Twenty Seven
They reached the foothills in the early afternoon. The path ahead began to wind upwards, gently at first, but gradually becoming steeper and more rocky as they climbed. When the rain started again in earnest a few hours later, they decided by mutual consent to stop for the night.
Vahn activated the tent and made a fire under the awning. But it wasn’t until he’d plucked the dead fowl and suspended it over the flames that the tension between them eased somewhat.
“We still do not know how this came to be lying outside the tent,” he mused.
“Who cares?” The smell of roasting meat was making Kara’s mouth water. “Let’s not look a gift bird in the mouth.”
“Humans have a curious way of phrasing things sometimes.”
“It’s dead and we’re hungry. That’s all I need to know.”
“Its neck was broken and its trachea crushed. That suggests it was caught by a predator with strong jaws.”
“Maybe the predator dropped it. Is it ready yet?”
“Patience, human. I want to ensure any parasites are thoroughly disposed of.”
Kara lapsed into silence and stared into the fire. The crackle of flames together with the patter of raindrops was bringing back poignant memories for her.
Her father used to take her camping when she was little. Bad weather had never bothered them, in fact it added to the adventure. Her father had made hot-dogs and s’mores, and they’d shared them in the tent while he told her camp-fire stories.
Her mother hadn’t come on these trips. She said she’d spent more than enough time bivouacking in the wild with the military and had no intention of roughing it again.
With the benefit of adult hindsight, Kara wondered now if her mother had deliberately let them go camping on their own so they could enjoy father-daughter bonding time.
Her mother was smart. Terrifyingly so. But she wasn’t the warmest of people. Kara had no doubt she loved her family but she wasn’t capable of showing it.
It was her father who’d been the emotional glue in their little unit. His heart had been big enough to encompass both of them. His unquestioning adoration had tied them all together.
And when he’d gone she and her mother had been lost, unable to talk to each other or share their emotions. They’d never learned how. Her father’s death had cast them adrift in a sea of grief without a rope between them.
“Kara.”
Kara realized Vahn was speaking. She blinked back the tears pricking at the corner of her eyes and looked up. He was holding out a drumstick, the skin charred and crispy, the flesh perfectly roasted.
She took it and bit deep, relishing the succulent flavor. Meat juices ran down her chin and she wiped them away.
“Thanks. It’s good.”
“You looked as if you were far away.”
“Just thinking about home.”
“I think of home too. What is the first thing you will do when you return?”
“Hot bath. Food. And a big glass of whisky. Big. Huge.”
“Whisky is…” Vahn paused as the microbes in his brain translated. “Alcohol?”
“Exactly. Do you have alcohol on Vraxos?”
“Of course. What civilization doesn’t? I lean towards melamak, which is a kind of fermented grain. Colorless and odorless, but with a kick like a dankar. ”
“Sounds like vodka.” She tipped her drumstick at him. “Respect. And you? What will you do when you get home?”
“I would like to see my father. He is elderly and under a lot of stress. My disappearance will not be helping.” He paused. “Of course, I will not be going home when your people arrive.”
Kara cringed inwardly. She’d forgotten that rescue for her meant internment for him. She wondered what being a prisoner-of-war on Earth would be like.
It was true there were rules governing the treatment of POWs. After the many and varied conflicts of the twentieth and twenty-first centuries, there’d been a global commitment towards restoring human rights.
With the advent of routine space travel, governments had begun to realize there was a whole universe out there that didn’t give a shit about their petty differences. It had brought the people of Earth closer together.
Countries began to share knowledge and resources. Borders became less rigid. Everyone started to refer to themselves as ‘human’ instead of whatever nationality their ancestors claimed.
Eventually, in the early twenty-second century, every nation had come together to form the United States of Earth in an unprecedented show of international co-operation – the cornerstone of which was a pledge to uphold equality and humanity.
But that promise had never been tested with an enemy alien. Vahn would be the first Vraxian prisoner-of-war that humans had ever captured. And after such a protracted and violent conflict, she had the uncomfortable feeling her mother wouldn’t be inclined to show mercy. She would want to make an example of him.
She might actually have him executed.
The thought jolted her.
“Kara?”
“Huh?”
She looked up, realizing she hadn’t spoken for several minutes. “Sorry. I was miles away. Just thinking about… about getting off this planet.”
“At least as a prisoner I will be able to eat food I have not had to gut myself.”
She took a breath.
“Look, when we’re rescued, I’ll tell them everything you did for me. That you saved my life and fixed the beacon. I’ll make sure they hold you somewhere nice. It’ll be all right, I promise.”
“I am sure,” he said drily. “But we both know how the mighty machinery of bureaucracy rolls over individual wishes.”
Not mine, she wanted to say. My mother’s the President. She’ll listen to me.
She stayed silent.
Vahn shared out the rest of the meat, stripping it off the bone until the only thing left was the carcass which he tossed into the night. They opened a canister of water each, safe in the knowledge they would both be full again in the morning. Vahn tapped his container against hers.
“To our mystery benefactor. May the gods bless them for the gift of their prey.” He glanced at the rain, now falling heavily. “You may take the tent. I prefer to sleep outside.”
“You know I’m not some weak damsel who needs cossetting, don’t you?”
“You are mistaking me for someone who would cosset a human. I am an evil alien overlord, remember? Take the tent.”
“Is there any use arguing?”
“There is not. Goodnight, Kara.”
She climbed into the tent and kicked off her boots and trousers. Trying to get comfortable, she listened to the steady beat of the rain, hoping it would lull her to sleep. But she couldn’t relax.
She was suddenly afraid for Vahn. About what would happen to him when the rescue party arrived. Would he really be treated humanely as a POW?
It was strange that the idea of Vahn being tormented bothered her. Vraxians were monsters. It didn’t matter that she’d got to know one of them. They were all the same.
She thought about her father again. He’d died in that first brutal encounter with the Vraxians, but he hadn’t died straight away. It had taken some time. It had undoubtedly been painful.
She tried not to think about it but the knowledge was always there, always buried at the back of her mind like a malignant tumor. How he’d suffered.
She wondered why she was thinking about him so much. He’d been gone a long time now. So long that she and her mother had managed to fill the void with a relationship, of sorts.
A relationship where Kara constantly disappointed her mother but hey, at least they spoke now.
She turned onto her side and closed her eyes. She didn’t need a psychoanalyst to tell her what she missed most about her father. It was the thing she didn’t get from her mother.
The feeling of being loved unconditionally.
She drifted into sleep.