10. Cyro, Vantor, Kalith #2
I twisted my body, still stretched tall, to once again observe the impressive beings standing on four muscular limbs.
Their size, their physical perfection, their appropriate distance-maintaining behavior were trademarks of a dominant lifeform.
This small biped was likely some form of symbiotic lesser species—perhaps a parasite or commensalist. Turning back around, I peered at the biped yet again.
Was its purpose to defend the quadrupeds? If so, it was ill suited for the job.
"True," Vantor responded, his precise hue patterns reflecting cautious agreement. "The quadrupeds did respond with appropriate strategic withdrawal rather than this one's ineffective aggression. However, the present threat should be evaluated and dealt with first."
“This being is hardly a threat,” I scoffed. “It lacks both the physical strength and the mental acuity to inflict the slightest damage.”
"But this small one obviously approached us and wants to communicate," Kalith’s voice sounded odd—his vocal cords drying in this environment, the wet gurgling becoming sandy, scraping out of his throat. His metachrosis patterns showing a slight rebellion. "Doesn't that suggest intelligence?"
I dismissed his observation with a flash of electric lime, intellectual confidence across my mantle.
"Parasites often display greater risk-taking behavior than their hosts.
It's a well-documented phenomenon across multiple planetary ecosystems. No, the quadrupeds are clearly the dominant intelligence here.” I felt a flash of irritation, coloring momentarily shifting with my mood.
The lower lifeform continued its futile attempts to speak with us, though the sounds were beginning to seem like base, instinctual responses versus anything meaningful.
I turned away from it, extending my sensory tentacles toward the distant quadrupeds instead.
Their large eyes, mobile ears, and powerful bodies suggested a far more evolutionarily successful design than the fragile biped.
"We need to stop wasting time," I declared, my chromatophores settling into a solid deep blue, showing I had zero doubt in my earlier assessment. “The quadrupeds are our best chance at finding what we require on this planet.”
Without waiting for Kalith and Vantor to agree, I began flowing across the ground, flora brushing against my bumpy, moist skin and suckers.
Behind me, the parasite’s yells rose to a new, distressed pitch, but I paid it no further attention.
In the hierarchy of this strange, dry world, the small red-filament creature was clearly of secondary importance at best. Our mission required efficiency, and that meant prioritizing contact with the dominant species of this alien environment.
The others could pretend I was no longer in charge, continuing to cite some ridiculous rule of order, but I would do what I did best: study and adapt so we could work toward the most important goal: going home… after getting our samples.
The nearer I moved to the closest quadruped, the louder the biped’s shouting grew.
Continuing my advance, I swiveled my head just enough to see the fiery-crowned native racing after me.
My mission companions moved slowly after it and seemed in no hurry.
I would write a scathing review of their behavior once we were back on course.
This time, I might even submit the assessment with the mission logs.
Vantor and Kalith might be the nearest I had to friends, but this was far from the first time that they’d band together to thwart my command.
VANTOR
I scanned the perimeter of the pasture, instincts honed by endless star cycles of G.E.F.
training that directed my every movement.
The ground beneath my tentacles was coarse and unforgiving, but I navigated it with ease.
The biped’s scent wafted back toward me as it chased after Cyro, thickening in the air with an unmistakable blend of fear and desperation—a heady concoction that sent ripples across my bioluminescent patterns as I observed the scene unfolding before me.
Though, the scene seemed to shimmer no matter how hard I concentrated.
If I stayed in this strange being’s presence, I risked succumbing to whatever strange power its pheromones wielded.
That would put me at a major tactical disadvantage.
Kalith moved alongside me, his body flowing with a nervous energy, his tentacles twitching in response to the chaotic atmosphere…
or perhaps the biped’s scent was wreaking havoc on his senses too.
I noticed how his earth-toned skin rippled and darkened, mirroring my own unease and confusion as the situation progressed.
He still held the primitive tool, nervously rolling it over within the circles of two curled tentacles.
Kalith muttered something, a string of moist bubbles and pops, but I couldn’t make out his words.
“Keep it together,” I grunted at Kalith.
His head swiveled, our gazes clashing momentarily, then we both looked away simultaneously.
Cyro had paused a few feet from the nearest quadruped, once again trying to transcend the language and species barrier.
His tentacles reached out, the ends of his appendages twitching with anticipation as he called to the frightened horses.
But every time he extended his limbs in greeting, they recoiled farther, leaving me to silently question his strategy.
He was earnest in his attempts but, perhaps, ill-prepared to navigate this new realm of confusion.
It was funny, seeing the always confident scientist grapple at success without the normal tools at his disposal.
The biped screamed again, picking up her pace.
It was almost to Cyro. Its rising panic echoed through the air, the thick scent of its warring emotions engulfing me like fog.
A primordial awareness tingled at the edges of my perception, reminding me of past encounters on my home world—of prey and predator.
No, not exactly that. Not enemies facing off.
There was something below that, layers of biochemicals that somehow called to my own.
Suddenly, its turmoil cracked through my composed demeanor, causing feelings of deep-rooted responsibility to tighten my chest. The biped tried to defend the quadrupeds so fiercely that I couldn’t help but admire it.
Though, given the way the creature looked at smelled right now, I should probably do my duty and shield Cyro.
Before I could cross the distance, it happened—a moment I would come to define as ridiculous in retrospect.
The biped braved closer proximity to Cyro, curled the protrusions of her upper right appendage into something like a ball, and then cocked her limb back.
She rocketed it forward, slamming Cyro at the intersection of one tentacle and his main body.
Cyro grunted, his eyes widening, his coloring shifting erratically in surprise.
The biped hit him again and I watched as my mission companion wrapped four tentacles around the creature’s middle and lifted it high enough that its lower limbs kicked uselessly above the ground. The biped yelled and struck the tentacles anywhere it could reach.
I came to a stop, surprise freezing me. Kalith paused too, amusement gurgling up his throat and bubbling out of his mouth. I crossed four tentacles over my chest and stared in disbelief.
"What is your intention, biped?" Cyro asked, unfazed by the creature’s assault.
The biped's shriek pierced the air. "Release me!"
Though I did not understand its words, my tentacles tensed involuntarily at the sound— a reaction I couldn't explain.
Cyro held the creature suspended, its limbs flailing uselessly as it struggled against his grip.
Something about its distress made my chromatophores pulse with an unfamiliar pattern. Wrong. This felt wrong.
I shifted my weight, the dry earth scraping beneath me. Every moment in this arid climate made me long for our deliciously wet planet.
"Cyro," I called, my voice emerging rougher than intended. "Perhaps you should set it down. I think it’s harmless."
Cyro turned toward me, his skin flashing dismissive patterns. “Have your visual organs failed you, Vantor? Can you not observe that I am currently preoccupied dealing with this barbaric lifeform? Is assaulting me a sign that it is harmless?”
Ignoring Cyro’s sarcasm, I appealed to his logical side. "Its behavior is that of a cornered prey, Cyro, and without the translators, attempting to talk to it is futile.”
“I do not believe that I cannot, in some basic way, reason with this infernal creature,” Cyro volleyed back, turning his attention back to the fire-haired being.
“Stop fighting,” he spoke slowly, as if talking to one of our young ones back home, “you are small and weak.” Despite his confident words, his unoccupied tentacles twitched, betraying his nerves.
“I said let me go!” The biped screamed unintelligible words again as its scent became even sharper and odious.
Fear? Determination? My training had never covered interpreting alien biochemistry, yet somehow, I recognized it.
I almost grinned. What Cyro had spent ages studying to become an expert in, I instinctively understood. He’d hate that.
“Kalith! Vantor! Come closer!”
When Cyro called our names, I approached cautiously, my bioluminescence betraying my conflicted state. Behind me, Kalith's tentacles curled inquisitively. The creature twisted in Cyro's grip, and I found myself strangely hoping he wouldn't tighten his hold.
“Are you both suddenly immobilized by some unseen force, or have your auditory functions ceased to work?” Cyro shouted, his tone agitated and tense.
I glanced at Kalith and unfolded my tentacles. In synch, we both surged forward toward Cyro and the flailing biped.