Chapter 8 #3
“Now,” said Carry. “We waited as long as we could to see if you’d figure out a way out of the room. It’s a primitive solution, but it makes sense and you’re loose now. Let’s go.”
“Go where?”
“Not here,” said Fetch. “We can’t stay here. The authorities will be back soon. We can explain everything once we’re someplace safe.”
I hesitated. I didn’t know these people, and they were trying to get me to go someplace unfamiliar with them.
Normally, that would have been a big-enough red flag that I would have declined the offer and gone looking for my own way out.
Normally, I wouldn’t have just been abducted by members of my species who didn’t want to talk to me or answer any of my questions.
If Fetch and Carry were willing to explain things elsewhere, then I was willing to let them.
“All right,” I said. “Let’s go.”
The first place we went was a large closet of some sort, filled with shelves of cleaning products that were unfamiliar and utterly comprehensible at the same time.
Instead of plastic jugs, they had large gourds and hollowed-out sections of some kind of bamboo that just happened to be bright purple and as wide around as a dinner plate.
The air smelled of citrus and herbs, sharper and subtly spicier than the bleach and Lysol I was accustomed to at home.
Fetch grabbed a woven bag from one of the shelves, tossing it at me. It hit me squarely in the chest, and I grabbed hold of it without thinking. “Remove what you’re wearing and put that on,” she said.
I blinked at her in dismay. Carry looked over her shoulder.
“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “We’ve all got the same configuration—quite literally. I’d guess that your ancestors came from the same hive structure as ours. You have nothing to show that we haven’t seen.”
Johrlac don’t process visual stimuli in the same exact way as humans, but we can see.
My cheeks heated with embarrassment, although my clear blood meant I wouldn’t have to deal with the secondary mortification of visibly flushing.
I turned my back on the pair of them, opening the bag and taking a look inside.
Inside the bag was a black-and-yellow jumpsuit like the ones the two of them were wearing. I took it out, giving it a good shake to remove the wrinkles, then pulled my sweater off over my head.
The jumpsuit was ribbed and looked tight enough that I wasn’t sure I could get it on over my bra. I glanced over my shoulder. “What do I do about—?” I asked, gesturing vaguely at my breasts.
“Remove the chest cover,” said Fetch. “The suit will lift your breasts sufficient for modesty and comfort, and it isn’t made to accommodate such a garment.”
“Oh,” I said. “Okay.” It wasn’t, really, but since I wasn’t here to get into an argument with the cultural fashions of Johrlar, this was the best I was going to get.
At least the jumpsuit allowed me to keep my underpants on.
The years I’d spent helping Verity get ready for dance recitals came in unexpectedly handy as I hopped and wiggled the jumpsuit over my hips and then pulled it up to cover the rest of me, sliding my arms into their holes and pulling the fabric tight before zipping the whole thing up the front.
It was as tight as I had assumed it would be, and fit me perfectly for all of that; the species-wide lack of variation apparently lent itself well to universal tailoring.
I brushed my hair back with a sweep of my hand, looking down at myself, and had to admit two things:
First, that if I could take this jumpsuit home with me when we were finished here, it would do numbers at the next comic convention Annie decided to drag me to.
All I’d need was some dramatic eyeshadow and maybe black lipstick and I’d look like the best evil hive queen network television had never produced.
Second, that even outside of a comic convention, I looked pretty damn good in this thing.
It fit, it was flattering in its construction, and the color suited me. I could do worse.
I stuffed my original clothing into the bag the jumpsuit had come out of, then turned to face Fetch and Carry, slightly spreading my arms to give them a better look. “Well?”
They looked me up and down, satisfaction radiating from the pair of them. “Very good,” said Carry. “You look much better this way. More appropriate.”
“Appropriate for what?”
Fetch shook her head. “I told you, we’ll explain everything once we’re somewhere safe.
You’re a queen; it should be easy enough for you to partition your thoughts.
For now, if anyone asks or reaches, your name is Gather.
You’re an assistant from the precinct on the other side of the city, here to assist with the volume of work expected to accompany the trial.
You’ve just arrived, and have had time to meet no one apart from your fellow assistants. You don’t know anyone else.”
“That’s the truth,” I said.
“Then this should be easy. Do you know what a reach feels like?”
“I’m not even sure what a reach is.”
Fetch frowned, the expression echoing through her thoughts. “Right, right. You know what you can do, but not what it’s called or how it works. I’ve seen this before, in other cuckoos, but never in a queen.”
“That’s because cuckoos don’t survive long enough to go queen,” said Carry.
“This one clearly did,” said Fetch. “A reach is where you extend a mental hand to check someone’s identity. Name, caste, purpose, pronouns. The foundations. You did it to us as soon as you were out of the dampening field.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand what you mean by ‘caste.’”
“All right. Just focus on your partition: your name is Gather. Your caste is service. Your purpose is civic assistant.”
“I thought names were meant to be shared aloud.”
“They are, most of the time. Not when it’s someone of a higher caste asking in the course of performing their duties. Ignore the contradiction: they like to feel important sometimes.” She shrugged. “Your pronouns are whatever you like.”
“Female.” I looked around the room. “Where are we?”
“Janitorial closet. The janitor on this floor, Sterilize, is a cousin of mine and has agreed to let us use this space. He and I played together as children, and no one will question him having been seen doing me casual favors.”
“Does everyone have names that match their jobs?”
“Until we’re beyond jobs,” said Carry. She glanced to Fetch. “Is this really going to work? She could be feral.”
“She hasn’t attacked us yet,” said Fetch amiably.
“And apart from a slight untidiness of thought, she seems perfectly tame. She’ll be easier to understand once we’re safely away from here and can explain.
Now, Gather.” She turned on me, switching smoothly to telepathy as she said, I need you to do everything I’ve said, and come so, so quietly.
We’re getting you out of here. Do you understand?
I nodded. Yes.
Excellent. Let’s go.
She opened the door and the three of us proceeded out into the hall, all walking silently and virtually in unison as we moved into the uncertain future.