Chapter 5
Chapter
Five
As days pass, the alien’s pacing slows and then stops.
Its movements grow sluggish, its eyes unfocused.
Even provoking it with my scent doesn’t earn more than a half-hearted sniff.
We even send in a goat one day, which requires careful use of the exterior door and a tether, but that provokes no more curiosity than the smaller critters.
Ramsey volunteers to both send in the goat and extract it, and the alien does not even leave its sleep pod during the process.
Maybe it’s already tired of the scientists’ tricks—or maybe it’s just too weak to care.
Every day Akimov attempts asking it questions: How are you feeling? Are you unwell? Is there anything you’d like to eat? Is there anything you want to say?
Today, as usual, there is no response. When he’s done with his standard routine, Akimov lets out a huff and leaves the lab, mumbling something about a meeting with the higher-ups.
Tabs remains by the window, frowning at the alien within. He taps a finger against the glass, as if trying to provoke a response from an animal at the zoo, but that’s no more effective than Akimov’s repeated questions.
Akimov’s absence gives me a rare opportunity to speak without fear of being judged or shushed by him.
I step over to Ramsey, who is looking through data about the alien’s vitals on one of the computers.
I don’t trust him, especially after the incident where I was sent to fetch the rabbits, but he’s still the most reasonable one here.
“The others speak about X-11 as though it’s an animal,” I say quietly. “But it picked up our language, so it must be intelligent, no?”
Ramsey nods without hesitation. “Very. It learned quickly.”
“Then its decision not to eat, despite the fact it’s weakening, is intentional.”
Ramsey holds out his hands, shrugging. “We’re sending it food that it’s had before, that clearly suits its diet, yet it refuses to eat. It must be intentional, though I can’t understand its reasoning.”
I tap my pen against the clipboard in thought. “Is there perhaps a way to negotiate with it? Offer some kind of benefit if it eats?”
Ramsey shakes his head. “I don’t think Akimov will go for it. He’s too proud. He wants the thing to obey him. It’s part of why it’s become more stubborn, I think. There’s friction between them, but Akimov insists on being the only one to speak to it since we lost Mulford.”
Mulford again. He seems inextricably tied to the alien’s current behavior, but how? “What exactly happened to him, Ramsey?”
Ramsey glances at Tabs, and then at the closed door. He lowers his voice. “I’m not supposed to tell you.”
“What? Why?” Unease prickles beneath my skin.
“Akimov thinks it will frighten you off.”
“Surely I’ve proved by this point that I’m not so easy to rattle.” I lean closer, lowering my voice to match his. “How was he injured?”
He hesitates, and then, “The same way you almost were.”
“He was in the antechamber?” And yet Akimov still sent me in there. That bastard. “So it grabbed him through the slot. And then…?”
Once more, he pauses. Wavers. Then, “It bit—”
The lab door flies open and then slams shut. I leap back from Ramsey guiltily, whirling to face Akimov as he storms in. But he doesn’t glance at me. He heads straight for the intercom, jabbing the button to broadcast his voice to the cell next door.
“I’m tired of this tantrum, you goddamn animal,” he says.
“You need to eat.” There’s no response from within.
On Ramsey’s screen, I can see the thermal imaging of the alien in its sleep pod, unmoving.
“What do you want?” Akimov asks, changing tactics.
There’s a desperation in his voice that I haven’t heard before.
Ramsey and I exchange a glance as the lead scientist continues to speak.
“Tell me. Anything you want, I’ll bring it to you. ”
Finally, the alien sits up. It slides out of its pod—its movements stiffer than usual, slow, its breathing heavy. It stops in front of the window and glares at it.
“Taujak,” it says.
I freeze. I remember that word. The same word it spoke to me when I was in the antechamber.
Akimov leans forward, eager. “Tow-jack?” he attempts to imitate. “What is that? Use our words, X-11.”
The alien gestures toward the door of its cell. “Taujak,” it says again. “Give to me.”
I startle at hearing it speak English for the first time. It’s close to human, but its intonation is slightly off. It gives the unnerving quality of something trying to imitate human speech, like a bird or a machine. Still, it speaks better than I expected.
The shock is so great that it takes a moment for me to process its words. When I do, my stomach sinks. It couldn’t possibly be asking for me, could it? I sneak a glance at the other scientists, but they’re all crowded around the viewing window, murmuring among themselves, not looking at me.
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean, X-11,” Akimov says.
“I smelled…” the alien tries again, and growls under its breath, clearly frustrated. It mutters to itself in its own language.
“Try again,” Akimov says. Then, with his finger off the button, “I thought this damn thing was supposed to be smart.”
The alien snarls as if it heard him. It turns and stalks back toward its sleep pod.
“Wait,” Akimov says. “Talk to me. No, damn it, you stubborn creature.”
But despite his further attempts, the alien returns to ignoring him.
After another minute, Akimov closes the shutters and then slams a fist on the table.
I jump, pressing a hand to my chest. Ramsey and Tabs become suddenly busy in their tasks as Akimov turns to face us, and I avoid eye contact, my heart still racing.
“They’re going to shut us down,” Akimov says.
“What?” Ramsey is the first to react, turning fully away from the computer screen.
“The higher-ups are concerned by the subject’s refusal to eat, and they wish to induce hibernation for the time being,” Akimov says, a simmering anger in his voice.
“But if it’s hibernating, we lose any chance to learn from it,” Tabs argues.
“Yes,” Akimov says. “They think the time and resources we’re using here are better focused on other subjects until we have better tools to engage with the alien. They suggested that perhaps in another ten or twenty years, the situation may be different.”
My grip on the pen tightens. No. In another ten or twenty years, I don’t intend to be working here.
Maybe others will have an opportunity to learn, but I won’t.
And that’s unacceptable. I’m sure there are other interesting subjects to study during my time here, but…
it’s not good enough. I want to understand this one with such a sudden and fierce longing that I speak before I can think better of it.
“Maybe we need to resort to more drastic measures,” I say.
The three men turn to look at me. They all look so surprised, I suspect they forgot I was even here.
“The alien clearly reacted to the human scents.” My scent especially, I think with a shiver, though I don’t say it aloud.
“We can use that to provoke it. We need to go a step further than we already have. Someone can physically enter the cell.”
“It’s too dangerous,” Ramsey says immediately. “The creature is highly territorial, unpredictable, and violent. And it despises humans. Even in the antechamber, it’s not safe.” He shoots me a sharp look, as if to say You should know this best.
I swallow hard. “Then…put it under. Temporarily.” The gears in my head turn.
An instant’s pause is all I have to think this through; I need to keep talking while I have this rare moment of their attention.
“I know you’re worried about the effect it will have on the subject’s health, but if we fail to get it to eat, they’ll force us to put it into hibernation anyway.
Someone can enter the cell while it’s asleep.
Walk around, touch things, leave their scent everywhere.
See what kind of behavior it provokes. If it’s territorial, maybe a threat to its territory is what it needs to be prodded into action. ”
There’s a moment of silence. But Akimov looks thoughtful.
“It’s not a terrible idea,” he says slowly, as if surprised by that fact.
“And since you’re suggesting it… I seem to recall that the creature had the strongest reaction to your scent, Ms. Wright.
” He smiles thinly, and I feel a shiver of foreboding.
There is something menacing about that smile.
“So I’m sure you would have no problem volunteering for the test yourself. ”
I think suddenly of chamomile. Of the alien’s smell, strange and alluring and oddly familiar. To my surprise, I feel a spark of curiosity in my stomach—and a flash of defiance. I will show him that I’m more capable than he thinks. I’m not afraid of a hibernating creature.
So I lift my chin and plaster on a smile. “Of course, Dr. Akimov. I’d be happy to volunteer.”
I try to resummon that brash confidence as I wait outside of the door to X-11’s cell. Akimov escorts me, along with a guard.
My mouth is dry, my heart pounding, as I step into the antechamber where the alien nearly got its tentacles on me. I still vividly remember the fear I felt, the red splatter of the rabbit. The smell that’s haunted me since. It’s still here, although fainter than I remember.
But the alien is asleep this time. I take a deep breath and steady myself as Akimov locks the exterior door and the interior one clicks open, releasing a burst of frigid air and revealing the cell within.
I hesitate for a moment, trying to swallow back my fear.
Akimov clears his throat, and I force myself to move forward.
One step. Two. I cross the threshold into the cell and stop again, shivering as I look around.
I’ve seen this room so many times from behind the observation glass, but it looks different in person.
It feels so much more real now, even though I was separated from it only by a pane of glass while I was observing.
My stomach churning, I avoid looking at the remains of animals scattered across the floor.
It’s cold enough that goose bumps ripple over my skin beneath my shirt, and I see my own frantic breaths puffing out in the air in front of my lips.
The room feels smaller than I thought, almost cramped.
The air is thick with moisture, more humid than I expected.
With the low temperature, it’s uncomfortably clammy.
The sleep chamber that holds Subject X-11 is so much larger than it appeared on camera. The bed reaches my chest and is wide enough to span the entire wall. I imagine how huge the creature it contains must be in person and have to take another deep breath to steel myself.
I refuse to look at the one-way mirror. I don’t want to see my own face peering back at me, pale and terrified.
I focus, instead, on what I’m here for. My job is just to walk around the room, leaving my scent in places that might stimulate the alien when he awakes from his forced hibernation.
I clamp my jaw to keep my teeth from chattering and slowly walk the perimeter of the small cell.
I trace my fingertips along one wall, touch the water jug, the light fixtures.
I step into the tiny, attached bathroom—which is little more than a wall faucet and a stainless steel toilet, without even a door for privacy—and wrinkle my nose while brushing my knuckles against the wall.
My footsteps echo strangely in the silence.
When the security guard coughs, I nearly jump out of my skin, and grit my teeth as I imagine Akimov’s amusement while he watches.
The guard cleans the cell as I perform my duty, bagging rabbit corpses and mopping up blood. Once he finishes, he heads for the door. I move to do the same, but Akimov stands in my way.
“One last thing,” he says. “Mark the sleep chamber.”
I hesitate, watching the guard scan himself out. I feel vulnerable knowing that I’m the only one who can’t exit on my own if something goes wrong. But as the guard leaves, Akimov remains in place, and I take a deep breath to steady myself.
If he’s hoping to provoke a territorial response, the place where the alien sleeps is likely what it’s most protective over. Like an animal finding an unfamiliar scent in its den, it will feel threatened. Furious.
I’ve been trying to keep my distance as much as I can in such a tiny space, but finally, I turn to the gigantic metal container taking up the majority of the room.
I can’t see the alien through the tinted glass, but I am all too aware that it is curled up inside.
Asleep due to the low temperature, but still terrifyingly close.
My hand shakes as I reach out to touch the side.
I press my palm against the cold metal and imagine my scent seeping out through my touch.
Oil from my skin, a thin layer of sweat, adhering to the metal.
How will the alien react when it wakes? Will it recognize my scent as the one it’s smelled before? If someday we meet face-to-face, will it remember me?
Hiss.
I startle at the noise, backing hastily away from the sleep chamber, but the noise didn’t come from there. It came from above. I blink up at the vent directly above me, the flow of air stirring my hair.
Warm air.
Click.
I whirl around to see Akimov stepping through the door into the antechamber. He raises a gun—when the fuck did he get a gun?—and I freeze in place.
“Don’t move,” he says with a calm that is terrifying because it isn’t the voice of someone in the middle of an accidental emergency situation. It’s the voice of someone who is watching something play out entirely according to plan.
I have only a split second to decide. Would I rather die from a bullet to the head, or be ripped apart and eaten by an alien?
It’s an easy choice. I rush for the door and Akimov slams the barrel of the gun into my gut. I stumble back, all the air forced out of my lungs, and fall in a heap on the floor.
He steps back. The door clicks shut.
They’re waking the starving alien from his slumber, and I am trapped with him.