Chapter 6
Chapter
Six
Iscramble to my feet and slam my hands against the metal door.
“No,” I gasp out. My chest feels too tight to scream; the sound that comes out of me is little more than a panicked whisper. “Please, no, no…”
Something moves behind me.
The sound is a soft hiss that would be easy to ignore if not for the situation. The hairs on the back of my neck stand straight up as my body reacts instinctively to the feeling of something at my back. No, more than something. A threat. A predator.
I swallow hard, and slowly, slowly, turn to face the alien I’m locked inside with.
The glass covering its sleep chamber is lifting.
A blue tentacle slithers out from the side, poking tentatively at the air.
I’m close enough to see the fleshy texture, the prominent veins beneath pale blue skin, the suction cups lining the bottom of the appendage.
It grips the side of the bed and helps drag the main body of the creature out of its pod.
But even as it moves, it changes. The tentacle ripples and shifts into a pale human hand holding on to the side of the pod, and a human face and torso slide out from beneath the rising glass covering.
This close, it’s easier to tell that it’s all a mask.
It is human on the surface, but there is something distinctly other about it now that I know to look.
Its cheekbones are too prominent, its skin stretched too tightly, its teeth slightly too large for his mouth.
There is no expression on its sharp features.
Its eyes glint oddly when the light touches them. And when the alien breathes in deeply, nostrils flaring, its pupils dilate in a way that makes me even more certain that I am being hunted.
I stumble back into the corner, throwing up an arm to defend myself instinctively.
In the blink of an eye, the alien is in front of me, towering more than a foot above my height.
I freeze in place, arm shielding my face.
I don’t move as the creature slowly leans in and lowers its head, until its nose is less than an inch away from the delicate skin of my neck and the pulse that throbs frantically there.
It inhales deeply again, and the exhale breezes over my skin. It is terrifying to be cornered by its large, male body, but it doesn’t make any move to touch me.
“You,” the alien says. “I have smelled you before.” It inhales again. “Your smell… Different.”
I’m frozen in place. There is still an uncanniness to the way it speaks, as I noticed before, but it seems more fluent than I thought. The fact it’s trying to communicate is encouraging. After a moment, I lower my arm, bringing us face-to-face once he’s finished—urgh—sniffing my neck.
“Different…than what?” I ask, my voice coming out a nervous, halting croak. “Different how?”
His nostrils flare as he inhales deeply, and I regret the question. But at least his gaze is curious rather than hostile as he studies me. I know how fast and strong he is; it would be easy for him to kill me if he wants to.
“Do not know,” he says. “Young? Healthy?”
I refuse to dwell on how creepy it is that he can smell that, because if I do I’ll spiral. He must be able to scent changes in older cells, organs, fatty acids.
Logic. I need to cling to logic, lest I quite literally lose my head.
So I swallow hard and force myself to nod. I need to keep him talking; perhaps it will make him less inclined to kill me. “The scientists here are all older than me.”
He smiles. Or approximates a smile, at least. The resulting expression is more like a baring of teeth that are sharper than they should be, showing through his disguise like it’s a cheap costume, and I have to suppress a shiver.
After a moment, though, that uncanny expression fades into a puzzled look. “Not only this. Something else…”
He leans in and sniffs again. This time, the tip of his nose brushes against my neck, and I bite back a squeak of fear. It tickles, and sends waves of terror radiating through my body.
He’s so close.
I need to say something that will distract him from my scent before he decides I’d make a good meal. I scramble, and say, stupidly, “Are you…young? For your kind?”
He leans back to look me in the eyes again and pauses, like he has to consider the question.
“Was young,” he says. “Now I do not know.” His brow furrows.
The expression makes him look more human for a moment.
“Hibernation… I am in and out, many times. Do not know how to…gauhozh.” He gestures with his hands, first close together and then far apart.
“Measure? You don’t know how to measure the time when you’re asleep.
I understand.” I’m communicating with an alien.
That thought strikes me through the haze of fear.
Oh, how giddy I would be if I weren’t in such danger.
But now the alien’s face is dark, and I realize discussing his forced hibernations may be a delicate subject, so I redirect him.
“How young were you? Are you a child?” I’ve been making a lot of assumptions about his age and even his gender based on his disguise, but I realize that may be misleading.
He barks a sound that makes me jump. It takes me a moment to recognize it as an attempt at a laugh.
“No, no,” he says. “No child. I am a warrior.” He thumps a fist against his chest. “Warrior of breeding age.” He stops suddenly, and his pupils grow so large, they nearly cover his irises.
It might be cute, almost like a cat watching a toy, if I didn’t know that was a sign of excitement that often precludes a hunt.
“That is the difference,” he says. “You are…” He frowns, searching for a word. “One who gives birth.”
I let out a shaky little breath and bite my lip hard to prevent myself from making a more obviously terrified reaction. “Female,” I say quietly. All this talk about breeding makes me nauseous with anxiety. “Have you never met a female human before?”
“No. I do not think. Not one young and healthy such as you. Breeding age.” He bares his teeth again, and I fight back a shiver. “I am not a female of my kind. One who does not give birth but instead—”
“You’re male,” I say, and then smile weakly, since he seems to expect me to be excited about that. I hope he doesn’t expect me to lean in and sniff him back, because that is not happening. “I see.”
“I did not know a human female could be…” He trails off, mumbling something in his own language. Whatever he means, I’m not sure I want to know, with the way he’s looking at me. But the way he’s keeping me pinned in the corner is becoming increasingly uncomfortable.
I slowly reach out, willing my fingers not to shake, and gesture for him to step back. He stares down at my hand, clearly fascinated, unmoving.
“Could you… could you please…” I press my fingertips, ever so lightly, against his chest.
He leans against my touch, which is the opposite of my intent.
“Warm,” he murmurs.
He is oddly cool to the touch, which is interesting, but right now I just want to get some space.
“Why don’t you—” I pause as he pulls my hand closer, pressing his face into it.
Sniffing my wrist, pressing his nose against my arm.
My skin crawls with discomfort. I stiffen up, and before I know what I’m doing, I snap, “Back up.”
The outburst shocks us both. He blinks at me, and I stare back as my heart pounds, wondering if he’ll be angry. But after a moment, he drops my wrist.
“Why?” he asks.
It seems like a genuine question, so I try to answer it in kind. “You’re being rude,” I say. “You’re too close to me.”
He frowns. “I see.” He takes one step back, putting a couple of inches of space between us. I gesture, and he steps back again. “This much?”
I relax the slightest bit and force a smile. It shows he’s willing to listen, which is a great relief.
Probably fascinating to the scientists watching this, too. I imagine them sitting behind the mirror, scribbling in their notepads, and anger bubbles up inside me.
Akimov, you asshole. I wonder how long he’s been planning this. I wonder if anyone tried to argue against it. Tabs certainly wouldn’t, but Ramsey… I feel a sting of betrayal as I think of him standing in that room, watching me now.
But I force the thoughts away. I can’t think about them right now. If I want to survive, I need to focus on the dangerous creature I’m trapped with.
“Yes, thank you,” I say. “That makes me feel more comfortable.”
“Good,” he says with another uncanny smile. “Just do not run.” His smile fades slightly, his voice matter-of-fact as he says, “If you run, I will chase you.”
Any budding warmth I felt toward this thing goes cold again.
I have to remember I’m not dealing with a man—I’m dealing with an alien, and I have no idea what he’s capable of. “What happens if you chase me?” I ask carefully, hoping I don’t sound like I’m scared out of my wits.
He blinks at me like he thinks the answer should be obvious. “I will catch you,” he says. “And then…” He frowns. “If I am too hungry, I will eat you. And I am very hungry.”
A haze forms over my thoughts, whiteness impeding on my vision as my heart jumps in my chest. I force myself to take deep breaths: in through the nose, out through the mouth.
Stay calm. Stay calm. Predatory instincts, I remind myself.
Do not act like prey. “Understood,” I say, with only the faintest tremble in my voice. “Thank you for the warning.”
He studies me with unreadable eyes. I remember how well he can hear, how he often seemed to respond to our speech in the lab even without the intercom active.
He must hear my heart beating like a drum now.
He must also smell the sweat on me, the stink of fear.
I can’t control my body’s response, so I have to hope that isn’t enough to activate the instincts he’s warned me about.
“I do not like to eat humans,” he informs me. “It is dishonor to hunt those too much like my kind.”
At first I’m not sure why he’s telling me all of this—but as he smiles again, I realize he must be trying to reassure me, since he realizes I’m afraid.
“That’s good to know,” I say.
“Still,” he says, “my hunger cannot be helped. If you run…”
“I understand,” I say.
So I move slowly, very slowly, edging along the wall and inching back toward the cell door.
The alien’s eyes track me, though his head doesn’t move. When I get close to the exit, he takes an abrupt step forward and I freeze again.
“You will not leave,” he says.
A command? A threat? It’s difficult to read his tone.
“I will not,” I agree, as comfortingly as I can manage with my throat tight with nerves. “I’m just trying to get comfortable.”
He lunges. At least, my brain interprets the blur of motion as a lunge—and thank God I’m too startled to scream or try to run, both of which might drive him to attack. Instead, he grabs my wrist. I wince at the strength of his grip.
“Come, sit,” he urges, stepping backward. I don’t have much of a choice, with his iron grip on me. I stumble after him as he leads me over to the sleep chamber.
I balk as I realize where he’s taking me, panic zipping through my veins. “I— Wait, wait.” I jerk back, and he stops, head tilting. “Let’s just sit here.”
He blinks at me, and then at the tile. “Here?”
“Yes. This is…comfortable, for me.”
After a moment’s consideration, he sinks down onto the floor, yanking me with him.
I let out a tiny gasp as I thump down on the tile. But once I’m sitting, he seems satisfied, and releases my wrist.
“Thank you,” I say, rubbing at the sore spot.
I’ll have bruises where his fingers gripped my skin.
But I have to stay polite; I have to placate him, stay alive, whatever it takes.
And then, when I get out of here, I can rain hell on the assholes who put me in this situation.
“It’s nice to meet you, by the way. My name is Calliope. ”
“Cuh-lai-uh-pee,” he enunciates carefully, eyebrows drawn together. “Calliope. Calliope.”
Even after trying it out a few times, the syllables seem uncomfortable in his mouth, like a piece of food he can’t quite wrap his teeth around. I don’t blame him; plenty of native English speakers have trouble with my name, so I can’t imagine how much trouble it poses for inhuman vocal cords.
“You can call me Calli,” I tell him.
“Calli,” he says, and nods somberly. “Easier.”
“And what should I call you?” This is good, I think. Establishing a sense of camaraderie. Showing him I’m not food. If he becomes attached to me, maybe it will help keep his instincts in check.
But it didn’t help Mulford, from what I’ve heard. I suppress a shiver, remembering the story of his injury. An accident, Akimov and the others called it, but now I wonder if they’ll refer to me the same way.
“Humans cannot speak my name,” he informs me. “The scientists, they call me X-11.”
“X-11,” I say. Or the Alien, I know, but I’m sure that isn’t the most pleasant moniker. X-11 sounds ungainly, too, so I tap a finger against my lips. “What if I call you X?”
“X,” he repeats, and shrugs. “This is acceptable.”
“Calli. X.” I gesture to each of us and force a smile. “We call these nicknames.”
“Ah.” He studies my face, my smile, as if trying to memorize it. “These are special names? For…” He tilts his head. “Breeding pairs?”
“B…breeding pairs?” I’m so taken aback, I stumble over the words. “I’m not— Well, it can be, but it’s also for friends.”
His scowl seems much more natural than his overly toothy smiles. “So the humans behind the glass?” He points at the mirror. “They call you this?”
I glance toward the mirror. My pale reflection stares back. I look very small and terrified beside the alien’s large form, and I quickly look away again. “I-I-” I stutter for a moment, before shaking my head. “No. They do not. I’m not close with them.”
His broad shoulders relax, though I hadn’t realized how tense they were before. “Good.”
I swallow thickly, my mouth dry. I don’t want to think too hard about why that would please him. Yet I wanted him attached, didn’t I? Perhaps I can find a way to use this, as long as I can stay in control.