SLATE

“You can come out now.”

I really can’t.

It takes a beat before the thought slams my heart into hyperdrive. There are voices beyond the trees; they speak my language.

I draw wheezing breath.

Calm, you don’t need to lose any more blood.

No. They don’t, but I understand thier language. I don’t know how or why, but I know someone has put things in my brain. Knowledge and, apparently, alien language mods. But how would they — they — know what languages are spoken on another planet? Unless…my arrival is not an accident. And if it is planned, who plans it?

Not my people; they surely do not know of this world or I would certainly not be alone.

And what purpose in sending me without memory?

Wait. I put the pieces together, and scowl the pale alien who called itself Yven. She had never uttered a word of her tongue, had she? Could I have understood her all this time? Or did she not speak, just to learn my language?

The pale alien pretends innocence. For the first time seems not able to understand my intention. Her nose twitches like there is something on it that she cannot quite shake, with her hands otherwise occupied stemmign the bleeding from my abdomen.

Her expressions appear exaggerated at times, cartoonish, due to an unnatural level of control over her body.

Of course, she would not have known that I — a stranger to her world — could understand her.

So many questions.

The forest floor is carpeted with bodies. Like leaves, they are frayed and torn and separated. Lying there, they could be anyone or anything.

The snow is a canvas stained with red.

No one wins this fight. Bodies clad in black and green lay dead or dying. But the voice is from beyond the stand of leaves that hides us from view — not well, apparently. [bc]

The thin covering of leaves falls in a series of straight lines, though. I see no blade or swordsman. Straight, not arc or thrust.

In the middle of the clearing, a bear of a man in a patchwork of green bends over a body struggling weakly. It is a grey-haired female with a staff. He holds the head in a massive hand and draws his blade easily across her throat. She falls over another corpse, her mouth open.

No. Not her mouth. She wears the same muted greens. I do not see her face or who or what she is, just her hair and general outline.

It is a type of camouflage, rags of cloth sewn onto the garment. Cunning and simple.

Not just green against black, then. Not with the black-cloaked figure in the background. Green works together with black, green kills green. Things are not simple here.

The bear stands to his full height, head back, and takes a deep intake of breath. I did the same, not long ago, just before a certain female spiked me into the crotch of a tree.

He long takes breath one for my three shallow wheezes. I cannot match him, but by the barrel of his chest, I am not surprised.

“Moments,” he says to the dark figure. You might call the thin line on his face a smile, or a scar.

The bear is a monster of thick, corded muscle. Not tall, but broad. He is covered in short body hair. A genetic mutant. Hands that could close over your skull. Forearms that have two many muscles, like each muscle fiber has become a separate thing that needs its own name on an anatomical reference. They crawl with veins that visibly pulse to supply additional blood to his musculature. Hence, the barrel chest and deep breaths.

He could have been human, once. Or a porcupine. Or three humans forced into the same body, along with a porcupine. He is not unsightly exactly — just correspondingly hard. His face is lines and angles, like folded mountains.

He is a weapon. Equal to a mech suit.

I adjust the gun to the highest setting. The rounds will stun the target with galvanic energy and explode for good measure. It would drop any normal man or beast — I’m not sure it will be enough.

The tall figure is shrouded in long robes of shadow like it is part antimatter. It wears a deep hood that rolls off his shoulders, and its face is veiled in something like silk made from shadows or an organic membrane.

The figure is like watching the stars and never being quite sure whether they are moving. Take your eye off him, and he is somewhere different, but not different enough to remove doubt. He carries two long curved blades of dark grey, like sickles — impractical weapons to dual wield, but I have not seen him use them, and I think I would rather not.

The main point is that there are four people in the clearing — two of them, two of us — and in this limited sample of four persons, there are four unique races. One race per person. At least, enough genetic variability to appear as separate races or even species.

Green Man cleans his blade over a black-clad corpse.

Are there more, lying on the ground? Is each person, here, unique? It violates the laws of biology and yet, in this world, I cannot discount such a possibility.

To survive I will have to be as strong as these aliens, and stronger if I am to thrive.

Living is a long shot. Killing, on the other hand, is a more immediately attainable goal. But who to shoot first? Who is the greater threat? Big and strong or dark and creepy? Make the wrong choice and I die. I am confident in my aim but not, in my body and may have only one good chance — it needs to count.

I’m waiting for the men to make their intentions clear. People don’t like silence and idiots are always the first to fill it.

The green man does not disappoint.

“A lifetime asleep, and moments awake, life is.” The voice is heavily accented, which makes sense for an alien from another planet.

The Shadow — the dark, robed figure — watches.

Green man sheathes his blade but is never unarmed — his body is the greater weapon. He walks forward.

Yven hisses.

Hiss is an inadequate word for the animal sound. Part hiss, part roar. Part snake, part jaguar. Her mouth stays open. Intelligent she may be, but whatever she is, she is a wild thing.

Even Green Man seems taken aback.

Shadow’s hood turns an inch.

“I have walked in the city and in the forest, seen many, but never like you.” His head tilts to the thing in black who returns a slight nod. There is something in his look that I mislike.

City. Faces. Ot hits me. Keep talking Green Man.

If he has never seen anyone like her, does that mean he has seen others that look like me?

“Show me what you keep under that hood, girl.” I cannot say what he intends to achieve, yet he talks as if he is somehow doing her a service. If this is intelligence gathering, then the aliens are not all as intelligent as they are strong.

Her teeth snap closed like a steel trap.

No one, yet, seems to have noticed the floating wolf cub dangling from a valuable artificial intelligence so I will not be the one to draw attention to it. Unless…it is somehow normal for things to float…

I manage to keep the confusion from my face.

“No harm meant.” The sharp sound has caused Green Man to reconsider his approach. He raises his hands but takes another slow step. “Your friend is hurt. I have Herbs.” He gestures to a pouch on his belt.

“No,” Yven says. This time in solarin — in my language, not theirs. Is she speaking to me?

She likes language and is unusually quick, but she does not like this language. Or she doesn’t know it.

“No friend.” She speaks his language now, which answers one question. Or does it? I try to work out whether the man has said both words. Your friend is hurt. No harm meant. He has at that. This means...she may just be regurgitating his words, as she did with me.

She holds the bone blade to my throat.

I try to anticipate where this is going. Two sides — green and black — fight in the forest. What do they fight over? Over us? Yet, if that is true, then over me, for Green Man seems surprised by Yven.

If they want me alive then threatening my life could be a means of protecting me. If they want me dead, she is doing them a favor.

A third option — she is deciding what will benefit her the most — whether to kill me first or them first.

Perhaps I am not the only one confused. Both sides test one another. For the moment, neither one seems sure.

Green man unclips a pouch and takes another step forwards.

Yven jerks the blade across my throat. Blood pours. More than a trickle and less than a fatal wound. I don’t think I can afford either right now.

The cut takes effort; the effort, in this case, is trying not to cut my head clean off. I guess she’s not trying to kill me — yet.

How many times must she not kill me for me to trust her?

“Herbs.” He pats the pouch. It seems light enough to be what he says but unless there’s a surgeon in the pouch, I don’t think herbs will be much good. Unless he means to season me.

Unlikely.

“He is dying,” Green Man says.

He has a point.

He takes another slow step, tossing the pouch.

Yven jerks but makes no corresponding cut and at that moment he knows her threat is empty, while I learn that — whatever his intentions — he is not particular on whether I live or die.

I try to calculate whether or not I should be relieved.

A fault line opens on Green Man’s face. He takes another smug step.

I think not.

Yven grows taught for a sawing option, perhaps trying to reclaim the sense of threat.

I sigh inwardly. Never make a threat you are not prepared to follow through on. Always follow through, if only for the principle. Be unjust sooner than a liar, or worse — weak.

“We will see the wound.” Green nods to the shadows as if to say, be ready. He keeps up the ruse of helping me.

But before Green Man can take another step my shirt begins to split apart. It pulls and saws like it is being cut by an invisible blade. It’s not any kind of magic; it’s an actual bladed object, just invisible.

I recall from the mindscape. The wounds with no source.

I feel cold. The weapon has been here the whole time.

An invisible blade, controlled by an unseen hand — a definitive tactical advantage. Why do they show their hand now, giving up this information for a mundane action?

They have decided they hold the advantage. They do.

An that we can do nothing about it. Also true.

And…they still want something…they are still deciding.

What are they waiting for?

My new white T-shirt hangs in shreds, stained in blood and dirt. I fuss at it, gun in hand.

I look for the blade. It waits somewhere. It could be at my throat, at my eye. It could be at Yven’s. It’s not a worry, just blood loss.

Green Man draws his sword. For the first time, he looks worried. He takes a step back. “Two. Nobody said he’d have two.” A chink in his armor — he’s superstitious. I suppose shouldn’t be surprised for a primitive world.

“One mark, two, what does it matter?” The shadow speaks for the first time. “How many have you?” His voice is overlapping whispers that are not fully heard and yet I understand as though I perceive them with some sense other than hearing.

The green man grunts but remains wary.

It takes a beat for me to sync. They are talking about the twin burns on my chest, compliments of the sentient storm. They call them marks as though this carries some significance.

“Twice is good. Twice is more.” He pauses. “To a clever man.” The shadow eyes green man. “To a wise man.”

Can’t fault his arithmetic. But I’m not sure the green man follows. Two marks, two payments. They will skin me, and sell me twice. One must admire the industry.

Yven is quiet, which is not in itself unusual. Her body is quiet also and that is unusual. Usually, she is wound with coiled energy.

“What do we do with him?” Green Man asks.

“Take him apart, leave his bones.” Says shadows.

“What do we do with her?” Green Man asks.

“Take her whole, leave her empty.” Says shadows.

The masks are off now — they is no pretense or subterfuge and their meaning is clear enough. They do what I would do in their position. They exercise their power over us.

“Mine wanted him alive.” Green man snorts and scratches his nose.

“His body for the worms. We will eat his spirit.” Says shadows. “Why give the fat to another?”

“This wasn’t the plan.” Green Man says. “I don’t like it.”

“You always do.” Says Shadows.

Green Man glares at Shadows. The muscles on his jaw are hard planes. “This is not like that.”

“No.” Shadows lets out a groaning breath. “It is nothing like that. Do you not sense it? She is quite unique.”

Shadows produce a bundle wrapped in black cloth. The cloth slips away. An obelisk of dark stone is caressed by spider-like fingers. It has an unsettling perfection that does not suit stone. He lowers the object with both hands, in a reverent gesture.

“Do not fear” Green man’s eyes crawl over Yven. “I will keep you.” The Green man follows his feet forward.