Something touches my shoulder, jerking my attention away from the horizon. When I turn, Errol pulls his hand back. His face is grim, pensive, as he waits.

“Yes?” I ask.

“Uh, we need to work here sir,” he says, motioning at the wall.

I’m confused for a long moment, still lost in thought, and then I notice that the workers have reached the point of the wall where I’m standing.

“Yes,” I say, shaking my head.

My shoulders knot with tension as I turn away. I haven’t been able to see her for some time, so there is no point in standing here any longer. Rolling my shoulders to relax the muscles, I head through my morning rounds. Padraig’s hammer clanging echoes off stone, conversations mix, and life continues for the Tribe.

“Put that over here please,” Olivia says, motioning Delilah and Bailey to set the crate they carry between them down.

“What is this?” I ask.

“Oh, hi,” Olivia says, turning, her swollen belly sticking out between us.

It brings a smile to my face. Soon we will have a child among us. An image flashes through my mind of Rosalind, dressed in white, with her own belly swelling with our child. Ridiculous, how could we ever make that work? Our dedication is to our people, both of us, and neither group is accepting of the other.

“Hello,” I say, motioning my staff at the crate.

“It’s cloth,” Bailey says.

“Cloth?” I ask.

“Yes, from the wreckage, we thought we could use it to make some other things,” she says.

“We’re thinking clothes,” Olivia adds. “Ours are getting… thin.”

She looks down at herself, and I take in the noticeable tears and holes in her outfit.

“Why not use skins?” I ask.

“Ugh,” Delilah says, placing a hand on her hip. “Seriously? You have to ask? They’re stiff for one; they’re hard to move in; they have a weird odor; and can we just say no on style?”

I don’t understand the way she is using some of the words, but her aura of righteous indignation is enough for me to gather her intent and to make it clear I don’t want to insert myself into their project.

“Well, best of luck,” I say, moving away to extricate myself from the situation.

“Thanks,” Olivia says.

My rounds this morning go quickly. The Tribe members are all industrious in their own right. My inspections are for morale more than any other purpose. The gardens are growing nicely, the wall is coming along, and soon we will have a gate that Padraig is forging right now. A small protection perhaps, but better than none at all. My chest aches, an empty throbbing with each beat of my heart. The knots in my shoulders grow tighter no matter how often I roll my shoulders to ease the tension. Melancholy settles over me like a heavy cloth, weighing me down in its grip.

Climbing the ramp towards my father’s chamber. I turn and look out over the Tribe’s lands. Below, everyone is busy, working, talking, and they are happy. They squabble, they talk, life is happening. Everything is fine, good even, but it does nothing to touch the empty ache inside. Sighing, I turn and continue.

A dark, oiled skin covers the entrance. I pull it aside and slide into the cool dark. After walking down the short tunnel, I emerge into the circular chamber that my father has taken for his own. Falkosh, an elder in his own right, sits with my father. They both look up at my entrance.

“Welcome, my son,” Kalessin says.

“Father,” I greet him, grabbing a stool and pulling it over to sit in front of them.

“Hello, Visidion,” Falkosh greets me. “Are the suns warming you today?”

“Yes, and may they continue to warm you,” I respond, formal.

Falkosh more than any other has held on to things from before the devastation. My father stares at me for a long moment then turns to his friend.

“Thank you for your visit, Falkosh, perhaps we can enjoy supper together?” father says.

“Hmm? Oh, yes, I’d be honored,” Falkosh says, taking the hint and rising to his feet.

Falkosh’s chest is covered with old, puckered scars, scales torn from sections of his stomach and arms that was replaced by scar tissue. He makes his slow, shuffling way out. Once Falkosh was an amazing warrior, but it took its toll on his body. Only after he is gone do I speak.

“How are you, father?” I ask.

“Well, son, well, but the weight is heavy on you today,” he observes.

“It’s fine,” I say.

He grips my shoulder and nods.

“I have had a vision,” he says.

“Yes?”

“Darkness for you, a white light at your side. Trials. Blood and sand,” he says. “Long, hard, arduous, trial after trial, you must persevere. Be strong, my son, your strength and your will are going to be challenged. The hope of our people rests on your shoulders.”

“How is this different than what we’ve already come through?” I retort, red anger rising like a sandstorm cutting through me. “Since the devastation it’s been nothing but a trial. One challenge after another. Tell me father, what is there new in your vision?”

He smiles, shaking his head.

“I tell you what I can,” he says. “What I see is not clear, you know this. It must be interpreted, and often only in hindsight do we see the truth.”

“You saw the devastation coming,” I snap. “Why can you not see this more clearly?”

“I was lucky. I interpreted what I saw correctly,” he answers. “That was not easier than this.”

“Bah,” I say, slashing my hand across the space between us. “I have not time for mysteries.”

“A circle, surrounded by spectators, a monster roaring, crowds cheering, and a blue sky,” he says.

“This is what you see?” I ask.

“Yes,” he says.

“A blue sky? Where would such a thing exist?”

“I do not know,” he says.

Shaking my head, my jaw clenched tight, I consider his words.

“It will be what it will be,” I hiss, turning away.

“Yes, it will,” he says, resignation in his voice.

Tingles run across my scales as my stomach churns, boiling in anger. Clenching my fist, gritting my teeth, I push down the bijass rising to engulf my thoughts.

I am myself, repeating the mantra until the red rage recedes.

Control of myself returns, the tension drains from my shoulders, and I take a deep breath.

“Do you see anything more?” I ask.

He sighs heavily, giving me all the answer before he speaks.

“No,” he says.

“Well,” I say. “Then I will face what comes.”

My chest aches, an empty void needing to be filled. The stone under my hand is cool and hard, but my fingers long to touch the softness of flesh. Tingling runs up my arm, striking deep into my hearts, making them beat faster. Kalessin places a hand on my shoulder and I start. It’s an unexpected gesture, an unusual display for my father. He grips tight, then lets go before turning and shuffling away.

Pulling the skins aside I step out onto the ledge. The warmth of the double red suns hits my scales. Staring out at the horizon across rolling red and white dunes of shifting sand, my eyes find the hazy edge of the world. Out there, coming fast, is our future. Everything is different now. The Tribe had resigned itself to our inevitable demise. Strangely, it had become comfortable, an accepted reality that our race had reached its end.

The humans changed everything.

I didn’t know how much until we met the City. When we rescued the humans, it was an act of kindness, nothing more. While some had an attraction, the pull to make a human their treasure, it wasn’t for breeding. The human females are attractive. Resigning yourself to the end of your race doesn’t override the biological drive to claim a treasure and hold it dear.

I never would have considered a merging of our races.

Rosalind sees a future as clearly or even more so then Kalessin does. It drives her, inspires her, and I feel it when I’m with her. Tickling along the edges of my mind, a rising feeling that swells in my chest and core. Hope. She brings hope. The babies…

Three shapes approaching the gates jerk me from my thoughts. The hunters are returning, dragging a carcass along behind them on the travois designed for the purpose. Good. Our meat supplies are running low, but it means more work to be overseen. Work is good, good for morale, good for keeping people focused. The only question is who to pull away from the jobs they are doing to butcher the meat.

“I’m going to need to go to an oasis,” Ormarr the Tribe Healer says as I pass him on my way to meet Ragnar.

“How soon?” I ask, stopping to address his needs.

“Ten suns, maybe twelve,” he says.

“I’ll talk to Ragnar,” I say, gripping his arm before I continue to meet Ragnar.

Olivia is at his side by the time I arrive. Bashir and Melchior pull the travois away, hauling the meat into the cavern.

“Welcome home,” I say. “Good hunt?”

“Yes,” he says, one arm around Olivia, holding her close to his side.

Olivia eyes shine with joy. The swell of her belly pushing out into the world. The cradle of our future.

“Go ahead,” she says, when I meet her eyes.

She’s used to it. All of us have the same urge. Smiling, I step forward and place my hands on either side of her belly. The life growing inside of her is warm, shifting under my touch. It kicks my hand as if telling me to leave it alone. My laughter is joined by hers.

“I think you’re annoying him,” she says through her giggles.

“So it would seem,” I agree.

“We need to talk,” Ragnar says, serious.

When I meet his gaze, his eyes shift, taking a quick glance around. It’s clear he doesn’t want to talk where others can overhear our conversation. I motion with one hand leading the way to my home. Inside I offer seats to him and Olivia, but only she takes one. Ragnar goes back to the skins over the entrance, looking out, clearly making sure no one is close enough to eavesdrop.

“What is it Ragnar?” I ask.

“We found something,” he says. “The Zzlo have a station. We know where they took the rest of the humans.”

“We have to save them!” Olivia cries out, jumping to her feet and knocking the stool over.

“It is not so simple,” Ragnar says, cupping his wife’s face in his hand.

He places a hand on her stomach, kisses her forehead.

“Explain,” I say.

Ragnar sets the stool back up and settles Olivia back on it before he continues.

“It’s not just a base, it’s a lift station,” he says.

My breath is taken away, knocked out by the news. Pains in my chest as my hearts pound harder. Gasping for air, I take a seat myself.

“They can’t be,” I say, unable to say the rest of my thought.

“They have,” he says.

“What? What does that mean?” Olivia asks, hysteria in her voice.

“They’re taking those they capture off-world,” I say.

“Off-world? They… can’t… we’re stuck…”

Emotions play across her face, and moisture drops from her eyes in that strange display the humans have. Wasteful yet strangely heart wrenching to see.

“This is what the Zzlo do,” Ragnar says. “They’re slavers. There is no one here to sell to, so they will take those they capture and sell them.”

“But what about your brother? What about Ryuth? They didn’t take him away,” she says.

Rage rises in Ragnar’s eyes but he pushes it down fast. Ryuth was captured by the Zzlo and turned into a berserker. They used him to lead the charge on our home. Ragnar has been working to undo what they’ve done to him, but it’s a long, hard, and slow path.

“A distraction,” I say, stepping in for Ragnar to give him time. “They used him for their own purposes.”

“We have to save them!” she says, her voice cracking.

A void opens beneath me, threatening to swallow me whole. Could we?

“It’s not possible,” Ragnar says, a slashing motion of his hand cutting through the air. He looks at me for confirmation, but I shake my head. “You can’t be…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence.

I am. It won’t be easy, but with help, maybe we can.