Aftermath - Ann Aguirre [70]
I expected I might have to do some fast talking, but their chief response appears to be wonder, not fear, anger, or violence—a more human response. The Mareq are innocent souls, then. They haven’t been taught that the unfamiliar cannot be trusted. At least, I hope it’s experience that causes the difference in our reactions—and that humans aren’t naturally more aggressive.
They speak to me all at once, the sounds jumbling together until I can’t do anything with it. Just noise. Since I’ve failed to comprehend their language, at least in this first moment, I don’t have much time to make the right impression. Slowly, carefully, I shed my slicker, despite the rain, and a gasp goes up from the Mareq. Widening of the eyes is a universal expression of surprise, it seems, and these bulging frog eyes reveal astonishment that I’ve peeled off my skin. They all draw back at the pasty flesh beneath, but I’m not done yet.
Carefully, still shielding Baby-Z2, I open my shirt and show them the hatchling. More croaking. The chip still can’t differentiate anything about it, so I can only guess what they’re saying. Look, it’s a baby Mareq. But how did it get one? Let’s call the Elder.
Whatever they said, one of them does run to get another Mareq, leaving the others to watch Vel and me. A tall male is bold enough to rap on Vel’s chitin as if testing to see whether it comes off, too. They seem more fascinated than frightened at this point, which is a good sign. I want a peaceful meeting. So long as we make no sudden moves, it should be fine.
A female Mareq, heavy with eggs, waddles in our direction, and her throat flushes bright red when she sees the infant clinging to my chest. A low, sweet noise trills from her throat, and to my amazement, Baby-Z2 replies. She takes him from me, and he attaches to her with visible shivers of pleasure.
There’s no question in my mind. This is his mother. He knows her. Even if he’s not the son I took away, he’s close enough for her to be glad to see him. That brightness on her neck indicates joy. Despite the warm rain on my head, a tremor rolls through me. I don’t deserve to be part of such a tremendous moment. Turns from now, anthropologists will study Vel’s record of this meeting.
With gestures and sounds, she quiets the Mareq around us; and then the chip has only her voice to process. Which is when the chip provides the first possible Mareq translation, ever.
“You come from the sky,” she says. “Above the rains. From the god-place, and you bring my son home.”
Frag. How do I answer that with my imperfect chip? But I have to try, so I keep my sentences short and simple.
“I come from the stars. Not a god-place. I took your son by mistake, so I brought him home to you. I’m sorry.”
More croaking. My chip kicks in, so long as there’s only one Mareq voice. “Things happen. We don’t always know the reasons. We don’t need to.” I have the feeling what she said might be wiser and more profound, but that’s close enough.
I translate for Vel, who has no doubt gotten the gist from her delight in being reunited with Baby-Z2. From what I can tell thus far, the Mareq seem to be a peaceful and philosophical race. If they were otherwise, they’d have attacked us right off, before I could show them what I carried. And wouldn’t that have been a nightmare?
“I’m Jax,” I tell her, and the vocalizer makes a noise of my name.
She offers hers back, a different one, which the chip tells me is Dace. I suspect it just combined some random letters, but it doesn’t matter as long as my vocalizer can reproduce the sound. I test it, and it can.
“You must stay for the celebration,” she continues.
The other Mareq chime in, croaking in what I take to be agreement. But that bogs my processor down, leaving me to guess what they’re saying. She seems to notice this, and quiets them with anh anh anh noises. The chip suggests she’s saying, Shut it, shut it.
“What celebration?