Chapter Text
I’m no stranger to militant routines, but there is something extra vexing about the alien’s chosen patterns. Namely, where he finds the energy to make me miserable when he doesn’t ever appear to rest.
“Again.”
I close my eyes against the throbbing in my right side as I lay sprawled, rather carelessly, on the ground. Closing my eyes gives me a moment to wonder once more at my current situation, and blissfully block out the too bright light of his kehrite.
I now understood this room was hallowed ground for him. He’d made me repeat how to say the word twenty times before he’d even let me through the door again. Out of respect.
And it was within this respected part of his ship that he’d spent all morning kicking my ass.
After finishing my tea yesterday, I dozed off, and next thing I knew the alien was opening the door to wake me. It couldn’t have been more than two hours of cold ground napping, which by no means constitutes a restful night’s sleep even in a normal bed.
But there he was, with a tray of food and acting like I’d already been down too long for his whims, on about training again. Which he stated as a one-word command when he handed over breakfast.
He did not offer to take me back to the viewing area, much to my displeasure, but stayed to supervise my eating as he picked apart a small fruit for himself. The way he ate one piece at a time while turning it over in his hands reminded me of an orange.
I’d muttered under my breath about his presence and not taking me to the pretty room, till he asked me what I was mad about. At which point, I’d ignored him.
Maybe it was my juvenile attitude that led to my current situation.
He'd walked me to the kehrite, ironed the word into my skull, and then handed me the dagger from the day before. I had studied it more closely as he removed his bracer and put it in the same holding spot against the far wall.
The hilt was a forest-green metal, with a plant vine I didn’t recognize etched into the pommel. The vine wrapped around once, before disappearing under the material of the grip and reappearing along the handguard. The grip was soft, reminded me of leather, and I wondered at what foreign animal might have provided it.
The blade itself started in the same dark green as the hilt, then deepened into black near the point as though it had been dipped in a coating of some kind. I hadn’t bothered with the craftsmanship of it before, focused on using it functionally, but it was pretty.
The alien gave me a moment to warm up, and then informed me we would be alternating which hand I trained with. If I succeeded in injuring him with my left hand, he’d show me another weapon.
Our sparring started relatively tame, but the more that I missed any real blows, and the harder his hits landed, the angrier I became. I felt like I was being toyed with and the bitterness of it made me sloppy.
My grip had shifted too much, and my angle was wrong as I took a swing at him. Instead of following through, I’d tried to back out too late. It left my stance and arms wider than they should’ve been, and he stooped down, shoulder checking me so hard I was surprised the wind wasn’t knocked right out of me.
I stumbled back, hand coming to my chest as I glared at him from my hunched forward fold. I struggled through the burn in my chest, and he’d just righted to his full height, watching me. Reminding me of the lake all over with how definitively he acted. The skin over my brow seemed sensitive too as I thought about how easily he’d yanked my head around that day.
He was this behemoth that could easily snuff my life out if I ever let his claws close over my skull again. Facing him, by default, meant losing… And that did very little to check my temper.
When I’d gotten enough oxygen for the little black spots in my vision to lighten, I’d angrily, and rhetorically, asked him whether he even felt pain.
“It pains me your skills diminished so quickly.”
That had done it.
What I’d guess was an hour later, he was sporting three slashes, in varying degree of length and depth. One cut across his left collarbone, the second was deepest, perpendicular to his lowest left rib and bled freely, and the last sat two inches above the back bend of his right knee.
A beautiful success.
But I hadn’t used my left hand at all.
And I was rendered little more than a sweaty starfish on the floor, barely able to feel my wrists or arms after the number of defensive moves I’d also had to make. I could imagine the bruises blooming across my body, taking note of where the heat and tenderness under my skin was worst. My knuckles were white from the death grip I had on the dagger, and I loosened my fingers, taking in a breath.
This moment I was savoring with my eyes closed was needed. And well earned.
“Again Za’yta.” His voice, and impatience, brings me back to the present moment. I slide my eyes open once more to glare at him across the room.
“No,” I spit at him.
I hear a small huff of air.
“Very well,” he says, shrugging once, before dipping his head to inspect the cut at his rib, his fingers splaying to pull the skin taut as it drips, “Your endurance was better. What do you choose?”
“What?” I grunt up at him, shakily lifting my head from the floor to make sure I heard him correctly.
“Not from your weak hand, so no weapon, but,” he turns his right leg out, displaying the gash above the back of his knee, “I accept this.”
“A reward,” he prompts as I remain silent, simply staring him down.
“Another bath. Fresh clothing. And a toothbrush. Please, god, a toothbrush.” The words mix in a rush to get all the demands out as my neck grows sore. I wait for his rejection, but he doesn’t say anything, just turns away and approaches his bracer at the wall.
Thrilled at the silence, taking it as his form of acceptance, I let my head drop back to the ground. Relief slides down my neck to my extremities with the memory of the warm water and the thought of being clean once more.
“Do you know what a toothbrush is?” I ask the ceiling, curiosity causing me to pester him.
He doesn’t respond, and I roll my head to the side in time to see him shaking his. I try to picture him rolling his eyes, because that’s what it feels like he’s doing as he comes back toward me. I try and fill in facial expressions, micro-responses that I don’t have access to. I’m constantly conflating the image of the one from the cargo hold with what might be behind his mask.
Somehow it never seems quite right.
“Yes,” he says, and comes to a stop above me as he lines the bracer back up on his arm.
There’s the distinct sound of something puncturing flesh, before he’s turning the lower side of the bracer upright and closing it fully around his arm. I try not to think of those awful needles. So far, everything about the bracer unsettles me.
“Really?” My delivery is blunt, the question dripping disbelief.
“Humans use it to protect their teeth. They’re fragile,” he says, and I can’t help but laugh.
“How do you know that?” I probe further, hoisting myself up, and ignoring the semantics of his statement. I groan as my full weight finds itself mobile again, and my legs protest at the task of carrying me anywhere. I sway a little, and a hand closes over my upper bicep, quick and instinctual. I flinch away from the contact, but he doesn’t release my arm till I’m fully steady again, continuing to speak.
“I read about humans,” he says and starts for the door.
“The available information is… Lacking,” he mumbles, pushing in the door code. Another one he’s given up concealing. So far, I’ve cataloged codes for most places we’ve frequented. I don’t know if it’s intentional, an underestimation of my pattern recognition, or he’s just become lazy at keeping some of them shielded. The fact that it’s only rooms house obvious weaponry or controls makes me think the latter.
As the door slides open, there’s a blur of dark blue. I stumble on tired legs as Ze’nu throws damn near his whole weight against my thighs. Once I’ve caught myself, I still for a moment, arms jutting out awkwardly as I recall our last encounter.
The cat lets out a rumble, like a rottweiler, before turning around and throwing his weight at me again. Not tackling me, just saying hello.
“Are we enemies or not kitty?” I scoff, some of the tension leaving my upper back.
“Not a cat.”
I roll my eyes at the alien’s gruff correction, hesitantly bringing my hand down between the beast’s ears. My entire palm is laughingly small against his skull.
Soft.
I stroke the furry spot a few times gently, marveling at the texture but not brave enough to traverse to the bristled back spine.
“Time to eat.” Neither the cat nor I move at the alien’s demand, demoting it to only a suggestion.
“Sure you are, just a little kitty,” I baby talk, continuing to pet Ze’nu. The cat immediately responds by pushing his head up to meet my palm. The depth of sigh I hear from the mask has me raising my gaze. He doesn’t say anything, but he’s watching us intently.
I push again against the side of Ze’nu’s head, this time encouraging him out and away from me so I can walk to the door. Ze’nu lets out another rumble as we approach the big guy by the door, running his weight against his leg this time.
“Traitor,” he says as we pass, and a frown tugs at my eyebrows, not leaving till we’ve completed the walk to the kitchen.
Unless the cat understands English too, exactly who’s benefit was that for?
The alien’s mood declines as we eat. Which is unfortunate considering he brought me back to the viewing room, and I initially entertained the idea of a slow lunch.
His irritation starts with a barely perceptible chirping noise I hear when we first sit down, his hand coming to his mask, and then the bracer for a moment. I ignore him for the food and the view, my eyes going to study the stars around us.
After a minute or so, he starts to eat, before letting out a low grumble and once again doing something on the bracer. This continues for a few minutes; he tries to settle and eat only to be interrupted again.
By the third interruption, his hands are starting to do the little flex thing, and I’ve abandoned the idea of dragging things out. If his temper goes, I don’t want to be around for it. I begin trying to shovel food into my mouth as fast as I can without choking, so I can suggest being as far from him as possible. It’s hard considering the amount he’d placed on the plate today.
Suddenly, he starts speaking.
I startle, freezing with my last bite of food halfway to my mouth, until I realize that it’s not at me. Not for my ears.
It’s his native language, and the way it rolls off his tongue is… New. Interesting to listen to. I sit for a minute, studying his mask and absorbing the way he speaks. His tone seems detached, maybe even a little gruff. He goes long periods between speaking, as if he can’t be bothered to respond to whoever must be talking to him through the mask. I’m not even sure he’s paying attention to me at one point, but then after a moment, I think I sense his gaze again.
Having finished my food, I try to wait patiently and not like a toddler in a Denny’s, bouncing my leg and hoping for any indication of a break in his interstellar phone call. I need to request my prizes before his mood deteriorates further. If I can at least gain a toothbrush, I’ll consider it a win. I’ll circle back to a bath tomorrow.
There is nothing that sounds like a parting phrase, he just sighs, and I watch as his shoulders relax, and his hand stops flexing against the table. I look around the room, observing the streaks of light around us, and pretending I wasn’t eavesdropping. Even if I couldn’t understand a lick of what he said. And he was only a few feet from me in an otherwise silent room. Another moment or two passes without him speaking again, and I decide it’s now or never.
“About the toothbrush,” I blurt, turning my head back to face him.
His hand has the lower edge of his mask lifted, the highest I’ve seen it, and a bite of food almost pressed to his lips. I watch, unable to mask my stunned attention as dark mandibles part, and his lips break open to take the bite into his mouth.
He begins to chew, mandibles moving slightly over his closed mouth as the muscles flex in his jaw. I can’t pull my eyes away. The tip of a pointed tongue ghosts over his lower lip, before disappearing as he closes his mouth once more. Then he’s lowering the mask, and sighing. It jostles me from my mute stare, and I almost feel bad at interrupting his meal same as the call had.
“It’s being fabricated,” he says, head tilting to look at his bracer. “You can have it after the next port jump. And you can bathe and change.”
“Port jump?” I ask, pushing up as he does the same, his tray of food still full.
“To go long distances very quickly, to different portions of this galaxy,” he explains, and anxiety skitters in my chest.
“And how many port jumps are left between here and F’vala?” My voice is softer.
He is silent, and I follow behind him trying to patiently wait on an answer.
“Many,” he says, and I come to a halt behind him.
“Many?” I echo, mind scrambling over emotions. Dread and relief mix at the forefront, narrowly followed by confusion.
“Ca’tep’s supply convoy is nearer. It takes precedence,” he continues, and I think back to what that horrible alien had said about port jumps before his death, and then after that his quip about helping him with a ship of bad bloods.
“So much for Ca’tep not being my business, you’re practically pitting me against him!” I scoff, glaring at the back of his head. Not a moment later it begins to shake.
“Ca’tep is not with the convoy. And you will stay on the ship,” he says, tone so full of amusement once more that I wish I had something to chuck at the back of his head. Instead, I hum low in my throat.
“Lucky me.”
We walk in silence, and I study his shoulders. Even with my nagging, he’s not as tense as he usually is.
I follow him through the ship, familiarizing as we go. I’m convinced that I’ve now passed through most of it, and I’m becoming accustomed to the C-shape pattern.
The garage area I know sits in a lower-level recess, and I mark it as the center. It’s subtle, but there is a slight incline as the hallway branches off away from that room. I never noticed it the first times I fled, but since it is the largest room, or largest I’ve been in, and serves as such a big entrance and exit, it makes sense to be centrally located. Especially for the boarding maneuver he’d pulled last time.
The breakfast nook, med-bay and kitchen are all comparable in size to each other, and it’s interesting to note how one curve of the ship is so utilitarian, and the other bend appears to be his quarters and such. I think back on the bathing room and realize with a start that it too had a bit of an upward incline to the path we’d taken.
There must be something I’m missing too. Some area that I haven’t seen the way to access. The control bay makes the most sense for him to keep hidden. Especially with my ability to muck things up… His room too, if he even sleeps…
I’m interrupted from my train of thought as I run into the alien.
I’d been studying the minute details of the ship and lost in thought, not watching as he’d stopped and turned toward me.
“Where was your head,” he mumbles as his hand catches me, pinning me against him.
“Ready yourself,” he says, and I tense. I feel a rumble beneath my feet and a single tone rings out in the air around us. There’s a surge in the lights, and it feels like a car accelerating, or faster... A plane? Rollercoaster?
A heavy sensation rolls over my shoulders and down my back, and I look up into the mask of the alien with wide eyes as the pressure lightens into tingles down my spine, and then fades.
“Did we just- “
Dizzying nausea rips through me, and I lean forward as I fight to keep lunch from reappearing. It passes quickly, after some very panicked breaths through my nose. My brain feels sluggish, but that doesn’t stop me from recognizing this sensation.
I’ve felt it before on the ship.
“Fascinating,” he says, and I tilt my head to frown at him. “Very few species adapt so easily to port jumps,” he explains.
“You’ve done this before without knowing if I could survive?” I grit out, anger making my eyes narrow.
“I read enough to know it wouldn’t pull you apart the first time,” he shrugs.
I swing hard towards his jugular, and he catches my first before it connects with his throat. Out rumbles a laugh.
“I’ll try to be less adventurous with my assumptions from now on Za’yta,” he concedes, and I curse at him. But then I remember what he’d said while we ate.
“It’s done. Take me to the bath, now.”
There is no Ze’nu to leave as a babysitter this time. Which for some reason means that the alien will stay instead.
“Piss off.”
“I will turn my back,” he grumbles when I let out my first protest.
“That is not good enough,” I press, crossing my arms as I look up into his mask. My heart screams at me to not give a shit, and just submerge in the dark, warm, water. My brain refuses to allow such a hit to my already tattered pride. I want to bathe, which would be so much easier naked, which in turn is easier alone.
“Then bathe in your clothes,” he retorts.
I exhale through my nose, before raising an eyebrow and backing toward the water. His head tilts as he watches me, and I don’t stifle my pleased sigh as my ankles sink into the warmth. When the water starts to soak into my pant legs, his head shakes, and I’m positive his eyes have just rolled. After I’ve found the edge of the shallow with my heel, I sink fully back into the water, and he turns his back on me. I watch for a moment as the water eases into my sore muscles and he ignores me, lifting his arm and tapping away at his bracer.
I pull my pants off, opting to leave the billowing shirt. It offers no physical protection but having it on is comforting. I ball up the soaked pants and swim into the shallow, disturbing as little water as I can.
I launch the wad of my pants at where he stands, and the slap of wet material against his skin echoes as the pants slowly slide down, then fall from his broad back.
He stills, and I bark out a single laugh, before completely devolving into a fit. His head swings slowly over his right shoulder, and I can feel his gaze burning through the mask. I suck in my laugh, tamping down on the mirth bubbling in my chest as the impact smack replays in my head. Instead, a painful snort breaks free, just as I hear that awful rumbling chatter he makes when he’s mad.
Shit. Too far.
I back to the edge of the shallow, turning and diving under the water. I cut strong strokes toward where light bleeds under the surface, away from him. I feel the disturbance in the water behind me and risk a glance back. It’s so incredibly dark in this water and like the true genius I am, I realize spectacularly late he’s likely as proficient a swimmer as he is hunter.
The only thing I have working for me is that the pool isn’t that big, after all, it’s a glorified bath, and his size means he can’t stay concealed unless he’s further away. If I don’t go too deep, he’d also be forced to stand.
I cut for the surface, breaching and sucking in a breath. I turn back toward the shallow, swimming slightly closer, and trying to mark where he should be, looking down through the water as I begin to tread. I quickly blow out my breath and pull in another full one, ducking back under the water.
I hear something after a few moments, muffled, and I let myself drift as I try to pinpoint it, still unable to truly make out anything in the darkness. Then, again, soft clicking reaches me. I whip toward the sound, finding nothing as everything goes silent around me. I swim in the opposite direction of where I thought the sound came from.
Then, it’s ahead of me, soft clicks to my right, and I whirl the other way before having to break for the surface as I run out of air.
I’m positive it’s the alien now.
I slip back under the water once my lungs have had their fill and wait. Sure enough, a few seconds later the muffled clicks resume, not unlike when I click my tongue at Ze’nu. I turn once more and try to calm my heart, still unable to make out where he is in the water.
Maybe an 80/20 chance not in my favor that he’s going to drown me in this game of Marco Polo?
The silence stretches, and then a full-blooded rumble. I kick back and around, and he’s right there, a clawed hand securing at my waist and pulling me up out of the water.
I gasp a little, then begin to pull in another lungful of air. My hand secures on his wrist, nails digging in to try and ensure a tether as I wait for him to hold me back under.
Instead, he just treads water while holding us both above the surface as if it’s nothing at all. He moves forward and I’m brought closer to his chest, until we reach the portion that’s adapted to his height, and he stands again.
“You’re a strong swimmer,” he remarks, and there is something in his voice that sounds… Giddy.
“You were toying with me the whole time!” I say, incredulous. “If that was a hunt, you’d drown me in no time at all.”
“Find colder water,” he says, voice low, another chatter following his statement.
That’s why he’d basically disappeared after falling in back home… It was too cold.
His tail cuts through the water behind us and I focus on him again. There’s a general agitation to him that is new. I don’t like it, because I don’t understand it.
“Knees, cold water, and the back of the head. So far, I have a very short list of weaknesses to work with,” I say, releasing my clawed hold on his wrist. He doesn’t take notice of the crescent marks on his skin as little specks of blood well to the surface.
“The throat as well,” he prompts, tilting his head and mask back and exposing the muscled lines there. “In full armor it is well protected. Some Yautja craft armored collars, representing-” his voice tapers off abruptly, and the excitement that had been leaching into his words seems misplaced.
I might have even thought it imagined if it weren’t for how I studied him every moment. It was the first emotion other than aggression or reluctant caregiving he’d displayed.
My eyes flick back and forth between his as the silence settles, and again I’m left with no facial features to read, just his mask fixed immovably forward.
He sounded excited...
He roughly deposits me in the shallow a moment later, stepping back and putting distance between us. Any familiarity I thought I had disappears as the alien before me transforms back into a wall of silent muscle and rigidity.
He storms past me, and I watch in silent confusion as he abandons his post completely, leaving the door open as he goes.
“It was just a pair of pants,” I grouse, slowly becoming aware of lack of said pants. I’m then grateful for his quick departure, before I could be embarrassed over my modesty.
I wonder what crawled up his ass.
But I don’t think too much longer on it, instead opting to enjoy the warm water, and moment alone. He returns much faster than I’d like, fresh clothes and the most wonderful invention ever in hand.
A toothbrush.
Something is definitely wrong with the alien.
Over the last week he’s become so stoic, I feel as though we’re right back to when I was first in the cage. He refuses to speak to me, and all other… Pleasantries have vanished.
Food is deposited inside my door at the same times each day, with an exact amount and type of food that no longer varies. Gone is taking me to the breakfast nook, watching me eat, or even letting Ze’nu around. Despite my little calls every time I’m out of the room, I don’t see the cat again, though at one point I swear I hear him yowling somewhere in the ship.
The alien comes an hour after each meal and silently walks me to the kehrite. He destroys any hope I’ve renewed in myself of finally besting him each morning, and then we fight till I can no longer stand, before he escorts me back to the room.
Which, I’m now firmly recognizing as a prison cell again. And to think I’d become somewhat comfortable with my accommodation upgrade.
Idiot.
At first, I thought he was holding an insane grudge over the pants. Ridiculous when I compare that slight to my attempts to kill him. But nevertheless, I couldn’t account for any new reason for the change in demeanor.
I’d been as chatty as usual that first day, as relaxed as I’d grown, and figured he’d work it out of his system by mid-morning. But by mid-morning it was my mood that had changed.
He seemed more brutal, if my decimated sleeve and accompanying gashes were things to judge by, but I couldn’t shake the distinct feeling he was still pulling punches. Still keeping me in as best shape as he could for his hunt, yet all his exterior interest in me had vanished.
Or shifted. Slipped into frustration.
Any quip or barbed comment I shot at him fell on deaf ears, any question or curiosity met with pointed silence. The nastier I got with my comments, the more he lashed out in training, but still never spoke again.
And for every successful wound near one of the suggested weak points I landed, he would show me a weapon.
Of the new ones, I found I kept returning to the first blaster he’d shown me. It seemed older, more worn, even though it was clean and looked well cared for. The others were all too new or complex for my tastes. I felt I’d kill myself faster than him.
I think somewhere in the second day he expected me to revert to silence and aggression as well, but my stubbornness persisted.
I’d had more years than I could count walking on eggshells to not instigate my father. It felt good to do my best to get a rise out of the alien instead. Hell, we’d already established that I couldn’t annoy him into killing me, his resolve was still too strong for that. My father had been less predictable.
So, I continued to talk and test his patience. Two more port jumps came and went, and I was noting that the frequency of them was making them easier. I got another bath, was released from period purgatory and waited to see if there was any crack in his stonewall demeanor.
Nothing shifted until I became so fed up with his silent treatment, I started digging at internal wounds – namely by weaponizing his disgust for the bad bloods.
“Ca’Tep’s convoy, that one shithead said it was six jumps, right?”
I land a well-placed hit just below his ribs, a place I’ve discovered is more sensitive than others, as I question him and his grunt sounds a bit like a warning mixed with the pain.
“But you said four, we’ve made three, haven’t we?”
He remains silent but a low rattling starts spilling from his chest. Not a full-blown roar like he’s prone to, but certainly still broadcasting his irritation.
“What do I do if they kill you?” I quip, backing away from him so there’s room between us and he can’t catch hold of me.
My needling does the trick beautifully. A chatter, and then scoff reaches my ears, and he tries to close the distance. I skirt away from him, lunging low and embedding my knife in his upper thigh.
“See? You’re getting slower. I don’t want to die while you’re-“
His tail hooks on my right leg, yanking my balance off, his arm securing on my throat and holding me in place as I totter into his space, trying to right myself. I keep forgetting about the blasted dexterity of his damn tail.
“You’re getting faster,” He grinds out bringing my face close to his, “And no less annoying.”
“Well, I’ll be less annoying when you’re dead,” his fingers tighten and my skin pricks under his claws, and I huff a laugh “or me, or if I’m dead,” I say tapping firmly at his forearm to encourage my release. Somehow, just winning words out of him has relief dancing down my spine.
“If they kill me, you’re already dead,” he sighs, dropping me to the ground.
“Sure, sure, but for arguments sake-“
He mutters in his language again, before facing me fully.
“The supply convoy will be guarded, but, not enough for any concern when I have Ze’nu and my kit,” he explains.
“And you need the supplies?” I ask, glancing down at my knife still embedded in his thigh, the blood beading out around it every time he shifts.
Should I point it out? Surely he feels it?
“I need to know where the supplies are headed,” he says, and his head tilts to follow my line of sight.
“To find Ca’Tep,” I muse as his hand secures around the hilt, sliding the knife free in a fluid motion.
“To find Ca’Tep,” he confirms.
“How could he not know you’re hunting him at this point? That bad blood knew who you were,” I say, shifting side to side as he approaches me. He holds the knife out to me, and I take it, running the free edge along the bottom edge of my clothes to wipe the blood off.
“Ca’Tep knows, but he is a fool and unafraid,” he grumbles, and unease twists in my stomach.
“Or is he baiting you?” I ask, my instigation now morphed into alarm. “Tell me you’ve stopped to consider what might be waiting at four, if the convoy is at six.”
“There would have been no time for them to arrange anything, I tracked the first guard ship’s jumps, and I was behind them for every-” he scoffs, trails off, then his head tilts, “Unless I was delayed.”
A silence extends between us, and I realize he’s staring at me and realizing there was in fact a delay.
I was in fact a delay.
A single soft tone sounds through the kehrite, and he freezes.
“And if they did have time?” I ask, my voice steady despite the adrenaline dumping into my system.
The alien grabs me, throwing me roughly over his shoulder, and knocking it painfully into my lower stomach. I groan as he whips around, fleeing the room at a speed that staggers me.
I sense the acceleration, feel the dip in my stomach, the nausea, and then a single moment of peace passes.
We’re both thrown sideways into the wall as the ship dips to the right, alarms filling the air and a single flashing light strobing along the ceiling. His arm shoots out but doesn’t catch us in time. I go hard into the wall, and he rolls the other way, to not crush my ribs as we tumble together. Then, he’s up, snatching me into the air in front of him now, and adjusting as he runs along the edge of the wall and the floor. His claws dig into my outer thigh, and my upper bicep as he fights against the ship’s adjustments.
A dull echo of a thud starts, and I can’t figure out what it is, before he’s sliding to a stop in front of a door, slamming in the entry code, and shoving us both through. It’s a shallow room, only a few feet between us and the next wall, filled with three semi recessed tubes.
He drops me in front of the left side, and the wall opens behind me as he taps next to it. His palm comes squarely to my sternum, shoving me into the tube, and in the next motion he crowds in after me. His hand reaches over me to a small door in the wall, panels that slide back and reveal small items.
My gaze whips around the small room, trying to make sense of it as he does something next to me. There isn’t enough room for both of us, half of his body still outside the door.
I look up at him, and then the walls rattle around us, and I cover my ears as a piercing screech rips through the air, my ears feeling uncomfortable pressure.
His hand grips my face, yanking my head to the side and removing my hand from my ear, his own hand replacing my own. Then I hear it, a roar in the distance that I recognize. I recognize because it sounds like him. And then another, and another after that.
He goes still in front of me, his hand tracing briefly from my ear to my shoulder, then falling to his side and my panic finally cuts through my overwhelm.
Only then do I remember resisting.
I press against the strange seat I’m in, lifting part of the way out of it into the last whisp of empty space between us.
He’s frozen and, save for the urgency in which he’d sprinted through the ship, I see nothing else about him out of place. He doesn’t even appear to be winded. There’s no urgency anymore, there’s just stillness.
His voice reaches me, and my eyes slip back and forth across his mask. Soft, as soft as his language can sound. Little more than a thought accidentally verbalized.
“Why am I not in the armory?”
The silence after spooks me more than his words, and then the blaring ship alarm sounds again, and he turns. The door shuts between us, and he’s gone.
A new strange voice counts off, and there is slight movement of the metal around me, before a change in the ambient light sends me into desperation.
Do not get vacuumed into space Charlie! Move!
I launch up and begin to pry at the door, my fingernails catching and pulling uncomfortably as I try to crack the metal.
The panels in the cargo bay wall where he dumped waste had opened and closed so easily. Why wasn’t this one opening?
Please open.
A choked whine bubbles out of my throat.
“Stop, please. Let me out! Please,” I beg, hardly worrying which of my fingernails will be the first to give out and pull free as I start clawing at any small lip I can find. I know he’s gone though, there’s no reason for him to stay and not return to guarding his ship.
“Action unrecognized,” the detached voice tells me.
“Open!” I scream as another shift in the metal sends fresh adrenaline coursing through me. A split second after, a word is filtered into my ear through the small metal translator. I grab on to that, trying desperately to repeat it. To force my mouth through the panic to make the same sound that was parroted back to me.
“Open airlock system? Previous ordinance will be lost. Abort?” The strange voice speaks over me, and I latch on to the last word in the alien language.
I chant it over and over.
“Ordinance aborted. Releasing airlock.”
I shout as the light around me brightens once more and the door in front of me opens on a pressurized hiss. The short metal against my shins causes me to tumble forward with the weight I had pressed against the door, hitting the ground on my hands and knees. I scramble away from the door, chanting the last word in case I’m not far enough away.
Touching the inside floor of the ship once more sends relief so sharp up my spine I gasp.
I have but a second to find my bearings before the alarm that was so steady, disappears. And I can hear terrible roaring in the distance. I focus on catching my breath, and just as I’m about to, I hear heavy footfalls through the open exit.
Not my alien.
I stay still, crouched on the floor as I wait and watch, preparing myself to dive to the side if needed.
The first alien to round the corner is a spitting image of the nasty little one from the hold, but with darker muddy skin and short roped hair. He comes up short as he spots me, no weapon in his hand, before turning over his shoulder to another right on his heels.
The second one is bigger, uglier, and armed. I study the gun, before my eyes trace their otherwise unarmored and ill kept appearance. There is something wrong about them. There’s a strange orange flush under their skin, a filth about them, and jerky movements.
How could they even hope to take on my alien in this state?
My eyes flick back to the small one as he chitters.
“Ca’Tep will be doubly pleased,” he says, shifting into the small space so the other can step in as well. I scoot back toward the far wall, biding time.
“Ca’Tep has his fun, this one will go in the pod before we continue rounds,” the large one says, bending down and gripping my ankle, yanking me toward him as he folds his large body quickly down to lay on top of me. He brings his face close to my throat, before lifting his mandibles to my hair and inhaling, spittle falling across my cheek.
I sip air, his stink and my own panic clouding my senses as I try not to jerk away.
“It’s docile,” he pants above me, and I watch as he deposits the gun next to us, clawed hand going to my lower abdomen, claws sinking deep into my side.
“Hurry, I want a pump in the blood when you’re finished,” the other says, turning away to fiddle with something at the far wall. I watch over the shoulder of the alien on top of me as he opens a cabinet on the far wall and begins rummaging through things.
The alien on top of me shifts his grip, claws opening flesh just below my ribs as he yanks my shirt up enough to shred at the top part of my pants, ripping them open, knowing immediately what to seek out. As though he’s done it prior.
He starts to make a chittering sound that I know without fail is a sound of arousal, and my skin crawls, my whole body going rigid as I still try to not react. His movements aren’t steady though, as if he’s having to compensate for each new move he makes.
His weight is stealing my breath, and then I feel him shift against my leg, grinding into me as he finally opens my pants enough to start to pull them down. My eyes come back from the one across the way to the face hovering over me, and then he shifts, his height pushing his head over my own as he guides his other hand to his loin covering, pulling it sideways to free himself.
His head lifts once more, and my eyes slide to his exposed throat. I lunge up turning my head sideways and sinking my teeth through where I picture an Adam’s apple.
The first give of the skin is rather sudden, because it pulls taught under my teeth before tearing. The flesh under is easy to close my jaw through.
Just like biting an onion, Charlie. Just a nasty juicy onion and it’ll all be over.
I yank my head backwards, hard, knocking my own skull painfully into the ground in an attempt to dislodge as much throat as possible. My brain processes the heat of the blood in and around my mouth before the taste. Then, it’s all I can sense, jarring me into fight. It’s wretched, bitter, and it burns my mouth.
His chittering and movement over me taper off after a gurgle, the claw that had been piercing in below my ribs letting go and grasping at his throat. I see a brief glimmer of shock pass his features, and then a jerky attempt to claw at my face that is easily dodged. Then the light leaves his eyes, features going slack as he slumps over me.
I blindly walk my right hand around on the ground, as the other alien once again encourages him to hurry up.
My hand grazes the gun, at an uncomfortable distance from me without throwing him off me. I bend towards it, overextending my arm as I finally wrap my fingers around it.
Blood has pooled in the hollow of my throat, running down the sides of my neck, and I run my hand through the blood coating my neck, before lacing my fingers through the trigger of the gun, similar to the one I’d been familiarizing myself with.
And I pray to someone that it works.
I shove the weight from me as the other turns from the wall.
“Why isn’t it crying?”
The blast cuts through his right eye, splattering the open cabinet behind him, before the body collapses to its knees and folds to the ground.
I put one more through the back of the head down toward the spinal column, viscera arcing toward my feet, and then the same for the other one, before discarding the pants that are falling and tangling around my ankles.
I ease my way around the door, listening as I work my way down the hall for any newcomers. I glance down once I hide myself in the first small alcove, taking stock of the wounds and the blood smeared all over my stomach and thighs. Mostly my own and red. Not too deep. Looks worse than anything.
I continue on, hearing the sounds of fighting ahead of me. As I approach the open room, I steady my breath. I pause out of the doorway, listening intently to the chattering growls and then a sharp yowl cuts through the air, and I sidle closer, peeking around the edge.
Ze’nu is pinned in a back corner, hackles raised, his lower right leg and tail caught under what looks to be a netting of some kind. There is only one in the room still standing, another slumped over halfway between us.
I raise my arm, shouldering the gun, before firing through the base of the skull, a clang echoing through the room as the body drops, and I realize this one had a mask on. The other one on the floor shifts, and I turn, fast enough to make the shot, but not before he sends a small disc toward my face. I twist out of the way barely, catching an edge across my temple.
I drop to the ground, fear filling me as I prod at my face to make sure it hasn’t caught my eye, or embedded itself. Satisfied it’s just going to bleed a lot; I turn back toward Ze’nu. I eye the one that shot me, half shredded through the abdomen, innards splaying forward.
“Good kitty,” I say, lifting myself to approach him.
He studies me, and for a split second I think that without the big guy present I’m in just as much danger, but then Ze’nu’s hackles drop and he lets out a soft whine.
I approach him, studying the netting, seeing how still he keeps his lower leg and tail, despite having been fighting. I can see purplish blood splattered on the floor around where the net is cutting in, and a larger amount dripping off the leg.
I lower the gun and look for a way to grab the net. My eyes catch on the center of it, a small circular puck producing the silver strands. I reach carefully over the net for it and slide my hand on it. It lights up for a brief second, and then Ze’nu let’s out an alarmed growl, and I watch in horror as the net seems to pull in closer, cutting deeper into him.
“Oh fuck, oh I’m sorry,” I gasp, launching backwards and whipping around to try and find something that makes more sense to me.
My eyes land on the folded body of the one that had been approaching Ze’nu, and I dive for his mask, lifting it up and ignoring the pulp that falls out of it to the ground. I bring it to my face and close my eyes against bright orange and green splotches that nearly blind me.
“Disengage,” I say, and the translator gives me the word in his language, and I whisper it into the mask, eyes still closed. I yank my head back; afraid it didn’t work.
A moment later the tension of the netting goes slack, and I drop the mask with a triumphant hum, dropping to the floor again to lift the net up for Ze’nu to pull free, letting it cut across my palms and finger pads.
I drop it as soon as he is clear, and we both sit for a moment, staring at each other.
Then a shout in the hallway draws our attention, and I realize we can’t stay where we are any more than we already have. We must keep moving. I stand, and Ze’nu follows suit, coming to my side. I eye his bleeding leg, and watch as he limps, but for the most part looks stable enough.
My hands sting profusely, and I ignore them, pulling the gun forward. My grip is atrocious now, but it will have to do. I notch it into my shoulder, glancing at him once more.
We work our way silently down the hall, and I clear any open room as we go, becoming discouraged as we get closer to the center, to the kehrite, and all I can hear is what sounds like celebration.
I clear the kehrite, it’s just as we left it. I start down the hall again toward the cargo hold.
My stomach drops as we become close enough for the translator to distinguish actual words.
“Some fabled enforcer this one turned out to be.”
I edge up to the door and take one quick glance. I rock back out of sight, Ze’nu tucked just next to me, waiting for a command. I stare at the wall across from me, my heart in my throat.
Don’t throw up. Don’t throw up. Don’t-
In the center of the room, surrounded by five bad bloods was my alien. Pinned under netting, blood everywhere, head tipped forward.
Mask on the floor in front of him.
I couldn’t tell if he was alive or not. I didn’t have the luxury of looking long enough to know yet.
The others chattered away at each other, the translator omitting parts of the conversation as they all talked over one another, and it couldn’t distinguish the overlap well.
I took one more breath and lowered myself to a crouch as I tried to plan. I turned the rifle over, inspecting the symbols along the side. If I remembered right from my practice with the other, I had three rounds left.
My brain ran through scenarios of how they were spaced, how quickly I could try and figure out which one had engaged the netting, and get his mask… Even with Ze’nu, until I knew if he was alive there was no way for all of us to make it. And it was unreasonable to attempt anything if I didn’t even know what state he was in. There would be collateral, without an advantage of some kind.
I froze, before launching back down the hall toward the kehrite. I rounded into the room, sprinting for the wall and the bracer laying open.
Just as we left it.
I shoved my arm into place before I could let another thought pass, using my other hand to slam the bracer closed. For a second, nothing happened, and I took a breath thinking I might have been wrong-
Only for the bracer to engage a second later. The needles into skin weren’t awful, but they were too long for my anatomy, the outer ones embedding and glancing off my radial bone. I shoved a hand over my mouth, trembling as I fought to not scream, and hoped that the bone wouldn’t fracture, and I’d lose use of my dominant arm.
A moment later, the bracer lit up, and I turned it toward me, still shaking. I attempted a few passes before finally the needle with the painkiller appeared. I injected it in my upper left arm, praying it would assist me enough to get through whatever might happen next.
Or, at the very least, die without pain.
I shouldered the gun once more and readied myself.
Ze’nu was waiting at the door, guarding.
I did not hesitate a second time, entering the room and firing cleanly the first two times. Then they were moving, scattering toward me, as I expected, their speed more than my own. My third and final shot tore the outer column of the third’s throat but didn’t hit anything vital. He was on me in a second, claws shredding my upper shoulder as the other came for my face, until he was ripped off in a blur of blue, screeching once before going silent as Ze’nu took the rest of his throat.
I rolled up, discarding the empty gun, tapping against the bracer and engaging the blades, throwing my body weight into the one now practically on top of me, taking him over and down, the blades vibrating up my arm as they hit his right clavicle.
I yanked my arm back, awkward with the force needed to pull both it and the blades far enough free to swing again. I grazed his throat, passing once, twice, a third time.
I shoved back, a burning sensation drawing my gaze to my left leg. I noticed from where I’d been straddling his stomach, his own bracer had been pressed to my leg. I ripped my gaze from the darkened skin, locking on to the final one standing part of the way between me, Ze’nu, and the door.
Pulling the blades back, I turned on him, only to watch as he too turned away, fleeing into the hall.
I took a few steps after him, about to run after, when I was stilled by a soft noise behind me.
“Za’yta.”
I turn back, chest heaving as my gaze fixes to Ta’Kesh.
His eyes meet mine, and I find myself suddenly back in my own body. He studies my face, then his gaze drifts over my body, pausing for a second on each wound.
He’s not dead.
“Which one is it?” I ask, glancing at the two bad bloods that had fallen first, approaching the closest one.
“The other,” he says, in his own language, a harsh rattle overtaking his words. He slumps, the netting cutting into him. Blood slips over his lower lip to the floor, a viscous line connecting it as another drop rolls down his throat.
There’s so much blood.
I redirect, kicking the head over of the other one, pulling the mask to my face, and telling it to disengage.
I let it fall as Ta’Kesh reaches up and yanks the netting from over his shoulders, throwing it behind him. Then he sways, tipping forward. I drop down, catching him just before he hits the ground. Even just supporting his upper body takes all my focus, the adrenaline and painkillers making it possible.
“Ta’Kesh,” I demand, and his head tips up once more, eyes opening again. He grunts in pain, and then his expression eases. I drink in his features, so similar, and so different from the bodies scattered around.
His eyes are different colors.
I note the deep scar bisecting his left eyebrow and over his eye and watch as fear fills his gaze.
“Do not let them be responsible for my death,” he mutters in his language, desperation apparent in his voice, his arm gripping mine with the bracer and yanking it up toward his throat.
I narrowly avoid it connecting with his skin as I listen to what he said from the translator and shoulder check him backwards twisting my body and the blade the other way.
He makes a horrid sound as he hits the ground, splaying on his open wounds. I wince at causing it, only to gasp as my eyes find the jagged burns across his stomach, and the large chunk out of his side.
He looks at my face once more, and then his eyes lose focus, and he passes out.
I drop down, using the bracer to inject him with the serum he’d used before.
“You better pull through this, so I can kill you,” I mutter, pulling myself reluctantly to my feet. I glance at Ze’nu, nodding toward the door.
“Let’s go catch a rat kitty,” I say.
I’ve only cleared one more room when I feel the pressure begin to change again, and a sharp screech. For a second, I feel pulled toward the door, and wonder if the ship is breaking apart. Then, an alarm sounds once more, and the pressure dissipates.
I work my way through the ship, finding a storage bay with a red symbol flashing at the door. I angle my way to the next viewing window and can see a large hole torn through the side of the room, debris floating around outside.
“Guess that’s where they boarded. I hope the door holds,” I mutter, before clearing the rest of the ship.
By the time I make it back to the cargo, my vision is blurring, and I’ve trailed blood all over the damn place.
It takes precious time neither of us have to find one of those fucking towel sheet things, and I strain rolling Ta’Kesh’s prone form onto it.
Through a miracle I don’t quite understand, I get Ze’nu to pull a corner, and I tug the other, and we cart him slowly but surely to the med bay.
I only manage to get his upper half on to the med table, before I slip to the floor as my legs give out. I start to laugh, my head swimming as the pain starts to demand attention. I encourage Ze’nu, who hasn’t left his side, up on to the table.
“Medicate,” I say, listening to the translator’s response. I pull up enough to engage the holographic controls, spitting out the word. A voice asks me if it needs to engage healing stasis, and I confirm. I don’t know if I’m right. I don’t know if it will do anything.
The table grows warm under my cheek as I slump back down, and a soft golden glow lights up the table. I fall unconscious next to the half dead alien next to me, and when I wake later, it’s to Ze’nu nudging at my arm.
I gather my strength once more, using it to hoist Ta’Kesh fully on to the table. I can no longer assess his back, but his stomach wounds still look awful. Ze’nu crawls up on to the table next to him and falls almost immediately asleep over his legs.
I go about finding things to suture my wounds and wander off in a daze after I’ve closed the largest ones. I find food, eating just a little, and then wash myself before returning to the med bay.
When I fall asleep again, I swear I hear my name.