Chapter Two
“Abso-fucking-lutely not,” the human female says, shaking her head. “Not today, Satan.”
It takes a moment for her words to work their way through the translators the first time. When they finally take on meaning, I spend far too many seconds trying to figure out what resemblance I have to one of the countless mythological religious figures of this planet. I thought Satan was red with horns and a tail. I’m solid black and have no tail or horns.
“No, I’m not Satan. My name is Kai,” I tell her patiently, reaching out a hand. All the literature encourages shaking of hands, but she doesn’t seem interested.
She makes a noise in her throat, and immediately I can sense the change in her breathing patterns. Her small lungs will probably hyperventilate if she continues in this manner.
What did I do wrong?
The information download this mission required was longer than most of the downloads I endured during pilot training. I reviewed the information at least half a dozen times before being dropped off, and I know for certain that the literature said “Greetings Earthling” is the most appropriate way to begin a conversation with the dominant species of this planet.
Maybe there’s a more dominant species I need to be looking for?
Obviously, someone messed up, because the human female in front of me changes colors. Her face goes from the sandy color of the surrounding desert to that of the pale satellite that circles this little backwater planet. Slowly, she backs away.
“I come in peace,” I say, trying again. Maybe I’m mispronouncing it and I’ve just insulted her mother?
“Fuck,” she mutters under her breath. Her hands shake and she closes her eyes. “I’m just exhausted, that’s all. Been working too hard…”
Mentally, I think back to all the human interaction procedures. There’s nothing in the literature about them changing colors. But there is a great deal about them stressing out. From everything I’ve seen, they seem like poultry–constantly scared of the world around them. New situations seem to phase them easily. The literature is very clear. I cannot allow a stressed-out human to leave me without being certain they will not report me to their authorities unless I want to waste my time on games with the locals.
The very idea of these primitive creatures detaining me for any longer than a day or two is absurd, but it’s not a chance I want to take when all I want to do is get this reconnaissance mission over and done with.
“I’m just going to walk over there…” The female backs away, but I allow my body to stretch to meet her feet, holding her in place.
“You can’t go, human.”
She tries to pull her feet from my grasp as her eyes widen. “Please,” she begs as I tighten my grip on her feet.
A door opens and a male voice calls through the room, “Araceli, are you doing okay? Customer wants to know how much longer.”
I meet her eyes and shake my head. She seems to understand. “Just a few more minutes!”
The heart rate of the human female–Araceli, the male had called her–increases as her eyes flick back to me. “Please don’t hurt him. He’s got a wife and a brand new baby at home…”
“Hurt him?” Araceli’s words and her body’s involuntary changes–the coloring, the heart rate increases, the breathing–it finally dawns on me. She is terrified. “Araceli, I mean you no harm.” And it’s true, even if this is a reconnaissance mission for invasion and relocation. I mean her no harm. My government, well it isn’t exactly harmful, though I’ve never heard of an alien race being fond of our relocation.
“You’re–you’re a talking shadow,” she says, her voice cracking on the word shadow. “You’re holding me hostage.”
“You’re not a hostage. I just can’t let you go until you understand.”
She releases a long breath. “O-kay. Understand what?”
“I’m here on a short reconnaissance mission. I cannot allow you to report my presence to your authorities.”
She stares at me for a long time and then begins to laugh. At first, I think she is amused by my words, amused by me. But the laugh becomes faster and higher pitched. She struggles for air as she holds her belly. “A demon shadow is on a reconnaissance mission and you came to a tire place? Why not the White House or the U.N.?”
I am not familiar with some things she’s speaking of, but I recognize the word “demon.” The truth of the matter is, this place smells like home. In fact, I found myself not a few moments before stupidly talking to what I now recognize is a stack of inanimate objects. She smells like home too. I’m not willing to admit that, so I focus on the easier part. “I’m not a demon, Araceli. My name is Kai.”
“Yes, yes, Kai the not-demon. Fine Kai. If you’re not a demon, then what are you?”
I consider my words carefully. Everything I’ve said so far has made things worse. “A visitor from the stars.”
She stops laughing and meets my eyes. “You’re fucking joking.”
I shake my head. “I don’t fucking joke.”
“You’re seriously an alien? Then how come you’re not gray and short?”
“Gray and short?” It takes me a moment to figure out what she’s talking about. The Grays are frequent visitors to this part of space. That has to be what she’s referring to. “Because I’m sentient. I’m not a drone. Those are drones. I am living, breathing. Like you.”
Her mouth opens and then closes again.
“I need to sit, Kai.”
“Then sit.”
She shakes her head. “Your body is in the way.”
I stretch to wrap around her and gently guide her body to the ground before releasing her. She looks at the flatter, gel-like mass of my body in its natural form on either side of her and reaches out a tentative hand. Her touch is surprising–warm, and gentle. I want her hand to stay there, but she pulls away quickly, as if I’m burning her, and then meets my eyes.
“What the hell, Kai?” she stands up quickly, shaking her hand, as if to release something sticking to it. She stumbles back and nearly falls, but I reach out my body to catch her.
“No, don’t. My hand…something is wrong with it. I must be allergic to you.”
She hurries away from me, holding her hand to her chest, and rushes to a basin. She flicks something at the top and water gushes from a silver pipe.
“Fuck, it’s not coming off,” she mutters to herself. I move closer to see what the problem is, but she steps back quickly, putting distance between us. “Stay. Right. There. I’m not getting any more of your demon alien hives on me.”
“Maybe if you showed me, I could help you treat it.”
She eyes me skeptically, then slowly holds her hand close enough for me to see, but far enough away that I’d have to stretch to touch it. There, along the base of each finger is a mark I never thought I’d ever see on another person. I suck in a breath, struggling to fill my lungs with enough air.
“What? What is it? What’s wrong with my hand?” she asks, growing more alarmed at my silence.
Wrapped around each finger are the distinct white mating bands of my people. Even with her sand-colored skin, the bands are obvious as they grow paler and paler. I look down at my own hand to see them slowly appearing. She follows my gaze and watches as they circle each of my fingers.
“What just happened? Why do you have it too?”
“So,” I say, hoping to sound cheerful. “I have some good news.”
“You have advanced medical technology that will fix this?” she asks anxiously.
“No. But we are about to make history among my people as the first interspecies couple to gain our mate bonds.”