Remnant Population

When she got back to the village, in the hot afternoon, she still couldn’t quite believe what had happened. The old voice insisted she couldn’t possibly do what the creatures wanted. She had no talent, no training, no letters after her name. She was too old, too stupid, too ignorant. She closed her eyes a moment, and the babies’ golden eyes stared at her from the darkness behind her eyelids. She had promised the babies… she, the click-kaw-keerrr. She had to do it, possible or not. She could not even find the team members at first. They weren’t in the center, or in the lane. They hadn’t been in the sheep meadow, and she didn’t see them in the part of the river meadow visible from the lane angle. She looked into a few houses, but saw no one. It was too hot to walk all the lanes, look into all the houses and gardens. Could they be eating or resting in their own shelter? Ofelia walked down the lane, and saw the military advisors hunched over one of the old rusty trucks. One of them spotted her and nudged the other. They both stared.

She didn’t like to turn her back on them; they made her uneasy enough when they were in front of her. She came nearer, slowly, cautiously. She wasn’t even sure which one had hit her. They were both so big, so much the same shape, and their expressions seemed fixed in wary contempt. “What do you want?” one of them said, when she was close enough. He spoke loudly, as if he thought she was deaf.

“I wanted to speak to one of them,” she said. “Ser Likisi, or—”

“They’re not here,” the man said shortly, cutting her off. He turned back to the truck.

“Do you know when—” Ofelia began; again he interrupted, this time without looking at her. “No. They don’t tell me

their schedule.” After a moment, she realized he was not angry with her, but with the others. He didn’t like them. She had suspected that before, but she had seen these men only in company with the others, where they would naturally mask their feelings. “I’m sorry to have bothered you,” Ofelia said formally. That got another look, this time of mild surprise, from both men. “Its nothing,” the other man said, not as loudly. “Was there anything else?” “No,” Ofelia said. “I just wanted to talk to them.” But curiosity held her. “What are you doing to the truck? Do you want to use it?”

They both laughed. “No, grandma,” said the second one. “It’s past that. But bossyboots told us to dismantle the engines, just in case those lizards could learn to use them.” Ofelia blinked. Bossyboots? Was that Ser Likisi, who certainly deserved that or a worse nickname, or Sera Stavi? And lizards? Was that how they saw the creatures?

“Shut up!” said the other one. He glared at Ofelia. “You won’t go telling our noble leader what we call him, will you.” It was not a question, but a command. His voice was heavy with threat. “No,” Ofelia said. “I won’t tell him.” Nor would she tell these two how much she agreed with them… or should she? “He’s very… sure of himself,” she said, making it obvious that she could have said it another way. The two men looked at each other and laughed.

“You could say that,” the milder one said. “You don’t like him either? He was a Sims corpsucker, I heard;

switched to government work when he got his ass in a crack—”

“Kedrick!”

“Never mind, Bo, this little grandma isn’t going to tell any tales. She doesn’t like lickspittle Likisi any better than we do, do you?” Ofelia grinned, but said nothing. Interesting how little humans varied, from one organization to another. She had heard comments like this before, from disgruntled colonist-trainees. “Want a little… refreshment?” the man asked her, miming a drink.

It had to mean something contraband; they would have something illegal, all such men did. She remembered how quickly after the colony’s Company advisors left someone had rigged a still to make alcohol from whatever they grew. She remembered the arguments, the fights, the smashing of one still, and the quick reappearance of foul-tasting fiery liquid passed from one to another in little flasks… “I’m too old,” she said, but she smiled at them. Men like this — she had known men like this all her life, even though these men would not have recognized the resemblance. “But thank you,” she said. One did not dare to act superior to men who dosed themselves with illegal substances. “’S all right, grandma,” the loud one said. “Just you don’t go tellin’ peerless leader, huh?”

“Of course not,” Ofelia said. “Not that he listens to me anyway.”

They regarded her tolerantly. Clearly she was no threat, and she was behaving just as an ignorant old woman should. “Of course he doesn’t listen to you,” the quiet one — Bo? — said. “He’s the team leader, isn’t he? He doesn’t listen to anybody but maybe the oversoul of the universe—” Ofelia wanted to ask if anyone still believed in that, but she knew better. Never ask about religion; it makes people angry.