Friendly Neighborhood Martian

 Jeremiah and His New Friends

Jeremiah would never part with Nikita if he had literally anything to say about it. Within 3 weeks of escaping the D.E.O. they were apprehended by a man who was CLEARLY alien...and a warrior. They have spent almost as long in an old room under his, literal non-sarcastic near silent care.

Nikita and I were alone but together for more than a week. The alien would come, feed us, ask us a few rather simple questions and then leave. I was having trouble making heads or tails of him.

“This is...I don't even know how to finish that sentence.”

“Nikita calm down, you'll only exhaust yourself.”

“I have...You're right of course. It's just our host, for lack of another word confuses me.”

“How do you read him? For holding us prisoner he doesn't seem particularly interested in us.”

“He's trying to make sense of us. More specifically, of me.”

“Does he know who you are?”

“In that I'm an alien. The rest of it, I think he has...a nearly accurate picture of everything. I'm starting to get the suspicion that I'm 15 degrees off of everything I know about him.”

“How do you mean?”

“Either he's extremely a-typical for his race or I got the two of them confused to begin with.” She looked down again. “Then again, he would have had even longer than I did to learn otherwise.”

Jeremiah looked sad a moment. “I take it by 'to learn otherwise' you mean 'to learn what living on Earth would have taught him'.” Nikita nodded solemnly, her straight auburn hair shaking slightly with the motion. "How long have you had to learn the ways and normality's of Earth?”

“I first landed on Earth not too long before you landed on the moon.”

“Okay one, you do not look that old. And two, how much older do you think he is?”

“My people live about 120 of our own years. I don't know how long that is in yours. And...he's been here for at least 300 years.”

“Okay how do you know THAT?”

“He's a Martian. No matter what else he is, he's a Martian. Which...I hate being so clinical about the damn thing but Mars has been...inhospitable for the last 300 years.”

“Wait, are you saying that depending on which race of Martian he is...”

“Jeremiah, if that man wanted us dead we'd BE dead.”

“Then why the hesitation?”

“Because I'd rather believe that the way he's been talking to me is a result of him living on Earth for the last 300 years and not because I got it wrong which race of Martian was which.”

“Okay, now you really do need to sit down and vague out.”

“That sounds like an exceptionally good idea.” She sat down on the floor, feet together, knees high, looking rather like butterfly or a very awkward spider. Her head dropped and she entered what Jeremiah knew to be a meditative state. A pose she maintained into the next morning. Her knees were almost as high as her head was low. She could have been sleeping except her eyes were moving around, she was clearly aware of her surroundings. She didn't even look up when their keeper walked into the room. Jeremiah could sense something was wrong. In the 20 something days they'd spent in his care, his attention had been split evenly between Jeremiah and his charge. If anything he had payed slightly more attention to the middle-aged human male than the unskilled but confident female with him. Perhaps he'd recognized the custodial role Jeremiah had in her life. Something was different today: the man's eyes never left Nikita's face.

“Come with me, now.” He said to Nikita, who still did not raise her head. “I'll not ask again.”

Jeremiah stood between his friend and their host. “Leave her alone.” The man raised his hand, as if to backhand Jeremiah. In the last instant he pulled himself back. Jeremiah gave a grateful look before continuing his plea. “Please, whatever you have planned for her, take me instead.”

“For all you know I'm about to take her away and execute her. Do you still volunteer?”

“No, but I know you're not going to do that. Nikita was right if you wanted either one of us dead we'd BE dead by now. What you want from us, what you've been after this entire time is answers.”

“Yes. And it's about time I get them.” He took Nikita by the wrist. Jeremiah grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him away. The man looked both pleased and amused. “Your actions are heroic, if exceedingly unwise.”

'What do you want with her?' Why the sudden interest in her specifically?' 'Leave her alone you animal!' These expressions stretched themselves across Jeremiahs face in about 2 seconds. He said none of these things. Instead he held out his hands in an emphatically non-threatening posture. “Sir, and I call you that because I have nothing else to call you, for what must be almost a month by know we have been nothing but civil with each-other, though exceedingly impatient. A friend of mine told me that even enemies can give each-other compliments. And we've lived that, so far. If you hurt her, my restraint will go right out the window. And I will probably die trying to take you down. But I swear on my life if you let her go, you can do whatever you want to me__in payment of that debt.” This speech did not have quite the effect he'd intended. The green-skinned Martian actually backed away from his human charge and cast down his eyes.

“You, care for her?”

“This surprises you?”

“Among my people not to introduce yourself is extremely rude, even among enemies. Form what I understand that is a tenet across the galaxies. We have given you our names Sajen. I'd appreciate the same courtesy. Nikita's voice came as almost a balm to the conversation.

“I do not understand.” Jeremiah admitted.

“Neither does our host...at all. He is almost as blind as Henshaw himself and he can freaking read out minds to learn the truth of our souls!” Nikita's voice displayed no anger as she said this. The only emotion to come through her voice was...regret. “You've figured out I'm not Enkaren. You must have known I was not a threat. It follows you thought Jeremiah was...to me if not to yourself. To ask a question I have had in my mind since you started questioning me: Phobos or Deimos?”

“You know the difference?” The Martian inquired, astonished beyond measure.

“I know what they are, I don't know the difference...That was the entire problem on my part.”

“In the early days of Mars there were two brothers, Phobos and Deimos. Their rivalry and bloodshed was the reason for the split of the Green and White Martians.” I learned that from an Enkaren woman I once knew here on Earth. From which I understood that Phobos and Deimos were like Ishmael and Issac from the Old Testament. Except they split along such divergent paths they became two separate races rather than founding two separate religions. I never learned who was whose progenitor.”

“You never knew if my kind were...Ishmael or Issac?”

“I've never met your kind before in my life. And the White Martian I met was...Hank's favorite example of how dangerous aliens could truly be. She'd been in that cell for over a decade when I met her. No one could hold completely to their morals after that.” She spoke with unrestrained bitterness. “In case you haven't figured it out yet, Henshaw was a Creech-ta. If not a Chrish-naka Sareth. And until now you seemed equally blinded.”

“Why do I get the feeling that if you had known I belonged to Deimos... you would have...”

“ 'Deimos Pah, Tar-ek Ni-cha.' would have been the first thing out of my mouth 3 days ago.”

“Could someone provide me with a translation, please?” Jeremiah asked, nonplussed.

“What she said was that I've failed or disgraced the name of my progenitor. She just needed to know which of the brothers I came from before saying it. White Martians are...”

“Monsters.” Nikita finished for him. “I was reasonably certain of that because of my other alien friends. I just never knew who came from whom.”

“How in the name of rational thought are you speaking the Enkaren language so naturally if you are not, yourself Enkaren?!”

“Because it's my native language as well!” Nikita replied, openly laughing at her host.

“But you...you're not...” He rubbed his left forefinger against her temple, as if tracing something that shouldn't be there. “Are you Xavallen?”

“Why should that be of particular interest to you?”

The alien actually bent his back forward and backed away from Nikita. “I...my name is... J'onn Jo'nzz. And I must humbly beg your pardon.”

“I...do not understand. Please you owe me nothing.”

“Okay, I'm officially lost.” Jeremiah admitted.

“No less so than I.”

“You...you don't...” J'onn actually stammered.

"If you're referring to something about my being Xavallen, I wouldn't know about it. My parents taught me more about Enkarens, Brevaks, Martians and pretty much any other race in the galaxies than they did about my own kind.”

“Nikita, I was as wrong about you as Henshaw. I will find a way to make it right.” He walked away without another word.

“Most humans, most races in the galaxies at all no matter how much they try to lift the head of another and put the needs of their friends first, would still put their own life, their own survival before anything else at need. Xavallens don't. They are, by comparison to their brethren, Friars and Philosophers.”

“Getting a 'B' in self-preservation but an 'A' in protecting others, even strangers?”

“If I understand you correctly, yes.”

“I'm afraid I still don't understand your...attitude change.”

“Enkarens and Xavallens are sibling races to each-other. Enkarens are – genetically speaking in trouble – but also far superior to humans in most respects. And apparently, along with the Atraxi, they all speak the same native language.”

Realization blanketed Jeremiah's face. “And she doesn't make sense for an Enkaren.”

(The implication being J'onn thought Nikita WAS Enkaren and it confused him endlessly)

J'onn nodded. “Xavallens are a protected species.”

“Wait, what?”

“Their home-world became uninhabitable over 200 years ago. Most of them are nomadic. But some have assimilated, to varying degrees, into other cultures. Jeremiah, – For one thing may I call you that? – Of course – for 16 of the 23 major powers in these galaxies, if I'd known what she was my interrogation of her without cause, without defiance sent would have been a crime.”

"They are...that protected."

“Most of us realize we need a voice like theirs in the chorus. And...her people are not good at making enemies. So most of us...really wouldn't see the point in conquering them. White Martians being the obvious exception.”

“No, Jeremiah he is absolutely 100% correct. White Martians are considered blind, militaristic assholes to any race that are not themselves militaristic and self-superior.”

“But the fight might have been taken out of the one we...Hank has in custody.”