Alien, Mine

by Sandra Harris

  T’Hargen did not.

  His big body veered into hers. Their legs tangled, and they went down in a thumping mass on the threshold of a dilapidated abutment. Jarring impact with the ground ricocheted through her bones. Dazed and spitting dirt from her mouth, she rose as T’Hargen hauled her upright. She shoved him off and darted for the river. Her vest tightened to a restraining hold that almost flipped her off her feet.

  “Angrigans don’t do water,” he muttered and dragged her backwards, his fist clenched in her vest.

  She stared over her shoulder at him, struggling to keep upright.

  What the fuck does that mean?

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she yelled. “The Bluthen aren’t that great in the water. I’ve seen it. We could lose them.”

  T’Hargen continued to haul her backwards. The rigid set of his shoulders mirrored the tension in his stiff neck.

  “Move!” he barked at her.

  The river and freedom called.

  “But—”

  T’Hargen yanked her around and jerked her into him. His eyes blazed as he shoved his face into hers, his fists crushing the labels of her vest.

  “We are not, repeat not, going into the water.”

  “Then I will.”

  His glare flamed vehement and his grip tightened. “The hell you will. I’ve been charged with your safety and you’ll do exactly as I say.”

  “Fu—”

  “Move!” He thrust a finger toward the forest. “You can go voluntarily or not. Choice is yours.”

  Defiance ground her teeth together. She could make a dash for the river, but he’d be on her before she could so much as flinch in that direction. And with every word they crossed, the Bluthen pounded closer. She sprinted into a thick copse of screening conifers, T’Hargen on her heels, and fear feeding her blazing anger.

  “Have you any idea where we’re going?” she demanded.

  “Shut up and keep moving.”

  Great. Translated, that sounds like ‘No, but being a superior male I’m not about to tell you’.

  She sprinted along a thin, winding, ribbon of a trail. Ahead a rocky, fern-draped bluff forced the river through narrows. The dirt path petered out at a rock ledge hemming the water at the base of the squat cliff.

  How fortuitous, otherwise he’d have to ‘do’ water.

  She stepped onto the perilously wet rock, struggled to contain the urge to trip T’Hargen into the water and moved as quickly as her sure-footed balance would allow.

  A few minutes later, she jumped down to the rocky floor of a gorge and raced on. T’Hargen’s heavy footsteps followed as she skirted a magnificent, clear pool of green tinted water. Her chest screamed for respite, but the menace of capture spurred her on.

  The walls of the canyon swerved away behind the quiet lake and she sped along beside the river that fed it. The unmistakable sound of falling water reached her ears. She turned into the next gorge and beheld the glorious splendour of a long, plunging cascade as it tumbled through a scooped out bowl of moss-covered rock.

  Behind the curtain of water a dun-coloured, sheer rock wall crowned with three towering round-topped buttes rose to daunting elevation. Alarm eclipsed the beauty before her. She lurched to a halt, gulping air.

  “Oh, well done,” she sneered through panting breaths. “You’ve led us up a blind canyon.”

  She glared at the scenery. Carved into the high buttes, open shafts too vertical to have been created by nature seemed to glare back. And then there were the steps.

  “I know what this is,” T’Hargen said.

  She scowled at him. “Do tell.”

  He returned her glower. “A way out,” he growled and strode toward the carved rock stairway.

  She narrowed her eyes on his retreating form and wondered what her chances were of limpeting to his back up the stone stairs. There had to be at least a hundred of the bloody things, possibly more, climbing perpendicular beside the waterfall.

  Who in their right mind carves steps beside a waterfall? The damn things will be slick with slime and spray.

  Her knees felt weak just looking at them. Anger and anxiety locked her jaw and she stomped after T’Hargen.

  “Don’t do water, my ass,” she grumbled.

  The waterfall greeted her with cool sprays and the thunder of a vigorous fall. She scrambled carefully up behind T’Hargen and focused her anger into ensuring the security of each foot and handhold. T’Hargen climbed as if suction cups lined his boots. His impatience with her slow progress fell on her like snow on a tropical flower. She kept her unwavering gaze on the stone steps.

  The yawning, wide-open space of a steep drop tugged, tugged, tugged at her back. Tears stung her eyes and icy terror shivered through her muscles. Every step became a minor hell. Her breath rasped in short, sharp bursts and her body shook so hard her anxiety shuddered toward hysteria.

  Eons passed. A large, flat rock appeared before her strained gaze. With violent trembling mastering her limbs, she crawled onto it and forced her hyperventilation into deep, calm breaths.

  “We can’t stay here all day,” T’Hargen muttered after a few moments, could have been a lifetime.

  Did he think she didn’t know that?

  She edged forward, unable to even contemplate standing, certain that if she did, gravity would pierce her with invisible tentacles and haul her backwards off the cliff. On her hands and knees, she followed a steep, dirt path that left the slab of rock and veered away from the cascade through tussocks of grass and short shrubs.

  Her terror receded in minute increments as she moved away from the sheer drop.

  “Can’t you go any faster?” T’Hargen muttered.

  “Fuck you,” she bristled, straining her willpower to not submit to the screaming heebie-jeebies.

  She sensed land surrounding her, and the tremors wracking her body lessened. Dread eased enough to allow the ache of her muscles to pass to her awareness. A small wave of strength washed through her body, providing enough courage to allow her to rise into a half crouch. She grabbed the twiggy branches of a bush, as much for moral support as physical.

  Thank God the Bluthen haven’t shown up yet.

  “I would prefer not to be here at nightfall,” T’Hargen yawned at her.

  Anger and fear snapped her restraint. “Look,” she snarled, “you don’t do water, I don’t do heights. Deal with it.”

  Nothing. No overture of apology, no suggestion to take her time. Her slowly waxing nerve bolstered her spirit.

  Fine, if you can’t offer support the least you can do is serve as a distraction.

  “Are we there yet?” she asked.

  “No.”

  A determined smile flashed through her distress, and she let maybe five seconds pass as they continued to climb.

  “Are we there yet?”

  “No!”

  She scrambled upward. A warm glow of impudent glee forged her strength.

  “Are we there yet?”

  The response could have been a ‘No’, but there was so much guttural inflection in the word it could have just been a snarl.

  “Are w—”

  “NO!” T’Hargen spun abruptly, his scowl so fierce and frustrated her ravaged spirit felt healed. He glared down at her, apparently rooted to the spot.

  Vengeance is mine.

  “What?” she asked with the best nuance of innocence she could muster and then lightened her features into bright hope. “We’re there?”

  The tremor that rippled through T’Hargen looked like it almost shook him from his precarious stance. The grimace that twisted across his face felt like sunshine on her heart. When he remained in stiff, unmoving silence she huffed out a dramatic sigh.

  “If we’re not there yet, do ke
ep moving. I don’t want to be here at nightfall.”

  T’Hargen wrenched himself forward and she allowed him to take one step, two, then let rip a ditzy giggle.

  His entire body stiffened as though concrete replaced every muscle. She could practically see revulsion crawl up his spine. His hands clenched and unclenched half a dozen times.

  “Come on,” she urged, “get a wriggle on. I assume we’ve got a ways to go.”

  By the time the track led them to a tunnel entrance, Sandrea almost skipped with the euphoria of having survived the climb. She followed T’Hargen into the dark passageway, but as they proceeded into relative safety, exhilaration abandoned her. A tidal surge of wretchedness and exhaustion slammed into her. Her steps lagged and T’Hargen drew ahead.

  “Keep that pace up and you’ll arrive alone,” she wheezed, and leaned her shoulders into the rough rock wall, her eyes closing. Christ, she felt dreadful, light-headed and nauseous, and cold as though frost trapped her soul. Every muscle quivered as if they barely had the strength to cling to her bones.

  “We will relax here for a moment,” T’Hargen’s voice decreed from nearby.

  Great.

  She slid down the wall and collapsed into a feeble bundle.

  T’Hargen eyed the human woman as she lay sprawled in a loose-limbed heap. Compared to most Angrigans, she was petite and weak, yet her spirit was strong. She challenged him at every turn, which was novel.

  Nobody but his brother dared push his buttons.

  Now that he was calm, he admired the way she’d taken careful aim and triggered exasperated anger in him, no doubt her revenge for the disregard he’d shown of her proposal at the bridge. Those repetitive quips of ‘Are we there yet?’ uttered with fake, sweet submission were lethal.

  And that noise, g’Nel! What had that been? It had tripped up his spine, goading him to run and wretch at the same time. She’d damn near had him off the side of the cliff then.

  He’d seen the violent way her legs shook in reaction to their height and the temptation to offer support shocked and annoyed the hell out of him. Besides, if he’d shown the slightest compassion she’d have been stuck there. Or so he’d thought. Now he wondered if that truly would have been the case. This diminutive human seemed quite capable of doing whatever she had to.

  Could that be the cause of the underlying component he sensed to his brother’s professional concern for her welfare.

  Personal? Is he smitten?

  She certainly exhibited some admirable physical attributes, if you went for that sort of thing. But Mhartak had more substance than that. What had this female done for him or others to generate such a response?

  It seemed his initial estimation of the alien may well have been incorrect. He recalled the way Mhartak deferred to her in the ditch. What had that been about? His brother hadn’t been about to leave the safety of their concealment without her assessment of the situation.

  And he’d enjoyed holding her.

  He clamped his lips in irritation and again suppressed a response he’d already buried more than once. So? The feel of slight steel under curvy, feminine softness pressed against his hard muscle obviously called to the male in him. It was nothing. A mere carnal reaction. There was no room for dalliance here, besides if Mhartak had claimed her . . .

  She doesn’t act as though he has. Not with those fiery looks she spears at him.

  Yes, there was more to this human than met the eye, and now that he’d glimpsed some depth of her character he had to admit his curiosity about her was growing.

  Chapter 10

  “. . . And Let the Reptile Live . . .”

  “We are not there yet, Miss Fairbairn.”

  Sandrea leaned her head onto hard rock and smiled. No, I guess not.

  Her body still ached, but had at least ceased to feel like it might disintegrate at any moment. She opened her eyes. A strong, capable hand hovered before her.

  “We will keep the pace slow for a while,” T’Hargen said.

  “Thank you.”

  She wrapped her hand around his wrist. Muscle rippled beneath her fingers and with gentle strength he helped her to her feet. A memory of Eugen steadying her with considerate attention in Kintista med-centre sprang to mind.

  “Lean on me if you need to,” T’Hargen offered.

  “Um, thanks.”

  The idea of leaning into his solid strength appealed, but doubt paused the sway of her body towards his.

  How come he’s being so nice?

  “Perhaps it would be best if I don’t, er, hinder your movements. In case we run into more trouble.”

  He inclined his head. “As you wish.” He activated a white light on his weapon and led her into the blackness of the narrow tunnel.

  Before her, T’Hargen’s head almost brushed the rock ceiling and his wide shoulders often scraped the walls. Ambient light filtered around his form and haloed his profile. Beneath her cautious feet, the passage ran smooth and even, then began to rise and twist back on itself. Multiple, discrete echoes of their progress bounced back and forth then retreated like ghosts fading away into the dark behind. The tunnel widened, and she stepped to T’Hargen’s side.

  “This pace is to your satisfaction?” he asked.

  Jeez, he sounds like Eugen.

  “Fine, thanks.”

  Something glittered in the beam of his torch. Numerous strings of sparkles hung low across the width of the passage and down its length for quite a way. Their loveliness did not seem to be reflected in T’Hargen’s manner, not if the word he spoke was translated accurately.

  “What is it?”

  “Plinkoths.”

  Oh, I do enjoy a good plinkoths’ ploy.

  “And?”

  “They’re a cave-dwelling carnivore native to this planet. Those long filaments secrete a sticky slime to catch moths and bats that are then drawn up into their mouths.” He trained the torchlight to the tunnel ceiling where a number of white, disc-like blobs clung to the rock. “We should crawl under them. The tentacles’ secretion is quite acidic, even on Angrigan skin. I would not like for you to experience its effects.”

  Concern for me? The warmth of a polite yet familiar tone? Who is this man, and what has he done with T’Hargen? Not that I’m complaining . . .

  “I doubt if the Bluthen know of plinkoths,” he continued. “Any soldiers following us will more than likely blunder straight into these. Despite the fact that they appear fragile, these creatures are quite tough. They would definitely cause a delay in any pursuit.”

  “Right then, under them it is. After you.”

  She crouched then commando-crawled after T’Hargen and stood when he did, the plinkoths a safe distance behind. The path steepened immediately and began to switch back on itself with almost frenetic frequency. Exertion burned uncomfortably through her muscles as they climbed. She concentrated on her breathing, exhaling as though pushing the air out through the soles of her feet.

  A faint, distant scream—as sufficient a warning system as any—ricocheted up the tunnel. For a split second her gaze locked with T’Hargen’s, then as one they sprinted forward. They sped around a corner and T’Hargen’s jostling light revealed a long incline. She practically heard her legs groan while her calf muscles sued for separation. The incentive of advancing Bluthen kept her pace up the slope.

  Natural light filtered into her vision. The tunnel widened, the roof drew off. Numerous dark, rectangular doorways loomed either side of the passageway. The soft light brightened. They turned a corner where the floor levelled and pelted from the tunnel into a large cavern.

  Two windows carved into thick rock with vertical bars spanning their openings flanked a wide, closed, metal door. She ran forward and peered out. A deep, narrow chasm fell away before her. Just visible to her right a
causeway bridged the abyss. Across the gorge, rocky mountain slopes huddled, grey and miserable. Gold-tinted white clouds in a blue sky reflected a clear sunset. She shivered in the chill breeze blowing through the opening.

  “Where’re the controls for the door?” she asked.

  “Outside.”

  What?

  She swung to face T’Hargen. “The controls are where?”

  “The tunnels and this cavern were delved and used by a resistance movement, a good forty or fifty years ago. Then it was turned into a detention centre, and the guards posted outside would operate the door.” He raised his handgun. “If you will step aside?”

  She took several swifts steps to the side and back.

  T’Hargen fired the weapon. The door repulsed the bolt and bounced the energy around the cavern.

  Her eyes widened, her heart clenched and she hit the deck.

  “Any more bright ideas?” she muttered into the stone-paved floor as the ricochet petered out.

  “The security should be deactivated,” T’Hargen grumbled.

  She raised her head and scowled across at his prostrate form. “Apparently that is not the case.” Over the noisy pounding of her heart, she listened for signs of advancing Bluthen. “What else have you got?”

  T’Hargen planted his hands on the floor and levered himself up. His mouth opened, then closed. His jaw thrust sideways.

  “And you thought this was a good place to lead us,” she growled. “We could have crossed the bloody water!”

  Shit. She leapt to her feet and grabbed a handful of his shirt. “Come on.” She dragged him to one of the windows.

  Cool air rippled a shiver through her. It would not help her flexibility, but then neither would rigor mortis, for even if the Bluthen didn’t want her dead immediately, she held no doubts that would be her eventual fate if they got their hands on her.