“The suit says she killed Hood,” rumbles the fur. “And anybody who could kill that guy…well, I just got a real bad feeling, that’s all.”
She has already met this terrifying intelligence, thank the goddess. This is Mer, who carried her up that freezing ladder like a toy when she first got here. She remembers him going on about freedom and gratitude and…food? She really wasn’t in a good place to remember, emotionally speaking.
“Don’t tell me: it’s your instincts again,” says the android. “How could this thing kill Hood?” he asks, pointing a black finger her way without bothering to look at her. “You couldn’t kill Hood, from what I hear. Not for lack of trying.”
Mer makes a big movement then, a huge rippling of fur and muscle that travels down every one of his—what is that, four?—no, six limbs. Four arms, two legs. Her Network unit would probably tell her that’s a shrug, but without it the gesture is terrifying. He leans back, making it obvious that he is mostly chest. His enormous arms support his weight, while his legs appear to serve mainly as a kickstand. He flexes and scrapes talons against both walls. “I could have killed him, easy,” he says. He pauses, tapping a talon against the floor like a nervous tic. “I just…decided not to.”
The android folds his arms and looks at Mer without speaking.
“Anyway,” says Mer, still tapping. “The suit claims she’s Human, Roche.”
Roche, that’s it. Thank the goddess, now she can carry on a conversation because hey, shiny guy was not going to fly for long—and then the full impact of Mer’s statement thumps her in the chest and raises the hair on the back of her neck.
The suit claims she’s Human.
And now Mer’s face, which was mainly teeth, sprouts dozens of eyes. They blink in waves and patterns, looking in all directions, and then every one of them focuses on Sarya. She grew up with a Widow, which means she recognizes a hunter when one parks its massive bulk outside her quarters and pins her with its predator gaze. But this is something more. These eyes don’t match the rough and simple voice. They pierce her in ways she doesn’t understand. Where her mother used fear to hunt, these eyes employ something even deeper. They hypnotize her. They speak to her, tell her to come closer, to trust them…
“Its registration says Spaal,” says Roche, but his voice has become indistinct. It’s somewhere far away, in a much less important place. “Perhaps the suit is confused. That happens with low-tiers.”
The eyes blink in a wave from the center to the outside. Maybe it’s her imagination, or maybe they are gazing at her with a curiosity more intense than anything she’s ever seen. Tell me, they say without words. Tell me everything.
“Then how did she kill Hood?” asks Mer. He’s talking to Roche, but his eyes are on her. His voice is distant enough to be irrelevant, like the silent roars of the lightning on the planet below.
Roche presents a theory and Mer rebuts it. Mer submits an alternative and Roche rejects it. Sarya hears nothing more than a gentle buzz in her ears. She is caught by the eyes, and there is nothing she can do about it.
And then she becomes aware of an expectant silence, as if she’s been asked a question. She knows what it is. So what are you? Or something like that. She doesn’t remember which one said it, which is odd because their voices are so different, but it doesn’t seem to matter so much. She pulls herself up as if she’s been underwater, but her mind responds slowly in the gaze of the eyes. Still, she forms her lie easily. She has lived her entire life under a false low-tier identity, and the phrases and signs come without effort. She can say, with awkward halts in exactly the right places, phrases like please forgive your friend the Spaal and pardon, my tier is low.
“I’m…” She takes a breath. “I’m Human.”
And then she claps both hands over her mouth.
The dozens of eyes snap closed instantly, as if they are satisfied. Only a solitary pair remain open on Mer’s face, down by the teeth. Unlike the rest, these host a simple, almost bestial expression.
Sarya is breathing hard through her fingers. Her eyes dart between these two witnesses, who are staring at her with expressions she cannot interpret. What the hell did she just claim? Did she really, in