Eileen was still arguing with him about the servants; but while part of me was proud her moral compass was true, another part of me thought she should keep her sass in check. However, the biggest part of me welcomed a moment alone in my own head. Once we found a hotel, I needed to get her settled in bed and then have a heart-to-heart with Sal. So far, either through consideration or omission, he hadn’t gotten around to telling us why we’d had to leave—or what any of this had to do with Cara. And, shockingly, Eileen hadn’t brought it up herself. Yet. But she would.
Once she had a chance to think about why I’d asked Sal to protect Adam’s family, and if she found out about the baby’s . . . history . . . she’d have everything figured out in minutes. And then what? I’d still be relying on Sal—an alien—to protect her; and she’d hate me, knowing . . . knowing what? What was their plan? Did they have a plan? Why the hell were slaves having to do anything with Cara’s . . . ? The blood drained from my face as the obvious reason finally hit me.
All the ambient noise—their voices, the rain, the truck—whooshed and thundered in my ears as I struggled not to pass out. We seemed to be veering off the Interstate now, but the motion was only making my dizziness worse. Don’t pass out, don’t pass out, don’t pass . . .
“Mreow!” Pebbles leapt onto my lap, latching her claws into my thighs. The pain cleared my head, and she put her front paws on my chest to nose me—a gesture we’d shared countless times when I was worried or upset. She trusted Sal and was telling me to give him a chance to explain before jumping to conclusions.
But I hadn’t jumped. No leap necessary. The baby’s conception wasn’t natural. Or random.
All of the alien conspiracy theories in films and books now didn’t seem fictional enough. Monitoring. Servants bred to want to serve. Six thousand years. Of course they wouldn’t need to invade. We were like fruit flies in a big petri dish! All they had to do was tinker with us and be patient as our super-short life spans—
“—Ow!”
“Mom?” Eileen grabbed my arm just as Pebbles nipped me again.
“Ow!” Easy, there, cat! “Guess I wasn’t holding her like she wanted.”
“Your emotions disturb her equanimity.” Sal looked down at Pebbles and she purred.
Eileen slumped back in her seat. “She should go back to you, then.” Her unspoken accusation hung in the air. Traitor.
Was she? Pebbles was kneading me now, making herself comfy in my lap. I flicked one paw and she glared at me. Claws in, please! It was petty to wonder whose side a cat was on, but just how deep did this conspiracy go? Humans weren’t exactly a blessing to the animal kingdom, or plant kingdom . . . or the planet in general . . .
“Sa-al?” My voice cracked, and I swallowed and tried again. “Do all animals like you?”
And the Lightning Cracks
I took it as a bad sign that he turned into a motel parking lot and cut the engine before answering.
“Most animals sense that we are different, and the more advanced lifeforms make an effort to communicate with us.”
I replayed that in my head—twice—as the rain sluiced over the truck. He could teach a politician a thing or two about evasion.
“This is where we’re staying?” Eileen unbuckled and leaned between us to peer out at the old, two-story motel. The Welcome Inn hadn’t welcomed many travelers tonight, at least. The roots of a huge pecan tree sprawled over more parking spaces than there were cars to fill them.
“It is very well-maintained.”
“But it’s old! What if the roof blows off?”
“That will not happen. Besides, research indicated that the owners take great pride in prov—”
“More snooping? You guys are worse than the government.”
Jesus. If my terrifying theory was correct . . . “Sal, why would you even monitor a place like this? And how? Doesn’t look wired-in to much of anything other than electricity.”
“We record all overt human communication signals—such as between your broadband transmission arrays, telecommunication towers, and satellites—and if our interest is piqued by your . . . activity . . . we use more intensive methods.”
“Do we even want to know what you consider intensive?”
It was supposed to come off as a joke, but he must’ve picked up on my human communication signal of ‘fear’ because his tone became soothing. “I only mean that we localize our efforts.”
His questioning smile was equally soft in the ambient light, so I motioned for him to explain. This much Eileen should know. And me, too, before I confronted him about what, exactly, the H-E-double-L was going on here.
“Every action, whether by a living creature or a device, releases a by-product of energy in some form . . . ”
“You mean like a heat signature?” My kid, as always, was paying close attention.
“That is one example, yes, but we record all varieties of energy output. Thermal, radiant, chemical, kinetic, sound, magnetic, electrical, nuclear . . . all of the known forms. And when necessary, we interpret the data we have collected. When necessary,” he repeated. “It is very labor consumptive, even with our technology.”
He finished his explanation with that almost-apology, as if slightly embarrassed that his species wasn’t advanced enough to interpret all the data, all the time. For the entire planet. I glanced at Eileen and could tell she was seriously creeped out. Yeah . . . Stalkers-R-Us for sure. But there was something else . . . it took me a second.
“Do you monitor each other?”
His expression contorted into pain and back to neutral like a slap would ripple through Jell-O.
“Sometimes.” He avoided my widened eyes and scooped Pebbles from my lap. “Eileen, would you please secure her in the transportation container? She prefers not to be wet.”
A minute later, a gust of wind and rain blew us into the tiny lobby. I supposed
