Shenya the Widow’s mandibles twitch.
“Just look at Her,” says Observer’s voice from nowhere in particular. “The Human species! Oh, My little darling.”
[By the Network], says Shokyu the Mighty. [I think it’s true.]
“Incredible,” whispers Shenya the Widow softly, blades tapping rhythmically on the nearest tree.
[You should hide], says her implant. [Three of them are coming this way.]
Shenya the Widow is embarrassed to realize that, for once in her career, her implant has detected a potential threat before she herself did. She climbs the tree, silent as darkness itself, and flattens herself to its lowest overhanging branch.
“Careful,” whispers Observer’s voice. “Human is young. Her darling cells are superstitious and startle easily. If they see You they’ll either hunt You or add You to their pantheon.”
[That’s a thought], says Shokyu the Mighty. [You’ve never been a demon before.]
Shenya the Widow does not answer. She would not lower herself to be a goddess to a Human.
Two of the larger figures are walking this way, hauling a juvenile between them. The small one must be defective somehow, because it can barely walk. A Widow hatchling would be skittering around like lightning. Still, the adults don’t seem to mind. They act like it’s perfectly normal to support the small one’s weight from its upper limbs. They swing it between them, and it gurgles and shouts in its tiny voice.
[That’s…kind of adorable], says Shokyu the Mighty.
Shenya the Widow hisses, soft as the night.
The adults release the juvenile, who stumbles and almost falls. One of them gives it something round and opaque—a container? The small figure points at the lighted insects, flailing ineffectually with its small limbs and nearly falling over in its excitement. The adults stand, upper limbs intertwined, and watch the small one stumble around through the undergrowth, one glow after another pursuing and failing to catch any of them. The adults catch and deposit their own light-insects in the little container from time to time, but their captivity seems to be a very temporary state with the juvenile standing guard.
[What are you doing?] says Shokyu the Mighty.
Like a shadow, Shenya the Widow has risen from her branch.
[No, really, what are you doing?] repeats her implant. [They’ll see you!]
—TRANSFER INTERRUPTED—
* * *
#
[Unexpected memory collision. Please stand by while Memory Vault adjusts parameters…]
* * *
#
It’s dark. The grass tickles her knees and makes her want to sneeze. The bugs glow and fly away from her and she laughs and chases them. There are more of them in the forest, so many more, flying and glowing, and she laughs again and points and looks back at her parents to see if they are looking where she is pointing. Her mother is smiling at her, and her father is smiling at her mother. She feels a warm glow of safety and contentment all wrapped up into one.
* * *
#
—TRANSFER RESUMES—
Shenya the Widow moves along the branch like death, slowly and steadily and silently. Her blades grow rigid and her mandibles twitch.
—TRANSFER INTERRUPTED—
* * *
#
[Subject is resisting memory transfer. Please stand by while Memory Vault adjusts parameters…]
* * *
#
Neither parent is looking in her direction now, they are looking over her head, and she stamps and shouts for their attention. There are bugs over there, in the dark, and she wants them in her jar. In this jar. She points at the bugs, then the jar. She says look but they don’t look. Why don’t they look?
* * *
#
—TRANSFER RESUMES—
[Great. Now they’ve seen you], says Shokyu the Mighty.
“I told you not to let them see You,” whispers Observer’s voice, resigned. “Here we go again.”
Shenya the Widow answers neither, because she is watching the Humans with hunter’s eyes. They see her because she has let them see her. Fear must come first—that is how a Widow hunts. She is mocking them with their own senses, because she is Shenya the Widow, and she is as unstoppable as destiny.
—TRANSFER INTERRUPTED—
* * *
#
[Subject continues to resist memory transfer. Please stand by while Memory Vault adjusts parameters…]
* * *
#
Her father is reaching for her, and he is shouting so loudly his voice hurts her ears. His giant hand hurts her where it holds her arm, and she shouts at him too. She is being dragged away from the forest now and that makes her angry because the bugs are that way and now look she’s dropped her jar and her other bugs are going to get away. She’s released, suddenly, and she stumbles toward her jar just as a bug comes out and raises its wings to fly. She reaches for it but it’s too late, it takes off, and a cry begins welling up inside her chest. She turns to her mother to show her this terrible thing, but her mother is shouting too now, and then there’s another noise that she’s never heard before…and now nobody’s shouting anymore. Her parents have fallen down. She toddles toward them. Her mother reaches for her, slowly, and then she stops and chokes and stares and doesn’t move anymore.
She smiles, just a little, to see if this is a joke. Sometimes her mother pretends not to see her. But her father is doing it too, and he’s never done that before. She is beginning to think that something might be wrong. And now she can smell something that makes her afraid. She can hear something too, a sort of clacking sound. Something is here, something she’s never seen before, something dark and sharp and angry and—
* * *
#
[Error. Vital signs have fallen below minimum threshold. Shutting down process…done. Erasing remaining memories, as per current security protocols…done.]
[This Memory Vault suggests that you seek medical attention.]
Riptide does not have a hospital. It does not have a clinic. It does not have so much as a dedicated bed for a convalescent. What it does have is this: one, a giant pressure suit with a full medical suite; two, a massive bundle of muscle, teeth, and parenting instincts; and three, an android with a thing for tinkering. Fortunately, this turns out to be the exact combination of things necessary to get Sarya the Daughter where she is today: alive and sitting in her quarters with one arm wrapped in a mess of black synthetics.