Chapter 9: Kerguelan Hospitality

“So, we have the run of the place?” Fletcher asked. “We can just wander around?”

He was sitting on his sleeping bag in one corner of the little carbcrete storage room that had become their new home. The rest of the team was nearby. Gustave was lying on the floor, Ruza was leaning against one of the walls with his furry arms crossed, and Bluejay was standing beside him.

“That’s what Miqi told me,” Xipa replied. “Remember, these are not normal Valbara’nay. The people living here have been isolated since before first contact with the Coalition. They’ve never seen your species before, and the only interactions that they’ve had with aliens have been negative, to say the least. We have to win them over – show them that you’re not a threat.”

“So, what?” Fletcher continued with a shrug. “We’re here to win hearts and minds?”

“I want to convince them to leave,” she clarified. “They don’t trust us because they don’t know us. If we can show them that we have their best interests at heart, maybe they’ll come around.”

“They are foolish if they hope to defend this city,” Ruza rumbled in his gravelly tone.

“They’ve survived so far,” Bluejay added.

“Survival alone is not enough,” the Borealan replied. “They crawl beneath the feet of their enemies like tiabad tunneling under the sand dunes, but that does not mean they can best a ruchaza.”

“Nobody knows what those are,” Fletcher added, narrowing his eyes at the feline in annoyance. “The hell are you babbling about?”

“They are tunneling rodents and winged predators from my home territory,” he explained with a growl. “I am saying that just because a prey animal is wily, that does not mean it can outmatch a predator.”

“Okay, well just say that next time, you clown,” Fletcher muttered as he leaned back against the wall behind him.

“I understand that tensions are running a little high,” Xipa began, but she was quickly interrupted by Fletcher.

“I’ll say,” he snapped. “We came here to save these dickheads, and they’re holding us prisoner. I feel like they’re about to wheel in a camera and have us read from cue cards about how we’re being treated well and given three square meals.”

“All circles grow in time,” Gustave rumbled.

Fletcher balled up one of the MRE wrappers from a loose pile beside him and tossed it at the reptile, the piece of litter bouncing harmlessly off his scaly head.

“We are not confined to this room, at least,” Xipa sighed. “Go out and explore. Meet the people. Help them, if you can.”

“How are we supposed to talk to them?” Bluejay asked. “They don’t speak English.”

“There are other ways to communicate besides speaking,” Xipa replied. “I can act as an interpreter if need be.”

“I guess we don’t have much of a choice if they won’t let us leave,” Fletcher grumbled.

“I’m staying here,” Bluejay added, giving Xipa a glance before turning his eyes back to the floor.

“You’re just going to hide the whole time?” Fletcher asked, raising an eyebrow. “Fuck these people. They don’t know you.”

“Your role here is probably the most important,” Xipa added. “They will be skeptical of you, but if you can show them that-”

“I’m tired of it,” he sighed, his antennae drooping. “I’m tired of being back at square one with every new person I meet and having to go through the whole rigmarole all over again. They dragged me here in a net. Do you really think they’re going to warm up to me just because I help them pick crops or carry boxes?”

“I won’t let them hurt you,” Xipa added, but the Jarilan could not be swayed so easily.

“I know, but that’s not the issue,” he replied as he spread his four arms in exasperation. “These people hate Bugs. Some of them have been subjugated for their entire lives. I doubt there’s a person here who hasn’t lost a friend or a loved one because of them. They’re gonna put all that on me, regardless of whether it’s fair or not, and nothing that I can do is going to convince them that I’m any different. It took me this long just to get you guys to trust me,” he added, glancing pointedly at Fletcher as the Earth’nay rubbed one of his arms sheepishly. “I’m not going to sway an entire population of pissed-off survivalists in a couple of days, so why bother?”

“Will you at least accompany me on a tour of the facility?” Xipa pleaded, the surly insect glancing up at her again. “I realize that I’m in no position to ask favors of you – not after how suspicious I was – but I wouldn’t press the issue if I didn’t think it was important.”

“Nah, we’re square,” he replied. “I don’t hold it against you. I get it, I really do. I just don’t see any benefit in trying to convince these people of anything.”

“Those who know me would say that there are few who hate the insects more than I do,” Xipa added. “Even so, I now consider you a friend. The same can happen for these people. It must.”

“I won’t order you to do it, but I think you should,” Fletcher said. “Xipa is right – you’re the hardest sell, but they won’t trust us if they can’t trust you.”

“Alright, fine,” Bluejay conceded. “If it’s for the mission, I’ll do it. We’ve come this far...”

Thank you,” Xipa said with a flush of relieved green. “Wait here while I go talk to the guards.”

She made her way out into the hallway, and after a brief conversation with the two women, they sent a message to Miqi. When she turned up a few minutes later, she was clad in patchy civilian clothes instead of her pressure suit – a standard tunic and shorts that had seen extensive wear and repairs over the rotations.

“I hope you were able to get some rest,” Miqi said as she accompanied Xipa back to the storage room. “I realize that the accommodations aren’t what you’re used to, but it’s all we can offer you.”

“It’s no trouble,” Xipa replied. “I’ve been sleeping under the auroras, in abandoned research labs, and in bombed-out buildings. It’s nice to not have to sleep with one eye open.”

“Yes, I imagine that’s especially difficult for you,” Miqi joked. “I must again suggest that your ... insect companion remains behind. It will be safe under the watch of my guards until you return. I don’t see any point in frightening people.”

“Bluejay is part of my flock,” Xipa replied with a stern flutter of red. “He goes where I go.”

“Very well,” Miqi sighed. “The Ensis didn’t prohibit it, I just think it’s a bad idea.”

They arrived at the little room to find the rest of the team waiting for them, Xipa switching back to English as she addressed them.

“Miqi is going to give us a tour of the facility and introduce us to some of the people who live here. She means to give us a better picture of how they live and why they don’t want to leave. Our job, of course, is to convince them otherwise. If you see anything that you think might help sway them or give us leverage, speak up. I’ll be translating everything that she says, and vice versa ... where appropriate. Stay together, and remember what I told you. These people don’t know you, so expect some colorful reactions.”

“Literally, in this case,” Fletcher muttered. “I take it we shouldn’t bring any weapons?”

“Obviously,” she replied. “Come on, and don’t wander.”

They exited the room, forming a loose group, Gustave’s heavy footsteps slapping on the floor behind them as they followed behind Miqi. Their first stop was a storeroom adjacent to the one that had been recently emptied to serve as their quarters.

“This is one of our storage areas,” Miqi began, turning to face them like a tour guide in a museum. “We have some limited manufacturing capability here, but we’re constrained both by the space available to us and by the danger of attracting too much attention. Most of the materials that we use are scavenged from the surface,” she added, leading them inside.

It was another room identical to the one they had slept in, this one filled wall to wall with shelves that ran from the carbcrete floor to the arched ceiling. They were stacked with tubs and crates of all shapes and sizes – anything that could conceivably serve as a container. They were filled with scrap metal that had been separated by type – everything from rusty ball bearings and springs to jars full of nuts and bolts that had been carefully organized by size. There were copper pipes, pieces of sheet metal stacked against one of the walls, and even a tub filled with old cutlery.

“This wing is mostly stuff like metal and polymers,” Miqi explained as she gestured to a wooden rack that was draped with old chains. “Some things we can use, but most have to be melted down or refined. We can smelt alloys to make tools or spare parts, and we can render down polymers and resins for use in printers.”

“Industrial equipment wouldn’t be as hard to find as you’re probably imagining,” Xipa explained after translating for the team. “There’s a band of the city devoted entirely to manufacturing and farming. We passed it on the way here. Assuming that they could reach one of the factories, they could disassemble something like a printer and move it piece by piece.”

“Like the old prank where you disassemble someone’s car and reassemble it in their office,” Fletcher said with a nod. “Only you’re hiding from Bug patrols instead of campus security.”

She led them on, and they left the corridor, passing by the two guards who watched them suspiciously as they turned off into the snaking hallways.

“We have other storage areas dedicated to things like food and medicine, too,” Miqi explained as she led them through the maze of tunnels. Xipa noticed that not all of the corridors were the same. Every so often, the white carbcrete gave way to patches of grey bedrock, exposed chunks of rough stone protruding from the otherwise flat surfaces. They were surrounded by small troughs that were filled with shallow water, and Xipa noted that they were wet, glistening under the harsh lighting. Red mosses and lichens had been allowed to flourish on their jagged surfaces, adding a touch of nature to the otherwise sterile facility. These must be holdouts from before the invasion that the inhabitants had maintained, presumably for their therapeutic qualities. If the engineers who had once worked here had found value in them, then they would be a boon for people who rarely had an opportunity to enjoy nature at all.

“Do those water features use any power?” Fletcher asked as they passed by one of them. “Seems like a waste of electricity.”

“They’re fed by entirely natural means,” Miqi explained. “The bedrock here is very porous and allows a lot of water to seep in from above.”

“Even their bloody sewage plants are designed like hotels,” Fletcher muttered, Xipa electing not to translate that part.

As they made their way along the corridor, they passed by a flock that was heading in the opposite direction. They were wearing pressure suits that had been patched and repaired dozens of times, along with the camouflaged cloaks and makeshift gas masks that Xipa had seen the day before. They were armed with a blend of laser rifles and captured Bug weapons, their leather rigs laden with ammunition and supplies. They were presumably on their way to some kind of surface excursion.

The sound of gunfire echoing down the hallway made Xipa bristle, a worried flash of purple passing through her feathers.

“Relax, it’s just the armory,” Miqi said with a calming flutter of green. “It’s our next stop.”

They arrived at another large, reinforced hatch that would have been right at home in a bunker, hanging open on its heavy hinges. Beyond was another corridor that extended left and right, giving access to a series of what looked like maintenance doors that were spaced out at regular intervals. They were narrow, pressurized, clearly not intended to be used often. Miqi led them over to one of the open doors, guiding them through, its aperture large enough that Gustave and Ruza could fit.

Inside was an expansive room that was much longer than it was wide, though it was far from narrow, another curved ceiling rising above their heads. The floor here was covered over with wooden boards, presumably elevating it above some kind of machinery, and the walls were oddly slanted. The longer Xipa looked at it, the more she got the impression that they were standing at the bottom of a giant trough. She could see marks where unneeded equipment had been removed to clear space, but there was a maze of pipes and pumps that still persisted high above their heads.

The near half of the wooden floor was packed with workbenches and racks, weapons of all imaginable kinds in varying states of disassembly strewn across the surfaces. Just like the containers in the storage rooms, the tables were all mismatched and scavenged, a few of them purpose-built from salvaged wood and metal. The racks were packed with laser rifles, Bug weapons, and stores of ammunition. There were tubs filled with the telltale emerald glow of plasma canisters, along with makeshift charging stations for batteries, masses of wires connecting them to the facility’s power system via worryingly crowded sockets. There were a few flocks tending to the weapons, making repairs or cleaning them.

The furthest half of the room was clear of tables and racks, cleanly divided from the rest of the armory by a low fence. Behind it was a makeshift firing range, longer than the one that Xipa had seen on the Earth’nay carrier. There were paper targets set up at varying distances, some of them hanging on ropes from the pipes high above, others mounted on crude wooden stands that had been scratch built. The steel wall at the far end was peppered with laser burns and holes made by plasma, but it wasn’t like the tank needed to be watertight anymore. The sound of gunfire was coming from the range, where half a dozen Valbarans were practicing, the scent of ozone and burning paper filling the air in the enclosed space.

“When we arrived, this was one of the sedimentation tanks,” Miqi explained proudly. “Sludge from the treatment process would settle in the bottom, where its weight would separate it from the water, and it would be evacuated via a system of pipes and filters. Those are under the floor now, of course, and we ripped out all of the baffles that once helped direct the flow. Now, we use it to maintain our guns and practice our shooting.”

“Impressive,” Fletcher said, walking over to one of the nearby racks. This one was filled with resin rifles – weapons of Bug manufacture. They were arranged on a custom-built wooden frame in neat rows, but there was something unusual about the assembly. Mounted at the top of the frame were a series of tubes and containers made from clear plastic, trailing down to connect to the weapons, almost like a charging station. This was not electricity, however. There was some kind of syrupy, yellow fluid seeping down the tubes.

“How did you manage to keep the Bug guns functional?” Fletcher continued. “We’ve never had any luck. By the time they make it back to a lab for study, they’ve usually died and begun to decompose.”

“They use organic components,” Bluejay replied before Xipa could translate. He made his way over to the Earth’nay’s side, startling one of the Valbara’nay who was working on a laser rifle nearby. She jerked away from him, glancing to Miqi with a flash of outraged red as if to ask what the hell is this? Miqi replied with an assuaging flutter of green, but it did little to reassure her, the woman moving away to a different table. “They have chemical batteries that need to be charged, but they also have living systems that need to be fed,” the Jarilan continued. “It looks like the Valbarans have managed to synthesize some kind of honey and are feeding it to the weapons.”

“The insect is right,” Miqi added after waiting for Xipa to translate. “Though, we have not been able to synthesize their food supplement. The long-range patrols that are often sent through the area have rations, and we simply take them.”

“Necessity is the mother of invention, I suppose,” Fletcher said as he reached out to poke one of the rifles. He seemed disappointed when it didn’t try to squirm away from him.

Miqi led them back outside, and they moved on to the next sedimentation tank. There were four of them in a row here. The leftmost had been converted into the range, while the second along was being used to store food. The walls were covered in shelves, much like the storerooms they had seen earlier, though they were stacked much higher. There were ladders leaning against some of them, which would let the Valbarans reach the higher shelves. Most of it was jarred and preserved goods that they had recovered from the city. Miqi explained that even though they grew much of their own fresh produce in the old clarifier tanks, the city above was still full of untapped resources.

“Even after thirty years?” Fletcher asked skeptically. “How can there still be anything worth salvaging?”

“There were millions of people living in the city, and there are only around a thousand survivors living here,” Miqi explained after waiting for Xipa to interpret. “Due to the speed of the invasion, almost everything remains exactly where it was the day that the ships came. It’s pretty much impossible to go out on a patrol and not come across something useful. Of course, we do have to range further and further afield each time, which brings us into conflict with the insects more often.”

Xipa remembered the toys that had been scattered on the floor of the dwelling that they had slept in, the uneaten food in the kitchen, a knot forming in her belly. It had all happened so quickly – too quickly for anyone to really process. She remembered how the atmosphere in her home city had gone from confusion and curiosity to terror in only minutes.

“Back here is the refrigeration area,” Miqi continued, leading them to a walled-off section of the tank. It looked like a wooden shed, but the walls had been packed with thick foam insulation, and there was an electrical hum coming from within. She opened the door to show them the interior – a twenty square meter cube that was packed with scavenged ice boxes and freezers. There was also some kind of compressor pumping cold air into the space, maybe a climate control unit that had been sourced from someone’s dwelling.

She opened one of the freezers, showing the team the frozen fish that were stored inside it, which she explained had been raised in their hydroponic farms. Another had cuts of meat sourced from the native animals that they were able to catch during their hunting expeditions on the surface. It was still strange to think that one could hunt Kerguela’s wild game on the city streets and in the parks these days. In some ways, they were eating better than a lot of Valbara’nay back on the homeworld. When there were only a thousand mouths to feed, there was no limit to the animal products that one could eat. They would need a high-protein diet to live such a hard and physically demanding life. Other than what they produced or caught themselves, there was little in the way of other refrigerated goods. After the power had been shut off, frozen food would have been the first thing to spoil. Anyone who went looking for a meal in the city’s fridges would be met with a horrific sight.

“You guys are using a lot of juice to keep this place running,” Fletcher said as he examined a shelf filled with freeze-dried vegetables. “How are you generating this much power without drawing the Bugs right to you?”

It was cold enough that his breath was misting in the air as he spoke. Curious, Xipa turned to glance at Bluejay as she translated the question, seeing that a fine cloud of condensation seemed to hang around his body like an aura.

“We’ll visit the generators at the end of the tour,” Miqi explained. “They’re down in the deepest level of the facility.”

The rest of the tanks were also dedicated to food storage, so they moved on to another area of the plant. As they made their way along the corridors, Xipa noticed that they had begun to slope downwards, which suggested that they were moving deeper into the base. It would make sense to keep the more sensitive areas of the plant – like the civilian quarters – further away from the entrances.

There were many more side rooms and branching corridors, and the team encountered more people the further they went, every flock that passed them pausing to stare at the strange procession of aliens. Their reactions varied from curiosity to alarm, but Miqi was always there to give them a reassuring flutter of green. Most of the people they crossed paths with on the upper floors had been armed or were carrying supplies back and forth, but many people here were just going about their business. There were a few guards, but most were clad in what passed for casual clothes in the plant.

The tunnel soon opened up into a relatively expansive space, the curved ceiling rising some five or six meters above their heads. It almost looked like a miniature spaceport terminal. The floor was made from polished carbcrete that reflected the light strips at the ceiling’s apex, giving it a mirror-like finish, and Xipa could see the marks that had been left behind by the removal of the machinery that used to occupy the space. If she had to guess, it had been full of tanks and pumps. Now, it was a kind of town square.

There were planters running down the center of the tunnel, overflowing with shrubs and ferns, the red and brown foliage blowing gently in the breeze from the ventilation system. There were crates and containers stacked against the walls, many of them still sitting on carts waiting to be unloaded, and there were flocks everywhere. Some of them were walking to and from the doorways that ran down the length of the tunnel, while others were relaxing in the communal space, sitting on benches and stools that had been scattered about the area. Some were eating, others were using holographic displays, while others were simply socializing.

“So many colors,” Ruza mumbled, momentarily transfixed by the variety of flashing feathers.

The telltale shriek of a child at play drew Xipa’s attention like a beacon, and she saw a little group of children chasing a ball under the supervision of their parents. They were young, barely out of the incubator, three or four rotations old at the most. The sight filled her with both a surge of hope, and also a pang of dread. These people were defiant in the face of the Bug threat, young flocks starting families and propagating their species against all odds, but the sight of the abandoned toys in the dwelling still haunted her. All it would take would be for a single Bug scout to discover this place and make it out of the city to report its location, and this fragile world would come tumbling down.

“Is it a good idea to be having kids in this situation?” Fletcher wondered, mirroring her concerns. “Seems kind of irresponsible.”

“Not having children would be consenting to our extermination,” Miqi replied, her answer seeming to surprise Fletcher once Xipa had translated it. “This is our home, and we intend to treat it as such. An entire generation was raised in these tunnels, and more are on their way. You could argue that knowing nothing of a life without the threat of the insects literally hanging over our heads has disadvantaged us, but it has also made us strong and resilient. What did a life without war or strife get us?” she added, turning to face the Earth’nay. “It left us defenseless. Your people know war, if what Xipa has told us is true. The only reason that our cousins on Valbara survived is because you were combing the stars in search of conflict like someone checking their feathers for parasites. The insects ended our civilization in a day, but you ... you hunt them for sport. We have learned to do the same.”

“I dunno if I’d say for sport,” Fletcher replied, fidgeting with his prosthetic hands conspicuously. “But, yeah, we’re getting pretty good at what we do.”

The presence of the aliens was already causing a stir in the crowd. The mellow greens and happy yellows of their headdresses were changing into worried purples and alarmed oranges as more of them noticed the newcomers. Some left their seats on the benches, snatching up their children and hurrying their flocks along, retreating into the side rooms. Others just stared, a few angry reds letting Xipa know that some of them were even less enthused about the visitors. The chorus of conversations quickly died down, giving way to a tense silence punctuated by hushed whispers.

She felt someone nudge her, turning to see Bluejay standing beside her, his long antennae drooping.

“I really shouldn’t be here,” he muttered, wringing both pairs of hands nervously as his eyes darted around the tunnel. “I want to go back to the storeroom.”

Fletcher reached out to place a prosthetic hand on his armored shoulder, and Gustave lumbered over to stand beside him, the loud sounds of his footsteps reverberating off the walls.

“We’ve got your back,” Fletcher said. “Well, more importantly, Gustave has your back. Don’t tell our tour guide, but I think he could eat half of the population like popcorn chicken before they figured out a way to stop him.”

Bluejay looked somewhat reassured, but Xipa could tell what was really bothering him. He wasn’t in fear for his safety – it was seeing families bundling up their children and fleeing at the sight of him that had him so anxious.

“They don’t know what you went through to get here, or what the other Jarilans are doing on their behalf,” Xipa explained. “They’ll feel foolish for acting this way sometime very soon. Trust me, I speak from experience,” she added with a weary chuckle.

It wasn’t enough to sway him, but it was enough that they could keep moving, Miqi glancing between them before leading them on. The crowd of people parted before them, keeping their distance, the colors that they displayed making even Xipa feel a little insecure. It was probably a disservice to refer to these people as civilians. While they weren’t currently wearing cloaks or masks, and they weren’t armed, every one of them probably knew how to handle a weapon. Even the males, if what Miqi had told her was true. The men here were certainly less meek than their homeworld counterparts. She’d never had a male flash her such an angry crimson before.

“You sure we’re safe?” Fletcher asked, Ruza loosing a low growl at a nearby female who maintained eye contact with him for a little too long. “Someone once asked me how many toddlers I could take in a fight as a thought experiment, but I’m not liking my odds right now.”

“They aren’t happy, but word will have spread by now that we have guests,” Miqi replied after Xipa had translated the less offensive part of his question. “You are here with the blessing of the Ensis, and nobody will disobey their decree.”

She led them over to one of the doors that lined the curved walls. These had clearly been made after the plant had been occupied, judging by the way that the rock had been chiseled out to create a short tunnel with a much larger aperture. Even Gustave was able to walk through it with ease. The carbcrete wall gave way to exposed rock, which gave way to more carbcrete in turn, soon opening up into a cavernous space.

“These are the living quarters,” Miqi explained, smiling at their surprised expressions. “This used to be a reservoir for storing potable water. Now, it’s the place our people call home. The floor space is about ten thousand square meters, and it used to be able to hold a hundred million liters of drinking water for the city above. There’s an identical one on the opposite side of the tunnel.”

“Looks like a fucking cathedral,” Fletcher added with an impressed whistle that echoed through the chamber.

The space before them could hardly be described as a room – it was far too large. As well as the immense floor space, the ceiling must have been ten meters high, and there were hundreds of support pillars spaced out at regular intervals. Every surface had been painted over with a blue substance that had the appearance of enamel, giving it an almost wet, reflective sheen in the dim lights that shone from above. It must be some kind of treatment to prevent corrosion from the water that had once been stored here.

Although its contents had long since been drained away, that wasn’t to say that the chamber was empty. Around most of the pillars in view were squat buildings, shacks made from wooden planks and other scavenged materials arranged in a circle, the sloping roofs joining to the support. Many of them were covered over with tarps and pieces of foam insulation, perhaps to help keep in the heat, as it was quite cold this deep underground. There were cables strung between the pillars, forming a messy network of drooping power lines that trailed down into the makeshift dwellings. Each of the buildings had crates and other supplies stacked just outside, contributing to the vast, underground sprawl.

“It’s an underground colony!” Bluejay marveled, the sight making him forget his unease for a moment.

“More like a shanty town,” Fletcher added. “It looks like they’ve built little houses out of scrap. I was expecting rows of bunks inside an old water tank or something, but this is...”

“It is a society,” Ruza said, his growling voice reverberating through the space. “They have not merely subsisted – they have staked their claim here.”