Page 107 of Strange Lights

I can see it then, the poorly disguised worry and suspicion on their face under a mask of polite diplomacy. They aren’t quite used to hiding their emotions while wearing this human mask.

“Seventy-two escape pods,” Orion says. “I managed to launch seventy-two escape pods, aside from the one Eldi and I shared. I have no idea how many made it all the way here.”

Astra nods, their face falling at the small number. They place a comforting, still-clawed hand on Orion’s shoulder.

“I know of a small group of survivors,” Zara says, stepping forward. “They’re safe on Earth, currently under my people’s protection. We aren’t sure where the rest of them are.”

“If it’s all right with everyone, my sister and I could coordinate with Orion for logistics in returning your children to you safely,” Meredith says, not willing to be left out.

Orion straightens a little, nods his acquiescence. “They are hiding. The children. They know nothing more than fear and survival. They had to fend for themselves, to survive on a foreign planet. It will take time to coax them all out.”

“You wish to continue that mission?” Astra asks with a knowing look.

“I’ve only succeeded in finding and hiding away a few,” Orion says. “But with more resources, less secrecy, and a little more time, I could find more of them. Some will hear about the Mothership’s arrival and will find their way on their own. But I believe there are many hiding among the humans who have become . . . attached.” His eyes dart over to Luca, who gives him a wry half grin.

“A few more⁠—” Astra stumbles over the words, substitutes a musical note, and returns to English to try again. “A few more⁠—hours?”

Orion laughs and nods. “Close enough.”

“Then you should finish that task before we leave for our new home.”

“Before you go, there’s more I should tell you⁠—” It’s too much suddenly. I’m overwhelmed at the thought of telling Adele’s story, of explaining my own place in this.

Tell of us, of you. The voices are still there in my head, like they promised, clearer than before. Perhaps my knowledge of their nature is amplifying their voices. I’m listening now, no longer shutting them down.

Astra cocks their head like a bird and waits patiently for me to continue. I tell the story haltingly, carefully, not wanting to leave out an essential detail. I tell of Adele’s history, her origin, her arrival here, her long deception, and the attempts to resurrect her race. Astra’s skin flickers a rainbow of alarm colors. When I speak of the voices in my head, of the beings I met in the void, of what and who I am, of how my journey led me here, a ripple of shock and that soft singing flows through the others gathered behind Astra.

Astra closes their eyes, the pain and guilt on their face still easy to read, but there’s something else too. “They might have known. But they had no way of making us understand.”

We tried, but you were always distant, slipping from our reach.

The voices, the ones I heard sometimes in the back of my head, that haunted my sleep, like the ones I met in that magical realm⁠—they are there now, growing closer, louder, clearer with every moment. My breath catches as hope bubbles in my chest. I can’t help myself; I send out tethers, calling, reaching, searching. I’ve always excelled at tethering, knew I could reach farther, but I never understood quite how far.

An answer . . . like a mental handshake, someone latches onto the other end of my questing tether. It’s like someone adjusted an antenna, tuned the radio dial to the right frequency. The voices in my head are now as clear as Astra’s. A wispy little something, amorphous, cloudlike, creeps over Astra’s shoulder. More appear, peeking over and around the Chupacabras.

Hello, Earthling. Hello, one who is and isn’t like us.

Oh, hello, I’ve heard you before.

We’ve always known you, but you never understood you weren’t alone. We struggled to reach you, so far away and human, still so different from us.

I’m here now; it is nice to meet you.

The brush against my consciousness comes flooding in from all directions. Overwhelming yet startlingly innocent and young, heartbreakingly so, they were patient while I spoke to Astra, and now they cluster around me like a crowd of preschoolers vying for my attention.

Hard, speaking to them. Easier with you.

One little voice is coming into focus, ringing clearer with every sound. A bright spark of individuality struggles to make itself known over the chorus. I can feel the effort communicating takes her, how they love her even though they don’t understand her. She, like Eldi, like me, is different from the rest, who draw back and let her speak for them. I can sense their excitement, their pride, that she’s figured this out after so long.

Acting on pure impulse, I reach out a hand, stepping close to Astra, who watches me impassively and allows the mist-like being to reach across the gap. Warm like a ray of sunshine, she winds up my arm with a surprising heaviness.

You and me, the same. Hear, listen.

I hear you now; I’m listening. I’m sorry I didn’t understand before, I answer her.

“We struggle to communicate with them,” Astra says. They can’t hear them, I realize, only I can. “Only a few of our oldest Helpers could speak with them, and most of that knowledge is now lost. We weren’t able to save many. Only a few of the youngest could be spared, if we were to save us all. Their race’s sacrifice has always been known, remembered, and honored. Had we realized what had happened with Adele, if we could have done something⁠—” Astra looks pained and cuts off.

“They are growing. When these few are older, we will raise more, and they will raise each other. We have saved their genetic code. They have saved their history. We care for them alongside our own young.”