Mihile's Marvel - A Sci-Fi Alien Romance: The Quasar Lineage Book 12
Page 16
When this planet was contaminated, our scientific teams ran through all the possibilities to try and save it. The Wen themselves will likely never develop to a point where they’ll have space travel and be able to get off their planet, Kaa, naturally. They just aren’t that smart. More opportunistic. We never thought someone would be stupid enough to take one off their planet.
But you know what they say—greed will make even the wisest man into an idiot. Not long before this contamination occurred, the Wen’s planet received a lot of notoriety for studies done on the creatures. Our scientists were trying to recreate the Wen homing capabilities into technology, and the story was picked up due to the escalating prices of gal across the solar system.
That’s all it took.
Despite how clearly it was documented that the Wen virus is almost one hundred percent contagious, other alien species still took the chance of going to Kaa. Hundreds died with more than one fool killing their entire space crew when they climbed back on board. Another mess for the Sinth to clean up.
For whatever reason, we don’t catch diseases. They’re literally purged from our system every time we phase into our dimension. It’s just the way we’re made. As one of the few species who can do this, we have a biological advantage that most don’t.
Nearing the building, I walk along the outside of the contaminated section and see all types of life forms, crying out in their own crude ways. Due to the species translator implant all Sinth have in conjunction with their communicators, I’m able to understand the futile pleas. All basic and rudimentary, of course.
“Help,” “sick,” and “get out” are the most common. If a species is capable of more than that, they won’t be here. The Coalition is clear on what level of comprehension constitutes the difference between being qualified as trade for food or the other end of the scale—captured as a slave, even if they’re sold for food consumption.
Most of the animals here are almost past communication capabilities, but as I move deeper into the section and walk down the center aisle between the rows of cages, more coherent cries are translated. The virus hasn’t yet eaten their brain to the point that pleas are impossible.
But their pleas are not why I’m here. Something is pulling me to the back right of the building. Something strong, leaving me with the feeling of anticipation as if a long-awaited holiday has finally arrived. Without warning, my skin prickles and my breathing accelerates. It’s a fine line between excitement and fear as I reach the back corner pen and look in on the square view opening to the new arrivals.
I blink in horror as I see several of a species that looks eerily similar to the Sinth. Extremely close, except for the coloring. This species appears to have beige skin while ours is a pale grey.
They all appear much further along in exposure than I’d expect from their location in the building, but maybe that’s because they shouldn’t be here at all. Quickly, I access my communicator to flick through the closest humanoid species with similar characteristics. My eyes are drawn to one of the species in captivity with fiery red hair and pale, pink skin. It’s female. That’s easy to see, but I'm horrified too, noticing that the humanoid species' home planet is in the Ashen’s zone and under their protection.
This is bad. Maybe that’s why I’ve had this pull to come review the arrivals in this building? Not that I’ve ever had that help me before. Actually, the opposite, since one of my previous hunches landed my partner and me on this boring assignment.
Unfortunately, there’s not much that can be done for the contaminated beings at this point. The three other males in the holding area with the female are clearly infected, and as I study her more closely, I see hints of grey in the shiny locks of her hair.
Just as I’m about to open up my communicator to document what I’ve found, the red haired female opens her eyes. Looking at me directly, she whispers, “Are you real?” Swallowing with difficulty, no doubt from the lack of proper hydration offered in these holding areas, she asks, “Are you an angel?”
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