May 5, 2440, 12:30 PM CST
Carol Peters arrived in a dust-coated side-by-side with a V’ren woman beside her and two plastic crates strapped down in the back. The V’ren woman climbed out first, tall, green, tired, and moving like someone who had already repeated the same instructions too many times to care whether anyone found first contact magical.
Carol pointed at the crates. “Translators.”
Krieger wiped his hands on his shorts and came out from under the edge of the command tent. “For us?”
“For you, Maisie, Nyla, and your site packet,” Carol said. “Hold still, listen, repeat what Plel says, and do not ask her a bunch of questions. We have thirty more sets to hand out before anyone gets to sit down.”
Plel Qast opened the first crate and began setting black translator units on the card table inside the tent’s center section. She did not smile. She did not look unfriendly either. She looked busy.
Krieger respected that.
Maisie stepped in behind him, smelling like smoke, charcoal, and the grill she had finally gotten going without losing an eyebrow. Nyla followed with three bottles of water tucked against her chest and a look that said she already wanted to touch the alien technology and had been told not to.
Pedro waddled in last, because Pedro believed any gathering of people around a table meant snacks were involved.
“No,” Krieger told him.
Pedro sat down and looked wronged.
Plel glanced at the dog. Her translator clicked softly, then spoke in careful English. “Is that animal ill?”
“No,” Maisie said before Krieger could answer. “He’s just shaped like that.”
Pedro’s tail thumped.
Carol snorted and handed Krieger the first unit. “Morale officer?”
“Court jester,” Krieger said.
“Same department.” Carol tapped the earpiece. “Put that in. Plel needs about fifteen minutes.”
The translator felt too light to matter. Krieger fit the earpiece, then let Plel loop the thin black band behind his neck and adjust the small sensor tabs until they sat flat against his skin. The unit warmed, chirped once, and whispered in V’ren.
Krieger blinked. “That was weird.”
“It will get weirder,” Carol said. “Repeat after her.”
Plel spoke a short phrase in V’ren.
Krieger repeated it badly.
The translator corrected him in his own ear, then played the phrase again. He repeated it less badly. Plel nodded and moved on to Maisie.
Maisie did better than he did, which he decided not to resent because she had always been annoying about pronunciation in Spanish class too.
Nyla bounced on her toes while Plel fitted her unit.
“Hold still,” Carol said.
“I am.”
“You are vibrating.”
Nyla froze so hard she looked guilty.
Krieger tried not to laugh. He failed quietly.
Plel finished the calibration, checked the site packet, and laid out a laminated card with emergency phrases, color codes, and a contact chain. Krieger’s name was already printed at the top beside Park 17 Lead.
Seeing it there made his stomach drop a little.
Carol noticed. “You good?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Then act like it until you are.” She tapped the card. “Families arrive in waves. Stable households first. You check names, assign plots, make sure they know water, showers, food, medical, and where to come if something breaks. Anything medical goes up the chain. Anything involving missing kids, adults fighting, or someone trying to leave without a translator goes up the chain. You do not solve hero problems.”
“I call them in.”
“You call them in.” Carol looked at Maisie and Nyla. “You two keep him from getting stupid.”
“Already assigned,” Maisie said.
Nyla gave a solemn nod. “By his mom.”
Plel closed the crate and looked toward the rows of marked plots, the black water tank, the shower trailer, the grill smoke, and the yellow-and-blue command tent. Her expression softened for the first time.
“This is orderly,” the translator said. “That will help.”
Krieger straightened a little. “Thank you.”
Plel’s gaze moved to Pedro, who had lowered his chin onto his paws and was staring up at her with the full tragedy of a starving orphan prince.
“He is still not ill?”
“He is manipulative,” Krieger said.
Plel considered that with grave professional interest. “Effective.”
Pedro’s tail thumped again.
Carol picked up the second crate. “We’re gone. If the translator squeals, take it off. If it gets hot, take it off. If someone collapses, call medical before you call Pam unless Pam is already yelling at you.”
“Got it.”
“And Krieger?”
“Yes?”
Carol looked at the park again, then back at him. “People are going to be tired, scared, and polite enough to not tell you what they need. Ask twice.”
Then she and Plel were gone, their side-by-side kicking dust down the bark lane toward the next park before Krieger had finished clipping the contact card to the inside pole of the command tent.
Maisie watched them go. “Well.”
Nyla took a breath. “Aliens are very tall.”
Krieger looked toward the ship’s shadow beyond the orchards, then at the neat rows of taped plots waiting for families.
“Yeah,” he said. “But they still need signs for the bathroom.”
At ten minutes to one, Rosie Sanchez arrived with the first family.
Her Center Car rolled up slowly. The long cab with its double row of inward-facing seats was jeepney writ small and bolted around a Honda Crossroads 500, an electric motorcycle that had seen few changes in the last two hundred and fifty years.
“Krieger Littleton?” the middle-aged Filipina asked, getting out with a gesture he knew meant she wanted to talk to him.
“Opo,” he said, walking to where she pointed with her lips.
“Mano po,” he added, bringing her hand to his forehead. He was unsure how much tradition she followed, but knew how much he did.
“This is the Rell family.” She glanced down at her tablet. “Parents are Hollen, thirty-eight, and Ressa, forty-seven. Six children, which I am told is a lot for the V’ren. No serious injuries. No immediate household deaths. Medically cleared for camp placement.”
She finished in Bisaya before switching to English for the girls.
“The mother is some sort of medical professional that doesn’t really have an equivalent. Her eldest daughter is the same thing, but several levels junior. The daughter, Tavri, will oversee your vaccinations, which I suggest you suck up and get in the butt, since everyone who got it in the arm is pretty damned sore.”
Rosie laughed, looking over the three of them like she was wondering which one would try to prove how tough they were. Krieger suspected she had her money on the tall blonde.
The family climbed out carefully while Rosie was still talking to the young people.
The ride must have been interesting, because Hollen Rell looked like he suspected the contraption was never smooth on purpose. He took Mik from his mother’s arms and clipped a cuff around his own wrist to keep the little boy close. Then he helped Ressa out, and she eyed the camp, which was only a few tents right now, but had room for many more. Krieger knew they were just the first of twenty.
Sira and Nella came next, followed by their brother Kallen and sister Pavi.
The kids eyed the three humans coming toward them. Hollen’s gaze settled on Krieger, and Krieger suspected the man had already guessed which one of them was supposedly in charge.
“Greetings. I am Krieger Littleton,” Krieger said. “Are you hearing me in your own language?”
“Greetings, Krieger. I am Hollen Rell. We are hearing you in our own language. Are your translators working for you as well?”
“I am hearing you in English,” Krieger said. “May I ask if there is a formal greeting I should offer my elders among the V’ren?”
“There is not.”
“Then please allow me to share one with you that is common among the Filipino people. It is called mano po.” He gave a brief explanation, then offered the greeting to Hollen and Ressa in turn. “As the first of my family here, I greet you that way as the first of your people I have met.”
He gestured toward Maisie and Nyla. “They are not Filipinos.”
“But we do have manners,” Maisie said, elbowing him before extending the same greeting to Hollen and Ressa.
Nyla did likewise.
“I am twelve of your years,” Nella said carefully. “Should I greet you this way?”
“No,” Nyla said, laughing. “Especially not Kuya Krieger here. We’ll let you know who you should.”
She tipped her head toward herself and Maisie. “I’m Nyla, and this is Maisie. Let’s get your things off the roof while he tries to embarrass us and the rest of the human race.”
Krieger suddenly became very aware that Maisie and Nyla were watching Sira watch him.
“Don’t let their alleged sense of humor reflect too poorly on us,” he said. “Rosie said you needed to give us vaccinations. When you are ready, you can start with me.”
He looked toward Tavri and Ressa.
“Can I ask what that animal is?” Tavri asked in English, which surprised him.
“That is my dog, Pedro,” Krieger said.
He glanced at the three older Rell kids, reassessing.
“Yes, we speak some English,” Sira said, taking out a data pad. “Mine is best. Your dog does not look like this.”
She showed him several pictures of purebred dogs.
“No,” Krieger said, kneeling to introduce the little con artist to Mik. “But he is friendly, especially if he thinks you will feed him something.”
Mik giggled when Pedro licked his hand.
“Pedro,” Mik laughed.
“Don’t feed him,” Krieger said. “He has had enough.”
The translator gave the V’ren version of it, and Pavi looked offended on Pedro’s behalf.
“We can do the vaccinations in here,” Krieger said, pointing to the admin tent. “I need no privacy, but the girls might like it.”
Maisie gave him a look that said she heard every ounce of bravado in that sentence and was deciding whether to punish it now or later.
Nyla’s look said she was taking notes for the Tattler, if she lived long enough.
Krieger chose civility, because his mother would not be amused by anything else, and because he had never been fully certain his mother was not the Tattler.
“After we’re done, we’ll meet back over there,” he said, pointing toward his own tent area. “Pedro, show them the way home.”
Pedro perked up at the word home and trotted toward his dog bed beside Krieger’s chair like he had been waiting all morning to be entrusted with official duties.
Krieger did not sit while Tavri prepared the vaccination. He wondered what kind of pain Maisie was in for if she took the injection in the arm, and whether she would be able to use it afterward. There was still a lot of work to get done.
Once the shots were handled and everyone gathered near the double plot, Krieger took one breath and chose his words with care. The translators were good, but good technology could still make a mess if a person got too casual.
“I have been given the task of making sure this is a functional campsite and that you are given all the help and information you need,” he said. “I want to start by saying a few things. I am not in charge of any of you. I have no authority over any of you, nor do Maisie or Nyla. You may come and go as you please, but for the next bit, until all of the traffic is over and done with, I think it would be best if you stayed in this area for your safety. When more of you are here, I will give a full safety briefing.”
Hollen listened closely.
Krieger turned slightly toward him. “Hollen, Tavri explained that your primary job in the V’ren family right now is to look out for Mik. In honor of that, I offer you my chair and the services of Pedro.”
Pedro yipped.
Mik answered with a delighted woof.
That took every bit of tension out of the meeting.
“Nyla has offered to teach Pavi our kitchen setup,” Krieger said. “What I am asking from the rest of you is to help me and Maisie set up a few tents, so when the next group gets here, you can help me help them.”
