Chapter 10: Herb and Spirits

When they were done eating, they left the mess hall, then headed for the next tank along. They had seen everything that Xipa could think of, so she couldn’t guess what might be in the last one. This door was closed, and as Miqi swung it open, a familiar scent greeted her with its acrid bite.

“Is that ... herb?” she asked, Miqi giving her a smile.

“It grows well in Kerguela’s soil, as long as it isn’t in direct sunlight. Something to do with UV radiation. I dunno, I’m no botanist.”

This tank was just like the last, eight meters wide and maybe eighty long, with a raised floor made from wooden boards. The first thing that stood out to Xipa was the walls. Instead of shining metal, they had been covered over with fabric – curtains and drapes of varying colors and styles that must have been sourced from all over the city. They were attached via metal rings that had been welded to the sides of the tank. They were a little haphazard, not really conforming to the curvature of the metal, but it immediately made the place feel less sterile. The floor, too, was covered over with carpets that had been procured from the ruins above. There was something amusing about imagining flocks of hardy scavengers in their gas masks and cloaks rolling up carpets to bring back with them. Where most of the facility was lit with light strips and naked bulbs, these had shades that gave the light a warmer, more inviting quality.

They had turned this water tank into a lounge. There were booths separated by dividers to provide some privacy to their occupants, the wood cut to fit the walls snugly. Each one had a low table that was surrounded by stacks of cushions, hookahs sitting atop them. They were bulb-shaped devices with long necks and a bowl at the top, six flexible hoses trailing out of them, coiled on the tables. Some were made from blown glass that was embellished with colorful resins, while others were made from metal in shades of green and pink. These, too, must have been found in various lounges around the city. Several of the booths were occupied, flocks relaxing in the nests of pillows as they smoked and drank from thin flutes, exhaling clouds of grey smoke that were slowly carried away by the ventilation system.

“Hey, this looks like that basement we spent a night in,” Fletcher said. “Smells like a fucking college dorm room in here.”

“It’s a lounge,” Xipa explained as they walked past the booths. “It’s where we come to relax and unwind.”

“As you can see, we’re not just subsisting here,” Miqi added. “We have some luxuries and comforts, just like the people who lived in the city.”

As they passed another booth, one of its occupants did a double-take, her feathers flashing yellow in alarm. She pulled the mouthpiece on the end of its flexible hose out of her mouth, coughing loudly as she glanced down at it suspiciously, then back at the team.

At the far end of the tank was another counter, this one arranged more like a bar. There were shelves stacked with dusty old bottles that probably pre-dated the invasion, along with refrigerators that hummed softly.

“How did they get all these fucking fridges down here?” Fletcher muttered to nobody in particular.

“Miqi,” the woman behind the counter began, greeting them with a flutter of green. She was an older woman with a leathery hide, her feathers faded and tattered with age. She must be another survivor of the war. “You brought friends, I see. Better get them a booth before they start giving my patrons panic attacks.”

“Hi, Chatli,” she replied as she returned the greeting. “I’m just showing the visitors around. We’re not stopping for long.”

“We certainly are,” Xipa added. “I haven’t had a smoke since I left Valbara.”

“Alright, fine,” Miqi chuckled. “What about the aliens?”

“What am I, their mother? I saw enough of them stumbling out of lounges during their shore leave back in Anabar to know that herb and spirits won’t kill them. Let them partake if they want to.”

“Call it an order for three,” Miqi said, raising three fingers as she turned back to the old woman. “The insect doesn’t have lungs, and I don’t think there’s enough leaf in our entire stock to get the big one buzzed.”

“Coming right up,” Chatli said, reaching beneath the counter. She produced a small bundle of tobacco that was wrapped in cloth, setting it on the polished surface. Next, she turned to the shelves behind her, dusting off one of the old bottles. “Might as well break out the good stuff.”

“I recognize that label,” Xipa said, leaning in to examine it more closely with her good eye. “This was brewed from ama’xotl berries. They used to make this in Angara.”

“You’re a fellow Kerguela’nay?” Chatli asked, more curious than surprised.

“I grew up in Belomor, to the East,” Xipa replied. “I was serving in the city guard when the Bugs arrived. My flock and I got some people out. We managed to evacuate to orbit before the port was overrun, which is about all we could have hoped for.”

“Is that booze?” Fletcher asked, not following their conversation. “Now we’re talking.”

Chatli glanced at the rest of the team, which had a conspicuous lack of other Valbara’nay, but she chose not to comment. What had happened to her flock was obvious enough.

“I suppose this is a homecoming of sorts for you, then. Welcome back.”

“Yes, and I intend to stay for good this time,” Xipa replied as she picked up the bottle.

They chose one of the booths and slid inside, Xipa settling into the cushions beside Miqi. Bluejay sat down on the opposite side, and Fletcher squeezed in beside him, sitting with his legs crossed. As usual, there was no room for Gustave, so he flopped down on his belly beside their booth. His massive, scaly flank formed a wall, helping provide a little extra privacy from the gawking onlookers.

Miqi began to unwrap the little parcel, stuffing some of the ground-up leaves into the bowl on top of the hookah’s long neck, then closed the cap over it. She turned on the heating element, and the water in the glass bowl began to bubble.

“So, what exactly are we smoking here?” Fletcher asked as he wriggled to get comfortable in the mismatched pillows. “Ruza has the molecular scanner, and he’s off kissing boo-boos in the infirmary.”

“It’s a herb native to Valbara,” Xipa explained, pausing to uncork the bottle with her teeth. She began to pour the contents into glass flutes that were waiting for them on the table. “We imported it from the homeworld when we colonized Kerguela. It induces a state of pleasant relaxation in those who inhale its smoke.”

“Oh, so it’s cannabis, basically?”

“I don’t know what that is,” she replied with a shrug.

“Let me put it this way,” he continued, reaching for one of the flutes. It looked tiny in his prosthetic hand, more the size of a test tube than a cup. “How fucked up are we about to get?”

“Fucked up?” Xipa repeated, giving him a confused feather display. “It’s supposed to help one relax, not send them into a hallucinogenic fit.”

“So, more of a buzz than a trip, gotcha.”

“You don’t have to join us if you’re concerned about having a bad reaction,” Xipa added. She had meant it genuinely, but he seemed to take it as a challenge.

“Oh, sure,” he said with a sarcastic wave of his hand. “Don’t take the alien drugs, because that’s how all good stories start. Shut up and gimme a tube.” He picked up one of the nearest hoses, then took a draw from it, holding his breath for a moment before exhaling. It seemed as though he was somewhat familiar with the process. The Earth’nay must have some equivalent. “Tastes like fruit,” he said, stifling a cough. “How about it, Bluejay?”

“Spiracles,” Bluejay grumbled, gesturing to himself with all four arms. “Unless you want to hook one of those hoses up to a pressure suit, there’s no way for me to inhale it.”

“You say that like we wouldn’t do it,” Fletcher replied, taking another drag. “Here,” he added as he slid one of the flutes across the table. “You can drink, can’t you?”

“I guess so,” Bluejay replied. “As long as it doesn’t offend our host.”

“Oh, who cares what she thinks,” Fletcher scoffed as he reached over to give the insect a pat on the back. “Come on, it’ll help loosen you up a bit.”

Bluejay conceded, his face plates splitting open to expose his true mouth, his proboscis extending down into the glass. He drank from the red liquid, Xipa watching a bulge travel up the organ and out of view.

“How is it?” Fletcher asked.

“Not bad,” he replied. “Kind of tastes like a sweet grape port.”

“When the fuck did you drink port?” Fletcher chuckled, raising his own glass to his lips. “Damn, you’re right, too.”

“We have bars back on Jarilo,” he explained. “I’m pretty sure the colonists built a bar before they even had a working sewage system.”

“Priorities,” Fletcher said, raising his glass in a mock toast.

Miqi peeled her eyes away from Bluejay’s mouth, turning to Xipa.

“Well, that’s something I’m going to be seeing every time I close my eyes from now on.”

“You get used to it,” Xipa replied, taking a drag from her hose. She relaxed back into her seat, holding the vapors in her lungs for a few moments before blowing a smoke ring that slowly drifted up towards the ceiling. “I really needed this,” she sighed, her headdress flushing a mellow shade of green. “A packet of herb should be part of our rations.”

“You’re a bigshot Ensi, right?” Miqi asked. “Make it happen.”

“Maybe I will,” she chuckled.

“I didn’t really get the chance to ask you about it yet,” Miqi began, taking a puff from her hose. “What happened on that day? You said something about evacuating a port to Chatli. If you don’t mind talking about it,” she added, realizing that it was a bit of a morbid subject for a lounge. “The elders have spoken of it, but you’re the only person I ever met who actually escaped.”

“I don’t mind,” Xipa replied. “In truth, I’m kind of glad you brought it up. I feel like I have to defend myself, the way you guys keep implying that I fled the planet. It was more complicated than that.”

Miqi slid one of the flutes towards her, a tacit request to elaborate. Xipa filled it, then brought it to her lips, feeling the spirit warm her belly.

“We did everything that we could,” she began, circling the lip of the cup with her claw as she considered. “That’s the most important thing. We had no real military, no orbital defenses, no armor. You know the Bugs as well as I do. You know that they attack with the fervor of mindless animals, pitiless, killing everything that moves. In the space of maybe an hour they’d cut off every maglev line, destroyed the city’s fusion plant, and blocked half of the streets. They didn’t even know what they were shooting at, just that it gave off some kind of detectable energy signature. That was when they started deploying troops into the city. They came down in landing pods and just started moving from building to building, clearing them out.”

“What did you do differently?” Miqi asked.

“My flock linked up with some colleagues at our district’s guard station. There were weapons in the basement – old laser rifles. It was enough to get the job done. We moved into the city and tried to evacuate as many civilians as we could, engaging the Bugs in running street battles. The fights were costly, but we managed to appropriate some of their weapons, just like you did. We were able to escort a handful of survivors back to the station, and from there, we made our way to the spaceport. We got buzzed by a Bug fighter on the way. The thing landed on the ground and started walking around. Lost the first member of my flock there.”

“I’m sorry,” Miqi said with a flutter of purple.

“These are old scars that you’re picking at,” Xipa replied, dismissing her concerns. “When we arrived at the spaceport, it was being defended by more guards, and there were maybe two hundred people waiting for shuttles. The Bugs assaulted the port, and we did our best to hold them off while everyone loaded up. Another of my flockmates gave her life to distract the insects while the ships launched. I don’t know what became of her. She was trapped on a maglev platform when we took off, and there was no way to reach her through the swarm. The last was slain as we fought on the runway. At the end of it all, we managed to evac the civilians and most of the guards. I was the only member of my flock who made it out.”

“You fought tooth and claw to save lives,” Miqi said, her headdress igniting in a crimson salute. “The way it was told to me, those who were lucky abandoned the planet while they had the opportunity, and everyone else was left for dead.”

“I understand why they might see things that way,” Xipa replied, taking another drink from her flute. “All they would have seen was the shuttles leaving. They wouldn’t have known what it took to get them off the ground, because anyone in the vicinity who wasn’t on one would have been killed. For what it’s worth, I wouldn’t have left if I’d had a choice, and I would have tried to come back sooner if I thought anyone could have survived for this long.”

She reached into the scabbard on her belt, producing the Bug knife, the swirling patterns that ran down the blade shimmering in the soft light as she placed it on the table.

“This is the dagger that killed one of my flockmates,” she said. “I’ve carried it for thirty rotations as a promise that I’d come back one day.”

“You want to return it to its rightful owners,” Miqi added. “Preferably blade-first, I assume.”

“I’m not leaving this time,” Xipa said, returning the knife to its scabbard. “This is my home, and I mean to take it back. I have a fleet, I have an army, and I have the Coalition behind me.”

“I get the feeling that we don’t see the situation so differently,” Miqi added as she took another puff from the hookah. “What would it say about us if we left the planet and took refuge in orbit while someone else did our fighting for us?”

“I don’t think you really appreciate the situation you’re in,” Xipa continued, refilling her flute. “There are an estimated fifteen million Bugs on this planet, and we almost died on several occasions just trying to reach you. The moment a shuttle breaks orbit over the city, an army is going to descend on this place, and you don’t want to be on the ground when it does. We can guarantee your protection through an evacuation.”

“The Ensis believe that the city can be recaptured with a force of sufficient size,” Miqi explained. “The walls make it naturally very defensible, and the terrain makes it hard for the larger morphs to maneuver in the narrow streets. We haven’t seen a single aircraft since your fleet arrived in orbit, so I assume that’s your doing. We know this city inside and out.”

“I can’t bear the thought of your people making it this far, then dying at the final hour,” Xipa sighed as she tried to find solace at the bottom of her cup. “I saw too much of that during the invasion – people who were only moments away from safety when they were lost. It’s almost worse than having no hope at all.”

“We know the Bugs better than you imagine,” Miqi replied. “We’ve been living with them for thirty rotations, evading them, studying them. If they’re anything, they’re predictable. They have rigid patterns of behavior that rarely change, and these can be exploited. We can wipe out entire squads by luring them into traps and hitting them with pheromone grenades. We once took out a Warrior by collapsing a building on it.”

“How have you remained undetected for so long?” Xipa asked. “Everything we know about the Bugs says that they’re viciously xenophobic and relentlessly genocidal. One of the reasons nobody believed that there were survivors was because of how thorough the insects have been in rooting out resistance on other planets.”

“We strive to keep as low a profile as possible,” she explained, downing the last of her drink. “No signals of any kind that could reach the surface, avoiding patrols where possible, only taking what we need to survive. We’ll never know for sure, but if you ask me, they see us more as fauna than a threat. They must know that we’re here, but the response almost feels apathetic, half-hearted. I suppose that if we pose no tangible threat, then allocating resources towards rooting us out is a waste to creatures that see the world purely in terms of cost and benefit.”

“Maybe there’s more to it than that,” Xipa mused, leaning back into the cushions behind her. “When we arrived, the unusual behavior of the Bugs here took us by surprise. They use small squad tactics instead of massed infantry charges, and they seem to favor ambush over direct confrontation. Now, those are logical ways to deal with a technologically superior force, but still...”

“What are you suggesting?” Miqi asked, cocking her head. “That they’ve been ... studying us? Mirroring our tactics?”

“We don’t know enough about Bug behavior over the long-term to say for sure, but it would certainly explain a lot. Perhaps the benefits of studying you outweighed the cost of a few patrols here and there.”

“That’s ... kind of horrifying,” she chuckled.

“What are you two talking about?” Fletcher asked, irked by being shut out of the conversation.

“Nothing too important,” she replied, Fletcher raising a skeptical eyebrow.

“Well, it involved a knife, so...”

“It’s a story you’ve heard before,” she insisted. “How are you finding the herb?”

“It’s good,” he replied, taking another long drag. “Hits a little less hard than what I’m used to. I can see why you flavor it and smoke it through a hookah. I got a nice, relaxing buzz going.”

“Are you supposed to get high while in uniform?” she chuckled.

“Do you see any MPs around?” he replied, gesturing outside the booth with a wave of his prosthetic arm. “I’ve been trekking through the godforsaken jungle for days, I deserve a little downtime. I’m kind of glad Ruza is busy, to be honest. Dude has been a little clingy lately.”

“He sees you as his Alpha,” Bluejay added, his proboscis still extended into his half-empty flute. “It’s a positive thing, especially for him. You’ve rekindled his confidence in authority. Don’t you know anything about Borealan packs?”

“I didn’t do a whole lot of work with aliens before I met you guys,” he explained. “SWAR teams aren’t known for their, uh ... diverse makeup.”

“Got any stories to tell?” Bluejay asked. “I’ve always wondered what kind of stuff SWAR gets up to when nobody is watching.”

“None that won’t get me court-martialed for blabbing,” he replied, downing almost the entirety of his flute in one gulp. “I did learn some things in my time, though. Want to see something cool?”

“I don’t know,” Bluejay replied warily. “Do I?”

“Tell Miqi to watch this,” Fletcher said with a grin, Xipa relaying his request to the curious Valbara’nay. He produced a long combat knife from his belt, twirling it so that the blade was facing down, then placed his hand flat on the table. He splayed his fingers with a faint, electrical whir, Miqi leaning a little closer to admire the prosthetics.

He stabbed the point of the knife into the wood between his thumb and forefinger, then began to move along, planting the blade between each of his five digits in turn before returning the blade to its original position. When he reached the smallest, he started the sequence again, slowly gaining speed. The purpose of the game was obvious enough – to go as fast as possible without stabbing yourself. It was risky, juvenile, but completely expected of the Earth’nay.

The sound of the knife thudding on the table grew faster, the motors in his arm whirring as he went, Xipa finding herself transfixed by the display of coordination. The tempo grew even more rapid, everyone at the table watching with bated breath, until he suddenly plunged the blade into his middle finger. He let out a piercing yell of pain, pulling his hand away, the onlookers practically jumping out of their skins in alarm.

Xipa’s concern quickly turned to annoyance as she realized that she’d been had, Fletcher starting to laugh to himself.

“Gets ‘em every time,” he snickered, stowing his blade with a wide grin on his face. “The sensors aren’t configured to reproduce pain.”

“Very funny,” Xipa sighed. “Bluejay,” she added, turning her attention to the startled insect. “How are you finding the wine?”

“It’s great,” he replied, taking another sip through his proboscis as though it were a fleshy straw. “It’s strange to think that it was made here, before everything that went down. Whoever made it could never have imagined that a group of aliens from half a dozen worlds would end up drinking it one day.”

“Would you like some more?” she asked, reaching for the bottle. “There’s plenty to go around.”

“Nah, I wouldn’t want to get drunk,” he replied. “You were right, though, it’s taking the edge off a bit.”

“Bluejay used to mind children, isn’t that right?” she said. She made the statement in English, then transitioned to Valbara’nay as a way to involve Miqi in the conversation. She could tell that neither one of them really wanted to talk to the other, but Bluejay had an important role to play in the process of them being accepted by the Kerguela’nay. Maybe he’d be more willing after a little alcohol, even if he had no tongue to loosen.

“Y-yeah,” he replied hesitantly, turning his eyes down to his drink. “I was put in charge of watching the human children when they were at play, and making sure no predators hopped the fence.”

“The Earth’nay leave their offspring in the care of insects?” Miqi scoffed.

“I didn’t hear about this,” Fletcher said, glancing between Bluejay and Xipa. “You guys having heart-to-hearts without me? I’m not surprised, though,” he added as he reached over to give the Jarilan a friendly nudge. “You’re a soft-touch, Jay.”

“I’m told he was very good with them,” Xipa continued, speaking to Miqi again. “The Jarilans are emotional, social creatures due to their Earth’nay DNA. That’s how they were domesticated, you know. The Coalition fought their hive to the brink of extinction, then their Queen surrendered. She incorporated the Earth’nay genome into her brood’s genetic makeup and created hybrids intended to serve the Coalition and interact with other species. That’s why Bluejay behaves just like we do, despite his outward resemblance to a Bug. He hails from a conquered hive.”

“So they’re ... genetic experiments?” Miqi asked, scrutinizing Bluejay as he averted his eyes. “I suppose that explains why he hasn’t tried to chew off anyone’s face yet.”

A sudden shrill beeping sound distracted them from their conversation, Miqi producing a tablet computer from one of her pockets. Her feathers flashed orange with annoyance, then purple with worry.

“I’m sorry,” she began, starting to get up. “I know that I told you I’d show your friends the generator room, but I’m being called away. Something important has come up.”

“Anything that we should be concerned about?” Xipa asked, moving out of her way so that she could slide out of the booth.

“No,” she replied, not elaborating any further. “You know your way back, so I trust that you can find your way without me?”

“Of course,” Xipa said. She paused to relay what she had said to the others, Gustave grumbling a low, resonating farewell as Miqi hurried away.

“Where’s she going so fast?” Fletcher asked, downing another flute. They were small enough that they were little more than shots to him, and he’d had several by now.

“I’m not sure,” Xipa replied, settling back into her seat. “It feels very jarring, not being able to order people around,” she added as she inhaled another lungful of fragrant smoke. “As an Ensi, I’m used to being at the top of the chain of command. Nobody keeps important information from me.”

“I suppose they don’t give a fuck about your Consensus,” Fletcher said.

“They’ve been completely independent for three decades,” Xipa replied, setting down the sculpted mouthpiece. “Would you submit to a foreign power in their position?”

“I guess not,” he replied. He paused to take another draw from his hose, then exhaled a cloud of grey smoke that slowly drifted towards the vents above their booth. “Fuck, how do you do the smoke ring thing?”

“I could teach you, but you don’t have a snout,” she chuckled. “I’m not sure I’d know where to start.”

“I think I’m gonna go back to our quarters,” Bluejay said, setting down his empty glass. “The whole lounge scene isn’t really for me.”

“You don’t want to stick around a while longer?” Fletcher asked, waving the half-empty bottle at him.

“Nah, I need to recharge my proverbial battery,” he replied as he began to get up. “There’s only so much angry staring I can take in one sitting.”

“Take Gustave with you,” Xipa added. “He’s not doing anything, and I’d feel better if he’s with you.”

“Worried I’m gonna get shanked on my way back?” he asked, only half-joking.

“Better safe than sorry,” she replied.

“I think she just means there’s going to be much less incentive to fuck with you if there’s a giant dinosaur watching your back,” Fletcher explained as he poured himself another drink.

“I’ll see you guys back at the storeroom,” Bluejay said, Fletcher sliding out of his seat to let him pass. Gustave climbed to his feet, shaking his leathery hide like a giant dog before plodding along beside the little insect, their difference in stature making Bluejay seem even smaller in comparison. With the Krell’nay out of the way, a flock of Valbara’nay who were sitting in the booth opposite theirs were able to get a look at them, gawking at Fletcher. Xipa didn’t pay them any mind. They couldn’t eavesdrop on their conversation if they didn’t understand the language, anyway.

She poured herself another drink, then raised her hookah hose again, taking a long drag. Was she overindulging a little? Perhaps, yes, but this opportunity might not come again. What was the point in denying herself some small pleasures when there was a rare moment of downtime?

Now that Gustave and Bluejay had left, she found herself alone with Fletcher. They sat in silence for a while as they enjoyed their respective poisons until Xipa noticed that one of his prosthetic legs was twitching restlessly.

“You seem agitated,” she said, glancing across the table at the Earth’nay. “Is it the herb?”

“No,” he replied, taking another drag from the hookah. “If anything, the herb is helping settle my nerves. I’m just not good at sitting around, you know?”

“I don’t,” she replied, cocking her head at him. “Explain how one can be bad at doing nothing.”

“Well, when I’m not doing something, that’s when I start thinking. I like to keep myself occupied, or I get lost in my own thoughts. I’ve seen a lot of shit, and I like to stay ahead of it.”

“I can sympathize,” Xipa replied. “It is in the quiet moments that bad memories surface. There have been times I have worked myself to exhaustion just to ensure that I had no time to lie in bed and contemplate.”

“Sorry, by the way,” he added. He hesitated for a moment as though considering whether he should continue, Xipa waiting in silence so as not to interrupt the thought. “I know I can be a dickhead sometimes. Well, pretty much all the time, really. It’s not that I don’t like you guys,” he continued, taking another drink from his flute. “Hell, you’re the best team I’ve ever served with. I just ... I’ve lost a lot of people that I cared about. When you make war your life like I have, and you see as much action as I do, of course you’re going to lose people. Doesn’t make it any easier, though. You serve with amazing teams for years, you build bonds with them that transcend friendship, and they get blown away in the blink of an eye.” He paused to take another puff from his hose, staring at the divider opposite him as though he was looking through it. “You can’t stop yourself from thinking about all the things you could have done differently, as futile as it is. What if we deployed five minutes later? What if he’d looked over that wall a fraction of a second sooner? What if we’d been walking four feet to the left?”

“Those thoughts can drive you mad if you let them,” Xipa said, pouring herself another glass. “Our brains spin in circles, trying to analyze every wrong move, trying to find some meaning in death. The truth is that death is seldom meaningful. Still, how can we continue if we do not find ways to deal with loss? The dead still made their mark on those around them, and they live on in our memories eternally. As long as someone remembers them, are they ever truly dead?”

“If I’ve pushed you guys away, it’s because I was afraid I’d lose you too,” he added as his blue eyes finally met hers. “I’ve seen so many friends die, I guess I decided to just stop making them as a defense mechanism. Can’t lose friends if you don’t have any, right? Problem is, I’m fucked both ways. Without friends, I’m a lonely sack of shit, and with them, I’m just waiting for them to catch a plasma bolt. I have to keep moving forward, because stopping to take a breather means letting it all catch up with me. I haven’t spoken to my family in fifteen years, I can’t go back to civilian life with weapons for arms,” he said as he lifted his prosthetics. “Fuck, I can’t even do my job anymore – the one thing I’m supposed to be good at – because I broke my toys.”