Page 24 of Into Orbit
‘Notatree,’ I said. ‘Thetree.’
She cast me an unimpressed glance. ‘Can she hear us?’
I shrugged. ‘Sometimes. It depends on how deep she’s gone.’
Maeve took a step towards me. ‘Right. I’ll only say this once. I see the way you look at her, elf-boy.’
I stared at her. ‘I –what?’
‘Are we good?’
I shut my mouth with a snap as my stomach began to churn.
Maeve flicked her hair over one shoulder. ‘Because my arrival doesn’t meanyoucan’t tell her that she makes the sun rise or whatever Tirians write in their love poetry. You’re welcome to tell her thatany time. Are we clear?’
‘But –’
‘Because, in my experience, reluctance often becomes resentment, and I won’t watch that happen,’ she continued, studying me closely, taking another step forward. ‘If you never gird your loins enough to be vulnerable, that’s notmyproblem, and it’s definitely not Elswyth’s. No one is standing in your way. You can tell her how you feel about herwhenever you want. Do you understand me?’
Somehow, she’d ended up less than an arm’s length away. I could see the steel in her glare, smell the tantalising musk of her scent. She was tall, almost as tall as Willow, but I liked that she still had to tip her head back to meet my gaze.
I took a step forward of my own, deliberately crowding her. ‘I understand what you think you know, human. But I’m not a being you want on your bad side. Doyouunderstandme?’
She held my gaze for a moment, then gave a wide, satisfied grin. ‘Buckle up, elf-boy. This is going to befun.’
‘Yourspeciesevolvedfromwhat?’
‘Apes,’ Maeve repeated. ‘Primates.’ She pulled her tight pants –jeans, she called them – over her thighs and buttoned them, then grinned at her boots with undisguised glee. She picked up the small electronic device I’d decontaminated with the rest of her belongings – asmartphone– and held it out. ‘If you can charge this, I can show you. I went on a date to the zoo a few months ago. The date did not go well, but I have a tonne of pictures.’
I took her phone, shivering as her fingertips brushed mine. I turned away to hide it. ‘And your species is how old?’
‘Homo sapiens, the subset of primate we belong to, emerged around three hundred thousand years ago. We were hunter-gatherers for an extremely long time, before agriculture and permanent settlement developed around thirteen thousand years ago. Though I have no idea how many Tirian years there are to an Earth year, so that might not mean much.’
I turned back to stare at her; the answers had come smoothly, with no pause at all. Most Tirians would be hard-pressed to recite the names of their grand-families, let alone describe the origins of their species. ‘This is common knowledge on your planet?’
She flushed slightly, her cheeks turning a lovely deep pink. She lifted herself up effortlessly to sit on the bench. ‘No-o,’ she said, drawing out the sound. ‘My mum drilled that stuff into me while most kids were still reading picture books. She specialises in bioarchaeology, but she has a passion for prehistoric archaeology and anthropology. I think she hoped I’d follow her into a similar field, but …’ She trailed off.
‘But?’ I prompted.
She looked away. ‘I didn’t do well at school. It wasn’t the knowledge I didn’t like; it was the sitting still. I prefer to learn bydoing, and the fancy academy my dad paid for didn’t really love that approach. They liked high marks on long essays and girls with the right length skirt who spoke at charity functions, not someone who wore too much eyeliner and spent her weekends at punk shows.’ She shrugged. ‘I did go on some digs with my mum when I was younger. She took me to Italy, and to Greece, and into the middle of Australia. I even went on one pretty close to home. We were uncovering the weirdest thing – practise trenches from the first world war. Who digspractisetrenches? It was so odd. Odd and horrific, when you consider that the men –boys– practising in those depressing holes probably went on to die in the real thing. I’ll never forget what it was like.’
‘I see,’ I murmured, though I hadn’t understood much of what she’d said. I turned again – feeling as if she was leading me on a head-spinning dance as she shoved her feet in her boots – and looked blankly at my screen. ‘And how does your species differ from others on your planet? Humans are dominant, yes?’
‘We have larger brains relative to our bodies. We developed the ability to control fire, and to use tools. We have sophisticated languages, long memories, and we can problem solve.’ On my screen, her reflection shrugged. ‘Well. Most of us can.’
‘Any natural predators?’
‘Before we invented guns? Sure. Big cats, wolves, types of wild dogs, bears, even. Snakes, I suppose, in some parts of the world. But after guns? Mostly ourselves.’
‘And how do you live?’
I watched her reflection as she answered, taking in her expressions, the way her mouth moved, the way she gestured. I tapped on my screen, pretending half-heartedly to take notes; I was recording the session, so I’d have to transcribe it and do more of my own research later. I couldn’t concentrate, not when she was so close.
‘I see,’ I said again when she paused, not having heard a word of it. ‘And humans spread across your entire planet?’
‘Almost every sorry inch of it.’ She paused. ‘Where is your planet? Tir, is it?’
I nodded and brought up a map on my screen. ‘Creating maps of the universe isn’t exact; it’s difficult to locate everything accurately, unless it’s an immersive projection. Which I can show you, but I’d have to take you to a simulation room. But Tir is in Sector Seven, here.’ I pointed. ‘It’s about fourteen standard units from Earth. Around eight of your sun years. Standard units don’t equate to your light years, or to Tirian years, for that matter.’
