THAT FALL

They must have moved me to another bedroom while I slept. Morning sunlight streamed across my face. Had I slept another entire day? I rolled over and found his captivating, sapphire eyes staring into mine.

He put his fingertips on my lips and whispered, “You must listen, and you must trust me. The Council told me to scratch the delay. It is a go now. We cannot wait. The doctors do not agree, but I do not care. Take this.”

I accepted a book from his hands. The binding and blue iridescent cover were tattered. When I opened the cover, trying to focus through my puffy eyes, I saw it was not a book but a computer tablet.

“Just put your palm over the screen,” he said.

I placed my palm on the surface and the screen back-lit. The writing within slowly twisted and warped into my script. I did not remember writing it. I did not know what he meant by The Council or the plan and I did not appreciate his familiarity. And I had no memory of this device.

He tilted his chin towards the screen, and said, “Doctor Tirifini says it might cause more harm than good. I do not know what can be worse than having you like this.”

I stared at the pad, or whatever it was, containing my writing. “What is this?” I turned it over in my hands and asked, “Is this supposed to mean something to me?”

He nodded slowly, asking, “Does it?”

I shook my head, sure he, like me, was crazy. I handed it back to him and he accepted it reluctantly. I said, “I don’t want it.” He placed it on the dresser as I said, “I figure we both escaped from a psych ward.”

He laughed. “That is true, actually.” He said, “I can give you anything you want to eat or drink. I can even get you a smoke.”

I turned from the window. He was so tall. And he had the eyes of a God. That’s all I kept thinking. Instead, I asked, “Why am I here?”

He grinned then and said, “Well, if you have forgotten that, then I am afraid you will not remember me. Or believe me.”

“Someone took my son.”

“I know.”

“But that old woman says he’s here.”

“He is,” he said with a weighty seriousness.

I moved towards him, fighting my fear. “Where is he?”

“Navin? Safe. Downstairs.” He looked around the room. No nervousness. Nothing. How’s the weather? How have you been? I let the dog out. You have a son. He’s safe.

“What the hell are you babbling about?” I was angry then. He was so smug and my need to punch him returned.

“You are safe here.”

“From whom?” I asked with more of a demanding tone than I had intended.

“Remember. The sooner you do, the sooner you help your son.” He opened the door and said, “I will get you some food. Read that journal. Quickly. Then we will begin.”

I would get answers from this lunatic. I asked, “What will we begin?” as I lunged from the bed and grabbed his arm, stabbing him with my nails. His skin was so cool, and a bolt of energy moved through my fingers where I touched him. There was suddenly something there… something familiar, something I missed.

He pulled away, gently. “We begin the plan. Your plan.”

He locked the door and left me there with that glow pad and my cat. And cigarettes, which I suddenly craved. If my yoga teacher could see me now, I thought, chastising my weakness. I lit one, took a long drag, and started to read what appeared were random pages of a journal. The dates were odd; not a day, month and year, but a series of numbers. The first was 0678.56.45.9332.1761. I needed a code to read many of the locked pages. The first one I could read appeared to translate from whatever language it was originally into English as I placed my hand on the screen. It said:

I think the name Angie Krigare is hysterical. Angie. Like angel. And Krigare is Swedish for a warrior or soldier. I find it all very amusing.

The trip is six months. Onnage is frustrated and insists I do not go. What’s six months to us? He is angry because I am only going to be with Navin. If Onnage had not ordered him to go, then I would not have decided this.

My character will be a professor of historical war strategy. What a joke. I hope I remember to include only earth wars–it would be odd to discuss Rygal 71’s revolution.

The pain in my skull intensified when reading. I poured myself more water and tamped out the cigarette. Didn’t the blue-eyed demon say he was bringing me food? Sam purred loudly and bumped against my hand until I pet him again. I returned my attention to the tablet. The next few entries were coded. I skimmed to an open entry which had another unusually long number at the top of the screen. Were those file numbers? I had smoked another cigarette without realizing it.

They scheduled the third wave for earth October year 2028. Plenty of time to plan. We can finally step in. The Ryads have retarded human evolution for long enough. How many Neanderthals did I transport off that crap planet during the first invasion? My precious Neanderthals. What a waste.

I should have paid more attention. This is my punishment to rectify my absence. I knew Mastema would assert too much control. I remember our last conversation. To assuage his fear, I told him I was confident he could handle Earth. I was pruning my flowers and did not even look at him as the words flowed from my lips. I should have paid more attention. He asked me: I can handle it any way I want? I told him yes, trusting, as my son, that he would do the right thing.

General Buelingston is confident he can follow my plan (see attached). I am confident Buelingston is an idiot and demanded that Onnage and the Tricin Police supervise. Onnage appreciated the appointment. Really, I have had enough of this passivity. And it is interfering with my planting season.On a positive note, I think Onnage is furious I am going. I am glad he is angry.

I tried to open the attachment and found it, too, was coded. I found the next entry I could open:

I insisted that Navin not get involved in the Earth business. I reminded him what that place does to us. So miserable. All those wars, selfishness, materialism. Navin showed us how the Ryads have permitted the humans to access high technology. Can you imagine what it will look like if they all had commlinks? Preposterous. But Navin showed us: They all have commlinks they call cellphones. And I was right. Technology absorbs the humans while they starve and let disease take the innocent. No focus on easing others’ suffering, they are too immersed in what they do not understand.

Ah… this writer is astute. I smile. The rest of the entry is coded until the end of the page. I find a short entry that seemed incomplete:

Freiasha visited with me today. She will care for my animals while I am gone; Onnage refused to do it. He hates the fresca anyway. Says their flapping wings keeps him awake all night. And he despises the cats. Freiasha is still trying to convince me not to go. She said: You have other children who need you, Mommy…. I wondered if I was making a mistake. They will need to rely on their father for a while.

The other children are keeping to themselves. Freiasha will remain with her family. I will miss them all. Even Triskelleon remains with the Thirty-Sixth construction project in Quadrant 574. I do not think that will ever be completed–no matter the number of our family on that project…

The next one I could open read:

The engineers have completed the transmitter design: Hematite rings. I appreciate the simplicity and will tell others it was a gift from a father I do not have. Some story. However, I dislike how the embedding alters the true body. My people seem smaller. Their skin gets all pasty. And their voices soften. They lose their power. I am having second thoughts. I will not like myself that way. Even if only for my half hour.

I looked at my thumb. The cut from the exploded hematite ring was still faint on the inside of my thumb. I flipped through several files. All coded, locked. Sam jumped down onto the floor and lapped at his water dish. I found a short entry numbered 0978.56.43.9372.1761:

I examined my transport body today. Almost acceptable. It resembles my preferred appearance. And I can make minor changes once I am embedded, but the structure will be static. The key to effective control is ingesting enough water to lubricate the contact between operator and vehicle. If the operator is denied water, the reduced lubrication of the mental contact points interferes with function. How interesting all these new technologies. And a new experience for me. I love adventure.

That entry just ended. I found I could read one closer to the end of the journal:

They embedded Navin. I watched him fall through the heavens into his new life and out of my reach. He told me he was not afraid. But I lost Mastema to that planet. This is my fault in so many ways. Navin is only doing it to please his father just as Mastema did. Onnage’s constant demands and unreasonable expectations. If Navin is hurt, I will destroy myself. That is the only way to punish Onnage. Or perhaps, I will never come back to him. This is all too much work. I am tired. Between the arguments, the problems… I feel disbursed.

“How about some dinner?” the big blond said as he stood over me watching me read.

I had not heard him enter. I put the pad upside down onto the table and made room for the plate. I said, “That’s some science fiction in there. Whose journal is this?”

He deposited the plate on the desk, mumbling, “You can be angry at me later for knowing where it was.” Turning away quickly, he added, “I found it in our bedroom at home. It is your mind journal. It records your thoughts.”

That doctor, with his weird costume of glowing chameleon skin, passed into the room as the pesky blond left. He bowed.

“Is everyone here insane?” Did that blond just say we shared a bedroom? The doctor reached for my wrist. “Can I eat first?” I asked. I was so tired. None of their poking and prying was helping. And I wanted to read more of that journal. It was more interesting–true or not–than anything any of them had told me.

He placed a laptop on the table next to me. “I brought you some music. Some good stations.”

I extended my arm, allowing him to check my pulse, and said, “I’m glad to be free of those restraints.”

The doctor, his skin a sallow gray, stepped back from me, murmuring, “You are relaxed? Not angry?”

I shook my head and scooped another spoonful of whatever this stew was. It was so fresh. “No. Just curious. That journal is like reading a history book or something. It’s like research. I feel productive.”

The doctor held my wrist. He passed a glowing box over my skin. He noted something on his tablet. He said, “I still do not like the color of your skin.”

I turned away from him, mumbling, “At least I picked a skin color.”

He said, smiling, “Ah, now that is a good sign.”

“What is?” I asked.

“You. Being straightforward.” He bowed and left the room. The lock clicking did not surprise me.

Why does everyone bow when they enter or leave the room? As Sam licked at the remains of my stew, I said, “I hate this planet.”

On the computer I found the spa-music station on Sirius, but it would not load. Strange. I tried a few others: Easy Sounds. Relax and Release. The classical stations. Even the opera one. All inaccessible. Only three stations worked, and they were all metal. I recognized one song: Right in Two. By some band, Tool. It was abrasive, but I felt strangely calm. Although my head did not hurt, my chest did. And to my surprise I knew the lyrics to the Tool song. I grabbed the journal and found a short entry almost on the last page:

They will maintain communication from Gamboyd. The team will accompany Onnage, Navin and I to negotiate for Mastema’s release. Onnage insists that I join him when the time comes, but I am compelled to be involved this time. And I will not abandon Navin. I will never abandon my children again.

The fleet will assist with repelling the Andolonians and capturing the Ryads. Honestly, I do not care about that aspect: I am going to get my son. The fact is, I am still angry at the destruction of my Neanderthals. Thousands of years helping that race of humans and for what? And how they fought–and lost. Now these others, these homo sapiens. Not as clever as my Neanderthals, but they have potential. Would they evolve if they had freedom from the Ryads?

I turned to an entry on the second to last page:

This will be the last entry before I leave. Onnage tried to stop me from going–used a plurality restraint. Sent me off galaxy. I transported back, defeating his pathetic attempt. I reminded him who I am. We had to go off planet to finish the fight. I will not speak to him until I return. If I return. I should just remain human. Life would be much easier. I blame Onnage for all of this. For losing our son and risking Navin. I can be a History professor forever. I can be human. I do not want to be me anymore. If I had paid more attention…

And midst our confrontation, Onnage had the nerve to imply he would seek my sisters’ company while I was gone. All five of them! He said he could use some inspiration. After I bare him thirteen children, this is how he talks to me. Trying to bait me. He has a nice cut across his back. Let us see if that heals before I see him again.

I go to the bedroom door. The pitched ceiling told me I was in an attic. I hoped someone could hear me as I pounded on the door and called out. Putting my fist through the solid wood door surprised me. I stared at my hand. Through the hole, I noticed the cop looking through the other side.

He opened the door and asked, “Do you realize the damage you have done to this house?”

I thought, Well, I will fix it. But, I said, “No.”

“It is a disaster.” He entered the room and placed a saucer of food on the floor for Sam.

You hate cats, I thought. How do I know that? I watched him petting Sam and asked, “You like cats?”

“I am not a big animal fan,” he said. “Except for dogs. And certain fish.”

“You’ve been feeding him?”

He looked at the cat. At me. Then at the cat again. He said, “He is my namesake. I felt obligated.”

I blurted, “Take off your shirt.” He frowned. “Take it off,” I said as I crossed my arms.

Calmly, with no argument, he lifted the bottom of the thick white sweater, lifting it over his head and exposing a crisp white button-down shirt underneath. He began to unbutton it, watching me watch him. I felt oddly uncomfortable and turned away. He was very tall. I lit myself yet another cigarette, watching my hands shake as I tried to meet the flame to the tip.

He chuckled, and said, “I thought the smokes might help. You had that crappy habit the last time we came here.”

He was silent, and the movement ceased. I turned and found him bare-chested. They don’t make ’em like that anymore, I thought, feeling devilish. Probably experiencing Stockholm syndrome, I blushed. I cleared my throat, realizing my headache was completely gone. I said, “Turn around.”

As he began to turn, pain filled my chest. A deep red scar covered his back from the right shoulder blade to his left hip. It looked like a large letter “R.” I guess I fainted then, leaving me inside my mind.

They took me into a surgical center. Silver tables and machines surrounded the attendants. They placed me onto the table near the far wall. I reclined onto a white cushion on the silver table. They covered my naked body with a thin sheet.

The doctor with the long black hair, Bryce, leaned over me and washed my arm with disinfectant. He asked, “Where’s General Dentri?”

I say, “I instructed him not to come.”

The shorter doctor came close to my face and said, “But Renya, ma’am, they told us to wait for him. You should have family here.”

I rose onto my elbows, glaring at her. I did not need to add words. She cast her eyes downward and continued to fritter about, preparing the feed, I suppose.

In the next few minutes, I would become the creature of my making, Angelina Krigare. I think I will enjoy being a professor and helping all those little humans. They were so cute. Like little monkeys.

Bryce attempted to inject me. On his third try, as he apologized, the needle punctured my skin.

“Perhaps choose the correct gauge next time, Bryce.” There are gauges for you. And gauges for me. Not the same, I thought.

He nodded and bowed as he said, “Yes, Madam Tasia.”

Angie was a health nut. She would be a yoga teacher. An animal activist. Onnage especially hated the whole “animal activist” thing. Good. I hoped he was miserable. And I would be asleep and embedded long before he arrived. Teach him to sacrifice my sons. Put Navin in danger after taking Mastema from me. Try to keep me from doing what I want. Big bully.

They put the cap over my head and the electrodes hummed inputting my altered program. It would take one hell of a blow to wake me. I could just be Angelina Krigare forever. What did it matter?

Onnage could go worship my sister. All of my sisters for all I cared. And Beatrice would oblige, that fat witch. She always wanted Onnage. Millions of years putting up with her little comments and coy caresses on his arm. Over fifteen billion years dedicated to him and he pulls this crap. Trying to manipulate me. Does he know how many want me? I am still young. I could just move on.

A slam against the glass of the operating room jarred me from my reverie. I was drowsy but could just see Onnage’s face through the glass. I smirked at him and mumbled, “Ha, ha, I win…”

Apparently, he is better at escaping my little traps than I considered. I had trapped him in a cave with a hungry Xeyophyte with peculiarly big teeth. And I had already cut his back good and deep. Let Beatrice have him with my initial carved into his back. Let her look at that R and know that I will hunt down her fat ass if she even thinks about touching him–

I was really sleepy.

The sound of glass shattering. Raised voices. Then the man with blue eyes was standing over me. He was crying. This funny glow around his head.

Like a god.

He cradled my head in his huge hand. A burning behind my ear. A searing pain.

And someone said, “She has to go.”

Go where? Who has to go?

Into a tube. Into the blackness. Falling and falling. Stars and coldness and ice whipping across my ears. Into the blackness. Down and down. That is what angels do. They fall to earth.

That fall.

Never fear that fall.

Fear that landing.

My eyes opened and I realize that I had been dreaming. Dreaming a memory. I touch the journal and the entirety decodes. I need not flip through as I know the truth now.

I abandoned the Earth long ago. When the first Ryad invasion resulted in the decimation of my precious Neanderthals, I gave up on trying to nurture that planet. The Council could never appreciate that I do not keep my attention on everything all the time. Did they know how exhausting that can be?

When my son, Mastema, destroyed Thraxis 10, I was occupied elsewhere, assisting with an evolution project on Vincis Major. I have things to do. I do not want to be everywhere all the time. I appeared to the Council and argued that Mastema was only playing. He is just a child.

Onnage escorted Mastema to Ursa and told me he would negotiate with the Council for mercy. The Council had other plans. Since Onnage had decided to destroy Earth and sent orders to raise the waters and drown the land, the Council convinced him to send Mastema as a magistrate instead.

With Onnage’s inept direction, the Council voted to exile Mastema to Earth for ten million years. I suggested several other children as more appropriate magistrates. Mastema is too young. But the Council insisted as an appropriate punishment. And Onnage let them take our son. Onnage is confident the experience will provide Mastema a unique learning experience. Yet I can see a future: All I see are mothers screaming.

I begged Onnage: Anywhere but Earth. Not Earth. I do not care that someone needs to supervise the Ryads. Earth is a place of hatred and war. The irony of humans killing each other in the name of God. I gave up on Earth long ago. Anywhere but there. I will beg if I need to. I will beg. My screams echoed through the galaxies as they tore Mastema from my arms. Do not take my baby! Do not take my son! Onnage do not let them do this!

How dare they command me? When did we give away our authority and power? I never should have agreed to the formation of the Council and rue the day I relented. Senator Hovaths reminded me it was precisely my family’s unrivaled power that mandated the formation of the Council. Beings wanted to navigate their own lives and the immortal’s interference denied them that ability. I agreed in a moment of weakness. In clarity, I see the error. We gave them power over Onnage, our children, over me. What foolishness. Onnage insists we let the Council continue to function. I say we disband the Council and have a clean slate. I am not sure why I agreed to a Council at all. First, they demand autonomy. Then, they demand our help. Too many demands.

I was having such a lovely day having just returned from the Pleiades. The Urstrabrands were celebrating their migration. So lovely all those gossamer wings in the light of the six suns. I was so relaxed when the Council reported that planet Earth is becoming an issue and insists that Onnage and I intervene. When they banished Mastema to Earth, I thought I would never again need to worry about that rock and its issues. Do I have to do everything?

Has it really been over four thousand Earth years since they exiled Mastema? To me, it has been less than six of my months. I really must get out of my garden more.Onnage reminded me of the time we spent on Earth during the first Ryad invasion. I am sure that was only a few days ago. Four thousand years seems an overestimate. I have little interest in that planet. Failed experiment. Good soil. Some great greenery. The humans are a waste of my time. I told Onnage we can let them die out like the Pervifies. Why waste the energy?

Sometimes I think it would be easier to just force the Ryads to vacate before the Andolonians arrive. I could just end this with a thought. Just annihilate them and be done with it. But as a proponent of freedom, and to support the Council, I have agreed to not interfere. And look what that decision has permitted. Only my involvement can preserve freedom. How ironic. I have told them I am not interested. They can rely on Mastema.

Mastema will not return my messages. I focused on him all day. No response. He is my only child who does not return contact. He must still be angry and hurt to avoid me this way. I could insist and impinge on him, but I trust he will do the right thing. He was always difficult. From his birth to this day. I sent Onnage to talk to him face-to-face. I just do not have the patience for Mastema’s accusations of what bad parents we are.

Onnage returned reporting he could not find Mastema. The Ryads still hold Earth and continue to war with the Andolonians. Onnage confirmed the Andolonians are deeply insulted over some Ryad slight and are retaliating, planning to capture Earth and its resources. Onnage insisted we intervene until Mastema is found. And then the endless argument ensued. Him accusing me of being too lenient with Mastema. In my chaotic nature, I had given him too much freedom. I was the reason Mastema destroyed galaxies on a whim. But he seemed to forget his demanding nature, forcing Mastema to practice ordering. That was all he was doing, and they deemed it a crime. Does he forget that he was the one to permit the Council to exile our son? Mastema’s bad behavior was not my doing. If Onnage had just let him create and enjoy himself. And now our son was missing. We argued into the night. He left to demand the Council force the Ryads to produce Mastema. I told him to not bother returning until he found our son.

The Ryads imprisoned Mastema and have slated him for destruction, accusing Mastema of kidnapping hybrid Earth children: immortal and human hybrids or alien and human hybrids. The Ryads insist Mastema is forming an army of star children. I cannot believe this to be true. Mastema would never take children from their mothers. He knows how much I suffered when he was taken from me. I believe the Ryads are using my son as a shill. They historically kidnap children. The Council is supporting the Ryads and Mastema’s destruction. They will disburse him and my son will be nothing but stardust.

The Council sent the Prime Administrator and her entourage to negotiate peace between the Ryads and Andolonians - to convince the Ryads to leave Earth and settle their differences with the Andolonians at a neutral location. The Ryads killed the Council complement and sent the Prime Administrator’s right hand to the Council administrative offices with demands the Council permit the annihilation of all immortal-human hybrids. The Council has agreed.

To impress his father, Navin volunteered to direct the peacekeeping mission to stop the Ryad-Andolonian conflict. Navin is much too weak to deal with this alone.Onnage and I fought all day. I protested that every time Navin goes to Earth we end up with another half-human grandchild. Onnage so easily endangers our children.

Onnage and I had a long talk. We spent most of it studying human time. Watching our internal clock, we counted one minute. A week passed on Earth. He tried to show me: See, six months there is only thirty minutes. Navin will be home in no time at all. I will not let Onnage allow another of our sons to be lost.

Navin brought the human woman, Eleanor Bergstrom, to me. Another of Navin’s playthings. The Ryads took her child over fifty of her earth’s years ago. I read her soul and can see it: She is in a bathroom stall and the child is fiddling with the lock. I am shocked that the boy is so much like Navin. He has a human body and an immortal spirit. I am absorbed in her moment with her child… my grandson. Then, I see two arms come beneath the door and two hands grab the child’s ankles. Someone pulls the child and the child’s face strikes the tile floor. Eleanor screams and rushes from the stall but cannot find her son. Navin shows me the rest. The Ryads are collecting star children. They imprisoned Mastema because he will not deliver his own daughter. Has my absence resulted in such brutality? And why did no one tell me?

I am empathetic to Eleanor’s pain. I will not lose Navin. And I will find Mastema. I will not lose any of my children–or my grandchildren—ever again. Onnage insists he will beckon me when I am needed to recover Mastema. He demands I remain at home and wait for his direction. As if he can command me. But I will not let Navin go to Earth alone. Earth claimed one of my children, never mind the other incidents my children have suffered on that planet, and it will not have another. And the Ryads are hunting my granddaughter. And have my grandson. I will recover my family.

I look around me. I am in the bedroom on the third floor of a house on Constitution Drive in Leonardo, New Jersey. It is October 16th. It is early evening. I yell, “Hello!” as loudly as I can. As my voice shatters the windows and splits the ceiling, I realize that I wake all nearby galaxies and admit I have destroyed this house.

I go to the window and look through the cracks in the glass into the yard carpeted with fallen leaves of golds and reds and browns and bright yellows. If this were any normal day, and I were any normal person, I would rake my backyard. The sun is a setting orange halo–like a golden rainbow over the edge of a hill. Then I see the forms in hooded black jumpsuits. Faces covered. The twilight reflects off the shiny material. They climb over the fence and pass through the trees. I count ten. Twenty. Twenty-three. They move soundlessly and all I can hear is my vessel heart pounding over their motions. They are coming towards the house. They could kill. Kill.

His breath is on my neck. “You are here to be protected” he says. “By them. And me.”

“Onnage…” I say and turn to him. “Those are my people. Your team. They are drilling. That is all. Drills.”

He watches me, commenting, “I see your lip is healed. And your hands.”

Drills. “Eighteen-hundred hours,” I whisper. “We drill every eighteen hundred hours until twenty hundred hours. Then we do a system’s check,” I state, wondering: What the hell am I thinking?

He continues staring at me. “Go ahead.”

“Alpha something?”

“Yes…” he says as his eyes widen. “You remember?” He reaches for me, then stops himself.

“No… I am not sure…”

“Yes, you are.” He smiles. Reaching into his jeans, he retrieves a card. “This is the code for the entries in the journal. Keep reading.”

I put my hand up and say, “I read it. Sensed it.” I sit on the bed. This body is exhausted. I say, “I do not even remember what I think I remember.” I admit to myself that I do not want to remember. I take the code card. “I want to be alone.”

He smiles and bows. “Yes, Renya.”

“Renya? That is my name?”

He says, “Renya Keegan Tasia. Queen Renya Keegan Tasia.” Then he leaves me.

I sit on the bed, examining the code card and shaking off a hangover to rival all hangovers. I rub my forehead. Sam jumps on the bed next to me and bumps me with his head. He is velvet-soft. And his purr seems like words in my mind, telling me to get better. That he wants to go home.

The skin I wear is too much like plastic. I hesitate, touch the side of my neck and feel a scar. Strange. I go to the full-length mirror in the attic’s corner. I intend to move some boxes, but just thinking to move them causes them slide to the side of the room. The result does not frighten me. I do not get frightened, I muse. Lifting my hair away from the side of my neck, I examine the raised scar: The letters O and D are plainly visible. O. D. I nod, and mumble, “Onnage Dentri. Damn him.”

I hold the journal in my mind as a minute passes. I have gotten to the part where I recorded the orders I wrote and distributed. The official entries in the journal do not bother me. The plans, the documents, the maps. The orders. What unnerves me are my memories that flash before me in the milliseconds it takes for my vehicle body to draw a breath.

I arrived and I found Vrybe at my doorstep. He told me that Onnage sent him to keep me company. How thoughtful to send my pet. Onnage cannot fix our war with these attempts at reconciliation. I will not return to Onnage. And for spite, I will call Vrybe Sam.

There is a desirable human male who lives nearby. I intend to start a conversation with him when we use the gym. I should have at least chosen a younger vehicle. This one has weak wrists.

What is all this social media nonsense? Do humans not talk to each other face-to-face? I will have nothing to do with it.

Some human woman complained today and called me an absentee landlord. I am highly offended although know that she is correct.

We took a dolphin swim today. My little dolphins. They came to greet me, complaining I have been absent for so long. I told them I had just visited, but they keep insisting it was thousands of years ago. I really must synchronize my time sense. I was enjoying my moment with them, but the human guide was vulgar and made me get out of the water, insisting I must be menstruating. I would have vaporized him right there but would have blown my cover. Is every human so rude?

Humans are one of my greatest failures. I asked if these college students could name the closest star to the Earth and it stumped them. I hate it here.

Navin is confident the portal can be operational so we can quickly get to wherever they position the base. For now, we wait and observe. I am concerned as Navin has identified Mastema’s daughter. She is a lovely girl who likes to do puzzles. How can the Council deem these children aberrations? How can they demand the children be destroyed? I suggested Navin keep his distance and stay on mission. Each time I contact his ring, I get her.

The Ryads have discovered our presence. I was in my condominium walking toward the bathroom intending to take a long, hot shower. Sam padded behind me down the hall, complaining about the boredom he was experiencing on this planet and demanding to go home. Same thing every night. I was just saying how we would leave soon when the pulse shattered my ring transmitter, sending fragments across the floor. The sound, like an air horn, blasted into my head and send me to my knees. The last thing I remember thinking was that I had made a mistake.

Onnage continues to try to contact me, but I cannot transmit. No one can hear me and all I can do is wrestle inside this vehicle body. I am exhausted.

I find myself in a glass room and sense Navin nearby. I scream that I cannot get out. I cannot breathe. What have I done to myself? Then, a human with dark eyes and darker skin is standing over me. He needs something he called “overtime.” I can sense his strain, yet he tenderly cares for my vessel body. I feel safe until the second human appears. This one is lazy and irresponsible. Images of sexual depravity flash in my mind. His presence reminds me how I have failed. I must eliminate him.

My granddaughter was near me today. I tried to reach her. I sent her the scent of my rose garden. I do not think she realizes that I am trapped. I am concerned that my decision was in error. Trapped inside a body is no way to live.

I was confident when the human girl promised to help, but she only wanted a photo of me for her social media. Too many reminders of my failed experience called “humans.”

Onnage tried to wake me. I would not speak to him. I will not admit that I programmed my prison. He tells me about the human who cannot have children. That if I fix the woman, they will all believe who we are. The only energy I have I use to tell him I hate him and warn him if he hurts or frightens any of the humans, I will never speak to him again. That I have had enough of his brutality.

Castania is here, in my presence. I am frightened. I cannot get out. I trapped myself, I scream, but they do not hear me. Onnage’s soft kiss passes across my lips. My Onnage. My love. My anger dissolves and I beg him not to leave me.

The beautiful human sits in the stairwell and allows tears to fall. Do not cry, my little one. She cannot hear me. The humans can never hear me, no matter if I am trapped or not. I reach into her and see her honor, her intelligence, her strength. She is what I wanted them to be. And how unfair for this one to be barren.

Onnage asks me why I cannot get out. I do not tell him. I am ashamed. My anger at him. My fear.

Brown and Jones. Nondescript names for these Ryad scum. I will destroy them. Onnage stops me. We must wait, he says. We must get the information we need. You must let them win this battle, he says. So we can win the war, I ask. Yes, he says. We must have time to get the fleet in position. Think of all the lives at stake. Think of Mastema. I let the agents dose me.

The sunlight caresses my vehicle body’s skin. I open my eyes and find a complement of humans with Onnage, Sam and Castania at my side. The body is like a block of cement, but my energy is returning. More water. I need more water. I must remember to outlaw embedding. I hear AC/DC and wonder at the kindness, the caring, around me. Maybe these humans are not such a failure. The boy human, who no one has taken the time to cure, brings me a picture and I tell him as soon as I am well, I will bring him out of his own prison. Onnage insists I help the beautiful one. I touch her and bring the child into her. It takes all I have and I am unable to tell them that Victor is coming. All I can say is bad crickets but they do not understand. I am lost. I will need all my power to undo what I have designed.

They stab him and I sense his death. I rise and undo what Victor has committed. I tell him, Oren Clark, I am sorry. I am so sorry. I should have been more involved. I should have answered you. I have tended my garden with such care but have forgotten my children. I cannot face my negligence.

My son. I want my son. Do not let him go. Mastema. My love. Mommy is here. I love you. I will always love you. Forgive your father. Forgive me. We will fix this. Come home with me. We can play in the garden like we used to.

Light, ultraviolet. Burning. The screams of a thousand swans and the hiss of a million snakes. The stars blur, howling. I pass through the tunnel and open my eyes. Hello, Renya, Doctor Tirifini says. I scream to him, I cannot get out. I did this. I commanded my own prison. But he cannot hear me. All I can do is listen to my scream in my head. I must conserve my energy. Use my will. I send the scent of roses hoping the little one will understand.

I wallow in my madness. My anger. Everyone gets emotional. And everyone makes mistakes. Even me.

I am Renya Keegan Tasia. And I must atone.