Page 65 of The Last Hunt
“I’m not detecting any Tellamari ships around here,” TAI says. “Oh, I can’t wait to meet these people! Do you think they’ll want to be friends?”
Maeve snorts, and bites her bottom lip. “Maybe, TAI. But this is a stressful ordeal for them, so don’t bother them too much.”
“Bother?” TAI replies. “I would never!”
“We’ll all be fine,” Aethon assures, standing up and turning toward Maeve.
“Fine,” she agrees. She inhales deeply. “TAI, lower the landing deck.”
TAI does so and Maeve stands, turning toward the large ramp opening at the back of the Archer. Sun streams in through the opening, and a wave of familiar, hot, dry air hits Maeve full in the face. It’s like she’s been transported back in time. She can almost feel her mother’s hand in hers as they walk through the blazing market streets.
“Damn, that heat is unpleasant,” Aethon mutters. He stands next to Maeve and squints out at the sea of sand ahead of them.
“No shit,” Maeve replies. She shakes her head and straightens up, her hand resting on the butt of her pulse gun. “Let’s go.”
They walk outside and round the Archer heading for the dark purple mountain range. Maeve looks back at her ship, invisible thanks to the mirror-cloak. The inside is visible through the open doors, but the rest of the ship only emits a shimmer like a wave of heat in the air. Maeve turns back to the mountains and finds the entrance to a cave system. The sun is beating down on her head and she shades her eyes as she looks toward the dark cave mouth. They stop twenty feet from the entrance and Maeve calls out the Tellamari code that Bell Sylar gave them.
“Gen’aita t’crenn fora kremal’a m’ithrai?”
Maeve grew up speaking Tellamari alongside Standard, but the language now feels strange in her mouth. She furrows her brows, not liking that the language of her parents has become almost foreign to her. Aside from the ancient phrase she recited to Aethon when they slept together, Maeve has hardly spoken Tellamari since leaving the planet. She realizes she’d translated the code phrase into Standard automatically in her head: What is rising from the sandy depths? What is it with Sylar and these bizarre code phrases?
“Can’tai a la y’stra detrai?”
The response echoes from inside the cave, coming from a person with a deeper voice than Maeve. Who but the stars can say?
Maeve turns to Aethon. He’s staring into the cave, his jaw tight. “That was the correct response,” she says.
“Good,” he replies. “Let’s get these people on the Archer.” He nods toward the cave and Maeve turns to see a few cautious heads peek around the edge.
It takes Maeve and Aethon less than fifteen minutes to load the twenty-five people in the cave system onto the ship. Maeve keeps her eyes peeled for anyone approaching on the horizon, or any low ships overhead, but the spot is remote enough to avoid unwanted attention.
The self-appointed leader of the group is a middle-aged man named Ronan Malish. He has short, dark brown hair peppered with gray and bright blue eyes. He’s tanned and his face is deeply wrinkled, his skin leathery from how much time he spent out in the Tellamari sun. He looks at Aethon with suspicion, but he takes to Maeve immediately.
It seems as though most of the refugees speak Standard as well as Tellamari, but many of them still only speak to Maeve in their native language, leaving her to translate when necessary to Aethon. He takes it well, his patience limitless, especially with a group of teenagers who cluster together, their eyes wide and distrustful.
TAI chirps greetings to the refugees as they enter the Archer, speaking in a perfect, lilting Tellamari. To Maeve’s surprise, everyone responds to TAI - seeming enchanted by the AI’s friendliness and willingness to speak their language. TAI reassures the people much better than Maeve, telling them not to worry and that they’ll be off the planet in no time.
Ronan stands with Maeve as the last of the group files into the Archer.
“You either grew up on Tellamar or you grew up around Tellamari,” he says to her in Tellamari as Aethon directs the group to where they should sit on the small ship. Every inch of the Archer is designated for passenger space now, aside from the piloting area. “Your accent is perfect, though you sound like you’ve forgotten the flow of our language,” Ronan adds.
“I am Tellamari,” Maeve replies in the same language. “I grew up here.”
“So you escaped,” Ronan replies with a nod. “A fierce one.” He points at her Two Roses crest. “And you’ve made a name for yourself out there. Bringing in criminals.”
Maeve nods. “I have.”
Ronan narrows his eyes at her and searches her features in a way that reminds Maeve forcefully of her father watching her throw darts when she was a child.
“And what has made you return to this place?” he asks. “Or are you just here to help your kin?”
Maeve presses her lips together. “It’s a long story.”
All of the other refugees are seated now and Maeve indicates that Ronan should sit too. The man huffs and walks over to take his seat. “Do you miss Tellamar, Maeve?” he asks. His voice isn’t judgmental, but Maeve still feels like her answer will form an opinion about her for Ronan. And though she doesn’t care what most people think of her, she doesn’t want to disappoint this man.
“I don’t miss Tellamar,” she replies. “But I sometimes miss its people. I think they’re some of the best I’ve ever known.” Maeve has never known stronger, kinder, or more resilient people than Tellamari. But the planet? She thinks about the Ro’Shar gang ships patrolling the skies, the net of drones enshrouding the planet, and the government willing to sell its own people to the mining corps. She could easily leave Tellamar behind forever - and would have if she hadn’t been forced here now.
Ronan gives her a small smile. He inclines his head and points at her chest. Maeve looks down and sees that her croi crystal necklace had popped out from behind her shirt.