17. Tammy
TAMMY
No, we don’t eat horses… and we don’t use their fecal matter for fuel.
The morning sun beat down on me as I guided my three very unexpected houseguests across the property.
I knew they were aliens, obviously, but every time I glanced back to find them striding across my property looking like New York fashion week runway models—a true feat of handsomeness seeing as they were wearing cowboy chic, not haute couture—my inner Omega conveniently forgot what they truly were: tentacular beings from another world.
Gosh, they looked well rested. I wasn’t sure how.
If I’d ended up stranded on a different planet, my anxiety would keep me awake all night.
Added to that, they’d stayed up late working on their ship, eventually repairing whatever shield technology made it blend into its surroundings.
It was properly fixed this time, so it wasn’t on the fritz the way it had before, seeming to shimmer in and out of existence.
Whereas they looked ready for the catwalk, I looked like roadkill.
I’d managed about four hours of fitful sleep after tucking them into my spare bedroom and attic space, my mind churning with equal parts terror and fascination.
Now, with first light barely breaking over the horizon, I was giving extraterrestrials a tour of my failing horse ranch.
Not exactly how I’d planned to spend my Tuesday.
Was it Tuesday? The disappointing days of failure sometimes blurred together.
I should probably check the calendar. I could mark a big green box around the day the aliens crash-landed and treat that as the first day of the weirdest chapter of my so far unimpressive life.
I stifled a yawn as I entered the stables. They all followed, boots hitting the ground which somehow felt stranger than the sound of their tentacles moving. When I turned, each of them seemed to vibrate and gather themselves, settling their disguises solidly into place.
“When it’s just me, it’s okay to show your alien sides. But if other humans are here, like my vet might come over to check on Sassafras, then you really have to stay fully disguised. Okay?”
“We understand,” Vantor nodded, “It would be tactically unwise to reveal ourselves to potentially hostile humans.”
“My vet isn’t—”
“Any being of any species on any world can become hostile,” Vantor interrupted firmly.
“Right, I guess that’s true.” I took a deep breath, not liking the thought that my docile, kind-faced vet could turn brutal.
“Anyways, the morning feeding routine starts at six,” I explained, gesturing to the worn digital watch on my wrist. “Horses thrive on consistency. Most animals do. They get used to a schedule. I had a beagle as a kid and if his food bowl wasn’t full by exactly eight in the morning and five at night, he’d riot. ”
“Ah, like the feeding protocols for our young ones,” Cyro said, nodding knowingly.
His human disguise had changed slightly from yesterday, but I couldn’t put my finger on how.
There was a little scar through one eyebrow which I thought was new, and his upper lip was more angular.
His eyes were still a pale blue that leaned lavender, reminding me of his real body.
When his gaze caught sunlight, though, an unsettling metallic sheen came to life.
“Exactly like... whatever you just said.” I walked to the rear of the stables where I’d stored the feed I hadn’t used up yesterday. As I passed their stalls, I greeted Mystery, Sass, and Artie. Cyro, Vantor, and Kalith followed, also acknowledging the horses.
Artie was cool as a cucumber of course, but even Mystery and Sassafras merely perked their ears as the aliens neared them.
“They seem... calmer,” I observed, momentarily forgetting the feed and cautiously approaching Mystery’s stall again. The stallion eyed me with his usual aristocratic disdain but didn’t back away. His gaze flicked to the aliens, and he gave them the same treatment.
At least I wasn’t special. The horse apparently treated everyone that way. Small comfort.
“That is because we are now emitting calming pheromones specifically designed for their species,” Vantor explained matter-of-factly, his stone-carved physique standing ramrod straight.
“We can change our outsides, but we can also shift our scents to adapt to an environment and its natives. It is also an offensive advantage.”
I blinked slowly. “Gotcha,” I replied, wondering if the situation was going to get even weirder as time went on. Somehow, I knew the answer was yes. “So, you’re basically walking horse tranquilizers. That’s... convenient, I guess.”
Kalith grinned a crooked, charming smile that made me weak in the knees.
Then, one of his human arms split into desert-hued tentacles and he reached out, stroking sucker-ridged skin down Sassafras’s back.
I thought she might freak out, but the horse leaned into his touch happily.
“We can modulate. Too much would render them unconscious.”
“Let’s avoid that,” I commented, returning to my original task of grabbing the feed and filling the buckets.
I demonstrated how to measure the grain mixture, explaining protein content and nutritional requirements for horses of different ages and activity levels.
The aliens absorbed the information with surprising intensity.
Cyro’s skin actually rippled with excitement patterns—like goosebumps but somehow more fluid—when we fed the horses.
His fingers elongated slightly as he poured the grain into Mystery’s feed bucket.
“This reminds me of a safari I had on Trillidex 8 many star cycles ago,” he said wistfully. “Very few scientists have the honor of hand feeding the Abrax Hexapodas. They are somewhat similar to your Earth horses actually, but they have six legs and two heads.”
“Two heads,” I repeated flatly, unable to compute. I think my mind finally reached the point where it would believe anything—cephalopod aliens, UFOs, two-headed horses. “Sure. Why not?”
Mystery maintained his distance, regarding us haughtily from the back of his stall. Sassafras, on the other hand, pressed her nose against the gate, nickering softly for attention.
“I think she likes us even without the scent modulation,” Kalith said, his hands flexing in that odd way that seemed to betray his tentacular nature.
“She likes food,” I corrected, handing him a flake of hay. “Here, put this in her stall. But watch your fingers—she gets excited.”
As Kalith successfully navigated the hay delivery, I turned to find Vantor studying Mystery with uncomfortable intensity. His eyes narrowed as he examined the horse’s muscular hindquarters.
“No, Vantor, we don’t eat the horses,” I sighed, recognizing that analytical look. “That’s not why we’re feeding them.”
Vantor looked genuinely confused. “We only keep animals caged when we are preparing them for sustenance,” he said, shaking his head. “Caging them for other motives seems oppressive.”
I snorted. “More oppressive than fattening them up for dinner?”
“There is honesty in the arrangement,” he replied with a shrug that seemed too fluid for human shoulders.
Something twisted in my chest. I’d never thought about it that way.
My ex used to joke that I was too soft-hearted for ranch life, that I treated the horses more like pets than livestock.
Maybe I did. But then again, I wasn’t interested in living by anyone else’s rulebook anymore—terrestrial or extraterrestrial.
“Well, we ride them. We race them. We breed them,” I explained. “Mystery here is—was—going to be my foundation stallion.” I glanced over at Sassafras’s stall. “If I could just get those two to stop hating each other.”
While I was distracted, Cyro had sidled up to Mystery’s stall, mimicking my sugar cube offering technique from yesterday. The stallion snorted dismissively, backing away from the stall door. Not to be deterred, Cyro persisted, his fingers elongating slightly as he extended the sugar cube.
“You must speak their language,” he explained seriously to me, as if I hadn’t spent the last two years of my life with horses. Then, to my absolute horror and amusement, he made a series of whinnying sounds that sounded nothing like a horse—more like a dying accordion crossed with a squeaky door.
Mystery pinned his ears back in annoyance, stomping one hoof against the stall floor.
“I don’t think that’s working,” I said, pressing my lips together to keep from laughing.
“I am merely establishing trust,” Cyro insisted, making another attempt at horse communication that sounded even more ridiculous than the first. “On Trillidex 8, vocal mimicry is the first step to interspecies bonding.”
“Horses are more about body language,” I offered, but he wasn’t listening, continuing his determined efforts. To my surprise, after several minutes of this bizarre serenade, Mystery cautiously stretched his neck forward, accepting the sugar cube with reluctant dignity.
“See?” Cyro turned to me triumphantly. “Success!”
His victory was short-lived, however. When Kalith casually walked over and began to stroke Mystery’s head without any issue, the stallion leaning into his touch like they were old friends, Cyro’s face fell into a scowl.
Even I was taken aback. That horsey traitor hadn’t warmed up to me, and we’d been together for eons (or, at least, that’s what it felt like).
“Some people just have a way with animals,” I said, patting Cyro’s shoulder to comfort him. His skin felt oddly warm beneath my palm, almost vibrating with some internal energy.
“I have studied a dozen different planetary ecosystems,” Cyro muttered, watching Kalith and Mystery with narrowed eyes. “I have documented over three thousand species.”
“And I’m sure you’re very good at it,” I reassured him, wondering if alien scientists had egos as fragile as human ones. Based on the way he was pouting, I guessed the answer was yes.
“I just executed a perfect Hexapoda greeting call,” he insisted.