The pockmarked path jarred the prowler so much, each bump slammed her teeth into one another. The only plants along the stretch were a kind of waxy green vine that snaked along rocks. Thick veins of it grew in shadowed craggy basins. The treacherous mountain trail knotted with sharp switchbacks that most vehicles couldn’t navigate. The road curved, the bend seeming to never end, winding up the mesa and sending them on a tight spiral into awaiting darkness. The nose of their vehicle constantly veered on the brink, constantly tipping over the edge like a too-curious bird. It reminded Fela of bus rides careening through the hills of Jamaica, Maroon territory. Each cliff side passage teetering on the edge of disaster.

Chandra’s voice stopped midreport. Fela’s commlink cut out, leaving only the dull roar in the back of her mind. Maybe it was her HOVA-trained instinct. Maybe her mind leaned on a more ancient part of her psyche. Snapping her talon to her shoulder, Fela shouted something unintelligible and fired past her fellow HOVAs. Charges whizzed by, barely a buzz along her helmet, not against the roar in her ears. She spun in time to see a child. Wide gold eyes set against skin the color of burnt sand. A ridge of bone edged their skull, ornamented widow’s peak. Hair black as oil smoke, a feather matte against the sweat of their forehead and tear-stained face.

The child’s face froze in terror. Their face shadowed as an alien soldier loped toward them. Humanoid, a couple of meters tall, bound robes secured by bolts of cloth. Belts of ammunition crossed their body. All Fela remembered was the HOVA code: taking care of people was always the mission.

Leaping from the prowler, Fela had no time to think, much less feel. There were first-contact protocols in place. Procedures to adhere to. Directives to follow. The contact, especially if one civilization was technologically superior, harkened back to the meeting of any two extremely different cultures on O.E. It was hoped that Muungano would do better than the Columbus exchange: not transferring invasive species, disease, or any type of death to the new worlds they encountered. They wanted to build bridges, exchange ideas, and figure out how to communicate as equals.

Fela’s first shot put a hole in the alien soldier’s forehead.

She whirred her talon, squeezing the trigger, blasting soldiers, clearing a path to their prowler. Another alien clawed at her. She jammed the butt of her talon into their jaw, dislocating it so severely any harder and she might have cleaved it right off.

Scooping up the youngling, Fela carried them clutched tight to her chest. The material of her clothing must’ve scraped like sackcloth, more repurposed material than linen for dress. With adrenaline coursing through her system, Fela barely noticed the child’s weight. Only held them close as she ran.