“How do they look?” she asked as I swabbed them with the oil and set about rebandaging them.
“I’ll want my mother to look at them before we leave. But they certainly don’t look any worse.”
With my task finished, I allowed myself to catch her eye. She was examining me closely in an open and unabashed way that made me feel totally exposed.
“So…” she muttered, reaching up to tuck an errant curl behind her ear. “Your family home is very beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
“Your parents seem nice.”
“They are.”
“It’s too bad that, um… I couldn’t…” She trailed off, and I watched her closely, smiling a crooked smile right along with her.
“What?”
“This is just all so absurd. This entire situation.”
“What do you mean?”
“My entire world has been utterly obliterated,” she said, her smile seeping away. “My fiancé has been killed. My friends, employees, colleagues… gone. And I’m the only human in an alien village.”
“Not the only one, probably,” I muttered.
“And all I can think about…”
“What…?” I urged her on. “What are you thinking about?”
But instead of answering me, she shifted and sat up, grabbed me by the front of my shirt and tugged me toward her. It felt as natural as two magnets coming together when our lips met, an echo of the previous night’s expression of desire.
I scooped her up into my lap, careful not to disturb her new bandages, and held the back of her head gently in my hand. She shifted where she sat and tugged at the fabric of my shirt atop the base of my shoulders; I assisted her in tugging it off over my head and relieved her of her own shirt so that she pressed her full breasts against the plane of my chest.
I broke from her mouth and trailed kisses down along the line of her neck, settled into the cup of her clavicle, then moved down, down. I took one of her nipples between my lips and suckled gently, and she arched her back to make room for me. And she made room for my fingers as they moved between her thighs, pressed against the thin white cotton of her undergarments. I hooked the cloth to one side and found her sleek, wet center. She moaned, and I grew hard at the sound.
But the spell we’d cast together was broken when I heard a knocking at the chamber door. “Danovan?” It was my father. We broke apart and she covered herself with the blankets even as I rose to standing and threw the door open.
“Yes?”
My father’s brow was furrowed in his concern, and I could see the lines around his mouth deepen as he frowned. His skin was the same color as mine, but the sun and age had spotted it with small dots of brass and copper. He looked old in that moment, older than I had ever seen him before. “You will want to come downstairs to see this,” he said, “and bring your lady.”
He had spoken in Galatean, but I looked back at Araceli, and her own expression mirrored that of my father’s. She had some notion that whatever it was he was saying couldn’t be good.
After Ara had wrapped herself up in the robe my mother had given her, we descended the stairs arm in arm, her leaning all her weight on me so as to take the pressure off her injured leg. We joined my parents in my father’s study, where they had the newsfeed running, something my mother always hated, but this time it held her rapt attention.
Ara saw him before I did, and it was her gasp that drew my attention to the glowing screen above my father’s desk. There, in vivid color, was Christian Ward, alive, injured, and speaking at a podium with the GenOriens logo lit up behind him.
“…unfortunate turn of events,” Christian was saying into the microphone. He had lacerations over his right eye, deep and red, and the eye itself was swollen and purple. I could see that his right arm was in a sling as well, and wondered at the extent of his injuries, and how he had made it off of the Leviathan. “We will be releasing information as we receive it, but presently, we are simply trying to learn all that we can about the attack on the Leviathan and who is responsible for it. The Earth is sending a contingent of military vessels to orbit around the planet in order to help protect GenOriens technologies, but for the time being, we are enlisting the assistance of our Galatean brothers and sisters. We will be setting up a temporary care station for the survivors of the crash, the coordinates of which will be posted to your newsfeeds.”
As the coordinates came up on the screen, I looked over at Ara, whose jaw hung slack as though she had seen a ghost.
“We thank you for your continued patience as we update the survivor logs. We are scanning through our automatic roll call system, but we’ve found that many systems did not function properly during the evacuation, which sadly caused even more lives to be lost.”
“I need to sit down,” Ara muttered, and I helped her into a chair. She slumped down low, never dragging her eyes away from the screen.
“There’s just one more thing—” Christian Ward turned to speak to someone off camera, muttering urgently, arguing over whether or not he should say the next thing he wanted to say. But this was Christian Ward, and his jaw set in a resolute line when he turned back to the camera. “On a personal note, my fiancée, Dr. Araceli Cross, is missing. She hasn’t been logged into any formal roll call system, nor has she registered at the care center. Nor has”—he cleared his throat—“nor has her body been found. If you have any information about her, please—” He was cut off, then, by the same person with whom he had been arguing off camera, and all we could make out were a few garbled words before Christian turned back to the camera.
“Of course we’re concerned about all survivors,” he said, without the same fervor he’d used before. “And if you have any information about any of the survivors, please do contact us. The information on how to get ahold of us is in your feed.”
As Christian stepped out of view of the camera, I turned to look at Ara. It dawned on me, then, that they had dubbed over his voice in Galatean, and she had heard only her name. Everything else, save for a smattering of Galatean words that she understood, had been lost to her.
“What did he say?” she asked tentatively.
“Only that they were trying to collect survivors at a care center near the crash site,” I said. “And… that he is looking for you.”
She gave a slow nod of her head, hugging herself tightly about the waist, a palpable weight descending over the lot of us. We could all feel it, and my mother and father shifted uncomfortably underneath the heavy air.
Eventually, my father broke the silence. “You stay,” he said in his broken English as he gestured between Ara and myself. “You stay for the dinner tonight. You stay to celebrate sister.”
I blinked, furrowing my brow, and looked between my mother and father, wondering how they could possibly think of celebrating at a time like this. My mother chimed in in Galatean. “We have not had the chance to tell you yet,” she said to Araceli, moving forward to take her by the hands. “Dinervah has found a mate.” I translated for Ara.
I smiled a little, and found that the fact of this was like a beam of sunlight breaking through the clouds. Perhaps it would be good for us both, Ara and me, to enjoy ourselves, even if only for a night. “Ah, my sister is engaged,” I explained to Ara, although a human engagement was not the same as a Galatean one. “Tonight is their, er… wedding?”
It was a commitment ceremony. Our government did not encroach upon a union with legalities and paperwork. This fact had its advantages and its disadvantages, but our society had yet to crumble as a result. I broke away from my mother’s grasp and turned to face Ara, who was curled uncomfortably where she sat. “We can go,” I said quickly.
“No, no,” she asserted with a wave of her hand. “No. Your sister’s wedding—we have to stay for that.”
“Are you certain?”
“Of course.” She forced herself up to standing, and proffered a small smile as she locked her eyes on my mother,
my father, then back on me. “I would be honored to accompany your family to the celebration. The whole point of my work is… life, Danovan. Life and propagation and family. My work—the work we were doing on the Leviathan and at the GenOriens base—means nothing without days like this one.”
I smiled faintly and turned to my family, informing them in a string of enthusiastic Galatean that we would stay for the celebration, that we would care for Ara’s burns throughout the day and make our way to the care center near the crash site come morning.
“Marvelous!” my mother exclaimed in Galatean. She took Ara’s face in her hands, gently smoothing her unruly curls away from her forehead, and peering down into her eyes. Blue to blue, my mother smiled at Ara, murmuring something to her and pressing a kiss to her cheek. “It will be you and my Danovan one day,” she said in Galatean, “I can tell.”
“Mother,” I protested weakly.
“What did she say?” Ara asked, and I cleared my throat and scratched absently at the back of my neck.
“That she will find a dress for you to wear and that I should draw you a bath.”
My mother took her by the hand and she stood up, and I watched as she ushered Ara out of the study and deeper into the house. My father’s expression remained a somber one as he sipped from the ever-present cup of tea he cradled in his hands.
“You love the girl,” he said in low tones. I shook my head. “But you will bring her to that man on the newsfeed.”
“Of course I will,” I said plainly. “All I wanted from the very beginning was to help her. Help her find answers, help her find her people. And now it’ll be much easier to do that. We’ll find out who perpetrated this crime, we’ll get her back to work. She’ll probably want to return to Earth to continue her work there. And I can help her do that.”
“What is this work of which you speak?” he asked.
“She’s a scientist. A geneticist, actually, studying human and Galatean genomes to see what a hybrid species might look like. They had just begun their human trials when the Leviathan was attacked.”
“So, she is in the business of creating a new species,” he remarked, his tone pensive and subdued.
“I suppose so, yes.”
“Then it is a difficult path she is on, and you along with her.”
“What do you mean?”
He set his mug of tea aside and moved around the desk to sit behind it, folding his hands neatly in his lap. “There will be those who oppose the idea of creating a new species of human-Galatean hybrids. On both sides of the equation.”
“Are you saying you think the Leviathan and the GenOriens base were attacked because there are people who don’t like the idea of a hybrid species?” I perched myself on the edge of his desk and peered down into his eyes, dark and intense, like mine.
“That is precisely what I’m saying. So take care as to who you share your ideals with, son. There are plenty of Galateans who oppose the mere thought of one of us mating with one of them, let alone propagating an entirely new species.”
I don’t know why it hadn’t dawned on me in precisely those terms. Leave it to my father to understand the depths of what I was going through more accurately than even I did. I nodded slowly, feeling a dull ache in my gut that was either hunger or despair, but likely some combination of both.
No matter—the reality of the situation didn’t change anything. Dr. Cross would be my guest to my sister’s commitment ceremony that night, and the following morning we would set out in search of the man who would make her his wife.
Chapter 12:
Dr. Araceli Cross
A wave of relief swept over me when I saw Christian’s face on the newsfeed in Olander’s office. He was alive. Injured, but alive. What if Cat was with him, and the rest of my staff? What if the disaster hadn’t annihilated my personal and professional life as completely as I thought it had?
But there was something that had happened, when I had thought Christian was dead: my heart had let go of the last remaining vestiges of my affections for him. I felt relief that this man for whom I cared was alive, but felt nothing about my impending return to him. I knew that our reunion would be made sour by the revelation that I was not going to marry him. I looked down at the glittering diamond that I was, absurdly, still wearing, and thought that I might be classy about it. Maybe when I saw him, I could slip it into his hand, kiss him on the cheek and say, “I’m so glad that you’re all right.” And maybe I wouldn’t have to say anything else. Maybe he would just let me go.
I couldn’t understand the words, as they had muted Christian’s voice in favor of Galatean translation. But I could see his expression, earnest and urgent, and I could understand when he said my name that he was searching for me. I looked from Danovan, to Olander, to Jaelle, these beautiful faces of people who had cared for me, and I found myself not wanting to leave; not wanting to be found. What if I just stayed in Hiropass? What if I stayed with Danovan? What if we built a life for ourselves here, amongst his people? What if I just pretended to die in the Leviathan crash?
No. That was a coward’s way. I had never been one to bury my head in the sand and ignore my obligations and responsibilities. I would not give up on my life’s work; I would not shy away from breaking my engagement to Christian.
When had I stopped loving him, I wondered? I looked over at Danovan, and he caught my eye, and I lost myself in those two swirling nebulae. I wasn’t entirely sure when I had stopped loving Christian, but I knew it had something to do with those eyes.
Upon learning of Dinervah’s impending nuptials—if that’s even the right word—I was grateful for an excuse to stay, even if just for another night. I could let my leg heal, and disappear into the fantasy of staying in this community for the rest of my days, if only for one night.
After Danovan informed me that Jaelle was going to find me something to wear, I forced myself to stand and allowed her to take my hand and lead me to the staircase. I limped slowly along, not wanting to put my full body weight on her, but she seemed able to handle it just fine. She was strong and sturdy, and I was dwarfed by everyone and everything in that house. It was a delight to be so well taken care of.
We ascended the staircase slowly, and she led me into the room she shared with Olander. It was a stunning master suite. It had no furniture, per se: the furniture was carved into the wood that the room was made of, as though they had taken up residence inside a living tree. Their bed was the size of a California king, a nest of pillows and blankets in jeweled tones that existed in a state of controlled disarray. It looked warm and inviting. The dresser was bulbous and round, like Gaudi architecture, and there were tiny colored-mirror mosaics on the far wall. Crystals dangled overhead, reflecting the light that came in through three large windows to the left.
Jaelle was speaking to me, but I couldn’t understand what she was saying. So I simply bobbed my head as she led me through the room to a wardrobe, the contents of which were hidden behind an intricately detailed blue silk curtain. She pushed it aside to reveal dresses on hooks at the back, tugging a few down to toss on the bed. I watched her lithe limbs go to work, slinging bolts of fabric onto the cushions, and admired her grace. I wondered how old she was. I could see lines around her lips and eyes, but her skin was a flawless alabaster that was difficult to judge. Olander, on the other hand, had spent considerably more time in the sun, and his silver skin had splotched with age. But it looked distinguished and exotic on the older man.
Jaelle gestured to the clothes on the mound of pillows, and I walked over to them, fingering them each tentatively. The fabrics were luxurious and detailed, in various reds and blues and greens and yellows. I even admired the simple tunic and drawstring pants that Jaelle was wearing that morning: forest green on the top and yellow on the bottom. She was saying something to me, gesturing to the clothes, and I picked one up, a deep emerald green, and examined it more carefully. It was of a length that would hit Jaelle midcalf but would likely sw
eep the floor on me. There was something almost medieval about the cut: an empire waist, and a neckline that exposed the tops of the shoulders, coming to an end in belled sleeves and a hem that boasted intricate floral stitching.
“It’s beautiful,” I said, and Jaelle came over to snatch the garment from me and hold it up. She inclined her head slightly, chewing at her lower lip as she examined the dress, and me. Eventually, she shrugged, the universal gesture for it’ll have to do, and folded the gown. She pressed it into my hands, and lifted a delicate finger to tuck a stray lock of hair behind my ears, all the while murmuring sweet musical words to me that I could not begin to understand.
Finally, she tugged me forward and hooked my hand into the crook of her arm, and we wended our way around the corner and down the hall, to the bathroom—or “wet room” as Danovan had called it. She sat me down on a stool and took the gown from my hands, taking care to hang it on a hook on the back of the door. Then she went to the tub, which was set stone with stone steps leading up to it, and turned two brass knobs until the basin began to fill with steaming hot water.
As it filled she shuffled around the room, fetching pots of herbs and vials of oils from this cabinet or that. There was nothing left out on the countertops—Jaelle kept a very clean and clutter-free home. And I couldn’t help but smile as I watched her fuss over me. I took her behavior to mean that she liked me, and the feeling was mutual.
She dripped droplets of sweet-scented oil into the running water and dusted it with crushed flowers, filling the small stone room with a bouquet of fragrance. Even though we were on the second floor of their home, the wet room had the feeling of someplace subterranean, with small windows set very high on the walls. It was just us women in the space, and she lined up ceramic jugs with cork stoppers along the stone stairs by the tub.
Alien Survivor: (Stranded on Galatea) An Alien SciFi Romance Page 11
