by Amanda Milo
Aurora looks me up and down with significance, and bites her lips, almost sucking them inward. “Let’s shelve that for now. Remember a second ago when we were talking about the planets near yours? You said Ohadi. That one’s gone. There’s nothing there anymore, and hasn’t been for… for generations.” She gazes up at me curiously.
I try to focus on something other than panic. “That makes sense,” I mutter with dismay. “Our planet has been cut off for generations. We either lost the ability to communicate with other surfaces, or we didn’t care to try to keep up with the current events of the rest of the universe. The human I mentioned, Skynan—she informed my friend and me that we’re considered a lost civilization by the rest of the universe.”
“Huh,” Aurora murmurs, and it’s only when she slowly eases her grip on my arms that I recognize she was still touching me—
And… I didn’t mind.
I gaze down at her, putting my focus on her rather than the swarm I can hear building, building. She must hear them too because her voice picks up speed as she spits out a quick but soft, “Why?” as a clear distraction.
I decide to cling to it. Feeling more rational, I wave my tail in a vague manner. “My people, the Genneӝt, are plagued by a debilitating genetic disease. Let me emphasize that it is genetic. Still, at the time it emerged, not enough was understood about what ailed us. It was frightening to us and everyone around us.” Anxiety creeps over me, making my dorsal tubes knock together. “It was assumed to be infectious, and we were cast out of trade routes and cut off from the entire quadrant. No one dared to be near us, and eventually, we ceased our attempts to venture out ever again.”
Aurora’s grip returns to my arms, but this time, she slides her touch down to my wrists, tugging me slightly until she sees she has my attention once more. “What do you do back home?”
“I’m—” Something nearly the size of my fist swoops past us, squeaking. I’m about to shriek in fright, when I see the furry, large-eared creature’s mouth full of teeth open—and catch a large winged insect.
This is a welcome terror. Do nothing to frighten a creature that eats disease-transmitting insects, Simmi.
Only cowering slightly, I try to answer Aurora’s question when she gives my wrists a firmer yank. I give her an indignant look, but my voice comes out less shaky when I speak. “I’m a scientist. I do research on our genetic ailment. I work in a sterile environment—I’m not used to this—”
“Really.”
“And my dorm is as free from microorganisms and bacteria as is possible. This,” I gulp and take in our surroundings, “This setting is essentially the absolute opposite of the conditions in which I find myself comfortable.”
A dry laugh gushes out from Aurora. “I could have guessed that. Look, I promise—I’ll try my best to help you get home.”
I glance down to see she has my hands again, and just like when I comforted her as she cowered in the cage, our fingers have intertwined.
She gives our connection a tug.
And another.
Finally, she huffs. “Come on.”
Taking a fortifying breath, I give in to the pressure and let her guide me forward a step, which puts us one more step into the alien jungle. Or forest. Whatever aliens would consider this wild-looking place.
A wet, sticky fern slaps against my leg and I leap sideways, hissing.
I consider this hell.
“Simmi?” Aurora says, and readjusts our grip.
Mutely, I lower my head and give in to her urging, trudging along with her as she takes measured, backward steps. When I’m plodding along at the pace she desires, she lets go of one of my hands, scoops up her satchel, and uses our other handhold to lead me.
She whispers, “I’m going to help you, Simmi.”
On the blade’s edge of a breakdown, I’m unable to say anything at all.
CHAPTER 5
Three panic attacks later, each one lessening in severity, and we’ve managed enough distance that the place of our captivity is out of sight. The birds here explode from the trees when you scream; it’s very upsetting and quite the negative loop. Eventually, my nerves shore up to their raucousness, at least somewhat. This is good, because Aurora heartily disapproves of all hysterical episodes, even involuntary ones.
I sniff, still stung from the last time she threw me an exasperated look and growled, “Would you shut up, Simmi!”
We’ve been walking for some time in mostly companionable silence, until Aurora breaks it. “They kept me next to you, you know.”
Considering I have no recollection of her until I freed her from the cage, this surprises and alarms me. I clear my throat several times, wondering at the rawness I feel when I attempt to ready my vocal cords. Am I growing ill with infection, or is the soreness simply a result of my panicked shrieks? I suppose if I were the gracious sort, I could be thankful to Aurora for putting a stop to those before I did serious damage to myself. Of course, to achieve her goal of silencing me, she pinched my nares shut to get my attention, and now my nares are slightly tender. Possibly swollen. There could be cartilage damage. Thus, I am not feeling particularly gracious. My body was not designed to have a draconian human squeeze its parts into submission. “What do you mean you were kept next to me? Do I have—do I have amnesia? The only thing I recall is waking up with our gum-and-saw-wielding torturers!”
“The drugs they gave you pretty much put you out. At least at first,” Aurora says, voice tight. She lifts one shoulder almost carelessly, but I see a tension steal over her, one that hasn’t been with us since we started walking, and I would know. I’ve been watching her quite closely. Focusing on her is the only thing that’s kept me from a complete nervous collapse. That, and the fear of her returning her iron-fisted grip to my sensitive snout. I’m startled when she sends me a weak smile. “They told me you’d pull me through the bars and eat me.”
My mind engages and my thoughts race. “My Creator, how long have they had us? I assumed it’s all been the same daycycle—I was so excited for my lunch segment of the day, and my ğurk meal... And they told you what?” I gape down at her. “What must you have thought of me?” Consternation and distress fill me as I begin recalling how Aurora turned her face away from me earlier when I tried to soothe her in her cage. What I thought was our first meeting was perceived by her to be our last.
“A while. And I was terrified of you.” She says the words, but emits them so tonelessly she could be discussing anything from the color of the sky to the thickness of her squared toe claws. Humans have very strange feet, and hers are shown off in all their oddness by something she calls a sandal. It’s a flat, heel-slapping encasement made of thin straps. One strap—called a thong, she told me when I inquired—separates two of her larger toes like the sternum strap to a rideable beast. She admitted it does hurt her toes; it’s chafing them. The flimsy footwear is not meant for jungle walking. My feet are holding up much better, thankfully. It is perhaps the only thing I can be thankful for. Besides Aurora’s presence.
Aurora continues revealing horrible details. “But they kept you pumped so full of whatever knockout drug they had, all you did was twitch and, when they fixed you up with the translator, you muttered on and on about an… autopeeler?”
“OH!” I crow. “That was my next extravagance purchase goal!” Excitement fills me and I send her a full smile, which makes her rapidly nictate up at me. “They’re supposed to be the latest in technology: you fill the hopper with raw vegetables, press the button, and your dinner is shot out of the exit chute—clean, prepped, and chopped. No scrubbing and attempting to grip slick-sided jicelabi roots, trying to gouge out their eyes before you eat them. Very hygienic.”
“Hmm. Sounds great. You have a thing for hygiene, don’t you?”
It’s my turn to nictate at her. “Is that a genuine question?”
She laughs dryly. “Guess that’s my answer.” She steps over a petrified downed tree, and I’m in the presence of mind to steady her
through our connected hands while she does it. The shy glance she sends up to me in return does something odd to the rhythm beating in my thoracic cavity. Before I can ask her if she knows if this is a normal effect that humans have on other species, or if the stress of our situation has weakened my cardiac muscle, she shakes herself hard and speaks quickly. “Do you like to cook then? Are you good at it?”
I chuff. “I’m a fabulous cook. I adore food. And you?” I hiss as a very large insect—what Aurora identified as a mosquito—is bold enough to land right on my sternum.
Aurora’s hand slaps over it. Hard.
We both jump.
“S-sorry,” she says, wide-eyed.
If Erreck had struck me on the sternum, I’d have struck him back. Even if I’d known he was aiming for the insect, I’d still strike him back—although I’d be grateful for his intervention.
However, I don’t have any instinct to strike at Aurora. Instead, I find I feel driven to ease the dread that’s sprung up in her eyes. Despite her rough treatment of me—including when she barked at me with raging fierceness to stop screaming during my last panic attack. I sniff and notch back my antennae. “I’ve never been so female-handled in all my life,” I inform her primly.
To my relief, Aurora relaxes. Tentatively, she even smiles at my words. “Um… do I cook? Let’s see. I can heat things up. I come from an area where our food gets delivered in mic-trays. Everything’s prepped in pre-rationed portions; all we do is nuke it. Does that count as cooking?”
I reel back as far as our grip allows, and tsk. “You poor alien plebeian.”
CHAPTER 6
In the middle of our discussion on the types of food we prefer, some sort of frightening, wild-eyed woodland creature lands at Aurora’s feet with no warning.
“GET BACK!” I shout to her, and when she doesn’t immediately scamper out of the creature’s possible attack radius, I catch her arm and haul her behind me—why I do this, I cannot explain. If a person has no sense of danger, is it really my responsibility to act as their shield and bear the attack meant for them? Heavens NO. This has been my rationale my entire life, and it’s served me fine. So what am I doing?
I’m acting as my new alien companion’s shield. “Creature,” I address the white-and-black-striped, golden-coated aggressor sternly, “If you do not step back, I might be forced to crush you with my tail cludgeon.” I wave my tail in front of us warningly, as if I might know how to use it in a threatening manner—and I try to ignore the way Aurora’s body is shaking and trembling in my hands as I cup her against my back. My dorsal tubes had sucked inward at first, terrified of being pressed up against an alien, but strangely, they’re all emerging now, fitting themselves comfortably against her, if being close enough to someone for them to press your body parts flat can be comfortable.
My dorsal tubes say yes.
“S-simmi?” Aurora pants in fear, breathless with it.
“Shhh,” I answer as the creature chitters in alien creature-speak, twitching, raising itself on its hind legs with a quick movement—but just as quick, it drops to all fours and races at us, its speed blinding! —before raising up again, almost moving faster than I myself can motor. My galaxies, what if it takes me down? I have seen no evidence that humans are capable of defending themselves—not that they can’t. I’m just uncertain what, if any, protective measures they possess.
Hopefully more than I do.
“Simmi!” Aurora shouts.
And then she does the strangest thing.
She laughs.
The bumping she’s doing into my hands and against my back? I send a frown over my shoulder, only to see that she’s shaking—not from fear, but from laughter.
“It’s a—” she starts.
“It’s a—” she tries again.
Finally, she manages: “It’s a chipmunk!”
My head swivels around to face forward again and my eyes narrow at the threatening, tooth-gnashing, twittering foe in front of us. “What level of danger are we facing. And female,” my voice takes on an edge that I would consider commanding, but earlier when I was wildly swatting one-handed at mosquitoes, Aurora misconstrued it as being hysterical—as in hysteria, not the ha-ha sort, “explain just what about our situation you find humorous?”
“It’s—they’re—” she makes a sound that resembles an almost sobbing, harder laughter, and I twist back to scowl at her.
She’s not deterred. “They’re harmless!” She’s nearly hooting. Maddened by a fit of hilarity.
I straighten and fix my stare on the supposedly harmless animal. “So this is posturing?”
“It’s probably hungry, and hoping we have food.”
“We have no food,” I tell the creature flatly. “And if I did, I wouldn’t share it with you.”
“Simmi!” Aurora gasps in a chiding tone.
Baffled, I twist again to see her. “Would you share with it?”
“Well…” She tips her head back and forth. “Probably a crumb or two.”
I feel my lids lower. “Crumbs? You’d spare it crumbs and you act as if I’m being stingy?”
Aurora starts snickering.
I hear dead leaves crackle and I whirl around to see the chipmunk has lost patience; it’s charging us.
Out of some sort of latent, prehistoric protective instinct, I bring my tail down sharply in front of us as a block.
My tail’s end sinks into the dirt with a dull slicing sound, just in front of the thing’s quivering nose. The chipmunk squeaks and whirls around, racing away so fast it’s difficult to track its progress.
As I grimace and tug at my tail to pull it out of the ground, I notice Aurora’s stopped laughing. A glance over my shoulder sees she’s focused on my tail too. She’s looking serious all of a sudden, and my stomach drops, all my fears confirmed. “This planet has tetanus spores in the soil, doesn’t it?”
Her nictating increases significantly. “Tetanus?”
“It’s a ghastly bacterial disease. It resides in soil and can also be passed by arachnids, at least in my homeworld.”
More nictating. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that last part, but yeah. It’s probably on this planet too. It’s on just about every planet, I think.”
I draw back from my tail as if it offends me. “Are you serious?”
Aurora makes a choking sound, but when I manage to pull my eyes away from the horror of what I may be harboring on my person, I only see her hands covering her face.
Breathing heavily, I’m getting caught up in visions of the muscle spasms and agony that accompany tetanus and would bring about a certain, violent death for me (surrounded by mosquitoes and slapping ferns, the stuff of pure terror) when I hear the chittering again.
It’s the chipmunk, back again bold as ever, as if I didn’t just spook it away and in doing so, risk my tail and my life by touching raw, untreated, bacterium-filled soil. “Could this chipmunk be maddened by disease?”
Aurora steps around me to place herself between me and our aggressor. Her brows pull together and she bites her lower lip. “The chipmunk’s probably fine, Simmi. You’re being panicky—” At my bruised look, she cuts herself off and her face arranges in conciliatory lines before she gives a slight nod. “All right, sure, it’s possible it could be sick. We do have at least one disease that will cause even… small…” her voice strains oddly, “wild, wild animals to attack.”
I feel legitimized for the count of perhaps two beats of a cardiac muscle before Aurora explodes in peals of poorly suppressed laughter. “I’m sorry!” she tries to say. “It’s just so—so ridiculous!” Even when she presses her hands over her mouth, her half-muffled sounds still boom around the trees.
I cross my arms over my sternum and glare down at her, although I find I’m oddly not offended in the least. Her laughter is surprisingly lovely on the ears, even if it is too loud.
So loud, she frightens even the raging chipmunk. It screeches and races away with all haste.
Se
eing this only makes Aurora laugh harder. She stumbles forward and collapses against me for a moment—freezing me in place.
Her too. She straightens almost immediately, but I feel the remnants of her touch like a phantom warmth for a long, long time after.
CHAPTER 7
“Do you know where we’re going?” I finally ask. Of course I’ve wondered, but I haven’t wanted to hear Aurora tell me she doesn’t, so I haven’t managed the bravery to make the foregone inquiry. And I’m regretting my decision to be brave when she doesn’t immediately answer with the affirmation I was looking for in the first place. “Never mind: don’t tell me we’re lost. I can’t cope with—”
“Simmi,” Aurora huffs out a laugh, and points ahead of us. “If we pick a direction and hike, we’re bound to find a town. The world just isn’t that wild anymore.”
Grimly casting my gaze around us—at the considerable wildness—I mutter stiffly, “I beg to differ.”
Aurora taps her thumb against my wrist to gain my attention, smiling a little when I chuff at her in response. She cants her head until I stop avoiding her eyes. “Are you always this funny?” she asks.
I nearly trip over my own feet. “Funny? No one has ever accused me of being humorous.”
Aurora smiles wider at me. “You’re funny.”
“I am not,” I say with gravity.
Chuckling, she murmurs, “We’ll have to agree to disagree.”
She readjusts her shoulder satchel’s strap, and leads us on.
With nothing to do but fret, I constantly check myself for signs of plants or creatures attempting to hitch a ride on my person. What I see instead are odd areas on my chitin. In all the places Aurora has touched me—when she tripped against me, when she’s taken my hand or my wrist or my arms—
Good galaxies, I wasn’t exaggerating when I told her I’ve never been this handled in all my lifespan.
Anyway, on the places where she touched me, I can’t help but notice an odd sheen. She’s leaving marks on me. I must address this concern at once. “I don’t wish to alarm you, but—”