Her Alien Commander

by Mira Maxwell

  “Learn more about what?”

  “Whatever you want.” I laugh as I say it. “You can take classes on anything you're interested in.”

  “I don’t understand much of that, but it sounds pretty special,” he says.

  “It's amazing and that's why I have to save it.” I make my way back to the lab.

  “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  I know his offer is genuine but I'm not ready to take him up on it yet. He looks like a bull in a china shop and I'm worried about all the delicate equipment in the lab.

  “I've got it under control,” I say. “Enjoy your book.”

  “I will,” he says. “And the view.”

  Four

  MINA

  Seven hours later and I've hardly made any progress. My mental state is a mix of fury and panic. I’m so disappointed in myself. I slam my notebook shut, kick the floorboard near the cabinet, and run my hand through my hair. I try to keep my cool but it's so damn hard. Everything depends on me and I'm feeling it. None of my experiments today have worked and I'm running out of new ideas to try. I’m so upset I can't think straight, but there's no way I’m stopping.

  “Perhaps we should call it a day?” Cardyk asks. “Maybe you need to take a break and come back refreshed tomorrow.”

  “That's not going to happen.” I give him a look that makes my displeasure clear. “I'm going to figure this out if it kills me, and I don't care how long I have to work at it.”

  He stands and stretches. He looks amused with me, again, and I’m not really in the mood. “Something tells me you're used to getting your way,” he says. “And maybe you’re used to things being easy for you? It's not as fun when you have to struggle at it like the rest of us mere mortals do.”

  “I have to struggle with plenty,” I say. “You have no idea.”

  He approaches me with an easygoing confidence. “Let's go struggle with our dinner right now,” he says. “Everything looks better after a hardy meal.” He puts his hand on the small of my back and tries to steer me towards the door. I'm not having it.

  “I don't have time to take a break. I need to keep working.” I plant my feet in place and jam my hands in my pockets. I feel like a brat as I say it, but it’s just how it has to be.

  “You didn't take a break for lunch either,” he says. “Have you had anything to eat today?”

  “No, I didn't. But thanks for mentioning it, Mom.”

  He crosses his arms over his chest and gives me his best grumpy look.

  “You can taunt me all you want, but I'm in charge of your safety. And something tells me I’m going to be spending a lot of time saving you from yourself.” His assessment is spot on, enough to annoy me. “Now you need to have something to eat so let's walk back to the outpost, grab some food, and chat with our friends. Then we’ll head back here and I'll sit here all night if you want to work.”

  “Or you could just bring some food back for me?” I lean back against the wall and try to look capable of being on my own for one measly hour.

  “While you sit here unattended?” He inches closer to me, invading my personal space bubble. I’m torn between mashing myself closer to the wall, to put extra space between us, or just throwing myself into his arms. Except he doesn’t look too impressed with me right now. “Do you think I’m a fool?”

  “Do you think I’m helpless?” I feel silly even asking the question and my resolve evaporates.

  He leans forward, resting his forearm on the wall above my head. “Are all human women this stubborn?”

  I’m afraid to look up and meet his gaze. I’m so distracted by his proximity, I know I’ll hardly be able to form a coherent sentence. “I don't mean to cause you trouble. Truly. But I just can't afford to take a break right now. So unless you plan on dragging me outta here over your shoulder like a caveman why don't you just go get something to eat and maybe bring me back something.”

  I gather my courage and look at him from beneath my lashes. It’s like someone lit a roman candle on the Fourth of July. It takes my breath away, just like fireworks always did. My pulse races as I struggle for something to say to convince him.

  “I can't leave you here unescorted. Mallyk would cast me out if he found out.” He shifts his weight onto his back foot and gives me some breathing room. Just like that, the spell is broken. “I just got back to the guard and I'm not looking to be ostracized for shirking my duty.” He motions to the tiny, spare kitchen. “Don't you have anything around here we could eat?”

  I offer a cautious smile. “I think we have some freeze-dried meals. They’re pretty horrible, but at least neither one of us would have to leave the lab.” I motion to the cabinet above the sink and he starts digging through the small plastic vacuum-wrapped packs. “They’re the same sort of meals our military uses,” I tell him. “They never spoil and you just add hot water and they're good to go.”

  He holds up two of them and struggles to read the small text. “Do you want macaroni and beef or beans and rice?”

  “Neither one is very good, unless you douse it with hot sauce,” I say.

  “Then you better point me toward the hot sauce,” he says.

  “In the little bin with the salt and pepper. Right above the hot water dispenser.” He rummages through the bin and returns victorious with the small bottle of hot sauce.

  “I'll take care of it,” I say as I join him in the kitchen. “Go have a seat at the table and we can have a quick dinner together.” He nods his head and wordlessly collapses into one of the tiny chairs. Everything in the lab looks kid-sized next to him. He’s so damn big, I figure he's going to need more than one meal to keep him satisfied. I grab an extra chicken and rice entree from storage underneath the counter and add hot water to all three meals. I set them on the table in front of him and check my watch to see how long we have to wait.

  “It just takes a few minutes until they’re ready to eat,” I explain.

  “That's pretty handy,” he says. “You want to eat here and you have to kill something first.”

  “Not too big on salads, huh?”

  “We do not eat many plants,” he concedes, “it takes a lot of calories to keep us going.”

  “I can only imagine. I wish I had the same problem.”

  We sit in silence for a moment and it's a little bit awkward; I feel like I have to stall until the meals are done.

  “Did you like the book? Or didn't you really get into it?”

  He slaps the tabletop with his hand like he just remembered something important he forgot to tell me. “The book was fantastic,” he says. “I was going to ask you if you have more like it?”

  “I have plenty more. I'll go through them and try to pick out some more that would appeal to you.”

  “Appeal to me? I’ll read anything.”

  “Be careful what you say. I had to bring some chick lit you know?”

  “I don't know.” He looks utterly confused.

  “A little Jane Austin, some contemporary romance. Stories about women's issues: friendship, sisterhood, you know? I'm guessing you have different sorts of books on your planet.”

  He still looks baffled at my explanation of chick lit. “We don't have a lot of written words on my planet. At least, not for common people. I didn't even learn to read until I joined the guard.”

  I try to keep the surprise from my face. I can't imagine what my life would've been like if I hadn't learned to read until I was in my 20s.

  “That must've been really exciting, when you finally learned.”

  “It was, I guess.” He looks suddenly shy, and I wonder if my shock has embarrassed him. I hope not. “I felt like a whole new world was being opened for me. But the books I had access to were nothing like the ones you brought with you. The ones given to guard members all deal with training, strategy, and history. Pretty much anything grounded in the real world that could be of use to us. Nothing involving fantasy or imagination.”

  “I'll go through my collection and try
to find some other ones you'd enjoy.”

  “I'd appreciate it very much.” He moves his arm closer to mine on the tabletop. “I suppose you've spent years reading with how smart you are.”

  “I’ve always enjoyed reading,” I admit. I try to think of a way to explain what I want to say without sounding snooty or without putting him down for his lack of schooling. “On my planet, in my country, all children have access to public schools. You don't have to pay money to attend and the teachers make sure everyone learns to read, to write, and to learn about science and mathematics. They start with the easy stuff for little kids and then you keep going as long as you want.”

  “Even for soldiers?”

  “Yes – for anyone.”

  “And how long were you in school for?”

  “Many, many years. My parents demanded it.” There's no way I can explain my schooling to him in more detail without sounding like a total asshole. You don't tell the guy who just confided in you that he was in his 20s when he learned how to read that you were fluent in three languages by the time you were five, skipped several grades in elementary school, and started college when you are still in your early teens.

  “Did you enjoy school?” he asks.

  “That's a complicated question. I liked the learning part of it. But I never really fit in with my classmates.”

  “Were they cruel to you, Mina?” At first I think he’s mocking me with his question. But his tone is gentle, not cruel. I wonder how he saw the truth so easily.

  “Not on purpose, as far as I can tell.” I check my watch, wishing it was time to eat. But there are still two minutes on the timer. “I just didn't fit in and there wasn't any point in anyone trying to shoehorn me into place. I didn't have a lot of friends and the ones I did have were mostly my teachers. So reading was, and still is, my favorite thing. It was my way of getting lost. Of entering into new worlds and forming those friendships and strong bonds that I wished I could have had in the real world.”

  “You seem close with your crew mates,” he says. “They seem to be fond of you.”

  “Yeah, well, being stuck in a tin can flying across the galaxy for a few months will do that to you.” My joke falls flat. “Seriously, they’ve all been great to me. I'm a lot younger than they are but they never treat me like I'm the kid sister. They respect me and the work I do and they always invite me to join in on their fun.”

  “But I bet it's hard for you to just let go and join in their fun. I know it was for me when I first joined up.”

  Whoa. Mr. Muscles isn’t going to stop surprising me, I guess. He’s way more intuitive than I imagined and he's reading me like an open book. Something inside me stirs at the thought of someone knowing me like he does.

  “I can see how you’d understand; it seems like your relationships with the guard members are really important to you,” I say, steering the conversation back to him.

  “They’re my family; the cornerstone of my entire existence,” he says. I slide his entrées across the table to him. It's time to eat but I also want to hear what he has to say. “It's ready if you're hungry,” I say. “Should we resume this conversation in 10 minutes?”

  He nods his assent and takes the small plastic spork in his giant meaty hand. It looks ridiculous, but I appreciate that he’s using the silverware. He leans over and tucks into his food with impressive gusto. I've always been a slow eater and, truth be told, I'm too nervous about the progress of my research to eat much of anything. I mostly pick at my food and rearrange it on the plate while he throws down the second meal.

  “Is your food not satisfactory?” He’s already finished his.

  “It's definitely not satisfactory, but I can usually choke it down anyway.” I smile at him. “I guess I'm just not that hungry right now. Too many other things on my mind.” I push the plate across the table to him and he quickly devours my leftovers.

  “Was it hard for you to leave your family behind when you joined the guard?” I’ve been curious about this since I learned the warriors have limited contact with their birth families after taking the oath of the guard.

  He pauses, his fork hovering in the air, and I worry that I've touched on an un-welcomed subject.

  “I don't mean to be nosy. You don't have to answer.”

  “You’re just being curious,” he says. “Our family was very…divided.”

  I don’t understand what he means. I wait for an explanation.

  “I come from a very wealthy family from within the city. My older brothers all found their mates.” He struggles for the right words, and I can tell it’s hard for him. “There's a policy in the city that every family of wealth like mine must pledge a child to the guard. To keep the burden from always falling on the poorer families.”

  “That’s horrible,” I say.

  “It makes sense. I don't disagree. It's a way of keeping the peace. Of making sure that the masses never become too disgruntled with those who rule the city.”

  “And your family decided that you would be the tribute.” It’s easy to fill in the blanks.

  “Yes,” he says simply. I can tell that talking about this is distressing or upsetting to him but he continues on, determined to have it all out. “They made the decision when I was a very young boy. They thought it would be easier that way. If they could separate me from the rest of the family and keep a distance between us, they thought that we'd never get overly attached to each other. And that would make things easier when the time came.”

  “For your whole childhood?”

  “Yes. All of it that I remember. They decided when I was the youngest and they thought they couldn't have any more children. Then my mother ended up having a surprise late in life. I had a sliver of hope, but the decision was made that I would remain tribute. While my brothers went to school to learn how to read and acquire all the other skills they would need to succeed in society, I was trained in the art of war. It’s logical.”

  “It's not logical when it's your own child,” I say. I feel myself getting emotional. I can tell this upsets him. Maybe he’s a little embarrassed or ashamed of his situation and my strong response isn’t helping, so I reel things in and change the subject. I reach across the table, grab his empty plastic trays and pile them up. “I'll throw these in the trash and then I better get back to work,” I say. It’s an awkward transition, but I’m at a loss for anything with more finesse.

  “Back to work? Don't you think it's time to call it a night? You need sleep to keep functioning at peak performance. I know you're smart enough to know that. Depriving yourself is only going to lead to diminishing returns.”

  I know that in my brain. But my heart is telling me I have to keep going. I can't let everyone down and we don't have much time to waste. I turn my back on him and walk back to the research side of the lab. I dip my head to look through the microscope, checking on the status of my experimental set up. “You don't have to stay,” I say. “It’s fine if you want to go back inside the walls at nighttime.”

  “Sure, that's a wonderful plan,” he says. “Leave the tiny human woman out here unattended after dark. I may as well just exile myself from the guard right now.”

  “I'd hate for your position in the guard to be at risk because of me.” It’s true. I know I’m putting him in a bad position.

  “And I'd hate it if anything happened to you because I wasn't paying attention,” he says. “And not just because it's my job.” We lock eyes across the room and share a meaningful look. I'm the one who breaks away first.

  “I'll just sleep right here, if you don't mind,” he says as he lies back on the sofa. It doesn't look comfortable; when he stretches out his feet extend well beyond the slim armrest.

  “It pulls out into a sleeper if you want,” I say.

  “Are you hitting on me, Doctor?” He teases. “I'm fine how I am. Once you're used to sleeping on open snow in the middle of a blizzard, a nice soft sofa in a climate-controlled environment seems pretty nice. Even if it is a little shor
t.

  I turn sideways to slide past him to the cabinet behind the sofa. I pull out a scratchy blanket and a lumpy pillow. I've spent many nights in the lab myself practicing for this very moment. “At least take these,” I say as I hand him the blanket. When he leans forward, I tuck the pillow behind his head. I'm struck with a sudden urge to mother him and I wonder if it’s because I've recently learned how sad his childhood was. Then again mine wasn't exactly a dream either.

  “I might rest my eyes for a second,” he says, “but, rest assured, I'll wake at a moment’s notice if there's a threat nearby. Vigilance is in my blood.”

  Five

  MINA

  It’s long after midnight when I finally take a break. I rub my eyes, desperate to clear the haze from them. I don't want to admit it, but he was right. The time I've spent working tonight has been a total waste. I'm getting foolish and clumsy. I don't know if it's from the lack of sleep or the lack of food. Maybe they're working together. Either way, I know I should throw in the towel and turn in for the night.

  I have a sleeping bag stashed here for when it gets really cold. I dig through the cupboards, trying to remember where I stashed it. Things always look better in the morning, I remind myself. God knows I've had some of my best ideas when I'm not even thinking about the problem. I'll probably have a huge breakthrough when I'm washing my hair in the morning or when I'm absentmindedly chewing dry toast bite after bite after bite. But there's not much I can do tonight.

  I still can't help being frustrated with myself. I thought I was so prepared for this but I wasn't. Not even close. I keep thinking of things I might have missed. Issues I should've researched ahead of time either back on earth or while we were on the ship. People I should've consulted with. Pieces of lab equipment I should've brought along. I pinch the bridge of my nose between my fingertips trying to ward off the booming migraine I can feel coming on – another “benefit” of the lack of sleep and food. I’m probably dehydrated, too. What a mess. At least there's medication for this problem.