“All right,” I concede and get back up. “I guess alien flying saucers are just not as exciting as they should be. But I think this one likes you.”
I try two other consoles, but none of them are able to get her interested. So I carry her out again, noticing that the light in the saucer turns blue the moment we step through the hatch, and the hum stops.
“It’s as if it senses you,” I tell her. “But not us. Why? What is your connection to the Plood? And if it senses you, why won’t it turn on completely?”
She has no answer to that.
But it’s progress—like entering a car and turning on the inside light. At least you know there’s a battery and it has some charge, even if you can’t start the engine.
“I was going to build her a new playpen,” I tell Kenz’ox as I hand his baby back to him. “But now I have another idea.”
He raises his eyebrows. “What?”
I look over at the broken hut. “You’ll see.”
He gathers the various leather sheets that Aker’iz uses into a bundle. “Ah. The little irox-voiced girl and I will take a walk. Some of us really like the beach.”
I give him a little smirk. “Wealllike the beach.”
“And sometimes wereallylike it,” he agrees, sending me a naughty glance and walking off toward the sea.
A hard tingle goes through my nether regions at the memory of what happened after the dactyl attack. “Mhm, sometimes we have a lot of fun there,” I mutter.
I put my hands on my hips and consider the ruined little hut. We can build a hut for drying meat later. A place to put Aker’iz where she’s out of the way is more urgent. Right now, Kenz’ox is spending a lot of his time just watching her.
Most of the hut can probably be used. Only two of the upright poles have been broken by the krolt’s attack, and the vine we carefully wove between them has been badly shredded in the places where the monster went through it. The holes have a vague T-shape from its body, a bit like the holes Wile E. Coyote leaves when he falls to the ground from a great height.
I start separating the parts of the vine that we can still use. The poles are good to go once we replace two of them. A playpen doesn’t need to have high walls anyway.
“But a good playpen needs more than just walls,” I say absentmindedly to myself. “If only Toys R Us were still in business, I’m sure they’d have a branch nearby. But maybe we can think of something.”
I go over to the heap of materials that both Sprisk and Kenz’ox have assembled by the edge of the clearing, grab some promising-looking pieces, and replace the broken poles with them. They’re not as tall as the others, but that’s fine.
When it all looks sturdy enough, I start with the pieces of vine, using the longest strands at the bottom.
“Because the little inmate will try to pull them out so she can make her adorable escape,” I mutter. “Have to make it harder for her.”
Kenz’ox and Aker’iz return from their expedition, and Kenz’ox hangs the wet leather sheets on bushes. “Big waves in the ocean today.”
“More windy,” I agree. The usual ocean breeze sometimes strengthens to gusts that make the treetops rustle and bend.
Aker’iz whines and fusses, so he lifts her and gently rocks her. Within ten seconds she’s asleep, and he puts her in her frontpack and leans it on the usual rock.
“Rebuilding the hut?” Kenz’ox asks.
“Not exactly.” I tighten one last knot. “This is going to be Aker’iz’s chief hut.”
He blinks. “A hut all to herself?”
“Yes. It’s a place to keep her safe while we work. Also, she can’t crawl into the fire or eat dirt or scare poor Otis. All chiefs should have one.”
The little irox-voiced tyrant in the frontpack snorts in her sleep, as if offended.
Kenz’ox walks around the structure, inspecting it like it’s a suspiciously cheerful beast. “Ah. Yes. I know a chief and a shaman who should be put in something like this. It’s called aplaypen. It is low.”
The wall of the playpen is now up to just above my hips, and I start to finish it up. “She can only crawl.”
“She may learn to climb.” He grabs a piece of vine and weaves it into the wall.
