Remnant Population

“Move,” she said, poking a finger in his back.

His reaction came so fast she was on the floor before she knew he was moving. Her head rang. Outside, a loud squawk and the rapid thud of feet — the creatures -

“Don’t hurt them!” she said, as loudly as she could.

“Dont -

“They’re attacking,” the armed man said. She could see between his legs. Bluecloak, formally dressed in that blue cloak, throat-sac fully expanded, throbbing. Two of the others, knives drawn, eyes partly hooded by the extra eyelid.

“They’re not,” Ofelia said from the floor. Her head ached, and it was going to ache worse, and none of these people had the courtesy to help an old woman up off the floor — she rolled over, glared at the ones in chairs, who were sitting there with their mouths open as if they were children at a play. She tried to sit up, and discovered that her ribs hurt too, and so did her arm, where she had fallen on it. “Click-kaw-keerrr!” came from outside. Bluecloak’s throat-sac pulsed. “Click-kaw-keerrr,” Ofelia said. At least she could talk clearly enough to reassure them. She got to her knees, shook her dizzy head, and got all the way up. She limped back to the door. “Let me out,” she said to the man with the weapon. “They’re not attacking; they want to see that I’m not hurt.” “Could have killed you,” the man muttered angrily. Stupid bitch hovered on his lips; Ofelia said nothing.

“Sorry,” he said finally “Reflex.”

“Let me out,” she said again. Slowly, still aiming his weapon at the creatures, he moved aside.

“Don’t get between us,” he said. “If I have to blow you away, I will.” “Don’t start anything, then,” Ofelia said. She was in no more mood to be gracious than he was. “They’re not attacking, and they’ve never hurt me.” Not as much as you have, she thought at him as loudly as she could.

She limped out into the lane, and extended her hands to Bluecloak. It took them gently; its throat-sac shrank. Then it touched her head, her side, with one gentle finger. Ofelia hissed; it hurt already, and she could imagine the dark bruise swelling on her scalp.

Behind her, she heard the team leader talking to the armed man; she could not quite hear the words, but the tone was angry. So was the armed man’s reply. Let them argue; that would give her time. Time for what, she was not sure. Her head hurt a lot; she felt dizzy; she wanted to lie down in a cool dark place and have someone offer her cool drinks.

Bluecloak touched its own head, thumping it with a fist, then making the same jerk-away motion she had used to mime the pain of electric shock.

“Yes,” Ofelia said. “My head got banged on the floor; it hurts. But I’m all right.”

Bluecloak pointed to the armed man, and made a motion of swinging an elbow back to hit someone.

“Yes,” Ofelia said. “But I scared him.”

Bluecloak said “Click-kaw-keerrr.” Ofelia frowned past her headache. What did being a click-kaw-keerrr have to do with being hit by the man at the door? Did he think the man shouldn’t hit a click-kaw-keerrr? If so, what was a click-kaw-keerrr? Did they never hit theirs?

“He didn’t know,” she said. “I haven’t had time to tell them about the babies.” She wasn’t sure she wanted to; she remembered having her babies before in the hospital, where some of the staff handled them as if they were dolls or animals. She thought that was how Kira Stavi would handle these babies; she was sure the woman had never borne children.

“Nnot know uhoo click-kaw-keerrr?’ Bluecloak asked.

“Not know,” Ofelia repeated. “He did not know.”

Bluecloak said something to the other two, and they slid their long knives back into their belts. Ofelia still couldn’t understand them when they talked so fast, but she did catch the word click-kaw-keerrr in the midst of the utterance.

“Gurgle-click-cough?” she asked. “And the little ones?”

Bluecloak let out one grunt, and its eyelids sagged shut. Sleeping, was she? Natural, after a birth. Ofelia wondered if she nursed the babies, or if they ate other food. And if so, who brought it? “Is that their leader?” asked Vasil from behind her. “Is that why it’s wearing that blue thing?” Ofelia turned, trying not to wince visibly as her ribs and leg twinged. “This is Bluecloak,” she said. “I call it that because of the cloak; I can’t say its real name.” She turned back to Bluecloak. “This is Ser Vasil Likisi,” she said. “He’s the leader.” The others were in the doorway now; as they came out, Ofelia said their names: Kira, On, Bilong. Bluecloak said nothing, only standing there in the hot sunlight, head slightly tilted.

“You were talking to it,” the young woman said. “I heard you — can you make it say something?” Ofelia said to Bluecloak. “This is the linguist, who will study how you talk.” From the glint in his eye, she thought he had been understanding more of this than he let on.

Bluecloak looked past her at Bilong. “Uhoo Pihlog.” Ofelia could have laughed at the expression on the girls face.

“It said my name,” she said, almost dancing.

Bluecloak rattled off a long sequence of squawks, grunts, clicks, and other sounds which seemed to delight Bilong; Ofelia suspected it was something as meaningless as the alphabet. “Are you all right?” the other woman asked. She looked truly concerned.

“My head hurts,” Ofelia said.

“No wonder. I was so shocked I couldn’t move — I’m sorry, but I just froze—”

“Its all right,” Ofelia said. The woman must be really ashamed, to say so much. Perhaps she had some proper feelings.

“Uhoo Kirrahhh,” Bluecloak said. It extended a hand, which the other woman took warily.

“Four fingers…” she breathed.

“And toes,” Ofelia said.

“Bi-sexed?” the woman asked, as if Bluecloak had not just shown that he could understand much of what was said.

“I haven’t looked,” Ofelia said primly. She wasn’t going to admit she still couldn’t tell. It was quite true that she hadn’t looked; it would have been rude.

“Of course, it’s not your field,” the woman said, as if Ofelia were an idiot for not knowing. Ofelia’s momentary sympathy for her vanished.

The whole team clustered around now, the four civilians staring, pointing, talking among themselves, as if the creatures were statues in an art gallery, or animals in a zoo. The two armed men stood stiffly by the house, glaring at them. It was stupid, out here in the hot sun. Ofelia’s head throbbed; she wanted to be in the shade. Her house didn’t have enough seats for all these, but the center did. “You could come into the center, out of the sun,” Ofelia said. “There are plenty of chairs in the center.” “That’s very kind of you,” the stocky man said, looking around. Of course, they wouldn’t know where it was.

“It’s over there,” said the older woman, the one who had known Ofelia’s house by the family name. She started that way, and Ofelia repressed a desire to hit her. She should have let Ofelia lead her there; it was not her center.

Bluecloak touched her shoulder. “Kuh?” Yes, she thought, cold is exactly what I want. Cold ice on my head, cold drink in my throat. Bluecloak walked beside her, the others still chattering, and Kira Stavi in the lead. Then Kira stopped short. In the doorway of the center, three more of the creatures, standing stiffly and looking at the group with those intense eyes. Ofelia felt the wicked giggle in her throat, and her hand rose to cover her mouth.

“Explain to them,” the tall man said. “Explain that it’s all right for us to go inside.” Ofelia walked past Kira and the others with Blue-cloak. The creatures in the door stepped back, and Ofelia waved the others inside.

“You really shouldn’t—” she heard from behind her. The two armed men, she supposed, didn’t want their charges to be out of sight and surrounded by alien killers. She didn’t want the humans there either, but she had no better idea.