“Maybe this was a mistake,” I murmured, staring at the rejected puzzle pieces scattered across the floor. “Maybe I’m not cut out for this.”
Andrek’s tail stilled. “If you’re going to leave, do it now. Before…”
“I’m not leaving,” I interrupted, my words coming out more harshly than I intended. “I said I’d stay, and I meant it. But maybe you should have higher standards than ‘the only person desperate enough to apply.’”
A mixture of hurt and anger flashed across Andrek’s face at my cruel words.
“I apologize for my desperation inconveniencing you,” he said, his voice ice-cold. “Tomorrow, five o’clock. We’ll work on the sleep ritual. Don’t be late.”
He left with Pip, and I sat alone in the playroom, surrounded by toys I didn’t understand for a child who didn’t want me.
Day five brought a new circle of hell: the soothing harmonics.
“Yxian children respond to specific frequency ranges,” Andrek explained, Pip fussy and overtired in his arms. We had a rough afternoon. During play time, Pip fell and scraped one of her knees. Despite Andrek’s quick response with medical supplies, the child was inconsolable. “When they’re distressed, they needto hear sounds that remind them of being in the womb. Low frequencies, resonant tones all working in sync to a steady rhythm.”
He shifted Pip to a cradling position and hummed.
I’d heard a lot of sounds in my life. Earth sounds of music and traffic and the constant electronic hum of surveillance systems, but never anything like this. It started deep in Andrek’s chest, a vibration so low I felt it in my bones before I heard it with my ears. It thrummed through the air, rich and alive, modulating in subtle ways that I couldn’t track, but found soothing.
Pip’s crying tapered off within seconds. Her small body relaxed, breathing evening out, and I watched in amazement as her eyes drifted closed.
“That’s,” I struggled for words. “That’s beautiful. How do you do that?”
“Resonance chambers in the chest,” Andrek said between hums. “Some species have them. For Yxians, they develop in adolescence, part of secondary sexual characteristics. The males’ are lower, more suited for calming, while females’ are higher, better for alerting and energizing.” He glanced at me. “You’ll need to learn to approximate it.”
My stomach sank. “I don’t have resonance chambers.”
“No, but you have vocal cords and a diaphragm. You can create similar frequencies with practice.” He finally stopped humming as Pip fell into a deep sleep. The absence of the humming felt like a loss. “Try it. Low as you can go, steady rhythm.”
I felt ridiculous, but I tried. The sound that came out was nothing like Andrek’s resonant hum. It was weak and wavered. To my ears, it sounded more like a groan kids mimicked on Halloween. Pip stirred in his sleep, her face scrunching up, and I stopped.
“That’s normal for a first attempt,” Andrek said, though I detected a hint of doubt in his voice. “It takes practice. Try again, but from your chest, not your throat. Feel the vibration.”
I tried again. Multiple times. Each attempt was worse than the last. I practiced until my throat hurt.
“Enough,” Andrek said, standing carefully with Pip in his arms. “We’ll practice more tomorrow. Without Pip present, I think.”
The dismissal stung, even though I knew it was practical. I couldn’t learn this with an empath child feeling my failure.
“Andrek,” I called as he reached the door. He paused, looking back. “Does it get easier? Please tell me it gets easier.”
For a moment, he looked as tired as I felt. “I don’t know, Danielle. I wish I did, but I don’t know.”
By day seven, I’d stopped counting my failures. There were too many.
Pip still cried when I held her. She still refused at least half the meals I prepared and ran to Andrek every chance she got, seeking the safety and comfort I couldn’t provide. The empathic bond Andrek warned me about felt less like a connection and more like a chasm. Every time I tried to reach across it, Pip recoiled.
I’d taken to staying up late, reading everything I could find about Yxian child development, cross-species bonding, and empathic communication techniques. None of it helped. The theory was useless when the practice kept failing.
That night, or technically very early morning, since it was past two a.m., I gave up on sleep and sat at my window, staring out at the alien sky. The twin moons were both full, casting everything in silver and copper light.
Was this the freedom I wanted? I’m a failure. Maybe my parents had been right. Maybe I was selfish, running away from my responsibilities on Earth only to fail at new ones here. Maybe Anthony Louis and the surveillance state and the planned-out life weren’t the prison I thought them to be. Maybe I brought my own cage with me wherever I went.
My thoughts spiraled down a dark path when I heard a sound.
Singing.
It came from across the hall, from the direction of Pip’s nursery. At first, I thought I was imagining it. After all, I was exhausted, emotionally wrung out, and probably half-delirious. I opened my door, and the singing grew louder, weaving through the quiet night.
