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It’s not the cleanest kill. The blade severs the spinal cord, but not the head entirely. For a moment, the creature mewls, making pitiful sounds that almost make me regret ending its life. The lashes spasm around its face, and then, with a sound almost like a sigh, it goes still.
I keep hold of the spear for a long moment afterwards, still driving my weight through it, not quite trusting that it’s over. But then the alien pulls his knife out, and the body of the creature sags down into the ground. I’ve seen enough dead things to know there’s no chance of it getting back up.
I pull out the spear. I consider keeping hold of it, in case this alliance between me and the alien is only going to last as long as we shared a common enemy. But he’s bigger, probably faster, and has claws and fangs. I’m not going to win a fight against him. Diplomacy is probably the better option.
And maybe this is a result of my scrambled memories, the patchwork of moments I can recall between Brannigan and now, but I don’t feel threatened by him. I should. The claws, the fangs, the attack by that other alien that feels ever ready to rise up in my mind again - all of this should have my heart pounding, but it doesn’t. As I look at the alien that not twenty-four hours ago I hit round the head, I can’t find it in me to be properly afraid of him.
So I raise the spear out towards him, holding it sideways on so the pointy end isn’t directed at him. He takes it from me, but immediately sets it down, before bending over the dead creature and saying a few words. I don’t understand what he’s saying, but there’s something suggestive of prayer about his tone. Instinctively, I bristle. Mercenia were always clear that religion is the source of all violence, that there isn’t an insurgent group on the planet not driven in some way by some irrational, illogical belief system. But the gentle way the alien rests a hand on the head of the dead creature seems at odds with this.
The words from Mercenia’s briefing echo in my ears again.
Primitive. Dangerous. Savage.
Primitive, sure - wooden spears aren’t the weapons of an advanced society.
Dangerous? Definitely, but to me? Most things can be dangerous. It’s the context of it that’s important. This guy has only ever been gentle, careful towards me. Even now, as he rises to his full height once more, turning to face me, there’s something about the way he holds himself that says he’s trying not to be intimidating, trying not to give any suggestion of threat.
Savage… There was nothing savage about the way he attacked that creature. Brutal, yes, decisive. But it didn’t suffer. He killed it quickly, didn’t toy with it. Not the cleanest kill, but not a dirty one. I’ve seen enough of those in my time to know the difference.
And the prayer, or whatever that was. Respect for the dead. Did my fellow soldiers ever show that sort of respect?
I don’t think it’s the fault of the fog in my head that I can’t recall any examples.
My training tells me to run or fight. The briefing I can barely remember tells me this is the enemy before me. I’ve never doubted my superiors or an order before now.
What is a soldier if not his duty?
Except I did. When the order was to spread my legs and conceive a child, I doubted those orders with every fibre. Travelled to a whole other planet to avoid them.
I feel every bit as frozen by confusion and indecision as I was by the cryostasis pod. So I do the only thing I can do.
Wait to see what the alien’s going to do next.
He smiles at me, and maybe I’m putting a human interpretation on an expression that means something utterly different to him, but it’s hard to believe he could be anything but friendly when he looks at me like that.
Then his smile shifts, his eyes growing brighter, more intense. Just like in the dream, my blood heats in response, warmth pooling in my abdomen in a way that’s as alien to me as he is.
“Nhi Brooks,” he says in that rumbling voice.
Wait.
What?
CHAPTEREIGHT
Maldek
My Brooks’ eyes widen as she hears her name on my lips, and I know she is realising that the dream we shared is every bit as real as this moment standing together now. I hold myself still, not reaching to comfort her, nor making any sort of sudden movement as I wait for her to process everything. When Ellie saw Anghar for the first time in the waking world, she ran, and while I do not worry about keeping pace with my linasha, I would prefer for her to not be so frightened and confused. It would have been easy for Ellie to trip, fall, injure herself during her flight through the trees. I do not like to think of this happening to my linasha when we are so far from Shemza and his healer’s knowledge.
My Brooks does glance at the trees, as if assessing her chance of escape. Her eyes soon return to the merka beast at our feet, though, and I think she must understand the danger she is in from the creatures of the forest if she leaves my side. She takes a step back from me, watching me with wary, clever eyes, but she does not run.
I put my fist to my heartspace, bowing my head in greeting.
“Maldek,” I say, tapping my chest.
“Mal-dek,” she repeats, speaking the sounds slowly to make sure she gets them right.
My heartspace thrills at the sound, even though she speaks it with a tone of suspicion. I have a battle ahead of me, I think, to win her trust and affection, but that seems only fitting to win such a warrior of a mate.
