Page 7 of Border Control
Before Arik can argue with me, Nevare’s powerful psychic signal blasts us. I’m glad I’m leaning against the wall, because I would be falling from the power Nevare shoves our way.
It’s a series of images, snatches of mental snapshots.Golden hair blue eyes straight back sharp steps red lips.
“One of the other females,” Arik confirms, rubbing his temples, and I snatch that pain from him. My head pounds with a double headache, but at least Arik’s face is clear.
“It’s Oh-Law-rah,” I say. “She must be coming too?” I look at Nevare for confirmation but his mind has already wandered away.
I glance around our workstation. It’s as ordered as a construction project can be, stones stacked in one corner and the substance we’re using to bond the blocks together in a bucket. The floor needs to be swept clear of dust, so I brush my hands on the plascrete mix, scraping away flecks of stone and dirt. It burns my palms a little, but I let the sensation soak into me. That, and the throbbing pain from my foot, help bring me out of my head and into my body.
Just as I finish, female voices ring out from the yard, coming toward us. I snap silent orders to Arik and together we gently take over Nevare’s body, making him move to one side. We are so practised at this, Nevare barely even knows it's happening. By the time the females reach us, we’re lined up along one edge of the wall in attention stances.
“Knock knock,” Arra-bellah says, bounding in. “Don’t mind us, we’re here for a look-see.”
Nevare eyes the tiny human. He touched her mind purposefully once before and it made us all nauseous with how fast it zips around.
‘Steady.’I send soothing mental images, like the calm silver surface of the swimming lake in the afternoons, and he settles with a sigh of cobalt blue relief. Both Arik and I loosen our hold on him, the psychic movements synchronized from a lifetime of managing our Apex.
A clipped clicking heralds Oh-Law-rah’s arrival, and then she steps up onto the plascrete base of the structure we’re rebuilding. Her foot dressings are shiny and blood red, pointed in the front and arching up so her heel rests above a dangerous looking spike.
Perhaps she’s a warrior-type of human, as these are the only weapons aside from El-len’s shovel that I’ve seen them carry.
She wears dark circles on a piece of metal to obscure her eyes. Her golden tresses fall like a sunset-lit waterfall, mostly straightwith a few waves. Each strand gleams even in the shadows, and my gaze tracks her as she explores the building.
Even though her attention seems to be on the structure, I feel I’m the subject of a personal inspection.
“You like the orangery I added?” Arra-bellah gestures to a low-walled area. “Once it's filled with glass, it'll be the perfect breakfast room.”
“Ellen's planning permission doesn't allow for this.”
Whatever that means, I can tell from Oh-Law-rah’s voice she’s displeased, and my stomach curls.
Laura continues, “Her planning permission is for the barn to be restored, yes, but in keeping with how it was originally. These additions… the council won't like them.”
Arra-bellah goes still. She’s constantly moving, so to have her frozen in place is an oddity, but I can comprehend why. I too would crumble at even the light condemnation in Oh-Law-rah’s tone. Hot discomfort lodges in my chest as if squirming to hide.
“I understand, but we can't have the aliens seen, right?” Arra-bellah gestures toward us, as if this is somehow our fault.
On Oloria, it would be. I prepare for the order to discipline my wave brothers. I’ll take the damage from the lash on their behalf.
But instead Arra-bellah continues, “The council won't know, will they? They're not psychic.”
Oh-Law-rah shakes her head, flaxen locks tumbling around her shoulders. She wears a crisp white covering highlighting the golden tone of her skin. “Only one person has to tell them, then you'll have to knock this down.”
Arik splutters. “Knock it down! I'd like to see them try.”
I elbow him sharply in the gut.‘Silence,’I command him.
“Ow,” he says, rubbing his stomach. Immediately I pull the pain from him, and my own stomach aches from the pressure of my blow.
“Well, it's good construction. It won't knock easily,” he gripes.
The females stare at us. The heat in my chest spreads up my throat.
Oh-Law-rah’s profile turns to her friend. “The construction isn't the issue. It's the design.”
“I, er… I’ve got to go.” Arra-bellah’s face and eyes redden, and she turns to escape. We’re left alone with a displeased female.
Drok na.
