pain shot up her legs as
soon as her feet hit the ground. Now she had done it. In some way,
this strange machine had charged her to breaking point, like when
the plane went down. How stupid was that? Why hadn’t she run for
the river as she had intended?
Jessica
crouched and pressed herself against the wall.
When those men
reached the circle of poles, she would have to do something, or
they would be tanning her hide. She didn’t think she could trigger
another flash, or at least not on purpose. She could make a web—but
would that risk that person at the other end grabbing hold of her
again?
What then?
Make a dash for the river?
The brown
water looked inviting, but there was no way she could run that far,
not like this.
More whistles
followed, closer this time, and the thuds of running feet. Female
voices shouted in a language full of consonants, punctuated with
loud snaps like the cracking of a whip.
Jessica peeked
over the wall. Even moving her eyes hurt.
A line of
figures ran across the field. Agile like hunting cats, they sliced
through the vegetation. Glass-bladed knives glittered at their
belts. They stopped, facing the approaching men.
Jessica’s
pursuers had come to a stop on the hillside. One of them spoke, his
voice rough.
Several female
voices replied with shouts.
That was a
piece of luck. If these guys were going to have a conference, maybe
she could still get away. She turned . . . and stared
into a circle of faces. Small, lithe creatures human-like enough to
call them people reached only to her chest. Their eyes were at
least three times the size of a human’s, pools of liquid brown.
Their hair, black or greying, was rolled into dreadlocks or woven
into ornate braids with beads and bits of coloured fabric. A faint
muddy scent drifted on the breeze. She recognised that smell from
the people she had thought were poachers.
There were
about twenty of them, naked except for white aprons. Patterns of
white and grey zebra stripes or leopard spots graced their upper
arms, elbows and shoulders, but faded on their faces, and on their
chests, which had pale, rounded breasts.
Jessica backed
into the wall, holding up her hands. “Look, I’m unarmed.”
Stupid. Aliens
only spoke English in the movies.
The
females continued their staring game. One of them muttered a
word, avya, another repeated it, until it went around the group like
Chinese whispers. Avya, avya.
It made her
nervous.
“Well, guess
you’ve never seen a human being before. Suppose we’re kinda ugly to
you.” God, she was saying stupid stuff, babbling. Her head throbbed
with a monumental headache. A cloud of sparks swirled under her
skin.
The spectators
shuffled aside for an older female. Wispy white hair hung to her
waist, threaded into plaits adorned with beads. The low light from
the setting suns made the grooves and wrinkles in her face stand
out like canyons on a topographic map. One of the aproned females
spoke in staccato tones, but the old female silenced her with a
wave of her hand and faced Jessica.
Her eyes
were huge. Gold spots floated in the irises, the pupils black and
fathomless. Long, delicate eyelashes, white with age, blinked. She
reached a wrinkled, paper-skinned hand for Jessica’s upper left arm
and whispered, “Anmi.”
Jessica looked
down . . . and nearly fainted. The birthmark spots that
had always marked her skin had joined up to form a pattern. Two
signs glowed with bright phosphorescence: one like a small ‘n’ with
a long loop down, the other like a mirrored numeral three.
Jessica rubbed
the skin, but she knew it was pointless. The phosphorescent lines
matched the familiar spots on her upper arm perfectly. They could
only be part of the same thing, some kind of tattoo, and something
in the air—that weird installation that collected sunlight—had
brought out its radiance.
It was like
. . . biology class a few months ago. Their teacher had
used a blacklight on a group of cowrie shells, which
soon as her feet hit the ground. Now she had done it. In some way,
this strange machine had charged her to breaking point, like when
the plane went down. How stupid was that? Why hadn’t she run for
the river as she had intended?
Jessica
crouched and pressed herself against the wall.
When those men
reached the circle of poles, she would have to do something, or
they would be tanning her hide. She didn’t think she could trigger
another flash, or at least not on purpose. She could make a web—but
would that risk that person at the other end grabbing hold of her
again?
What then?
Make a dash for the river?
The brown
water looked inviting, but there was no way she could run that far,
not like this.
More whistles
followed, closer this time, and the thuds of running feet. Female
voices shouted in a language full of consonants, punctuated with
loud snaps like the cracking of a whip.
Jessica peeked
over the wall. Even moving her eyes hurt.
A line of
figures ran across the field. Agile like hunting cats, they sliced
through the vegetation. Glass-bladed knives glittered at their
belts. They stopped, facing the approaching men.
Jessica’s
pursuers had come to a stop on the hillside. One of them spoke, his
voice rough.
Several female
voices replied with shouts.
That was a
piece of luck. If these guys were going to have a conference, maybe
she could still get away. She turned . . . and stared
into a circle of faces. Small, lithe creatures human-like enough to
call them people reached only to her chest. Their eyes were at
least three times the size of a human’s, pools of liquid brown.
Their hair, black or greying, was rolled into dreadlocks or woven
into ornate braids with beads and bits of coloured fabric. A faint
muddy scent drifted on the breeze. She recognised that smell from
the people she had thought were poachers.
There were
about twenty of them, naked except for white aprons. Patterns of
white and grey zebra stripes or leopard spots graced their upper
arms, elbows and shoulders, but faded on their faces, and on their
chests, which had pale, rounded breasts.
Jessica backed
into the wall, holding up her hands. “Look, I’m unarmed.”
Stupid. Aliens
only spoke English in the movies.
The
females continued their staring game. One of them muttered a
word, avya, another repeated it, until it went around the group like
Chinese whispers. Avya, avya.
It made her
nervous.
“Well, guess
you’ve never seen a human being before. Suppose we’re kinda ugly to
you.” God, she was saying stupid stuff, babbling. Her head throbbed
with a monumental headache. A cloud of sparks swirled under her
skin.
The spectators
shuffled aside for an older female. Wispy white hair hung to her
waist, threaded into plaits adorned with beads. The low light from
the setting suns made the grooves and wrinkles in her face stand
out like canyons on a topographic map. One of the aproned females
spoke in staccato tones, but the old female silenced her with a
wave of her hand and faced Jessica.
Her eyes
were huge. Gold spots floated in the irises, the pupils black and
fathomless. Long, delicate eyelashes, white with age, blinked. She
reached a wrinkled, paper-skinned hand for Jessica’s upper left arm
and whispered, “Anmi.”
Jessica looked
down . . . and nearly fainted. The birthmark spots that
had always marked her skin had joined up to form a pattern. Two
signs glowed with bright phosphorescence: one like a small ‘n’ with
a long loop down, the other like a mirrored numeral three.
Jessica rubbed
the skin, but she knew it was pointless. The phosphorescent lines
matched the familiar spots on her upper arm perfectly. They could
only be part of the same thing, some kind of tattoo, and something
in the air—that weird installation that collected sunlight—had
brought out its radiance.
It was like
. . . biology class a few months ago. Their teacher had
used a blacklight on a group of cowrie shells, which
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