I awoke because something felt wrong.

Not dangerous.

Just wrong.

As a physician, I have spent years listening to tiny alarms inside my head.

Something is different.

Someone is bleeding.

That patient is lying.

This alarm was quieter.

I opened my eyes.

The stream still moved through the rocks beside me.

The hills above Los Angeles were turning gold.

Morning had arrived.

Elian stood fifty feet away on a rocky ledge overlooking the city.

She had not moved.

At least not much.

The giant queen bee appeared carved from amber and sunlight.

Her wings were folded behind her.

Her silhouette glowed against the rising sun.

For several moments I simply watched.

Then I noticed something peculiar.

She was staring east.

Not at Los Angeles.

Not at the mountains.

At the sky.

As though she expected something to appear there.

Or perhaps something that should have appeared had failed to do so.

I stood carefully.

Everything hurt.

Progress.

I limped toward her.

“Good morning.”

She did not turn.

“Good morning, Jed.”

“Have you been standing here all night?”

“Yes.”

“That’s creepy.”

“I am unfamiliar with the proper amount of standing.”

“Humans generally prefer less.”

“Noted.”

I smiled.

She didn’t.

I was beginning to suspect she took everything literally.

Or perhaps she was simply too polite to laugh at my jokes.

Either possibility worried me.

I followed her gaze.

Nothing but sky.

“What are you looking at?”

For a moment I thought she wouldn’t answer.

Then she said quietly:

“Absence.”

“That clears everything up.”

“Does it?”

“No.”

She nodded.

“Then we understand each other.”

I laughed.

She tilted her head.

“Was that a joke?”

“I think so.”

“Interesting.”

Another pause.

Then she said something that made every hair on my body rise.

“I can no longer hear them.”

“Who?”

“The Hive.”

I waited.

She offered nothing else.

“You mean radio communication?”

“No.”

“Telepathy?”

“No.”

“Internet?”

“What is internet?”

“Never mind.”

She returned her attention to the horizon.

“For my entire existence they have always been present.”

“Your family?”

“More than family.”

“Friends?”

“More than friends.”

“Neighbors?”

“Much more than neighbors.”

“A homeowners association?”

She looked at me.

“That sounds terrible.”

“You have no idea.”

For the first time I thought I saw amusement flicker across her face.

Very briefly.

Like sunlight crossing water.

“Perhaps not.”

We sat beside the stream.

The city spread below us.

Millions of people beginning another day.

Completely unaware that a giant extraterrestrial queen bee was discussing metaphysics with a half-beaten physician wearing a jail uniform.

Life is strange.

“Are you afraid?” I asked.

The question surprised her.

That much was obvious.

“Why?”

“Because you’re alone.”

She considered this.

For a very long time.

“I do not know.”

“You don’t know if you’re afraid?”

“I do not know if this feeling is fear.”

That answer felt unexpectedly sad.

Not because she was frightened.

Because she might never have experienced fear before.

Or loneliness.

Or uncertainty.

I suddenly understood something.

Elian was not merely visiting Earth.

Earth had happened to her.

And she had no more idea what came next than I did.

“Can I ask a personal question?”

“You may.”

“Do you have a husband?”

She blinked.

“A what?”

“A mate.”

“Thousands.”

“Thousands?”

“Approximately.”

“You have approximately thousands of husbands?”

“No. I said mates.”

“That’s somehow worse.”

She frowned.

“Human reproduction appears unnecessarily complicated.”

“You haven’t even seen reality television yet.”

“I suspect that statement contains a warning.”

“It does.”

We sat quietly.

The wind moved through the grass.

Far below, traffic began to build.

Then Elian said something unexpected.

“I watched you.”

“Excuse me?”

“Before the attack.”

“For how long?”

“Several weeks.”

I stared.

“Several weeks?”

“Yes.”

“That’s stalking.”

“No.”

“It absolutely is.”

“I was conducting observations.”

“That’s what stalkers call stalking.”

She ignored me.

“You were unusual.”

“I’m a middle-aged doctor.”

“You repaired individuals who could not reward you.”

“That’s called medicine.”

“You comforted strangers.”

“Also medicine.”

“You remained kind despite repeated disappointment.”

I looked away.

That one landed a little too close to home.

“Well.”

“That was unusual.”

“Not where I come from.”

“Perhaps your species has more potential than your history suggests.”

“Coming from an alien bee, that is oddly flattering.”

“It was intended to be.”

And then she looked upward.

Instantly alert.

Every muscle in her body tightened.

“What?” I asked.

“Listen.”

I listened.

Nothing.

Then—

Distant.

Faint.

The sound of helicopters.

Several of them.

Far away.

Searching.

Elian’s eyes narrowed.

“They have noticed.”

“Who?”

“Your people.”

The helicopters grew louder.

Not close.

Not yet.

But closer than before.

Somewhere in Los Angeles, somebody had finally connected enough dots to become interested.

And interested governments are often more dangerous than angry criminals.

Far more organized.

Far better funded.

And considerably harder to outrun.

Elian spread her wings.

The sunlight flashed across them.

“Jed.”

“Yes?”

“I believe your species is coming.”

That was not reassuring.

Not even slightly.