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Why other humans attack you? Are you dangerous?
“No,” I answered quickly, shaking my head for emphasis and hoping I wasn’t imagining things. “Nope, they’re just assholes. Thank you for saving me from them! I’m not here to cause any trouble. I didn’t realize there was anyone alive here. I’ll just be going.”
Myra will stay.An unnecessary command. Against his strength and speed, escape was impossible, and if he wasn’t planning on killing me, I didn’t want to run off. But I wondered how he knew my name. He could project thoughts into my mind. Did that mean…
Are you reading my mind?I thought my question at him as best I could. It was an embarrassing question, but I drew comfort from the fact that, if I was wrong, he’d never know I’d asked it.
Yes/affirmative/listening.I shivered, trying not to show my surprise at being right. Pointless—I felt a strange, dryamusement at the edge of my mind, reminding me he heard my thoughts. That only made things worse, and a blush spread over my cheeks.
The amusement faded into concern. Was the telepathic killing machine worried about me?
Yes. Concern/confusion. Myra is clever, has a beautiful song. Why is it bad to listen?
God, now my cheeks burned red. I tried to keep my mind focused on staying alive. The last thing I wanted was the creature knowing how attractive I found him.
Shit. Fuck.
I’m giving myself away, aren’t I?
To my relief, he didn’t reply. But he didn’t need to.Notthinking about how hot he was would have been impossible, and he’d confirmed he was reading my thoughts. I did my best to find something else to focus on before I started thinking about how his carapace would feel against my naked skin or what his cock would be like.
Shit!
“What’s your name?” I blurted the question out, the first thing that came to mind. The only answer was a confused mess of emotions with no words. “You don’t have one? Oh. You don’t have one that fits in sound, do you? Why would a telepath need a name, right?”
Yes/correct/am.The medley of emotions played out again, slowly, like he was enunciating his name. Fear and shock, anger and pride, joy of accomplishment and gratitude for rescue, all mixed. It fit, I realized, looking up at the towering killing machine. When his kin were afraid and angry, he would be there for them. His pride in saving his family, his joy at defending his home, their gratitude, it all mixed into a bundle that was quintessentiallyhim.
A pity I can’t emote on command.Though I’ve got no trouble with the gratitude after he saved me from Hess and Volkov.
But the rest? Yeah, no, the closest I got wasgrateful/scared/admiring/kinda-turned-on, which wasn’t even close. As soon as I realized what I was broadcasting, I addedapologeticto the mix, and he sent amused tolerance back at me.
“I think I need a name for you,” I said, trying to break the cycle. “If you’re okay with that? I can call you…”
I trailed off there, my embarrassment mixing with his projected anticipation. The huge and deadly alien waited patiently as I struggled for focus. Again, his amusement pressed at the edge of my thoughts, amusement tinged with something else.
Something hungry and eager. I shook my head, trying to clear it.
The fear was still there, but it was the breathless, exciting fear of an adventure, not the more immediate terror of my death. I’d had quite enough of that from Hess and Volkov, so the difference was obvious.
“Fearjoyangergrateful is a bit of a mouthful,” I said aloud, trying my best to summarize the emotions that made up his psychic ‘name’ and rejecting the result as soon as I spoke it. “How about, uh, Tyradyn? No, Tyr is better. Right?”
I didn’t know how much he understood, or how he’d react. It would be like someone calling me ‘Human’ or maybe ‘Hue’ because they couldn’t pronounce my name. He stared at me, six eyes blinking in pairs, until he finally nodded.
Tyr it is.
Chapter 8
Monster
I’d never had a name. Not in the way Myra meant. All of my kin were extensions of Home, and we knew each other by our parts in the chorus of Home’s mindsong. If a gardener needed a warrior, it did not matter whether they got me or another.
Deep sadness filled me at the realization that would never happen again. It was just me and Home now, and Home’s song was fading. Soon, I would be alone.
No member of the Hive is alone. It’s a contradiction, an impossibility. Alone and dead were almost identical concepts to us, and one would follow the other closely.
The possibility of moving to another colony had never occurred to me. Before meeting Myra, I wouldn’t have wanted to—the death of the colony and my death held a natural link. My outliving Home was as meaningless an idea as my arm outliving me.
But now, things were different. Myra’s mindsong, singular and self-contained, called to me. She offered me a name, a place that was my own. A place in the universe that included her.
