by Amanda Milo
It shocks her too. She flinches hard, whimpering. Feeling the strangest tug in the region of my cardiac muscle, I feel for the soft insides of her palms and stroke there with my thumbs. “Are you… are you all right?” I shake my head at myself. “Of course you’re not all right; they didn’t leave you with so much as a sanitation wipe dispenser, you poor thing.”
After a moment, the shaking thing peeks up at me, her brow dipping low in a manner that I’d normally read as confusion. It’s hard to say what she’s really feeling though. I’m no expert on humans, after all.
Not letting go of her hands, I look around, pressure building up behind my sternum every second that she’s caged behind these ugly orangish-red oxidation-coated bars. I’m also trying desperately not to be distracted by the insoluble sticky ball still attached to the bottom of my foot, but there’s a tackiness and a slight hesitation every time I shift my weight. It’s quite horrifying. “Do you know where the keypad is to render you free?”
Instead of a simple yes or no, her voice is rough when she asks a question of her own. “Did you kill them all?”
Her words are hoarse, either from fear or—more likely—dehydration. I don’t so much as see a water bottle affixed to her cage. These are deplorable conditions, and if the particles of our captors are still suspended in the atmosphere, they should be ashamed of themselves.
I strain to twist my neck and rake my gaze around the space for a keypad without ever letting go of where we’re hand-holding. “They’re all dead,” I confirm. “Messy business.”
“Good,” she says with feeling.
The firmness in her voice has me turning to look at her again.
She sniffs and attempts to lap at dry, chapped lips with a tongue that does not look wet enough to be particularly effective. “If you’re really going to set me free, you’re going to need to go through their pockets and find the keys.”
I stare at her, thinking MALISONS AND DAMNATION!—because I’m quite certain any keys they had are long gone. “Let me try an alternative, because I’m afraid retrieving anything from them now is a lost cause.”
“The explosion.” Her eyes widen, but then she repeats, “Good.”
“I have to let go of our connection,” I warn, “But I’m not leaving you.” At first, I don’t know why I tack on this reassurance. It’s technically unnecessary—I could just turn, attempt to break her free, and return—she’s not about to move anywhere; she has to wait on me. But perhaps being forced to lie prone at the mercy of instrument-wielding men who were more likely to have learned to practice medicine in a dirty back alley behind an unlicensed butcher shop than an operating hall by an authority figure who possessed a valid medical license on a crude operating table in extremely unsanitary conditions has sprouted a kernel of empathy in me—
Because if a friendly face had appeared while I was at their mercy, I’d have been loath to let my sympathizer out of my sight for even a moment.
It’s important to me that I reassure her that I’m not about to leave her to this despicable, insalubrious place.
She swallows—something that looks painful and brings my attention to the oblong blemishes, or discoloration patterns she wears around her throat like bold skin-markings. She locks me right in place with the look in her eye as she whispers back, “Thank you.”
After a moment, I wiggle free of the way our fingers have twined together—a pleasanter feeling than I would have guessed—and I move to the front of the thing containing her. I take a moment to examine it before I grasp the corners of her cage door in my hands, and twist.
Screeching emits from the hinges and lock plate as welds give and stretch in ways they weren’t meant to. Grunting, I throw my weight into yanking the door downwards and toward myself—and with a metallic roar and a deafening shriek, it finally rends loose.
“There!” I pant, my muscles shaking from the strain. “Gah, I’m not used to such physical exertion.” I look her over—huddled in the back corner of the cage where she took cover the moment I began prying her free. “Are you safe?”
She swallows again. “I don’t know. You tell me.” She meets my eyes, hers serious. “Am I?”
CHAPTER 3
“I don’t wish to alarm you,” I reply, casting my gaze around. “But I can’t in good conscience answer in the affirmative to that question.” I grimace at the various dark stains smattered around the stone-like flooring. “However, I believe the direst physical threats are indeed no more. Although, I don’t intend to remain static, just in case there are more saw-wielding ruffians.” I raise my foot in disgust, feeling the tiny tug as the tacky ball resists the separation of my foot and the floor. “Saw-wielding, flatstick-chewing ruffians.”
I glance over at her to gain her opinion, and find her staring up at me, lips slightly parted, one half of her mouth curled up. “What is it?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “I didn’t like the gum-chewer either.”
“Easy to be agreed on this matter,” I say, but I’m strangely warmed that we have this in common. “There was nothing redeeming about any of them. I should introduce myself. My designation is SimmiQRO1-GeneStatus: CARRIER.”
When I step back from her cage, she slips out, and puts a considerable amount of distance between us. After a moment of watching me, she starts taking in our surroundings, even lifting detritus and moving this and that aside, less and less absent-mindedly. “Seemee?” she tries hesitantly, darting a look at me from the corner of her eye.
I sigh. Skynan couldn’t pronounce my name right either. Or rather, she pretended that she couldn’t. This might have been in part due to her human mouth actually having difficulty producing the proper sounds—at least early on—or it may have been a tiny display of vengeance for when I erroneously treated her as if her mental capacity were no more than that of a simple laboratory animal’s cognition.
In my defense, Erreck and I studied mostly creatures who were raised specifically for scientific research. They were mostly dull-witted.
Against my defense: I was being small-minded. However, Skynan made it clear to me very quickly that she operated at an intelligence level I could respect as an equal. I came to even admire her work interest, and to everyone’s great surprise, mine most of all, I especially appreciated how happy she made Erreck.
Slowly, but without any rancor, I repeat, “Sihmee.”
The female mouths it, but doesn’t try aloud again. Instead, she starts ducking, peering around, touching things on various shelves and surfaces around the warehouse.
I watch her for a moment. “What are you doing?” She’s not wearing a hazardous materials-grade suit or even sterile gloves.
She stops moving, and sends me a wary look. I’m made further curious when her shoulders set defensively. Finally though, she relaxes and admits, “Looking for cash.”
I obsessively wipe at a smudge of what I believe is grease on my arm. I’ve never had any touch me before, and I find I wasn’t missing out at all by not experiencing it. It smells odd and it’s exactly as unappealing as being smeared with grease sounds. “And what is ‘cash?’”
Her answer comes reluctantly. “Money.”
“Ah. A form of stipend deposits?”
“Uh-huh.”
Again, she sounds wary. “Would you like help searching for it? With the both of us looking, it will cut your search time in half, which will limit extraneous exposure to this place, and the sooner it is located, the sooner we can leave.”
There’s a long enough pause that I raise my eyes from the spot on my arm, and find her giving me a searching look.
“‘We?’” she asks.
I frown. “Do you want to stay here?”
She doesn’t hesitate. “Hell no.”
I spread my hands. “Then let’s find this cash you need. We’ll exit this horrific place, and I’ll tell my superiors what happened here at once.” I pause. “Well. They will understand when I delay for a trip or ten through a mizzling stall.”
“A… what?”
I glance at her. “An enclosed space in which beings position themselves under a temperature-appropriate spray of water to bathe themselves clean of debris, danders, dust, dirt—”
“A shower,” she supplies, and there’s something new in her voice. It’s something akin to surprise, but with a flavor of humor, as if she’s been caught off guard yet she’s feeling pleasantly entertained all the same.
I dart a look at my arm again, and begin scraping at the spot. “A shower then. Ideally a long, long disinfecting shower.”
Her reply has an almost hopeful note to it. “That sounds… good.”
I begin helping her, ingeniously employing items to move other items so that I touch as few contaminated surfaces as possible. I encourage her to do the same, but she only regards me with a curious glance and continues in the unsafe manner she prefers: her hands touching everything she encounters directly. If one of us stumbles upon sanitizer, I hope I don’t offend her when I soak and scour her with it.
Perhaps because there is nothing else to do to pass the time as we search the building for this alternative form of stipend, she begins practicing my name aloud until she can pronounce it almost flawlessly.
When she doesn’t offer me her name for me to practice, I ask her for it outright.
“My name is Aurora,” she answers distractedly.
“That’s beautiful.”
She stops searching and glances at me. I get the sense that she’s measuring me for something.
I ask, “What does it mean in human?”
To my surprise, she smiles. “In ‘human.’” She shakes her head and goes back to searching. “I don’t know about my first name, but my last name, Perrault, means ‘rock.’”
“Interesting,” I muse. “Aurora!”
“That’s how you say it,” she confirms.
“No, no, I wasn’t testing my ability to pronounce it; I have something for you to examine. Is this ‘cash?’”
Aurora turns, and at the sight of the banded stack of uniformly shaped and cut papers that she described for me several moments prior, Aurora almost trills a musical note. “Yesssss!”
I’m partially lifting it out of a bag I found hidden behind some red containers with a strong odor. It was difficult to open the bag by way of a long, thin pipe (which I’ve wrapped the end of with a scrap of nearly-clean ‘paper toweling,’ as the humans call it) but I managed it.
Aurora starts to race over to me, but stops two of my body’s lengths away. “Do you… want to split it?”
She’s eyeing me again, in a way I’m beginning to develop an aversion for. Everything about her hesitation spells caution, as if she’s concerned for her safety with me. Wanting to put her at ease, I share, “I’d never treat a human as these humans have treated us. In fact, my coworker took a human as his life partner.” Then I feel the need to disclose a more honest portion of the circumstances surrounding Skynan’s arrival. “Initially, we identified her as an alien when she stole the plant we were studying, so for a short time we did retain her and keep her quarantined.” I rush to assure Aurora though, “But that didn’t last a daycycle before Erreck broke protocols.”
Aurora doesn’t look put at ease by my disclosure. “What did he do?”
I wave my tail. “He released her from captivity. He took her to his dorm, fed her, even made her a bed on the floor as best he could.”
“On the floor…” Aurora parrots.
“Mmhmm,” I agree. “It wasn’t long before she was making advances on him and soon she was attacking him at the lab. He didn’t mind of course—was happier than he’d ever been, in fact—and soon it became apparent that he had to leave with her to wherever humans live.”
“Why was that apparent?” Aurora asks slowly, eyes not leaving me even to nictate.
“Because my planet…” I hesitate. “You’re aliens here. But don’t worry, I can hide you until you are able to reach your ship.” A thought occurs to me and it’s my turn to give her wide eyes. “I’m not seeking a life partner—are you?”
“No!” she says with a sharpness beyond what I believe my question deserves.
I eye her. “Excellent. Then if you like, I can secret you to my dorm for a thorough visit to the mizzling stall. I only beg you to allow me its use first. Otherwise, there are some amenities you may find perfectly suitable in the lab.” My gaze is drawn again to the cage where she’s been held. “Better than our current location, for certain.” I frown around us. “I never knew this place was here.”
When I look back at Aurora, it’s to see her eyes narrowed on me in thought.
“What is it?” I ask.
“You’re not home right now—you know that, right?”
“Yes,” I say slowly. “I’m well aware this is far from ‘home.’” My eyes move down to where that grease smear stubbornly clings to me, and I start muttering. “So, so far from my standards.”
“Okay, well, since you helped find the money, and you’re as much a prisoner as I am, how about we split this?”
This time, I don’t look away from where I’m working to get myself clean. With an aggravated rattle, I give up. Patience, Simmi. You’ll be showering this entire ordeal away very soon. “I require no monetary provisions, but thank you.”
“Uhh… you sure?”
“Of course,” I say, and swing around and stalk towards the door that I believe I’ve identified as an exit. I’m sincerely hoping it doesn’t require keyed palm scans, because we’re fresh out of a way to turn our captor’s molecules into serviceable door keys. “Are we ready to leave this place?”
CHAPTER 4
The door swings open and, ignoring the hitch in my step care of the human’s chewing gum (as Aurora identified for me when she overheard me complaining to myself over my unfortunate state), I step out into sweltering sunlight.
Aurora crashes into my back when I stop walking.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, fear evident in her voice.
“This… this looks so unfamiliar. Too unfamiliar,” I gasp. My sides heave. “No, no, no—how? I’m not—” The world spins and I try to take deep breaths. “You were right!” I declare this even as I shake my head in denial. “This isn’t home! They’ve—they’ve taken me to another planet! What if it’s not optimized for my specific lifeform? What if it’s stressing my systems? And how do I get home, I don’t know where I am…” I crane my neck around the corner of the building, and only see more of the same scenery: tall, tall trees, all brown and green—so many emeralds and jades and fern and moss and yukata-shaded—the sort of waxy green that shines on the underbelly of lawn-living, burrowing insectivores, not the lighter yukata coloring that develops if a Genneӝt plays in the sun too much as a youth. It’s a lot of green—too much. All this alienness makes my eyes hurt. “Do you know where the Genneӝt planet is from here?” I pant to Aurora.
Aurora side-steps around me in order to exit the door, and she scuttles past me into the sunlight as fast as her legs will carry her, her posture stiff. But once she’s standing at a fair distance from me, studying me, her face turns softer. “I’m sorry; it’s not familiar. Name some of the neighboring planets.”
“Ahhh,” my hands are starting to shake and I’m struggling to recall how to respirate normally let alone provide the names of locales I’ve only studied enough to pass exams. “Ohadi? Gnimoy and Liuqet? Oh, why didn’t I pay more attention to the Universes & General Astronomy course? I took only what was required to get my degrees and no more. Is our current environment filling with black spots or am I growing faint?” I wheeze. “Good Creator, I’m developing a massive cranial ache.”
“Simmi?” Aurora says slowly, and from my side, she approaches cautiously. “You need to calm down.”
To my extra shock, Aurora uses the edge of her garment to swipe the loathsome grease from my arm. She retreats with all haste, stepping back.
Relief is immediate, if still crowded by my other emotions. “Thank you to infinity,” I ma
nage through teeth that want to chatter from the emotional stress I’m enduring. While I cannot profess to feel clean, I do feel oddly cleaner, which is really better than I can hope for until I reach bathing facilities...
Slowly, I straighten. “These black spots are becoming frightfully defined. Aurora?” My voice pitches higher in panic, “They’re moving too fast to signal that I’m passing out. Are these—are these alien insects?”
The satchel carrying Aurora’s cash thumps to the ground as she drops it in order to close the space between us. She yanks down my wildly waving arms. “Get a grip!” she almost snaps. “It’s mosquitoes, all right? You’re gonna be fine. They probably can’t touch you since you don’t have soft skin.”
“You’re mistaken; they’re touching me. I feel them pinging off my chitin,” I moan, shivering in her grip since she won’t let me slap at myself.
She tries to shake me. “Yeah, and I feel them piercing through my skin—do you really want to compare problems here?”
Sucking in unsteady breaths, I focus down at her. “That’s terrible. Do you think we can find body armor for you?” I twist to gaze behind us at the building’s contents—all of which appears like nothing more than dirty piles of junk to me, all stored haphazardly. However, in the face of an infestation/plague, one becomes less choosy. “Surely the humans holding us hostage were prepared for the inhospitable planet surface here. Perhaps there are two sets of body armor and one will fit me.”
Voice wry, my companion dashes my hopes. “Unfortunately, they don’t make mosquito armor, but I appreciate you thinking of me… And yourself.” Aurora’s lips twitch, and oddly, considering our circumstances, something in me feels like it loosens. Relaxes. She must see this, because her voice is softer when she inquires, “You gonna make it now?”
What a concerning question. My wildly fraying outlook frays more. “I’m not sure I can! I’m on an alien planet!”