**Tesla Mae and the Lost Tribe**


by Renee Carter Hall





      The island was not supposed to be there.
      
      Tesla Mae squinted at her charts, checked her compass, double-checked her course, and looked once more out the front window of her airship's gondola. Ahead, just a green smudge on the blinding blue horizon, was an island where nothing but open water should have been. She could even smell it, for Pete's sake; her canine nose picked up the scent of trees and maybe a hint of smoke amid the endless salt.
      
      She went back to her maps, muttering softly. She often talked to herself on these long voyages, mainly by way of the fact that there wasn't anyone else on board to talk to. She'd tried various crewmates and navigators, but all of them had rubbed her the wrong way or spent too much time in the speakeasies or had just been plain fools, so she'd figured she was better off by herself. 
      
      Her mother had been horrified at the thought of her gallivanting all over creation alone--which, to her mind, meant "unchaperoned"--whether you were flying over open water or just going to a movie house. Unladylike, regardless of the danger. Her mother was quite proud of her purebred English foxhound heritage, though when she'd married a man with a little Irish setter in the line and a whole lot of other things besides, her only child wound up a floppy-eared, molasses-colored mutt. Not that her mother would ever use such a word. "Even a mixed-breed," she always reminded Tess, "can be a lady." 
      
      But her father had understood, as he always did. It was the Professor, as she called him, who'd named her after his favorite inventor, though her mother had insisted on the "Mae." He'd simply installed the latest radio system, made her promise to write as often as she could when out of range, and helped her secure provisions before every voyage. She wished he could have come with her, but even if he'd been able to leave her mother, one didn't walk away from one of the most prestigious universities in the country to go... well, gallivanting around.
      
      This particular trip was her longest yet, and she'd planned it very carefully, down to the last mile, the last ounce of fuel, and the last cracker and bologna sausage. It was her first trip that involved being out of sight of land for the majority of the voyage, and out of radio contact for a good portion. And no one--man *or* woman, she thought with satisfaction--had made it solo before. 
      
      At least, not yet.
      
      Well. She'd keep to her course, chart the island's location, and maybe stop by another time.
      
      Still... She gazed at the horizon and swallowed a longing whine. That island nagged at her like a flea biting the back of her neck. Probably it was nothing. A spit of sand, a dozen palms, nothing to see anyway, nothing worth the trouble... 
      
      A slight detour. A day, maybe. She could slice that bologna a bit thinner. She hadn't even touched the canned ham. And she always figured in extra fuel. 
      
      "Tessie-girl," she said with a sigh, "what are we going to do with you?" She remembered the Professor's teasing. "You must be half cat."
      
      Tess shook her head, picked up her pencil, and charted a new course. The wind had picked up--at her tail, thank goodness--so there was some fuel saved right there. 
      
      The floor lurched sideways. Tess grabbed for the little table, since it was bolted down. Her pencil clattered to the floor and rolled; she snatched it up and stuffed it in the pocket of her overalls. Then she was on her feet, running back to the engine, checking the gauges. The needles were all fine. She scratched behind one ear. 
      
      The ship swung and tilted again, and Tess said a few words her mother would never have approved of a lady using. The horizon in the front window was a diagonal line, and the line was moving farther and farther up.
      
      Losing altitude. Tess kicked the engine into full, thankful it was still responding. With enough speed and a little luck, that island that wasn't supposed to be there would keep her out of the water. She dropped ballast and coaxed every last bit of speed from the engine, watching the narrow beach draw closer. Thank goodness, it was more than a spit of sand and a few palm trees; the center of the island looked thickly forested, and beyond that, a misty gray peak rose out of the green.
      
      A volcano! "Boy, Professor, I wish you could see this." Geology fascinated him, along with biology, astronomy, and just about everything else. Once they'd made their own volcano with baking soda and vinegar and plaster of paris--and ruined Mother's curtains in the process.
      
      Another jolt started Tess out of her reverie. The treetops were coming up fast, but there was a clear area just ahead. She forced the nose down, hoping she had enough time. There was a wrenching, metallic sound--an impact that slammed her against something--and then everything was still. 
      
      She got to her feet. No ground crew here to tie her down, so she'd have to do her best, though her legs were shaking as she hauled out the ropes and climbed down the collapsible steps. The keel looked pretty bad, but thank goodness, the envelope hadn't torn. If she lost gas, she'd never get back up, and she couldn't call for help from here. The thought of that made her even shakier, and she had to sit down on the steps for a few minutes until she felt steady again. "If I'm half cat," she said at last, "I just spent another life to check this place out." 
      
      She had to go pretty far into the trees to find ones that seemed sturdy enough to secure the *Artemis* against the winds. She had just finished tying the last rope and was adding another knot for safety's sake when something rustled near her. 
      
      Tess eyed the quivering vegetation. She had a lovely Colt revolver with a mother-of-pearl grip... which, of course, was sitting safely in its box back on board. 
      
      "A *stupid* cat," she added under her breath.
      
      A creature burst out of the underbrush. Tess dropped into a crouch, ready to run.
      
      It was a lizard, or something like one, standing on two legs, its yellow scales with varying shades of green. It had small forearms and a pointed snout, and a few tiny feathers of green and yellow framed its face. When it saw her, it made a sound somewhere between a chirp and a yelp, scuttled backwards so fast it fell onto its back, and scrambled to hide behind a fern leaf, peeping out at her from a safe distance.
      
      "Hey there." Tess relaxed a bit. "Not gonna hurt you. Just visiting. Not exactly the way I planned, but that's life, huh?"
      
      It watched her, cocking its head and blinking big yellow eyes with slitted pupils. Then the leaves rustled again, and two others joined it, one the same size, the other a little bigger. The bigger one squawked something at the first, and the three of them looked to be holding something of a conversation. One bobbed its head vigorously; another gestured with its tiny claws.
      
      Tess watched, amazed. "You really are talking, aren't you," she whispered.
      
      The three fell suddenly silent. At first Tess thought they were staring at her, but then she realized they were staring *behind* her. 
      
      She turned slowly.
      
      There were four of them, bigger ones, and she realized the others had been juveniles, maybe even just hatchlings. They stood a good foot taller than she did, not counting the bright feathers that rippled up from their glossy green scales. Some wore jewelry, necklaces or bracelets of dark, glossy wood. One had a collar of feathers that didn't match the ones on its body. They were all carrying spears, and a few had things that looked like bows. She wasn't sure why they even needed the weapons, with the giant claws they had on their second toes. All of them had the same knowing yellow eyes as the youngsters--and all of them were fixed on her. 
      
      The three juveniles raced over to the adults, leaping around one of them, who screeched the trio into quiet submission. 
      
      Tess swallowed. "Hello. Nice island you got here."
      
      They watched her as she talked. Heads cocked one way, then the other. They exchanged glances and murmuring chirrups. One rumbled low in its chest.
      
      Tess smiled so hard her cheeks burned. "So... Let's just assume that I'm dead, then, so if it works out any other way, it'll be a nice surprise."
      
      Then one of the saurians crashed through the underbrush, almost falling, as if it had been pushed from behind. It looked back over its shoulder and gave a faint, irritated-sounding growl, then turned to Tess.
      
      "Greetings," it said. In English.
      
      Tess blinked. "Hi."
      
      "May I ask your name?" Its voice gave the words an odd inflection, not like any accent she could place--or like all of them jumbled together. Male, she decided, though she couldn't have said why she was sure.
      
      "Tesla. But you can call me Tess."
      
      The saurian bowed. "I am called Kreet."
      
      He was far bigger than the hatchlings but still only about two-thirds the size of the larger ones, so he wound up being about her height. Maybe about her age, too, she figured, for his kind anyway. 
      
      One of the others screeched behind them. Kreet replied something, and they looked wary but disappeared into the trees.
      
      "My apologies," Kreet said.
      
      Tess breathed for what felt like the first time in five minutes. "Accepted."
      
      Now that they were alone and she had no immediate fear of being skewered and roasted--or however they liked to prepare their meals--Tess was able to get a better look at him. His scales were fine and glossy, tinted a different shade of green than the others. Her father had a jade figurine in his study, and Kreet was nearly that color, speckled darker here and there. The sparse feathers at his head and neck were varying shades of blue, light and deep, and they prickled and ruffled from time to time as he spoke, especially when he was excited.
      
      Tess had so many questions she didn't know where to start, but she plunged in with the first one that came to mind. "Where on earth did you learn English?"
      
      He blinked. "Here." Then his eyes brightened. "Oh! I'm sorry. I haven't spoken English in a long time, so I forget things." He made a fluttering sound in his throat like a chuckle. "I was taught by one of our elders, when I was young."
      
      "But... where did he learn it?"
      
      "Long before I hatched, a ship was caught in a storm. One of its crew survived, and he lived among us for a time, until the fever took him. Skirish learned from him--he was only a hatchling then himself. And Skirish taught me all he knew. And so..." Kreet dipped his head in a slow wave, which seemed to take the place of a shrug. "Here we are."
      
      "You speak it very well."
      
      "Thank you. I used to practice with Skirish when he was alive, but now..." He dipped his head again, but at a slight angle that suggested shame or apology. "I fear my accent's terrible."
      
      "Not so bad. Better than I could ever do with your talk, that's for sure."
      
      "I could teach you."
      
      "Thanks, but I don't mean to be here that long. Soon as I get my ship fixed up, I'll have to get going before folks back home start to worry."
      
      "Your ship?"
      
      "Yep. The *Artemis*. I'll have to show her to you--though she's not looking her best at the moment." She noticed then that Kreet's eyes had widened slightly, and the feathers on his nape quivered. "What's wrong?"
      
      "Nothing. I had only thought--that you were like the one before."
      
      "You mean... to stay? Oh, no. I mean--it's a lovely place and you're very nice, but I don't mean to stay. Though I would like to see as much as I can. This place doesn't even show up on the maps. Nobody knows it's here, and folks are going to be pretty curious when I get back."
      
      "I'll show you everything" --Kreet's eyes sparkled-- "if you'll show me your ship."
      
      "Deal."
      
      Kreet surprised her by extending a four-clawed hand, and she shook it heartily. "Now," she said, "don't suppose you might start with where we can find some grub?"
      
      "There are many rotten logs," Kreet replied evenly, but when she saw his feathers ripple, she knew he was only teasing her.
      
      She grinned back. "I think we're gonna get along just fine."
      

*****


      A fifteen-minute hike led them to Kreet's village, and every moment was another discovery for Tess. Some of the plants were familiar from her botany studies; others were completely new. Every few steps she had to stop to get a closer look at something: an iridescent dragonfly, a spider web thick as cotton gauze, a tree that looked like it had fuzzy bark until she realized it was writhing with caterpillars. Kreet never hurried her, only stopped and waited and answered what questions he could.
      
      The village, when they eventually reached it, was a grouping of about two dozen small thatched huts, some partially enclosed but most open. A huge circle of stones in the red dirt formed a fire pit, and the smoke from smaller cooking fires tingled in her nostrils. Saurians in shades of yellow, green, greenish-blue, gray-green, and even deep crimson stopped to eye them as they approached. Tess tried not to stare, but--well, they were staring at *her*, weren't they? Then Kreet stopped suddenly, and when Tess turned to see why, she really *did* stare.
      
      There was no doubt that the one standing before them was the leader. Tess had yet to learn how to decipher their gender through subtle differences in build and ornamentation, but the signs of power and authority in this one were unmistakable. The saurian stood a good two feet taller than Tess, more if you counted the scarlet feathers of its crest, larger and more impressive than any the others sported. Its scales were a green so dark as to look almost black, with splashes of crimson on the face and chest, and the pale yellow eyes made for a striking contrast.
      
      Kreet approached, ducked his head in a new pattern, and said something in a series of quiet clicks and short, subdued screeches.
      
      "Tess," he said then, "I humbly present she who is mother to us all."
      
      Later, Kreet would explain that her title best translated to a combination of "chieftain" and "mother," with perhaps some connotation of "wise elder" mixed in. But in Tess's mind, she was the queen, and the queen she stayed. No other title suited her solemn grandeur.
      
      "It's an honor, ma'am," Tess said finally. She'd never before been looked at by someone who seemed to be dissecting her soul the way one might inspect the inner workings of a chloroformed frog. Then the queen nodded, and Kreet led Tess away.
      
      Kreet explained apologetically that he didn't do much cooking, having neither mother nor wife, but he managed to provide her with several strips of some sort of jerky and a few flat cakes of meal that were crispy on the outside and slightly chewy inside. They finished with a piece of fruit that looked something like an orange except for its pale green rind and crimson flesh. Kreet ate a little of everything, too, explaining that it wasn't their custom to eat alone.
      
      Tess was polishing off her last bite of fruit when she felt the ground shudder, and then a gentle rocking motion that stilled after a minute or so. She glanced nervously at Kreet, but he was still gnawing at his jerky, unfazed.
      
      "That happen a lot?"
      
      "Oh, the earthquakes?"
      
      Tess chuckled. "Guess that's my answer."
      
      Kreet did the head-dip-shrug movement. "They're common. We don't really notice them." He chewed a moment, thinking it over. "Maybe there have been more lately, but sometimes there are a lot, and sometimes none."
      
      Tess tried to imagine getting to the point where having the ground move underneath you was something you barely noticed. It was hard to picture.
      
      Kreet swallowed his last bite, throat rippling. "May I see your ship now?"
      
      His tone was so eager she couldn't help laughing. "We just got here!"
      
      "You've seen the village."
      
      "You said you'd show me everything," she teased.
      
      "It's a small village."
      
      She sighed dramatically and brushed crumbs from her overalls. "All right, all right. Besides, your queen's been sitting over there staring at me all this time, and it's not good for my digestion."
      
      Kreet led her back along the trail, then marveled at the *Artemis* while Tess got a better look at the damage. Some of the keel's aluminum frame had been torn and twisted. She figured most of it would hammer back into shape, but she'd have to do at least a little patching. She'd never thought of carrying extra aluminum, but a bit of wood might work well enough, especially if she could find something lightweight and strong. All in all, it was a few days' worth of work, but at least there was nothing that couldn't be fixed. "A stupid cat, but I guess I fell on my feet."
      
      Satisfied, she went back to Kreet, who was making another slow circle around the ship, his neck craned back to take it all in.
      
      "She's a looker, isn't she?"
      
      "Magnificent." Kreet pronounced the word as if proud of having found just the right one.
      
      "Come on inside. I'll show you how she runs."
      
      Tess had never found anyone besides her father who was so interested in the workings of the engine--*and* indulgent enough to let her go on about them for as long as she wanted. His intelligent questions pleased her even more, and she showed him the controls, explaining each one.
      
      Kreet gazed around the gondola as if it held chests of gold and jewels. "And you can go anywhere you like."
      
      "Pretty much, long as I can stop to refuel when I need to."
      
      His awe then shifted focus to her. "You must have seen many places."
      
      Tess shrugged. "Some."
      
      He shook his head slowly, studying her maps. "What a gift you've been given."
      
      "You've never left the island?"
      
      "Never."
      
      "Has anyone?"
      
      "Only in stories. No one real." He cocked his head at the map. "Where are we?"
      
      "Well, if it were on the map, we'd be here." She pointed to the penciled X she'd made.
      
      "Why isn't it here?"
      
      "Nobody knew about it."
      
      He was silent a moment. "Then no one knows about any of us." There was a soft loneliness in his voice.
      
      Tess smiled. "Not yet."
      

*****


      Kreet offered to help with the repairs, of course. At first, Tess figured she'd find little things for him to fetch or clean up, but she soon discovered that his hands were as capable as hers, and even better at some tasks. He learned sewing far faster than she had, and since his stitches were more even than hers, she let him handle the repairs to the canvas after she'd gotten an area's aluminum back in shape. He knew just the sort of wood she needed and gathered potential branches for her inspection.
      
      It wasn't difficult work, just tedious, and Kreet was happy to tell her about village life while they worked. In return, she told him about the race she'd flown in Paris, the myths that gave the *Artemis* her name, and even the time she'd been invited to dinner with a duke and duchess but had forgotten to pack anything other than her grease-stained overalls. 
      
      "She was nice to lend me a dress," Tess said, "but you could've fit three of me in it! Spent the whole dinner just trying to keep my sleeves out of the soup." She paused and stretched the kinks out of her back. "Speaking of which, I think it's about time for lunch."
      
      She got out the tin box of crackers and bologna, and they went outside in the shade to eat. Tess cut thick slices with her pocketknife, which Kreet then had to thoroughly inspect before she slipped it back into her pocket.
      
      He sniffed the bologna. "This is... meat?"
      
      "More or less. It keeps good."
      
      Kreet downed the slice in two bites, then nibbled politely at the crackers. She dug out two black licorice whips for dessert, which had gotten a little hard but were nice to work on while they rested. When they got up again, Tess was packing up the rest of the food when she saw Kreet searching around in the ferns at her feet. After a moment, he straightened and held out a little glass ball in his scaled palm. "You dropped this."
      
      Tess felt in her pocket and put her finger through a hole. "Looks like I've got some sewing to do myself. Thanks."
      
      "What is it?"
      
      "A marble." Tess held it up to a shaft of sunlight and smiled at the blue glow. "It's a toy. Get a whole bagful and kids play games with them."
      
      "Why carry just one?"
      
      "Oh, kind of a... sentimental thing. When I was just a pup, my father let me play in his study while he worked. Once I was playing with these, just practicing shooting, and he came and set them all out for me as if they were the planets, to show me how they moved around each other, with the shooter for the sun. And--I don't know--all of a sudden it was like I was really that big, and they were that small, and I could feel how big everything was, and how vast, and..." She shook her head. "It was like being turned upside down. Everything was still the same, but it all looked different. And exciting. That's when I knew what I really wanted to do. To see everything I could. Everything I could reach."
      
      "And you've done it."
      
      "Much as I can, so far." She hesitated, then smiled and dropped the marble back into his hand. "Keep it. There's a world you can carry in your pocket, until you get to see the bigger one."
      
      Kreet gazed at it, looking unsure what to say. "Thank you." He slipped it into the small woven satchel at his hip.
      


*****
      


      A day and a half more passed the same way, until Tess stood in the golden light of early afternoon and gazed at the *Artemis* with satisfaction. "That should hold her, then."
      
      Kreet sighed very softly. "Yes. It all looks... very strong."
      
      She heard the disappointment in his voice and tried not to smile. Truth be told, she was a little sorry to be going herself, but even if she'd wanted to settle in one place, this was far too remote a spot even for her taste.
      
      Kreet went back to the village, and she busied herself checking the engine. Later that afternoon, Kreet came back, racing down the trail to stop, breathless, before her.
      
      "Your tail on fire?"
      
      Kreet shook his head and caught his breath, then drew himself up, head high, chest out, feathers quivering. "I bring a message from the queen."
      
      "Do tell."
      
      "We're having a..." Kreet glanced skyward, searching his memory for the proper word. "A celebration. In your honor. Tonight."
      
      "You don't give a girl much notice to get dolled up." She eyed him. "And this was the queen's doing?"
      
      "Well... I made suggestions." Kreet gave a soft, excited chirrup. "Will you come?"
      
      Tess bit back a grin. When he looked like this, it was easy to imagine how he must have looked as a hatchling, ready to take on the world and certain it would all be great fun.
      
      "Tell the queen," Tess said in her most formal tone, "that I am delighted and most honored to accept her invitation."
      
      Kreet was gone the moment she closed her mouth. Tess shook her head, then went to a storage locker in the rear of the gondola, opened it, and dragged out a large rectangular crate painted in bright red, with EMERGENCY stenciled across it in white letters. She sat and stared at the crate for several minutes.
      
      "Well," she said at last, "if this doesn't count, guess nothing does."
      
      Heaving a deep sigh, she took up a crowbar and pried the crate open. "This better be worth it," she muttered, and lifted out the carefully-folded gown, matching gloves, and the strand of pearls in its black velvet case. 
      
      Tess eyed the rig with resigned disgust. The things she did for royalty...

      
*****


      Kreet came back for her at sundown, cocking his head at her appearance. All at once she thought maybe she'd been silly to dress up, but he merely offered her his arm as if he'd been escorting ladies to grand balls since he'd first poked his snout out of the egg.
      
      As they reached the village, she saw the bonfire long before anything else. It blazed taller than she was, and every so often someone would toss in something to make it snap and spark, and a sweet musk would tickle her nose. The tribe had gathered around the fire, and everywhere there was laughter, from the merry screeches of the hatchlings chasing each other in and out of the firelight, to the throaty clucks of the adults grouped around the cooking-pots.
      
      Kreet led her to the food, heaping a shallow wooden bowl with a generous portion from each pot and basket. They sat on the ground near the fire, and Kreet showed her what to eat whole, what to crack or peel, what to dip, and what to eat by itself. There were spicy chunks of something that tasted like pork, an array of fruits from tart to impossibly sweet, and fresh fish cooked with a crust of ground nuts. Most of it was very good, though she avoided something that looked suspiciously like toasted grubs wrapped in leaves, and took only a polite taste of a thick purple mass that tasted like the flour paste she'd used in grammar school. Kreet took a double helping of it and then finished hers. Bowls of water washed down the meal, and then Kreet brought them small cups of a pale, milky liquid. "Sip."
      
      She was grateful for the warning. It might have looked like milk, but it burned like bathtub gin. When the cup was empty, he offered her another--he was already on his third--but she declined. She wanted all the edges of this memory sharp, all the colors bright and true. Already she was thinking how she would describe all of it: the flickering light on polished scales, the buttery flavor of the fish and nuts, even the odd texture of the purple stuff. A lost tribe... The thought intoxicated her more than the drink. It would be the biggest thing since Tut's tomb.
      
      Then the village fell silent, and she saw that the queen had held up her hands. A moment later, the drums started at the edge of the circle, just a few, in a slow, deep rhythm. Others joined in, different tones and sounds, as the queen took measured steps around the circle. By the time she had come around once, the rhythm had twined around itself, complex as an equation and natural as a rainstorm. The other adults followed. They were not dancing together, but neither were they each dancing alone. Each was complete, and each was part of the whole. For a moment, Tess felt as she had when her father had laid out the marbles, sun and Earth and Mars, seeing the scope and the marvelous detail all at once. She shivered with sudden, disorienting wonder--and then Kreet stood and reached a hand to her.
      
      "Oh, I... I couldn't--"
      
      "Yes, you can. Watch." 
      
      And she copied him, and then she was inside looking out, part of it instead of studying it. All the fine terminology she'd wanted to use in her description flew out of her head, and there was only rhythm, and firelight, and the stars overhead, close enough to grasp.


      
*****


      Tess lay awake later that night, though Kreet slept soundly on his own mat nearby. It had been too late and too dark to walk back to the ship, so he'd offered for her to stay there. He'd had a little trouble from the queen, since, he explained with embarrassment, the two of them weren't married.
      
      "Your queen and my mother would get along fine," Tess remarked. "What changed her mind?"
      
      "I told her I found you physically repulsive." He dipped his head. "Nothing personal."
      
      "Yeah, well, you're kinda creepy yourself." 
      
      Now Tess lit the rusty lantern he'd left by her, hoping she wouldn't wake him up. As tired as she was from the repairs and the party, she still couldn't sleep. She wasn't sure if it was the milky stuff she'd had to drink or something more.
      
      She amused herself for a while looking at Kreet's treasures, so exotic to him and so familiar to her: a single boot, an impressive collection of bottles, half a china plate rimmed in gold, and two silver forks. There was even a *Saturday Evening Post*, though she'd no idea how it survived the trip. On the cover, a Norman Rockwell doctor pressed a stethoscope to the chest of a gangly Dalmatian boy. She turned the wrinkled pages as quietly as she could, trying to see them as he did. Back home, all this would have been thrown out as junk; here, it was incalculably precious. 
      
      Her thoughts wandered in spite of her efforts to hold them back. Kreet learned fast. He was young and strong and, most important of all, had a good sense of humor. And it wasn't like he had any family here, not really. He'd make a solid navigator; he'd learn it all in no time--
      
      "Horsefeathers, Tessie-girl, and you know it," she scolded herself in a whisper. Get him to those universities, and he'd never have a minute's peace again from their poking and prodding and questions. He'd never get off the ground again by his own choice, and it'd be her fault, when she knew the consequences and he didn't. Couldn't.
      
      She watched him sleeping soundly on his mat. The lantern caught a glint of blue, and she saw that he'd fallen asleep clutching the marble. Was he dreaming, even now, of all the wonders it held?
      
      But he couldn't imagine the dangers, and all at once she saw them too clearly. Expeditions. Samples. Specimens. Exhibitions. Her world would wash over this island like a tidal wave. Were they strong enough to hold up, to keep enough of themselves, when it was more than just a bit of junk washing up on the beach now and then?
      
      Tess doused the lantern and lay back down on the mat, listening to Kreet's quiet breathing in the darkness. First thing tomorrow, she vowed, when she got back to the ship, she'd rub out that X on the map.
     
 
*****


      The next morning, she woke to the queen standing over her.
      
      "I'm sorry," the queen said. "I didn't mean to startle you."
      
      Tess stared at her. "You speak English."
      
      "Yes."
      
      "This whole time."
      
      The queen's voice held a lilt of suppressed laughter. "Yes."
      
      "Does Kreet know?"
      
      The queen looked over at Kreet, who was snoring softly, and her expression grew somber. "There are many things Kreet does not know. Walk with me, Tesla."
      
      Tess quickly changed back into her overalls and followed the queen along a narrow, sloping path tangled with vines and sweet with pale trumpet-shaped blossoms. Once they paused when a tremor shuddered beneath their feet, but it subsided after a few moments, and the queen went on.
      
      Tess laughed nervously. "You certainly do know how to keep things shaking around here."
      
      The queen glanced back at her, and there was something almost wistful in her pale yellow eyes. "Yes," she said finally, "I suppose we do."
      
      The trail leveled off, and they stepped out of the dense foliage onto a sheer cliff. In the distance, above the deep green canopy, the volcano slept, blanketed in mist.
      
      "It's beautiful," Tess said.
      
      The queen's expression mingled pride and pain. "Yes, it is. And it's waking."
      
      "What--the volcano?"
      
      "All the signs are present."
      
      "But Kreet said you'd always had earthquakes."
      
      "Some, yes, but not so many, or so close together, or so strong. The guardians of the mountain's shrine are some of our eldest. They remember the last time it woke. Very few of us survived then. They tell me the signs are many times more than what they were then, and I see the fear in their eyes."
      
      "Well, are you getting ready? Taking cover, or--"
      
      "Where should we shelter? Where would we be safe?"
      
      "But you don't know it'll be that bad. I mean... not for sure..." Tess fumbled for words, but the queen's eyes answered the question she couldn't manage to ask.
      
      Tess swallowed. "Isn't there anywhere you could go? Another island? I could go up and look..."
      
      "When we first suspected the danger, I sent several of my strongest and bravest to the sea, to seek any land that could be found. I sent them north and south. I sent them to the sunset and the sunrise. All of them journeyed as far as their provisions would take them. They found nothing."
      
      Tess thought of the blue expanse around the penciled X of her map. There was only one question left, and she whispered it. "Do they know?"
      
      The queen shook her head.
      
      "How can you..." Tess' throat closed before she could finish.
      
      "What should I tell them? That they are doomed to die on a day I cannot name, save that they may not live to eat the fish on the drying rack? Shall I watch them live their last days in fear and sorrow, knowing I can do nothing to help them, knowing there is no hope? Take my feathers and wear them. What would you have me do?"
      
      Tess gazed out at the shrouded peak. What had been beautiful only moments before now looked ominous as a sleeping beast. 
      
      "My people will live their last days as they have all the days before. That is the last gift I can give them."
      
      Tess nodded. If only the *Artemis* were bigger, ten times over, big as the ones she'd heard they had in Germany, big enough to carry everyone. But it wasn't. It would never hold even half the tribe.
      
      But it could hold one.
      
      "Kreet," she said, the name bursting out of her, followed in a rush by the rest of her thoughts. He might wind up a curiosity back home, but that was better than dying. And maybe they could even bring back help, if there was enough time...
      
      The queen listened, then nodded. "I would not have asked it of you--but I had hoped." The sorrow in the queen's eyes gave way to satisfaction. "He speaks well. He will speak for all of us."
      
      "You speak pretty well yourself. There's room enough for three."
      
      "No." The queen's voice was gentle. She gazed out at the volcano, and when a salt-tinged breeze reached them, she closed her eyes briefly, like a woman being kissed. "No," she said again, more softly. "My place is here."
      
      They followed the trail down in silence. When they reached the village again, Tess shivered, watching everyone going about their daily tasks, talking, working, laughing, and none of them knowing. It was like watching children, and she suddenly felt a hundred years old.
      
      "Not a word," the queen said, a note of warning in her voice.
      
      "No, ma'am. Cross my heart..." But she couldn't keep her mind from completing the phrase, and as warm as the perfumed breeze was, she kept a chill all day.
      
      The queen told Kreet that afternoon. When he passed Tess afterward, he didn't look at her, only strode off to the shore and sat there until sundown, staring out at the waves. She let him be. She didn't know what to say to him anyway. 
      
      He came back to the village at nightfall, and though he acted much the same as before, the new knowledge in his eyes made him look older. He had left a certain childish part of himself behind forever, but she saw a new strength in him that she admired even more.
      
      With the repairs done, the only task left was restocking the ship with provisions enough for two. The queen supervised this, and only Tess's protests about weight kept her from loading them down with enough dried fish and fruit to feed twenty. There was even a jug of the milky liquor and some of the purple stuff dried into a powder. She planned on saving all of that for Kreet.
      
      As word got out that Kreet was leaving, he started getting his own steady stream of going-away presents, from feather trinkets to woven mats to elaborate carvings. She found him sitting amid a pile of gifts in his hut, head in hands.
      
      "There's plenty of room," she said quietly.
      
      He didn't speak for a long moment. "I hate all of it. Tess, I can't stand it. I get to leave, and see your world, but..." He shook his head. "What kind of gods do we have, that give me the chance I always dreamed of--like this?"
      
      She rested a hand on his shoulder. "I'll help you pack."
      

*****


      The morning they were to leave, Kreet was already up when Tess woke. She thought she'd find him down at the beach like before, but instead he was sitting at the outskirts of the village, mostly hidden by ferns and leaves, watching the village wake up. She went and sat beside him, and in silence they watched mothers feeding hatchlings, fathers carrying wood, daughters carrying water. Trills and squawks and chirrups of conversation drifted through the sun-dappled leaves. At last, with the morning's chores completed, everyone gathered by the fire pit as they had before, watching the queen's hut, waiting.
      
      Kreet stood then and looked back at Tesla. "I... wanted to remember. How it was."
      
      She nodded. Kreet turned back to the gathering and sighed quietly, and together they slipped out through the trees and joined the others. A few moments later, the queen emerged, every feather oiled to gleaming, scales brilliant in the early light. When she spoke, Kreet translated softly for Tess.
      
      "'We gather today to send one of our clan on a long journey. He may not return to us, but he will carry our songs and stories, and... and all of us... far beyond the water, for the rest of time. Kreet has studied the great knowledge of the elders...'" Kreet stopped and gave an exasperated sigh.
      
      "What? What's she saying?"
      
      "She's embarrassing me, is what she's doing. In a minute she'll tell the story about how I went to the shrine as a hatchling and thought the carving of Inikrit was my mother... Yes, there she goes."
      
      "Sounds like a good story."
      
      He flicked a claw at her playfully. "Later. *Much* later." He listened again, and his expression sobered. "She says she has an important gift for us. I hope it doesn't weigh much."
      
      "If it does, we'll just toss out the purple stuff."
      
      The queen brought the gift out from her hut: a large rectangular box made of dark, oiled wood. Even at a distance, they could see how deeply and richly it had been carved. It was just large enough to need both hands, about the size of a hat box back home.
      
      "What's in there?" Tess whispered.
      
      "I have no idea. Come on."
      
      They went forward, and Kreet accepted the box with a low bob of his head. Tess thought about doing the same thing, decided in a split second that it would look ridiculous, and instead curtsied as best one could in overalls. The queen rested her chin on Kreet's head and said something, and then she came to Tess and did the same. For a moment, Tess could feel the queen's pulse against her nose, and she thought of the slow drumbeat at the dance.
      
      "Everything we are," the queen said, "is in this box. Keep it safe, and remember us."
      
      Tess meant to do more than that. She meant to bring others--fast ships--the Navy, even, if she could. The Professor had lots of friends in high places. But she nodded anyway and promised.
      
      The queen turned back to the tribe and said something with the air of a pronouncement, and the saurians replied with whistles and rising calls, almost cheering and almost singing. It felt like commencement day at the university, the same pride and celebration. Despite everything, she found herself smiling.
      
      And then the explosion knocked her off her feet.
      
      The earth rushed up to meet her, and the impact stunned her for a moment. There was a roar that wouldn't end, and sudden jets of heat and acrid gas where the crowd had stood only seconds before.
      
      She picked herself up and looked frantically for Kreet. He was about twenty yards away, pulling a pair of hatchlings up from a rift that had opened up. The box was a few feet away from him. 
      
      She ran toward him. She wanted to yell at him to get away from there, that those kids were dead anyway and they had to leave, and leave *now*. A few sparks in the wrong place to the *Artemis*, and they'd never leave at all.
      
      Just as she reached him, the ground lurched and ripped apart again, slamming her onto her belly. For a sickening instant, she couldn't find Kreet, and then she saw him clinging to the side. As she got closer, she saw that he was standing on a loose ledge of earth. Then more of it slipped away beneath him, and he clutched at the edge, his thin foreclaws scrambling helplessly.
      
      "Kreet!"
      
      He looked up at her. "Where's the box?"
      
      She glanced around. It was several yards to their left now, resting at the edge of the crumbling earth. "Over there. Give me your hand." 
      
      She reached for him, but he shook his head. "Get the box!"
      
      "Just grab my h--"
      
      *"Get it!"* The force of his voice startled her. Even over the roar of the earth, she heard his next words clearly. "You heard what she said. Everything we are is in that box. Take it and keep it safe."
      
      "I--just--"
      
      His gaze locked on hers. "Thank you for the world, Tess."
      
      She gulped, tasting sulfur and ash and salt. "Thank you for yours."
      
      The earth shook again, and the box teetered. Tess grabbed the box before it could slip, and then a great blast of steam nearly blinded her. She could just make out Kreet grasping at the edge. She lunged forward and reached for him--and her fingers closed on air.
      
      Tess staggered back. Around her, the tribe screeched and fled, though there was nowhere on the island they'd be safe for long. Treetops blazed already, and it seemed even the ground was on fire as it bucked and lurched beneath her. She didn't see the queen. 
      
      Tess held the box under one arm, tucked it close to her body, and ran. Heat and wind and fear whipped tears from her eyes, and she blinked them away and kept running, all the way to the *Artemis*, all the way into the gondola, pulling up some of the ropes and sawing through others, then slamming the engine on full.
      
      She was never sure, afterward, how she'd gotten the ship aloft, how she'd steered it out of the fierce winds and heat out to the open ocean. Everything was automatic, muscle and instinct. There was no room for thought, because thought might mean thinking about that island burning beneath her, about the people burning beneath her. About Kreet, who'd wanted to see the whole world, and how much she'd wanted to show it to him. 
      
      *Everything we are is in that box.*
      
      Everything they were had been in him, too. 
      
      Every breath seared her throat. She checked the engine, checked her course, checked the fuel, then double-checked everything. Then she sat at the map table, rested her head on her arms, and sobbed until her chest was knotted and there was no breath left in her. An ocean of tears, and her heart the island that used to be there, that she'd never known was there.
      
      It was not until hours later, between a black ocean and a star-scattered sky, that she opened the box. She vaguely recalled shoving it into the storage locker, wrapping it in her gown to protect the wood. She drew it out now, unwrapping it, breathing in the musk-sweet fragrance of the wood, tracing the carved designs of saurian warriors along the sides.
      
      "Everything you were," she said softly. A history, maybe, with scrolls of writing. Or artifacts and relics from their shrine. Whatever it was, she hoped it was precious, because Kreet had given his life in exchange.
      
      She unlatched the box and slowly lifted the lid.
      
      "Oh." The breath was a gasp, and just when she'd thought she had no tears left, more welled up. "Oh, my."
      
      Inside, each in its own compartment, were six eggs, whole and perfect, carefully cushioned on beds of grass and rainbows of downy feathers. She touched one leathery shell and found it warm. In that instant, she saw what should have been: Kreet playing uncle to half a dozen hatchlings, teaching them everything they needed to know, everything about their people. Everything she couldn't.
      
      But she had to try, for his sake, and for theirs.
      
      "Oh, my," she said softly again, and carefully closed the lid.
      
      
      *Professor:* 
      
      *Sorry this letter's so late. Had to make an unexpected detour that cost me a lot of time and more besides. I'll tell you everything when I see you. There's a lot to tell. Expect me home soon, with something that should keep us both busy for a good long time.*

      *Please give my regrets to Miss Earhart that I missed meeting her at the luncheon. Wish her luck and fair winds from me, and I hope our paths will cross again sometime.*

      *Give my love to Mother. And tell her that dress finally came in handy.*
      
      *Your loving daughter,*
      *Tesla Mae*
      
      
     ***** 
      
*This story and all characters (c) 2014 Renee Carter Hall ("Poetigress"). May not be reprinted, reposted, or redistributed without written permission. This story first appeared in* PULP! Two-Pawed Tales of Adventure, *published by Rabbit Valley.*