Page 17

CHAPTER

THIRTEEN

AIDY

All that shit I said about being brave and independent?

Things are different now. With the pack on Corvak's back once more, I hold on to his arm as we descend down the hill, the yeti people keeping a close watch on us.

It's so strange. This planet has felt deserted for days on end.

Even the wildlife hasn't been teeming and abundant (though our humming might be scaring everything away).

Having a crowd around us as we try to leave is awkward.

Having a smelly, adoring crowd? It's an experience, that's for sure.

The yeti people aren't going anywhere. We take a few steps and they fall in behind us, their hooting now gentle and less insistent. We abandon the valley and head toward the meteorite, and they continue to follow us.

"We should check there is nothing else around it," Corvak tells me. "Just in case. I promise we will not get close if it is merely a stone."

We cautiously approach to check out the rock.

When we're about a hundred feet away, I get nervous and stop Corvak before he gets closer.

There's an impact crater, a small, shallow one, and the rock itself is about the size of a football, maybe more.

It's surprising that something so small has caused so much damage, and I marvel at the melted snow and the churned earth.

"Not supplies. Just a rock." Corvak glances behind us in frustration. "The snow-people are still with us."

"I noticed." The wind keeps bringing the smell. "I think they like you."

His nostrils flare with irritation, and he glares down at me as if I caused the problem. "They are going to point the others right at us if they do not stop with their noise."

I bite my lip. He's not wrong. "Then what's the solution?"

He makes a gesture with his hands—a twist and a toss to the side.

Snap their necks? "Absolutely not. You just said a minute ago that they were noncombatants."

"That was before they were threatening our lives." His glare turns mutinous. " Your life. I won't allow that."

I cross my arms over my chest. They're people, and a lot of them aren't fighters. I saw a female with a baby."

"It's them or us, Aidy?—"

I shut him down before he can continue, putting my hand on his chest, over his heart. His noisy, humming heart. It's a reminder that we're not exactly quiet, either. "Let me see what I can do, all right?"

He frowns. "What is it you think to do?"

"Talk to them? Can't hurt, right?"

"They don't speak. They just hoot."

I think he's wrong, though. I think they're communicating and we're not seeing it.

They look nervous and twitchy, constantly moving, but something tells me that the hooting isn't the language.

The body is. And for some silly reason, I feel like I can figure this out.

"Give me a chance. I don't want to resort to murder. "

He growls and flicks his hand at the cluster of abominable snow-people a short distance away. "Get them to be quiet, then. If your way doesn't work, mine will." I turn to leave, and he grabs my hand. "If they touch you, I will make sure they never touch anything again. Understand?"

Why does his surly possessiveness make me giddy inside? Jesus, I've got issues. I nod, trying not to show how pleased his words make me. "I'll be careful."

I give him one last reassuring pat on the hand and then turn to face the strangers.

I don't know why I'm so convinced they're people, just that I am.

It stands to reason that whoever lives on this planet isn't going to look like what I imagine people to look like.

The suns are doubled, the mountains are purple, and I have a humming worm in my chest. Of course things are going to be different here.

This means communication is different, too.

It means I need to try and talk to them. If we're going to be here for the duration of this game (however long that might be) we need to make friends with the locals.

I take a cautious step forward, not smiling. I seem to recall something in my memories about bared teeth seeming threatening, though I have no idea where I got it from. Instead, I put my hands out, palms up, and move slowly. "Friends. We want to be friends."

The tallest—the one that must be the leader, and the one that Corvak defeated—quivers and crouches low, hunching to show submission.

I inwardly wince. Do I get down on his level to show that we mean no harm, or will that just tell him we're fair game for attacking?

I don't know the etiquette. I decide to go with a simple introduction and pat my chest. "Aidy. I'm Aidy. Ay-deee."

They stare at me.

In the back, someone hoots.

I try again, patting my chest. "Aidy."

The leader stands and tentatively brushes his fingers over his breastbone.

Yes! Exactly! "Aidy."

He brushes his fingers over his chest again and hoots.

Somewhere behind me, Corvak snorts.

I know I'm right, though. I'm sure I can communicate with these people. I just need to choose my words and gestures carefully. I touch my chest again, then my cheek, then brush my arm, as if to say that all of me is Aidy. "Aidy."

Then, I point at the nearest snow-man, and let my face show my questioning.

He lifts his head and hoots again, the sound softer, then gestures at me and makes a huffing sound.

"I think he's trying to say my name," I tell Corvak.

"Or he's choking."

I shoot him a look, because he's not being helpful. "He's communicating." I turn to the alien, and even though I feel like a doofus, I chirp at him.

The strange creature's head tilts, quizzical, and he makes a curious face, like I just took a dump in front of him.

Okay, that wasn't it. I try again, repeating my name and touching myself before gesturing at him again.

This time, he makes another chirp, but I notice he brushes his third finger over the top of his thigh.

I do that, too, mimicking, and the reaction is immediate.

They all start hooting with excitement and gesturing.

I get it, now. It's not the sounds as much as it is the gestures, just as I suspected. "I think we're making progress!"

"Good. Now tell them to shut up," Corvak retorts.

Getting them to be quiet is actually more of a challenge.

They don't seem to understand that they're making noise in the first place, and the more I gesture and learn some of their signals, the more I wonder if the hooting is involuntary, and they don't even realize they're doing it.

Because the more I gesture and try to learn words with them, the less the hooting plays into things.

The leader is Finger-on-Leg. Behind him is a female with a darker stain on her arm, and from what I can tell, her name is Tap-Two-Fingers-Together.

There are others that get excited and gesture to show their names, too—this one is a finger wiggle, that one is a different finger wiggle.

This one is a foot scuff in the snow, but a very specific foot scuff.

It takes me a while to communicate that we want them to be quiet, because the more I gesture at my mouth, the more they think it's my name.

Eventually I try a different tactic. I come up with signals for my name—a hand sliding down the arm, like I showed them at first—and for Corvak.

His is a curled fist held near the heart.

Then I show them "yes" and "no" so we can try to communicate more.

From there, we move on to "no" (which is easy, a hand held up to halt someone), and then I hoot.

The combination of "no" and "hoot" finally sinks in, and they grow quiet. They don't leave, either. Even when we gesture that we need to go, they all file in and give us expectant looks, as if they're going to come with us.

Which is a problem. I detach myself from the group and move to talk to Corvak.

"You're good at this," Corvak admits, glancing over at the others. He's still purring, and so am I. Right now, we're louder than the snow-people, who are holding hands over their beak- like mouths to keep quiet. "How are you learning their words so quickly, Aidy?"

"I don't know," I confess. "I don't think I'm crazy good with languages or anything.

Just that their movements start to make sense to me after a while.

" Even now, I'm starting to pick up on their smaller body signals without realizing it.

The sweep of a tail towards what must be a mate.

The stomp of a foot in the snow to tell another to hold back.

It's like it's all unfurling in my mind and I'm picking up more of their words by watching them.

"I feel like they're going to follow us if we leave. "

"I noticed that, too," Corvak says, voice dry. "But we can't stay here, near the meteorite. If we do, someone is sure to head this way looking for it."

So we leave. Or we try to. We put on friendly expressions and gesture that we're leaving, and…they follow us. Because of course they do.

"Maybe they'll get tired of following us after a while," I whisper to Corvak.

"Maybe."

They don't, though. They follow us as we hike away from the meteorite and deeper into the snows.

The landscape changes, with strange, frond-like pink trees foresting the ground.

We avoid a river of running water that smells like rotten eggs.

We trudge through the snow and look for a safe place to stop for the night as it grows dark.

And we know the snow-people are back there, because every now and then, someone gives a questioning hoot.

"There," Corvak says, and points at a rocky area up ahead. "We'll set up over there."

My feet are throbbing, so I love this idea.

We set up a lean-to with Corvak's spear and some of the biggest furs to use as a tarp overhead and then dig out a rounded nest in the snow to protect ourselves from some of the wind.

Corvak makes a fire, and I peek out into the dark, only to see at least a dozen glowing blue eyes out in the snow nearby. "Still there."