The Archer's Paradox - The Travis Fletcher Chronicles by Chris Devine Page A

apartment. Tea and biscuits. Her attention came back to the present. This was not the same person who only a few minutes ago had offered to shred her body with just as much pleasure.
     
    Pushing the empty plate away, she nursed a cup of tea. She needed some answers, and her recent victory and a full stomach gave her courage.
    “Would you really have used those on me?” she indicated Cat’s hands, the claws retracted now and almost invisible. She had noticed before that Cat’s fingers had no nails like a human hand, but she had not questioned the difference at the time. Cat contemplated her hands; the claws slid out then back again making The Journalist shiver involuntarily.
    “No,” said Cat, “they are a relic from my ancestry. It is considered barbaric to use them as weapons and it is normally considered vulgar to display them in public, please accept my apology.”
    The Journalist nodded. “I suppose they are the reason he calls you Cat.”
    Cat cocked her head to one side and contemplated her hands. “He has problems pronouncing names in other tongues.” she shrugged. “Mine is more difficult than most and I was a different person then. A different life.” she finished after a contemplative pause and a small smile.
    “I get the impression that our recent argument was orchestrated and I was manoeuvred into it.” she was not angry but the thought had crossed her mind in the shower. No matter what her journalistic training taught her about finding the truth, self-preservation should have stopped her offering herself up as a sacrifice.
    “Yes, again I must apologise to you. I used a technique on you to stimulate your actions and to act on your thoughts and fears that you would have normally suppressed.”
    “Why?”
    “Your motives are unclear and I needed to know.” the alien replied.
    “That’s the second time someone has said that to me since I came on this ship. Could you not have just asked me?”
    “No, our recent dealings with you Earthers have shown me that you never say what you think. I had to make sure you said what you really thought.”
    “Did you really believe me to be responsible for Star’s death?”
    “Yes.” Cat replied simply.
    “Do you still believe so?” The Journalist nibbled a piece of toast to hide her fear.
    “I believe you played no part in the situation that led to her death. May I try some of this?” she changed the subject abruptly, indicating the orange juice. “Tshreshan suggested I try. She said the fruit is named the same as the colour, curious.”
    “Of course.” A clean glass appeared through the table. Cat poured a measure, sniffed and sipped.
    “Pleasant, if a little bland for my taste, and faintly reminiscent of a fruit from my world.” she finished a little wistfully.
     
    The subject had been changed, although not particularly tactfully, so The Journalist erred on the side of caution and did not press further. “Can I ask about your visor? You are the only crew member I have seen with one.”
    “My home world was covered in never ending forests where the trees grew over a thousand metres tall and over one hundred metres in diameter, with branches wide enough to use as thoroughfares. My people lived in the forests and made homes in the trees. Light could be full sun to very low light and we hunted at night. My people evolved a set of natural filters that would shield our eyes when we strayed into full sunlight and gave us almost perfect vision at night. My eyes were damaged and my filters no longer work. I wear this visor because even the light in this cabin would hurt my eyes, to look on your sun without protection would blind me instantly.”
    “Ahh,” The Journalist was satisfied, “now I understand.” she felt as if the alien was not telling the full story, but she refrained from pressing the issue. “Trees a kilometre high! That must be a sight to see. I would like to visit your world.”
    Cat put her glass down and appeared to contemplate