear at a young age. She was a true warrior.
"He died honorably."
As I said this, my heart began to pound again so I needed to take my focus from her. But when she spoke again, her words stuck into me like her arrows.
"Nothing hurts more than being alone and unwanted."
She understood my soul's pain. How could she? She is not my species, not my kind, yet she connected to me like no other. I can't focus anymore on anything except her. What is she doing to me. I need to pull away from her.
"We need to keep moving Artemis. Come."
She didn't argue. She was calmer now even though she spoke of great pain. I will never understand how females work.