Heat shimmered over half-buried subdivisions like an oil spill, rows of rooftops melted into their joists. Above it all, the moon hung pale behind the artificial ozone net, pulsing on the horizon.
This part of Arizona used to be known as the Valley of the Sun.
The hover vehicle powered up and lifted from the cracked driveway of an Intervention-era military dwelling; repaired and refurbished, of course. Now a vacation rental, the place came fully equipped with a climate seal and sleep pods calibrated for the Xha’ri’s six-limbed anatomy.
Their rental vehicle had been listed as a GEHR’T-Class ZN3 with the tagline Family-Grade Elegance for Off-world Terrain.
Inside, Zara adjusted the strap of her embroidered robe. Her upper eyes tracked the scenery outside while the lowers checked her reflection in the mirror next to the navigation panel showing their route: PHOENIX → NEEDLE SITE, EARTHWEST REGION.
Cultural tour mode enabled.
We’re going to cross their ancient territory, Zara said, the clicks of her Xhariq tongue soft in the cabin. The same sands where all the other humans wandered before the Intervention. Fascinating, isn’t it?
Vibrating with excitement, Neyla’s upper eyes went wide, the lower pair flicking toward Loki.
Is that why they lived in caves? she asked. Because it’s so hot?
Something like that, Zara said. They didn’t know what to do with sunlight. Their primitive eyes couldn’t handle it.
From the containment cradle behind Neyla, Loki lay face up, strapped in. His eyes — dull gray-green with lines of weariness beneath — focused not on the conversation in the car but on the distant mountains. Blurry outlines on the horizon triggered something old and heavy in him.
Somewhere in those mountains, a boy had once been taught that “Arizona” also meant “place of the small spring.” The word had felt sacred then. For a moment, Loki could see his mother drawing the letters in the sand with a stick, Loki tracing the lines with his finger:
A-R-I-Z-O-N-A
Heat sat in his throat like dust. He swallowed and it felt gritty. He tried to move his fingers to trace the letters in the air, forgetting his hands were bound beneath a padded harness, LOKI stitched in bright glyphs. The name had come from the Xha’ri child, who had gleaned it from her time with the human language archive (a database most mature Xha’ri had long ago deemed juvenile entertainment).
Zara raised the holo-capture. First shot of the trip! Let’s do as the humans do and smiiile!
Neyla leaned forward so her face was between her mother and father, grinning in that asymmetrical way young Xha’ri did when mimicking human expressions.
Does this scenic route offer anything scenic other than sand? Murok grumbled from the driver’s seat, his upper eyes on the nav while the lower pair tracked the skyway.
Zara brushed Murok off, putting the holo-capture away.
Staring blankly ahead in his cradle, Loki watched the dunes crawl by as the vehicle arced northwest. Somewhere in his memory bank, he tasted dust in his mouth and the rough touch of another hand as small as his. A game they played near a dried creek. A lizard skipping over hot rocks. The groan of something wooden.
Loki is quiet today, Zara said, turning back to her daughter. Maybe it senses its history.
Neyla reached across the back row and patted Loki’s hairy arm. It’s so weird watching it try to make sense of the world.
It’s the air out here, Murok said, matter-of-factly. Makes all these Earth animals act funny. Murok swerved around a bird. I think it’s the heat.
The vehicle tilted gently left, its engine whispering through the sky. Behind them, what was once Phoenix receded into a mirage of suburban tombstones.
The once-bright signage stood sun-bleached and clawed by sandstorms, slumped sideways over the building. A big red circle with half of what used to be a “K” was still visible, the rest of the sign shattered, sharp edges worn down by time. The glass doors up front were long gone, and the roof had collapsed inward.
The hover vehicle eased to a halt beside the gas pumps, now broken twin columns wrapped in ancient vine-like cables. Murok activated the stabilizers as the vehicle settled.
These were built during the Adaptation Period, Zara said as they stepped out into the heat. Humans were living directly in high-heat environments before we intervened. Remarkable, really, their flexibility. They functioned for centuries without temperature regulators or centralized filtration.
Neyla stood beside her, wide eyes scanning the ruins. Her harness projected a holographic overlay onto the space that showed ghostly reconstructions of what the station might have looked like in its prime: smooth chrome kiosks, upright data beacons and umbrellas for shade.
Was this one of their caves? Neyla asked, shielding her eyes as she looked at the gutted building.
No, dear, Zara said. The caves were naturally-made. This was one of the field posts that we constructed for them, to gather and trade resources before The Migration Period. The Old Ones used to call it a —
Zara squinted at her display.
— Circle K. Which we assume was a reference to humans’ primitive mathematics. Likely ritualistic.
Or they just really like circles, Murok grunted.
Zara shot him a look with two of her eyes. Your sarcasm isn’t helping.
Murok rolled his lower pair of eyes, the uppers watching the vehicle, where Loki sat still in his containment cradle. They’d opened the back door for him — It gets scared if it can’t see us, Neyla insisted — and so Loki stared at the ruined storefront. His vision swam with a spark of memory. On one of the building’s walls, he saw a smear of black paint beneath a shelf fragment. The ghost of a graffiti tag, the paint long-ago faded so the letters were indecipherable.
The air smelled of burnt plastic, oil and pennies.
Loki opened his mouth, his tongue dry.
“G-g… gas… f-food…”
It came out as barely more than a whisper, his vocal cords ragged and parched from disuse, the syllables slurred together.
Neyla turned sharply. Mom! It’s doing the thing again!
Isn’t that adorable, Zara said, delighted. So funny, the noises they make!
Murok positione himself and knelt to snap a quick holo of Loki, angling it so the ruin was in the background. Wonder if it even knows what it’s doing.
Neyla sucked in a few breaths rapidly, her version of a giggle.
Loki opened his mouth again. “Hu…man…”
The word felt tangled in his throat, which itself felt like it was melting. He shook his head, scraping his collar against the plastic seat.
Neyla crouched beside him, offering him a synthetic treat shaped like a star. Good human, Loki. Do it again!
Instead of taking the treat, Loki continued staring at the gas station ruins. A flash of his mother’s voice came into his mind uninvited: C-I-R-C-L-E. Now repeat it back to me. Her voice warm, finger tracing the letters not in sand this time but on paper.
He had spelled it for her too. C-I-R —
Alright, back to the tour! Zara said, snapping the fingers on one of her six hands. Let’s not linger. The air around these old outposts tends to attract ferals.
Murok grunted in agreement and reactivated the vehicle. Neyla bounded in, climbing over Loki to return to her seat.
As the hover vehicle lifted off again, a gust of wind stirred the sand and the graffiti was suddenly obscured, hidden from the world in a way that felt permanent.
The vehicle floated low across the borderlands where Arizona surrendered to what had once been California, though there hadn’t been any reliable signage in decades. Below them stretched a ruined landscape: cracked highways strangled by thorny vines, collapsing overpasses, long stretches of asphalt curling like sun-bleached paper. Terraforming spires pulsed in the distance, sleek obsidian towers humming with energy siphoned from Earth’s marrow. Near one, a cluster of human figures in gray uniforms toiled under the watch of observation drones. From this height and distance, they looked like specks of dust.
The family passed a sign, half-buried and fused with a flowering parasite. A bunch of the letters were melted away so it just read:
“Welco o Califor”
Back before the terraforming, Zara said. This region had a reputation with the humans. They thought these hills were magical. They constructed a primitive but symbolic language to speak about them.
I like that, Neyla said, nodding solemnly.
Below them, the ruins gave way to a grid of mechanical platforms stretching across the valley. At the center, the rows of gray polymer uniforms moved in sync, heads low, hauling crates toward a shuttle bay. Their collars flickered gently with active signals, indicators of the shocking mechanisms.
Murok pointed. There it is, he said. Resource Processing Node Eighty-Three. Fully self-sustaining. Generates fifteen megawatt-hours per cycle. They’ve even added rest pods for the workers. See there?
He gestured toward a row of metal boxes stacked like cargo containers.
Those are new, Zara said, leaning forward. It’s good to see more colonies adopting compassionate integration models.
Neyla squinted. Are those humans happy down there?
They’re not happy or sad, Zara said. Those emotions require a level of self-awareness they just don’t have. They’re most content with structure.
Loki pressed his hand to the glass, his palm hitting the pane with a dull tap that no one noticed. He tapped again. Two soft beats. This time, Neyla looked and Loki pointed.
What is it? Neyla said.
Zara glanced at Loki then checked the readout on her console, which was connected to a sensor in Loki’s collar.
Emotional stimulus spike, likely visual, she said. Could be triggered by the movement or by the horizon pattern. Zara glanced outside. Fascinating, the things that get them excited.
Loki stared down at the figures. He tried to speak again but the words collapsed in his mouth.
What is it, Loki? Neyla asked.
Loki tried again, but whatever had been there was gone.
Outside, the workers kept moving.
The vehicle hummed and coasted forward, carrying its passengers west through what was left of the continent.
The rest area sat on the edge of what had once been a winding mountain pass. A cracked slab of road jutted out above a scorched valley, the railing long gone and replaced by a low-energy field with a safety warning written in glyphs: DO NOT PASS! EARTH GRAVITY FATAL!
The hover vehicle hissed to a stop.
We should hydrate, Zara said, unpacking nutrient sticks from a cooler marked with the glyph for “travel provisions.”
Pass me one of those, Murok said.
The view here is famous, Zara added, handing him a stick and stepping out into the wind. This is where the Great Arrival began. Some of the original descent vectors crossed right over this ridge. Truly historic location.
Murok exited the car and made his way over to her, squinting into the haze.
Looks like the sun’s burnt the land, he said.
It’s supposed to look like that, Zara said. It reflects the damage the humans did before we intervened.
Neyla sprang down from the back of the hover vehicle with a burst of enthusiasm, wearing her learning harness. She activated it and a shimmering hologram appeared in front of her, ships descending in blue spirals of light. They touched down in slow motion, elegant tendrils unfurling from their underbellies like petals. A Xha’ri musical track accompanied the hologram, a reedy, wordless tune.
That’s us getting here, right? Neyla asked.
Zara nodded. Yes. That’s the exact moment we brought peace to this region.
From the shade of the vehicle, Loki stared at Neyla’s projection, the blue light punching him both in his chest and deep inside his head, where scant long-term memories were stored. Suddenly, Loki was hiding under a wooden table in a round room made of stone, that same blue light radiating around the edges of a large steel gate. In the memory, Loki tried to stand and approach the light but his mother pushed him down, whispering:
“Don’t look, don’t speak.”
But Loki had looked, through the cracks of his mother’s fingers as she covered his eyes.
He’d watched that blue fill the world.
In his cradle, Loki’s mouth twitched, his eyes wide with fear at the recollection.
“No…no…”
The word came out warped, barely audible.
Murok turned, then glanced at his daughter. I think Loki might be hungry.
I think he’s excited, Zara said, walking over and placing a three-fingered hand on the back of her daughter’s head. That’s the power of history. We’re building interspecies empathy.
Neyla hopped over and dropped another treat into Loki’s lap, a cube of something gelatinous that smelled like both sugar and dirt. The cube’s skin was tacky, a sweet-chemical air rising off it.
Loki didn’t even acknowledge the treat, just kept staring out at the horizon. Neyla’s overlay had disappeared when she walked over but Loki could still see the outline of the blue spirals descending.
Leaning over the railing, Murok took a panoramic holo-capture, then went back to the hover vehicle.
The wind picked up slightly, a wave of dust from the far side of the overlook coming off a rusted sign to briefly reveal the text: SCENIC VIEW — Elevation 5,200 ft. One of the bolts clattered loose and fell into the valley below.
Let’s get going, Zara said to Neyla. Wanna get there before nightfall.
Neyla hopped back in, humming the reedy Xha’ri anthem as her mother climbed in behind her.
In his cradle, Loki craned his neck for one last glance at the overlook.
The hover vehicle rose and banked left.
Behind them, the SCENIC VIEW sign fell off its hinges.
The ruins of Seattle unfolded slowly, the jagged silhouette of the remaining skyline rising full of crumbling high-rises swallowed by moss and soot.
In stark contrast, the streets below pulsed with hovering tour vehicles. The only structure still holding form was The Needle, rebuilt and repainted an incandescent blue.
They coasted down through the haze and settled onto a landing pad near the base of the tower, a soft thud coming up through the arches of Loki’s feet. Around them, other vacationing families milled about with their vehicles in leisure mode, feeding on synth-snacks and posing for holo-captures, some dragging their own human pets behind them on leashes.
Neyla bounced in her seat. We’re here! The Needle!
Zara’s four eyes glowed faintly. Did you know there are Xha’ri out there who actually believe this was built by humans? Zara rolled two of her eyes. Only the extremists though, the ones convinced humans are sentient.
Sentient, Murok muttered, shaking his head.
Neyla gave her mother a curious look, all four eyes focused. They think… humans built this? Sharp intake of breath as Neyla gave another Xha’ri giggle. That can’t be true.
A long-ago debunked myth, Zara said, looking back up at the tower. It was built by our First Contact engineers as a beacon.
Murok looked up at it too. Still standing after all this time.
Loki stirred in his cradle, the jostle of landing pulling him from a half-sleep. He blinked into the glare of light then froze, staring at The Needle. The angle of it, the blue light writhing gently up its sides in swirling spiral bands.
His breath caught in his throat.
A fractured memory flashed, strong arms lifting him in the air then settling him on a wide shoulder, the rocking of a boat below them. And a sound, his mother humming softly, a tension in it that Loki could sense. Fear, maybe. The strong arms and broad shoulder accompanied by a voice, low and reverent, easing the fear out of his mother’s voice. The world turned and The Needle came into view.
“That’s one of the last remnants of the old world,” the Voice said. “We made that. Remember that.”
In his cradle, Loki’s fingers twitched, his lips parting.
“Us…”
The word rasped out, like a broken reed in his throat.
Neyla turned to him excitedly. What is it, Loki?
The emotional stimulation, Zara said, a flush of pride warming her voice. It must be particularly strong in this environment.
Murok opened the door. Better let Loki out to stretch. It’s probably getting cramped in there.
Neyla unlatched the cradle and helped guide Loki out. He stumbled slightly as his legs adjusted to walking for the first time in hours. His eyes remained on The Needle.
Look, Loki, Neyla said brightly, holding up a shiny toy replica of The Needle. You can keep it!
Loki took the toy from her, clutching it with trembling hands. The toy’s seam bit into his palm, a ridge printing in his skin. A strange warmth bloomed in his chest. His throat stung with something that felt hot. Seething.
Loki lifted a finger and pointed at The Needle. His shoulder trembled at full reach.
“Hu…man…”
Neyla kneeled beside him. Do you want another treat, Loki? Is that it?
She pressed a cube of glucose into his hand. Loki stared at it, then looked up at The Needle again.
Let’s take a holo together, Zara announced, moving to get a view of The Needle behind them.
Loki crouched and pressed a finger to the grit, cutting a letter in a single mark: B.
Murok took the holo from Zara and moved for a better capture angle, his heel falling on the letter and smoothing the line flat.
Murok, Zara, and Neyla flanked Loki.
Smile like the humans do, Zara said.
They did and the holo snapped.
In the reflection of the hover vehicle’s window, Loki saw himself — collar tight around his neck, face hollow. The Needle looming behind him.
The hover vehicle canted east, rising steadily above the shattered lattice of what had once been I-5. Below them, old rusted mounds of metal rested on roads that hadn’t been used in ages, wild vines wrapped around signs and creeping out of shattered windows.
The old world, vanishing beneath the new.
Inside, Neyla had fallen asleep with the partition between the back seat and the trunk open, her cheek pressed against Loki’s thigh. She clutched the toy Needle to her chest, her breathing a faint static hum in the otherwise soundproof chamber.
Chicago’s skyline is mostly leveled, Murok said, adjusting the nav-display. But the eastern towers are still there. Could be interesting for Neyla.
Zara sipped a hydration pellet then yawned. I’d rather go farther east first. Maybe on the way back? There’s a new history pavilion opening in New York. Something about early rebellion mythology.
I thought that place got erased eons ago, Murok said.
That was New Jersey, she said. This is south of that.
All these early human settlements look the same, Murok muttered, swiping the nav-display to change their destination.
The sun had turned into a bleeding half-tangerine on the horizon behind them. The Needle shrank as their distance grew, its blue-glow spirals fading against the flare of sunset.
In the back, Loki stirred, noticing the child’s warmth against his leg. The soft vibration of the vehicle. The not-quite silent silence.
An image of his mother’s lips moving popped into his head, a word forming in his throat.
“Ben,” he said, with no rasp, his voice deeper than he’d ever heard it.
The name vibrated in his sternum more than in his mouth.
Neyla stirred a little, rolled over and settled again.
Up front, Zara adjusted the temperature settings. Need to make sure the captures we took at The Needle sync with my social reel, she said.
I might actually sync one too, Murok said.
Really? Zara said, surprised.
The hover vehicle accelerated, its wake scattering birds from the leaning remnant of a telephone pole, now overgrown with plants and fungus.
Ben looked out the window, his faint collared reflection staring back at him with hollow eyes.
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