“Obviously not. You’d be a fool to put any faith in my word. Inevitably, I will betray you, hopefully sooner rather than later. I’m already tired of you.”
I can see my words land, soft little thumps that beat into her expression, forging her resignation. “Right, I know. You’ve told me how this will end. But can I trust youtoday?”
I think of my fractured bird in the hangar. Even with all the right parts and equipment, it will take some time to repair. I need Lena’s good graces for the time being, so I nod. “Today, I’m trustworthy.”
She lets out a relieved breath. “Great. We can really use you.”
With that ominous statement, she keys in a code that opens the doors. They slide apart to reveal a large, high-ceilinged room filled with perfectly spaced rows of artificial nests. In each pristine cup sits a very real Frathik egg.
Though I’ve read about Frathik biology in the Archives and seen the eggs depicted in scrolls, I’ve never seen one in person before. They’re large, big enough that I could only carry one in each arm, and their slightly faceted, translucent shells seemed to glow from within.
There arehundredsof them.
“Thisis your project?” I hiss. “Raising an army of my enemies?”
The war with the Frathiks may have begun under false pretense, but they killed thousands of Irran warriors in the process. My father resorted to hiring mercenaries to destroy their planet because it was us or them. A bad act, perhaps, but it saved our people from inevitable destruction. I have no interest in helping the Frathiks regain power in our star system...especially not now that they have a deep, well-founded resentment of everything Irran.
The terrakin rolls her eyes, gesturing for me to follow her down one of the rows. She gestures to an egg, where a small being is moving inside, its shape mostly formless except for a tiny hand patting the shell. She touches the shell in the same place, a smile tugging at her lips. “They’re babies, not soldiers.”
“What do you think they will become?” I growl, clenching my fists that are begging to crack every shell to prove what’s inside.
“People,” she says, moving to the next egg. “All kinds of people. Scientists. Teachers. Parents. Artists.”
I laugh in her face. She can’t be that stupid. “You’re working in their little war factory, and you don’t even know it. Maybe at one time, the Frathiks were people. Now, they are all soldiers. Every single one.”
This is my father’s true legacy. Some Irrans think it was the peace treaty that gave us the technology to spread from Irra and settle on Alak, Endan, Olethia, and Usuri. Some think it was the settlements themselves, or his six sons, born to rule them. But in truth it is what he did to the Frathiks, how he shaped them into a radical military organization. They no longer have chiefs and priests, only generals.
Lena’s looking at me with something ugly in her expression.Pity.“Not all of them are soldiers. Harl isn’t. I can tell from your face that you don’t believe me, but what I’m doing is right.”
“Alioth, save me from this ignorance,” I beg the goddess aloud. “Surely, you did not intend to match me with such an idiot.”
Lena’s face colors, red blotches creepy up from her neck onto her cheeks. I grin at her, waiting for her to lob an insult back at me. But she doesn’t. She points across the room.
“Start at that end and check each egg for movement. If any of them are still, mark it on the chart.” She indicates a scroll tacked to the wall. Then she turns her back on me, all her attention on the eggs.
What can I do except comply? The faster we finish this unpleasant task, the sooner we can go to the hangar. “Hello, little enemies,” I mutter to the eggs in my section. “I look forward to killing you someday.”
“But not today,” Lena calls, warning in her tone.
“Not today,” I agree, noting the swish and twist of the fat little embryo in front of me. I lean close and whisper to it, “Maybe tomorrow.”
After checking hundreds of eggs and finding them all unfortunately alive and well, I expect that we will head for the hangar. But like all my hopes in life, the idea is wrenched away when she settles down on a seat and starts to sing them frixing lullabies in horribly accented Frathik.
We made you, but now you must make yourself.
“Is this really necessary?” I ask loudly.
She ignores me, her brows drawn in concentration. So I sit off to the side against the wall, using one claw to clean the others as she drones on, hating my life as precious time I could have spent repairing my ship is wasted. It goes on for hours, only pausing so she can drink before she begins again, every so often repeating a series of songs.
“I thought you had a use for me,” I say loudly. When she doesn’t respond, I add, “Every hour we spend here, we’ll spend an hour in the hangar.”
She only nods, carrying on without missing a note. At first, I grow more and more irritated by the sound of her voice, but there’s something otherworldly and pure in her tone that eventually draws me in, and I find myself listening at some point. Listening and watching her.
Her devotion to the Frathik cause—or at least to these frixing eggs—is evident in her absolute focus. I doubt she even remembers I’m in the room when I’m not talking. Her whole body is dedicated to her task, posture curved toward her faceless audience, beseeching them.
Grow safe and strong; your parents are waiting patiently.
She carries on, even though she’s clearly tired. I think she would drain herself completely if she could. Everything about her is pale. Her fur, her skin and eyes. She is like the ghost of a female, singing to an empty room. I wonder if I try and touch her, if my hand will pass through her flesh.
