Alien, Mine

by Sandra Harris

  “I never knew it would be this hard, Shrenk’.”

  A branch cracked.

  She flinched, then spun toward the trees on the other side of the fence and backed away. Leaves rustled. Kendril swung her weapon to the sound.

  “Look yer ruddy, great, daft bugger,” a female Australian voice muttered, “you’re in no condition to go traipsing through the woods.”

  A moment’s silence seemed filled with the implication of action.

  “Don’t give me that. I know you can understand me, God knows how, but you can.”

  A low grumble, like someone mumbling under their breath reached her curious ears.

  “I have no intention of being left behind, you needn’t worry about that,” the female continued. “You stay here and I’ll go fetch the cavalry.”

  A grunt coincided with a heavy thump.

  “Keep still! For heaven’s sake, don’t make me sit on you again.”

  “Hello?” Sandrea called.

  The dark head of a woman thrust through a thicket.

  “Hello, yourself,” she said, then frowned. “Who are you?”

  T’Hargen lumbered into view beside the woman.

  “Sandrea?”

  She stared in astonishment, worried at the rough appearance of his clothes and skin, then pointed her index finger at him.

  “Friend of his.”

  “How the hell did you find me, woman?”

  “I didn’t know you were missing. Are you okay?”

  “No, he isn’t,” the unknown woman said.

  Sandrea ran her eyes over the abraded state of T’Hargen’s clothes, the rigid hold of his body that suggested he used all his strength to remain upright. “Are you going to be all macho, or shall we send a litter for you?”

  “I’ll walk.”

  “Send a litter,” the woman said.

  T’Hargen’s chin dropped to his chest and he shook his head.

  “Wretched woman saved my life and now she thinks she owns me.”

  “In some cultures on Earth, that would be the case,” Sandrea said, unable to resist.

  T’Hargen’s head snapped up and horrified rejection flashed through his eyes. Dovzshak emerged from the last hut and strode toward them.

  “Jesus!” the woman exclaimed. “Are they all this big? I’m Kat, by the way.”

  Her dark hair, and beautiful, flawless, coffee-coloured skin testified to an ancestral amalgam of Torres Straight Islander and European.

  “We’ve completed a sweep of the huts, Corporal,” Dovzshak reported. “There’s no one left.” His glance cut to T’Hargen and Kat. “On this side of the fence.”

  Dexter vaulted from Dovzshak’s chest and landed with a light pounce on Sandrea’s shoulder. He crooned in her ear, and she tickled him under the chin.

  “We’re all that’s out here,” Kat assured.

  “Dov’, go and give T’Hargen a hand, will you?” Sandrea asked.

  “Sure.”

  He pulled a palm-size tablet from within his armour, unwrapped one end with care, then ran it down the wire fence. The links parted like people before a caped figure on an ashen horse. Dovzshak ran a few more lines then peeled the wire back, stepped through, and hitched a shoulder under one of T’Hargen’s. They shuffled through the hole in the fence, Kat close behind.

  “Do you require aid?” Sandrea asked the other woman.

  Kat shook her head. Dark, matted strands of hair swirled around her face. “No, a decent meal, or two, and a hot bath will heal my problems.”

  “You’re lucky,” she muttered, following in the wake of the two men, “I could have done with the services of a psychologist when I got here.”

  Kat laughed. “I am a psychologist.”

  Her eyes widened. “Bet you’ve been busy.”

  A dark cloud of sorrow dimmed Kat’s features. “All too much. Between dredging up my basic medical skills and trying to keep people sane in an insane situation . . .” She sighed. “I lost a few. Some escaped into death, others into whatever alternative reality they could invent. I got away a couple of days ago, thought I could do more about freeing us from out here.”

  “Is T’Hargen alright?”

  “Apart from being a bull-headed, mean-tempered, arrogant SOB?”

  A mumbled, “I heard that,” drifted back to them, and a fond smile arched Kat’s lips.

  “He’s a real sweetie underneath. A kitten,” Sandrea said.

  “I heard that also,” came an offended growl.

  “So, yes,” she said to Kat, “apart from that?”

  Kat’s eyebrows lifted and fell in a speculative shrug. “If their physiology is similar to ours, yes, I think so. Who’s the big guy over by the fence? He stares at you as though you’re his— Never mind, none of my business.”

  Sandrea sent her gaze to Eugen. A warm flush of love and pride softened her mouth.

  That’s my man! “That is General Mhartak, T’Hargen’s brother, and I am his and he is mine.”

  “Oh.”

  The surprise and mild discrimination in the other woman’s tone came as an unexpected judgment. The strange hint of relief an anomaly.

  Don’t tell me she of all people judges a person by their skin?

  “You disapprove?” Sandrea raised a brow.

  Guilt flashed across Kat’s face. “No! I—” The other woman’s gaze settled on T’Hargen’s back.

  Ah. Go get him, tiger.

  “Sorry.” Kat lifted a hand in a gesture of bewildered apology.

  “Forget it. Being abducted and mistreated by aliens is bound to screw up a person’s emotional compass. I’ve dropped the etiquette ball a few times.”

  “I’ll say,” muttered T’Hargen.

  “Shut up, Cupcake.”

  Dovzshak hustled T’Hargen after the last of the detainees shuffling through the gates and Sandrea slowed to a halt next to Rod. The New Zealander ran a hard, blue gaze over Kat.

  “So you decided to come back,” he sneered.

  “I never abandoned any of you.”

  “No, you just took the opportunity to save your own neck.”

  “Lucky for T’Hargen, I’d say,” Sandrea injected.

  Rod speared her a look of angry resignation.

  “Is that everyone?” Sandrea asked.

  “Yes. Those of us still alive anyway.”

  “If you’ll excuse me,” Kat said, “I’ll go see if anyone needs me.”

  Rod opened his mouth, and Sandrea grabbed his arm. “Leave it.”

  His eyes arrowed to hers then his shoulders slumped. Weariness carved his features like a man forced to carry a heavy load for far too long.

  “It’s okay to let go now,” she said.

  His head bowed, tremors rippled across his face, while violent shudders tore through him.

  “They made me watch their abominable experiments,” he said.

  A harsh breath expelled from her lungs. Her jaw tightened.

  Surely a torment formulated in hell.

  Sandrea tightened her grip on his arm and stood a little closer. “It will be alright.”

  A long moment later he rasped in a deep breath and straightened. “Where will we be taken?”

  “Probably the Angrigan home world.”

  He stared at her then blinked. “I hear another shoe falling.”

  Boot more likely.

  She eyed his ravaged face. “Are you sure you want to hear it?”

  He shrugged. “At this stage I’m just grateful to be rescued.”

  “The Angrigans and their allies do not have the means to repatriate us.”

  “And the hits just keep on coming. So we’re stuck here?”

  “Ye
s.”

  His head bobbed a few times as he accepted this detail then his gaze drifted to Kendril and swept over the remaining soldiers.

  “They seem a pretty decent bunch.”

  “They are.”

  His focus turned to follow the slowly moving group of refugees.

  “Come on, Rod.” She tucked her hand under his elbow. “Let’s get the flock out of here.”

  He glanced down at her, a suggestion of humour tugged at the corners of his eyes then a chuckle burst forth.

  “Thank you.”

  She smiled in understanding and encouragement, then urged him into motion. A keen sense of stewardship rose in her for these beings with whom she shared so much. She mothered along beside them, offering an encouraging smile here, a comforting clasp there. The speculative glances aimed at the few human women by some of the Angrigan soldiers troubled her and she made a mental note to straighten that out as soon as possible.

  Who would have thought that one offhand comment, uttered on the far side of the Galaxy, about the mythical sexual appetites of human females would come back and bite her on the bum?

  Mhartak’s molars ground together with almost enough force to split atoms.

  It’s only comfort. She only offered a traumatized man comfort.

  He repeated the litany over and over. But that wasn’t all that bothered him. The comfortable, easy way Sandrea interacted with the human male shot a sliver of doubt straight through him. With a huge effort, he subjugated his possessive jealousy into grumbling, mumbling discontent in the back corners of his mind.

  But the seed of uncertainty had sprouted and refused to die.

  The group made slow, steady progress past long, pre-fab buildings. Compassionate anger compressed Sandrea’s lips when the refugees turned their heads from the structures, no doubt the site of many horrors. Rounding a corner, she recognized the hanger they’d escaped from—the gaping hole in the wall a dead giveaway. Heat reflected from the tarmac and washed over her sweat-filmed body. She halted at the base of a transport’s lowered aft ramp and stood to one side as Rod and Kendril boarded, then joined the medics in settling the group.

  “How’s everything going, Sandrea?”

  She looked up into Ragnon’s concerned face.

  “As you can imagine they’re pretty relieved to be escaping from here. At this point I doubt they’re even considering the future. I’m hopeful they’ll adjust. What have you been up to?”

  He grinned. “Causing havoc and despair amongst the enemy. Then the General ordered me back here to get this Bluthen transport operational.”

  Dovzshak jogged down the ramp and made a beeline around the craft to the other side. Kendril and the other medics secured the rescued with caring concern into seats. Sandrea couldn’t help but keep a directorial eye on the proceedings, but she did manage to keep from butting in.

  “The ships in orbit have confirmed this is the only compound,” Ragnon said.

  Profound relief flushed through her body.

  “Are they experiencing much opposition?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know, but I doubt we’re in any immediate danger otherwise the General would have us dusted off already. Come and have a look at this.”

  She followed in Ragnon’s wake to find Eugen and a number of soldiers gathered around a gleaming, black shuttle, bristling with what she assumed was armament. She rolled her eyes. A bunch of boys ogling a piece of hot machinery. That seemed to be pretty much a Universal constant. Drawn closer by Eugen’s presence, she ambled forward and ran her eyes over the craft; it practically leaked testosterone.

  “New toy?” she asked, halting by Eugen’s side.

  “One we’d certainly like to examine more closely,” he agreed.

  “But?”

  “We are experiencing a great amount of difficulty gaining access.”

  A sudden, deep, menacing vibration, like a huge sub-woofer about to overload, filled the air.

  Eugen raised a hand to his ear-comm and then roared, “Get that transport away!”

  She swung as she pinpointed the sound. A huge, black disc rose above the building roofs. The object fired an almost continuous stream of light toward their position. Soldiers scattered, shards of tarmac exploded to the hit of energy bolts. Eugen shoved her into the cover of the shuttle. Off balance, she braced for a forceful impact against its hull. Her stomach dropped as her back encountered no barrier and she fell.

  “Eugen!”

  He turned, saw her sprawled on the craft’s floor, grabbed Dovzshak, and shoved him in after her. Something soft and unseen brushed over her. She rolled to her knees and scrambled out of the way onto the edge of a pilot’s seat. Ragnon clambered in, Eugen hot on his tail. Something gripped her nape and suctioned to the top knob of her spine. Through the forward screen she saw a beam of energy cut towards them. A spurting trail of debris littered its wake.

  Her splayed hands gripped the console in front of her. Her hammering heart gripped her ribs.

  Shields. We need shields!

  Dexter scrambled onto her head, his tail swaying back and forth before her eyes.

  “That is not helpful, Dexter.”

  The craft bucked as the energy beam hit. Eugen dropped into the seat beside her.

  “Whatever you’re doing, Sandrea, don’t stop.”

  “Me? What’m I doing?”

  “Keeping us from being blasted into fundamental molecules. Please do not cease your actions.”

  “There’s something in here with us.” Dovzshak’s voice held a wealth of unease.

  Dammit! I didn’t have time for this.

  “Pretend it’s not there,” she flung back over her shoulder.

  “What?”

  “It’s even more scared than you are. Ignore it.”

  Eugen’s hand gripped her forearm gently.

  “Can you get us airborne?”

  She eyed him with concern. He seemed to jiggle all over the place from the beating the craft endured.

  “I don’t even know what I’m doing now,” she said.

  The slight pressure of his fingers sent reassurance straight to her heart.

  “Yes, you do. You must be thinking about something, doing something.”

  A smile tremored across her lips. “I’m thinking with desperate tenacity about shields and my hands are glued to the screen panel.”

  “Alright, so keep doing that. Now, follow my words, thrusters half.”

  The craft throbbed to its own beat.

  “Good, bearing, no belay that, think of taking a vertical flight path.”

  The ground lurched away. As their craft’s shuddering intensified, her instincts made a grab for stability.

  “That’s good, Sandrea, well done,” Eugen murmured. “They seem to be making a rather concerted attempt to keep this piece of equipment out of our hands.”

  “Or they’re trying very hard to kill us,” she grumbled.

  She aimed a suggestion at the craft. A bolt of light blazed across the intervening space and impacted on their enemy’s shields. The huge vessel pitched violently.

  “And perhaps that is why,” Eugen said. “Turn a half circle.”

  “Half circle, right.”

  Their craft rocked and shuddered under a continuous barrage of fire.

  “Can I fire on them again?”

  Eugen glanced at the console in front of him.

  “Our fighters are engaging—”

  “Please.”

  “No, Sandrea, the fighters will take care of it and if they don’t, any one of a number of destroyers who are making way towards us, will. Despite your excellent handling of the machine we are receiving multiple strikes and our shields are failing. We need to remove ourselves from their lin
e of fire.”

  Excellent handling, yeah right. If that’s the case, how come they keep hitting us?

  She concentrated on following his directions, pointed their nose skyward, and climbed like a homesick angel. Her link with the spacecraft strengthened and the line of where she ended and the shuttle began blurred into ambiguity.

  A warning caught her attention. “Uh-oh.”

  “What is wrong?” Eugen asked.

  “We’re being followed by a yellow bleep.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  She jerked her chin at a screen. “Yellow bleep, coming this way.”

  Eugen peered past her to the console panel on her left. “Uh-oh indeed.”

  “I’m guessing from the tone of your voice that on the ‘Big Cosmic Scale of Bad Things’ this is pretty high up?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “What is it?”

  “A cold nuclear missile, quite probably with a shaped charge.”

  “They sent a nuke after us? Bit of overkill, don’t you think?” The significance of his last words penetrated. “Shaped charge? You mean all the force of the explosion will be pointed at us?”

  “Correct. We need to attain our maximum speed.”

  “I hate to tell you this, General, but as soon as our nose pointed skyward, I put the metaphorical throttles to the firewall. The only way we’re going to go any faster is to catch the shock wave as it encounters us.”

  “You know how to do that?” He sounded incredulous.

  “Waves come in many different forms, my General. On Earth a lot of coastal people surf water waves. And if you’re a keen boatie, you’d better know how to surf your craft safely down a big swell.” She clamped her lips together. “Oh dear, I guess four missiles would be worse than one?”

  “That would be an accurate assumption, yes.”

  “Bugger.”

  A second later, the nukes exploded. A discreet alarm hardly expressed the severity of what approached.

  “Yeah, yeah, I know, I know,” she muttered at the warning.

  “Brace for impact!” Eugen ordered.

  The leading edge of the shockwave struck. The craft shuddered, the stern lifted. Then the main swell of energy slammed against the hull and hurled them forward. Positive Gs shoved Sandrea back into the cushioned seat. She focused on the feel of the craft. A minor imbalance manifested in the shuttle’s flight attitude. Alarm jarred along her nerves. The starboard side of the shuttle threatened to yaw into a terminal broach. If that happened, it would be game over. They’d be rolled, decelerate, and the full force of several nuclear explosions would pulverize them. She adjusted port thrusters to compensate.