Psy: Alien Castaways (Intergalactic Dating Agency)

by Cara Bristol

  Dark…dark…Mommy…

  Her fear shot through his brain. Mommy? Dark? The interior of the pod was as light as the rest of the room.

  The machine hummed as the scanning beam began to sweep over them.

  DARK! MOMMIEEEE! Letting go of his hand, she thrashed violently.

  Breathe, Cassie, breathe. You’re in control. It’s okay. I’m here.

  Out! Out! Help! MOMMIEEEE! “Ghurr… Ghurr…” She hammered at the lid, hitting with her fists and kicking with her feet.

  Cassie, breathe. Breathe. It’s okay. You’re safe. He tried to grab her hand to squeeze it, but she flailed.

  He’d started to signal Shadow to halt the scan when her breathing and movements slowed. I am in control. I breathe in, and calm pervades. She grabbed his hand and nearly crushed his fingers in her grip. I am in control, and I am calm.

  That’s right. Breathe. You’re doing fine. Just a little longer.

  She squeezed her eyes shut as the bright beam shone in their faces. Moments later, the robotic arm swiveled out and delivered an injection into her arm.

  She grunted. Ow!

  It’s almost over. Just a few minutes of quarantine. Keep breathing.

  The machine hummed again as it verified the treatment had worked. He could feel it had. Muscle stiffness, headache, fatigue—all were easing.

  Minutes later the hatch rolled back. She scrambled out, and he followed.

  Shadow squinted at the screen. “The mumps are gone. It worked.”

  “What about her voice?” Psy asked.

  “Um…you’d better see for yourself.”

  Psy moved to the readout, and Cassie scooted close. What is it? What are all those symbols?

  “It’s your full health status in the ’Topian language.” He shook his head, struggling to comprehend the unexpected results.

  Her shoulders slumped dejectedly. I knew it! It didn’t fix me, did it? I’ll never be able to speak, will I?

  How was he going to explain this to her? He hardly believed it himself, but the proof the med pod was compatible with human anatomy and physiology glowed on the screen—and stood beside him. The report said the contagion had been eliminated, and, through the mind link, he could feel she had recovered. The pod had healed her; therefore, everything else it reported was true as well.

  Psy turned to face her. “You definitely had caught the mumps. According to the scan, you had no antibodies to the disease—so you were never vaccinated. However, the med unit treated you, and you now have full immunity. With respect to your vocal cords…there wasn’t any repair needed. Your vocal cords are normal and always have been. There is no physical reason you can’t speak.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Cassie gaped in disbelief. Multiple doctors examined me. I have a congenital birth defect.

  Psy’s brows pulled together in a grim line. No, you don’t.

  The gibberish of symbols on the screen meant nothing to her. Not a single character resembled any letter of any alphabet she’d ever seen. Who can say what that says?

  The ’Topian language is as clear to me as English is to you. The medical report is conclusive.

  You said yourself the machine might not work on a human. The irony struck her—she argued against good news. But it couldn’t be true. If she were capable of speaking—she’d be talking!

  The fact the med pod cured you proves it works.

  She fingered her throat, no longer swollen and painful. Aches and pains had disappeared, too. She’d never felt healthier or more physically fit—but just because an alien medical machine had eradicated a viral infection didn’t mean it was right about her vocal cords.

  Shadow cleared his throat. “Uh…I can tell from your expressions you have a conversation going on. If you don’t need me anymore, I’ll get working on finding the terms of the guardianship.”

  “Thank you,” Psy said as Cassie nodded.

  “I’ll need some basic information—your legal name, your mother’s name, the Earth province where the guardianship would have been awarded, your birthdate, and any other identifying factors.”

  She pantomimed scribbling across her palm, wishing she hadn’t forgotten her notebook. She’d been so sick, she hadn’t been thinking straight.

  “She needs paper and a pen,” Psy said.

  “I’ll see what I can find.” He left.

  She could hardly comprehend the stunning news. Could it be true? Doctors did make mistakes—one had misdiagnosed her as developmentally disabled. But, multiple physicians had agreed her vocal cords had failed to develop. They couldn’t all be wrong. Swinging her arms, she paced the floor. If the machine is right, why can’t I speak?

  Could it be you never learned how?

  How could I not learn how? All babies learn to speak. It’s automatic, natural.

  Shadow returned with a long white strip. “I couldn’t find any paper, except for a grocery receipt. Can you use it?” He handed her a felt pen.

  She turned it over and jotted the information on the blank side.

  “Only your mother has legal guardianship? Not your father?” He eyed what she’d written.

  She shook her head and instructed Psy, Tell him I never met my father. My mother was single when she got pregnant by a married man. He gave her money to go away.

  That’s terrible!

  She shrugged. I didn’t miss someone I never knew. In one vision, she’d caught a glimpse of a smiling green-eyed man with a five o’clock shadow. Could he have been her father? By then, she had been hiding her episodes, and Rosalie had been disinclined to discuss her painful indiscretion, so Cassie hadn’t asked about him.

  Psy relayed her father was unknown.

  “No problem. What you’ve given me is a good start. I’m sure I’ll have the information for you before too long.”

  Shadow went off to begin his research, and she resumed pacing, still trying to make sense of it all. She couldn’t refute that the machine had cured her mumps. But if her throat was normal, why hadn’t she learned to talk?

  Do you ever attempt to speak? Psy asked.

  Not anymore. I can produce sounds, but if I try to form words, my throat closes up, and I can’t breathe. It’s always been this way. I only talk in my dreams. I’m a regular chatterbox. She shrugged. I also fly. And once I dreamed I played the piano, but when I woke up, I still had no musical ability. She forced a laugh.

  In a low voice, he said aloud, “Why don’t you try saying something now?”

  With her voice having gone unused for more than two decades, she would probably require speech therapy. In high school she’d studied how the lungs forced air into the larynx and over the vocal cords. The throat, mouth, lips, and tongue shaped the sound into speech. Her muscles had no practice doing that. The biggest hurdle, the one she feared the most, was her throat closing up when she attempted to speak.

  She took a deep breath and released it, silently repeating the mantra, I’m in control. Calm pervades.

  Psy offered soothing encouragement, never pushing but always supporting. He’d given her a tool to combat claustrophobia, had gotten into the med pod with her, and hadn’t trivialized or mocked her fears. Knowing him, she believed if she never learned to speak, it would be all right with him, but he would do everything he could to help her achieve what she wanted.

  How had she gotten so lucky to meet him? His love was the greatest gift of all, but could it be possible he’d also given her the gift of speech?

  She knew exactly what she wanted her first words to be. Calling forth a dream in which she’d spoken and then focusing on the words, she opened her mouth.

  She dropped her jaw, pulled her tongue back, widened her lips, and forced air from her lungs. “Ayyy…” An invisible band began to squeeze her neck. She pressed her tongue to her upper palate behind her teeth. “Lll..lll…uv…” She choked, the band cutting into her throat.

  This was the point at which she’d always stopped. Not this time. If she never said another sentence, s
he would say this one. The band tightened, cutting off her air. Her vision turned spotty and gray. She pursed her lips. “Oooh.”

  Gray went black, and she collapsed.

  * * * *

  “Cassie!” Psy caught her before she crumpled to the floor and carried her to the living room sofa. “Wake up!” he said loudly while probing her mind, searching through the fog for a connection. “Cassie!”

  What the herian had happened?

  I love you. After speaking those words, she’d keeled over—and he’d had no warning of her faint. Linked to her mind, he’d sensed her struggle to voice the emotion. When she’d gotten to the L, he’d understood what she was trying to say. But other than picking up on the difficulty involved with forming words, he’d sensed no distress. So, what had happened?

  He patted her face and rubbed her hands. “Wake up. Cassie, wake up.”

  Her eyes fluttered open, and she gagged.

  He rolled her onto her side in case she vomited. Easy breaths, easy breaths. You’re okay.

  Her chest heaved as she dragged in huge gasps of air. Psy?

  I’m here. He sat on the sofa and pulled her onto his lap. What happened?

  The same thing that always happens when I try to speak. I start to suffocate. Her lips curved into a shy smile. But I said it anyway.

  He brushed her hair from her face. “Yes, you did. I love you, too,” he said aloud. If he’d had any inkling this would happen, he never would have urged her to speak. The med pod hadn’t reported any respiratory issues. Nor had he sensed anything amiss. Everything had seemed normal.

  Her mouth drooped. I don’t know why you love me. I’m such a basket case.

  I love you because you are the part of me that has been missing. We’ll get to the bottom of this situation. Tell me exactly what happens when you try to speak.

  She touched her neck. My throat gets squeezed like somebody is choking me. The harder I try to push the words out, the more it tightens.

  He nodded. That might explain why you didn’t learn to speak. Perhaps when you were a child trying to talk, your throat closed up, so you stopped. One tended to avoid that which caused pain.

  I’m back to square one. Her shoulders slumped. What good does it do to have normal vocal cords if I can’t breathe? If I still can’t speak?

  He laced his fingers through her slender ones. Your lungs are healthy. There is nothing wrong with your respiration—the pod would have identified and fixed any problems. My hunch is the tightening around your throat is a learned, emotional response like claustrophobia.

  I’m a mess.

  No, you’re not. You’re brave and beautiful. But I can help you with the breathing problem.

  How?

  Like I did with the claustrophobia, I can implant the idea that you have control. The other day you couldn’t even face the idea of getting into the med pod, and today you went through a scan.

  But you were with me, and I still panicked when the lid closed.

  And when you panicked, you got control, calmed yourself, and completed the exam.

  Her eyes widened. I did, didn’t I? You really think more suggestions will help me?

  Yes. It would require delving deeper, replacing the negative, counterproductive messaging with positive affirmations.

  Then I want to try soon—but not today. She shuddered and tugged at the collar of her shirt, as if remembering not being able to breathe.

  I understand. We’ll begin when you’re ready. She needed to handle this in her own way and in her own time.

  She glanced to the side before meeting his gaze again. I believe in you and know you’ll help me. Please don’t be insulted, but I’m going to keep my appointment with the ear, nose, and throat specialist—when I get one, that is. They were supposed to contact me with the date and time. I need the specialist to recommend a speech therapist for voice training. I’m going to require help with pronunciation and building muscle strength. Otherwise, I’ll be a twenty-three-year-old who speaks baby talk!

  She kissed him, slid off his lap, and then pulled out her phone. Let me contact my doctor’s office and see what’s holding up the referral.

  Psy read as she texted, This is Cassie Steward. I’m following up. You were going to schedule an appointment for me with an ENT specialist. Do you have any idea when that will be?

  Ten minutes later, a reply came through.

  We texted you a couple of days ago. Your appointment with Dr. Lynn Jacoby is today at 1 p.m.

  Today? She checked the time on her phone. That’s in an hour!

  This is the first they’ve told you? Psy asked, irritated on her behalf. If she hadn’t checked, she would have missed her appointment!

  She’d scrolled through old texts. No messages from my doctor. The ENT office is in Coeur d’Alene. Can you take me on the hover scooter?

  Absolutely. As the old Earth saying went, wild horses couldn’t have prevented him from taking her. He was thrilled to finally get to the bottom of her voice issues.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The summer sun had dipped low in the sky when the hover scooter settled next to Rosalie’s hatchback. Psy deactivated the refractor shield long enough for them to dismount then reactivated it before the neighbors caught sight of the vehicle. A niggling between his shoulder blades alerted him Rosalie watched from the window.

  He clasped Cassie’s shoulders. Are you sure you don’t want me to come in with you?

  She shook her head. She’s going to get defensive. I’ll get better answers if I talk to her alone. She’ll need reassurance I don’t blame her. She had no way of knowing the doctors misdiagnosed me. I need to get my medical history and find out what kind of doctors she took me to and what led them to conclude I was incapable of speaking. I wish I could remember more, but it’s so hazy. I only recall the tests as being painful, but today’s exam was no big deal.

  The human medical specialist had confirmed the med pod report: there was nothing anatomically or physiologically wrong with her vocal cords. The physician diagnosed the breathing difficulty as psychosomatic and recommended speech therapy and psychological counseling. Cassie had told her to proceed with a referral for the speech therapy but rejected counseling, preferring to let Psy help her.

  Are you going to bring up the guardianship?

  Not tonight. I would like to settle it as soon as possible—but the voice issue will be tough enough to discuss—for me and her. Besides, I’d rather wait to hear what your friend Shadow discovers.

  For me, independence has been a long time coming, but to her, it must seem very sudden—although thus far, she’s dealt with it far better than I would have predicted. However, going forward, I don’t want her to put this on you. You provided a little extra impetus, but I would have flown the nest on my own.

  If you decide you need backup—I can be here in five minutes.

  She grinned. Okay. She rose on tiptoe and sought his lips. He’d expected a peck, but she turned the kiss into a long, intimate exploration. He poured his emotion into the kiss while conscious they were being observed.

  You’re off tomorrow, right? he verified. I’ll pick you up in the morning.

  Yes. Verna had scheduled me to work Saturday—but that was before I contracted the mumps, and she ordered me to stay home. I’ll text her, let her know I’m cured, and offer to take her Sunday shift. Tomorrow we can work on my breathing issues?

  Absolutely!

  She kissed him again, and then he waited until she disappeared inside the house before hopping on the hover scooter and heading home.

  * * * *

  Chaos enveloped the living room—pictures were stacked against bare walls, shelves had been dismantled, cardboard boxes and bubble wrap were strewn everywhere. On the floor, taping a carton together, sat a cross-legged Rosalie. She leaped to her feet and dusted her hands on her pants. “I’m glad you’re home!”

  What the heck is going on? Cassie scribbled.

  Her mother regarded her steadily. “You’re look
ing way better than you did this morning! Whatever you had must have passed, huh?”

  I had the mumps.

  “Honey, you wouldn’t recover from that in a day.” She chuckled.

  The dismissive laugh ignited a flash of irritation. Cassie added an exclamation point and shoved the notebook under her mother’s nose. I had the mumps! Then she wrote, I was with Psy today. His medical treatment unit gave me an injection and cured me.

  “You climbed into an alien machine? Are you crazy? Date an alien, fine, but you can’t trust their technology! Who knows how alien tech will affect you! It could have killed you! Or altered you in some way.”

  I thought you didn’t believe he was an alien. She couldn’t prevent a sarcastic taunt even as she acknowledged it was counterproductive to the conversation she needed to have.

  “Well—well—” Her mother had no good answer. “You assume mumps…”

  Cassie studied her mother as she debated with herself whether to bring up the insidious idea that had taken root. She didn’t think her mother would have done such a thing, but the idea refused to go away. Her doctor’s office had insisted they had texted her, but she’d never gotten any messages. The other day when I spent the night with Psy, I forgot my phone. You didn’t use my phone or delete any texts…did you?

  “Of course not! What are you accusing me of?” Her mother’s lips flattened. Her contact lens-covered eyes sparked with outrage.

  Nothing. I’m sorry, she wrote quickly. I was expecting a text. They swore they sent one, but I didn’t get it. Listen, I have something more important to discuss. Who were the doctors who diagnosed my speech disorder?

  “What do you mean?” she said sharply, unmollified.

  Names, medical specialties.

  Rosalie pursed her lips. “I don’t recall. It’s been almost twenty years. Why?”

  Because there’s nothing wrong with my vocal cords. They’re normal.

  Her mother shook her head. “Honey, I’m sorry, but—”