Why Earth 42 is called 'the one where they're the extreme of themselves'.
The Beginning of Greatness
"They are that protected."
“We need a voice like theirs in the chorus. Her people are not good at making enemies. Most of the races out there in the galaxies really wouldn't see the point in conquering them. White Martians are the most obvious exception.”
Nikita noticed the look in my eyes and explained. “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.”
“So that wouldn't have told me. Anyway, now I know Deimos was...oh for the love of all things natural!”
“What, what's wrong?”
“Did all of this come to a screeching halt just because I figured out which ancient Martian you came from?
When J'onn spoke, his voice was soft and deliberate. “It came to a halt because I realized you weren't Enkaren. Because this man,” He indicated me with his hand, “proved himself to be a Good man. And I never should have laid a proverbial finger on you in the first place.”
THIS is narrated by Nikita:
“Jeremiah, are you there?”
“Behind you.” He answered. We were tied back to back. “Are you alright?”
“Head's a little spinny. But I'm okay.”
“Solente Karesh-Esai.”
I heard a voice, but couldn't see anyone. I saw we were in a basement. And someone was watching us. “Whoever you are, please let us see you. Don't make me talk to darkness.” Nothing changed. “No Sonto ni-sakara Nesta- Zaki. Please, whoever you are, let me see your face.” A tall, thin man stood from the shadows to my left. His sloped skull and tinted green skin reminded me of nothing so much as an orchard of lime trees. “Thank you. I don't know what else to say.”
“Who...Who are you?” His voice sounded like he had long since lost the habit of using it. He looked from Jeremiah to me and back.
“My name is Jeremiah.” He stated with the slightest insistence in his voice.
“My name is Nikita. I suppose it would be naive of me to ask your name.” The man simply crouched down and stared at me. “Among my people it is extremely rude not to introduce yourself, even among enemies.”
“I am not of your people.” The man replied.
“Fair enough.” Jeremiah answered. I drifted off to sleep soon after.
When I woke up there was only gray light in the high windows, a sign we were in a basement. Jeremiah was still tied up behind me. I looked around.
“He's not here.”
“He is...do you think this is his home?”
“Perhaps. But I doubt trespassing was our transgression.”
“Jeremiah whatever happens, do not lie to him.”
“Heh. Only you could be concerned about such a thing.”
“In some alien cultures lying about having committed a murder is a more repulsive act than having taken another life. Breaking your word is as serious a violation as having taken a life for at least possibly justifiable reasons. I am 96% certain our host is of such a kind.”
The man approached from the stairs to my left holding a small bowl of water out to me. “My friend first.” I told him and turned my head away. The man took the bowl to Jeremiah. And then brought it back to me.
“It's a kind of meso soup.” Jeremiah noted aloud.
“I've made plenty more.” Our host said before turning around to leave.
I could sense Jeremiah wanting to ask me a question. “I don't need much anymore. My body has trained itself to survive on little. Besides, he needs to see that you're worth it__to me.”
The man did not return until there was no longer light coming through the windows. “Listen, I'm certain you can understand me, you can trust my words. You don't need to keep us restrained like this in order to keep us here. So why do you?”
“In case I was a fighter. In case either of us resisted.” Jeremiah answered me.
The man nodded his agreement.
“I just want to see Jeremiahs face. I want to be able to look you both in the face when we talk. You can keep our hands tied I just want to be able to use my legs. Even the D.E.O allowed me that. If we're going to...” I had been about to say 'going to trust each-other, show this sign of trust'. But I suddenly felt that our host had long since forgotten what it felt like to trust some one else. “If you want to see who we are – what choice we would make – give us the ability to make a choice. Give Jeremiah his hands. He'll show you where his loyalties lie. Or rather where they do NOT sit.” As if on impulse the man cut Jeremiah and I free from each-other. A moment later he the bonds around Jeremiah's wrist. Jeremiah stood, and tore the D.E.O. emblem off his shirtsleeve.
Narrated by Jeremiah once again:
The alien would feed us, ask a few rather simple questions and then leave. He never did anything more TO me than shove me against a wall or punch me in the chest when I was 'being implacable'. He actually, well, took care of us. I was having trouble making heads or tails of him. Nikita it seemed was having similar difficulties.
“This is...I don't even know how to finish that sentence.”
“Nikita calm down, you'll only exhaust yourself.”
“I...You're right of course. It's just our host, for lack of another word confuses me.”
“How do you read him? I mean I know you can, a lot better than most.”
“I'm not a telepath, I sense motivations, intentions and any strong feelings. That's it.”
His motivation is what I'm trying to figure out. For holding us prisoner three weeks and running he doesn't seem particularly interested in us.”
“He's trying to make sense of us. More specifically, of me.”
Just after sunrise the next morning their alien keeper came in, face set like flint.
“Come with me, now.” He said to Nikita, who did not move. “I'll not ask again.”
I stood in front of Nikita. “Leave her alone.” The man raised his hand, as if to backhand me, but thought the better of it at the last instant. “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?”
“I would not. But I know you're going to. Nikita was right if you wanted either one of us dead we'd BE dead by now. What you want from either of us is answers.”
“Yes. And it's time I get them.” He grabbed Nikita by the wrist. I grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him away. He looked at me surprised. “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 thoughts flashed across my mind and were probably all over my face. I held out my 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 a month by now we've been civil with each-other, though exceedingly impatient. A friend of mine told me even enemies can give each-other compliments. We've lived that, so far. But this is something I cannot...If you hurt her, my restraint will go right out the window. I will probably die trying to take you down. But if you let her go, I swear on my life you can do whatever you want to me__in payment of that debt.”
This speech did not have quite the effect I intended. The green-skinned alien actually backed away from us and cast down his eyes. “You, care for her?” He whispered.
“This surprises you?”
“Yes. What IS she to you? I mean...who is she to you?”
“Someone who has been tortured for years by a man far more blind than I have words to express. A man I served under for years and at one time looked up to. And I would die before I let her come to harm again. If there is one truth of which I need no convincing it is that she is innocent. And she is precious to me. You are not so blind as Hank and yet you are, I cannot understand it. Please, she has been through enough, let her alone.”
“Among my people not to introduce yourself is extremely rude, even among enemies. 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 a balm to the conversation.
“I do not understand.”
“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. The only emotion to come through was...regret. “You've learned I'm not Enkaren. And not the threat you feared. You must have thought HE was one. Why? OR are you Phobos?”
“You know the difference?” The Martian inquired, astonished beyond measure.
“I know who they are. I don't know which is which. That was the problem. '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. I understood Phobos and Deimos were like Ishmael and Issac from the Bible. 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. I've never met your kind before in my life. The White Martian I met was...Hank's favorite example of how dangerous aliens are. She'd been in that cell for over a decade when I met her. No one could hold completely to their own identity 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 if you had known I belonged to Deimos... you would have...”
“ 'Deimos Pah, Tar-ek Ni-cha.' As I almost said aloud 3 days ago.”
“Phobos and Deimos are the progenitors of the Martian races. 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 should be there, but wasn't. “Are you Xavallen?” He asked nonplussed.
“Why should that be of particular interest to you?”
The alien bowed himself at the waist 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. You might owe Jeremiah an apology for so completely misjudging him but you owe me nothing.
“Okay, I'm officially lost. And I don't mind admitting it.”
“No less so than I.” Nikita intoned.
“You...you don't...” J'onn actually stammered.
“My parents taught me more about Enkarens, Brevaks, Zyerilians and such than they did about our own race. That's why I left. There was a coming of age ceremony 2 years before I became a legal independent adult on my planet. But I never had one. My biological parents didn't think I was worth teaching my own races history and culture. I ran away. And because I wasn't a legal adult by our planets laws that's what I was: A runaway.”
“I was as wrong about the two of you as this arrogant human you keep talking about. I am sorry. And I will FIND a way to make it right.” He walked away without another word.
Several hours later. I walked up the stairs to first floor of the house. I found J'onn sitting at a breakfast table, staring out a window, looking at the sunset. “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. Xavallens don't. They are, by comparison, Friars and Philosophers.”
“Getting a 'B' in self-preservation but an 'A' in protecting others, 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.”
Right about then, I began to understand. “You thought she was Enkaren because she spoke that same language. But she doesn't make sense for an Enkaren. What is the significance of her being Zavallen?”
“Xavallens are protected. They are...almost treasured. If I had known what she was, hurting her to get you to speak...laying a finger on her without declaring my purpose would have been a punishable crime for 17 of the 23 major powers in the galaxies.
"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.”
Nikita noticed the look in my eyes and explained. “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.”
“The fight might have been taken out of the one we...Hank has in custody.”
“I am not sure I understand.” J'onn said briefly.
“There was a White-skinned Martian at the D.E.O.” I explained. The behavior of that Martian might've been the result of prolonged captivity under Hank's care. And not indicative of his race.”
“So that wouldn't have told me.” Nikita continued. “Anyway, now I know Deimos is... oh for the love of all things natural!”
“What, what's wrong?”
“Did all of this come to a screeching halt just because I figured out which ancient Martian you came from?
When J'onn spoke, his voice was soft and deliberate. “It came to a halt because I realized you weren't Enkaren. Because this man,” He indicated me with his hand, “proved himself to be a Good man. And I never should have laid a proverbial finger on you in the first place.” He turned back to me. “On either of you.”
That's when I finally realized. “You thought I was...her keeper?”
“I thought she was Enkaren and you were keeping her calm and under control.”
“Demios Pah, Tor-ek Nitch-a.” Nikita said fiercely. And I could tell she thoroughly meant it.
“WHAT?!” I exclaimed. “Nikita, what the hell was that?”
“She says I've dishonored the name of my ancestor. And she's not wrong.”
“Phobos, that is White Martians are known as aggressive, arrogant and flat out obsessed with their own races superiority. Deimos, those that trace their heritage back to Deimos are known to be honorable, duty-bound and stiff by comparison.”
“So, just to confirm, what we think of as the 'Enkaren' language...”
"...is the native language of Xavallens, Atraxi and Enkarens. We share the same root."
"That is...no longer taught."
“It's been the better part of 3,000 years and Enkarens no longer look like us. The three of us being sibling races is presumably still taught. But most people hear an Enkaren speaking and instantly think they are hearing the 'Enkaren tongue'. Now that I think about it, Jeremiah never got the chance to learn this either.”
“Now THAT I find hard to believe.”
“Hank wasn't interested in learning anything about her except how to break her. I knew the name of her race because she kept introducing herself to us 'My name is Nikita; I'm Xavallen'. But the word Xavallen didn't mean anything to me beyond that.”
“If I had known what she was, laying a hand on her to get you to talk would have been a crime. And I would have begged her forgiveness.”
“Sir, I confess I don't know where this comes from. But I know her, she holds you no grudge, for any of this.”
“And what about you?”
“You didn't know. And besides, it was as much my choice as hers.”
“I can see why she loves you so much.”
“...Loves me?”
“Like a father.” His face became concerned, and amazed. “You didn't know?”
“I didn't really have the chance to get to know her, until about 3 months ago.”
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