Page 29 of Thalen

I smiled indulgently at him. His excitement was adorable, and I couldn’t wait to see his reaction when the tractor and combine finally got here and he discovered I was giving him his own fields to use them in.

“Okay, now, stand up and point the tube down into the hole and toggle the switch. It will pull the eggs up, even if the kilt-ha dug a bit sideways and there’s one there.”

He turned it on, giggling in delight as an egg came up the tube and was immediately captured by the blue light of the mini antigrav bubble that kept the egg from damage on its way to the collection receptacle.

“Okay, it’s not finding any more,” he said, noting after the third egg that no more were following along.

I nodded. “That means the nest is empty. Turn it off and unclip the receptacle. There’s a latch there; see it?”

He found it right away and quickly undid the latch, lifting the receptacle away. “And put the eggs in the basket so there’s room for collecting more using this doohickey?”

I frowned. The word did not translate.

“Doohickey? Is that what they call these on Earth?”

He cackled loudly. “Naw! We don’t have these things there. Well, we have something that looks similar, but it's for cleaning floors. Um, doohickey and thingmajig are words we use when we don’t know what a thing is called. Oh, and if we forget what something’s called, it’s a whatchamacallit.”

“Ah.” I filed this information away as it would likely prove to be very useful later. “The doohockey you are using is called an eggmatic.”

He laughed harder. “Doohickey,” he wheezed. “Not doohockey! And really? Eggmatic?”

I waited for his laughter to subside.

“Sorry, sorry. I wasn’t laughing at you, just doohockey sounded so funny! And the word eggmatic sounds like something out of an old sales brochure or a cartoon.”

I smiled back at him. “I think doohickey and thingmajig and whatchamacallit all sound odd too.”

“And thingummy! I forgot that one.”

“A thingummy is a doohickey?”

He nodded. “Or could be a whatchamacallit.”

Human language was very strange, I decided.

“I think you know what to do now. I’ll go collect the hop-a-long eggs.”

“Roger that!” he replied happily, clipping the receptacle back on and moving to the next nest. He began to sing as he worked, something about working nine to five. It was an upbeat sounding sort of song, and my hearts warmed knowing he was enjoying his task even without the prospect of my company while doing it.

The hop-a-longs laid their eggs inside their shelter, which made it a simple affair to collect them all, as their shelter was not very large, as hop-a-longs liked to sleep packed close together, and thus their eggs were all in one place, more or less.

I finished before he did, but didn’t have to wait long, as the eggmatic was quick and efficient and we only had a herd of ten kilt-ha.

“I had to get two more baskets,” he said, coming out of the barn with a triumphant look.

“You did well,” I praised him, which made him blush as his smile grew even wider at my words of approval.

“I’ll take these where they need to go so you can get changed into those clean jeans.”

“Thanks! I should check up on Jason, too, and ask Bob about that recipe.”

He scurried away to do just that, and I watched him go, mesmerized by the sight of his butt in the rough blue fabric of his jeans. My mouth watered, and I felt my venom sacs swell, urging me to go claim what was mine. I shook my head to clear it.

Not yet, but soon, I promised myself. As I placed the eggs in their receptacles ready for sending over to the general store for the townspeople, I found myself wishing that the bed would get here already and that I was already done with today’s work. Make no mistake about it, Evan was a distraction, and one that I could afford to indulge myself in once all of the necessary work was done.

17

EVAN