VANTOR
The angry beast Tammy called a vacuum had won, but I would not be bested twice in one day!
In the light of day, the raccoon was obviously not a threat.
The Earth creature stared at me with beady eyes that reflected an intelligence I’d missed during our first encounter when it was dark outside.
I didn’t expect such alertness from a non-dominant species.
Its ringed tail flicked back and forth as it stood on its hind legs beside the waste receptacles, fearless in the face of a trained combat specialist from another world.
The food I had been unprepared to provide it last time, had been replaced by Tammy’s buckets of refuse.
The creature had already tipped one container over, spilling its contents across the ground.
The audacity.
I squared my shoulders, feeling my skin ripple with patches of burgundy beneath my human disguise in a warning I wasn’t sure the raccoon could understand.
After the kitchen disaster and my defeat by the suction device Tammy called a “vacuum,” I refused to be bested by yet another Earth entity, especially one that barely reached my human knee.
“You are trespassing again,” I informed the creature in a firm voice. “This territory belongs to Tammy Tucker and, temporarily, to three superior aquatic beings from the Thalassar system.”
The raccoon tilted its head, black mask-like markings making it appear calculating. It chittered softly, tiny hands working at nothing in the air between us.
“Your reluctance to vacate is noted,” I continued, taking a step forward. “But I should inform you that I hold the victory belt for cross-species combat in the Andromeda Arena three cycles running. I have defeated beings with twice your number of appendages and a hundred times your mass.”
The raccoon blinked slowly, then moved closer rather than retreating.
We’d done this same dance before. A tactical error on its part.
It approached with a strange sideways gait that I recognized as an attempt at deception.
It was trying to appear non-threatening while advancing its position.
A classic maneuver I’d employed myself on hostile planets.
“Final warning,” I said, deepening my voice to the register that had made the largest Kelpian sea-beasts flee in terror. “Your stubborn persistence will result in—”
The creature launched itself at my chest with unexpected velocity.
I staggered backward, unprepared for the direct assault. All of my tentacles emerged in automatic defense. The raccoon’s small claws dug into the fabric of the shirt Tammy had provided as it scrambled up toward my face.
“Cease this immediately!” I commanded, my voice pitched higher than intended. It took great effort, but I formed two tentacles back into arms, thinking it might be easier to control the rabid beast with fingers.
The raccoon responded by chittering louder and patting my cheek with a paw that felt unnervingly like a miniature version of my own tentacle tip.
I attempted to grasp it by what appeared to be the scruff, the way Tammy handled the uncooperative feline back at the ship, but the creature twisted with unnatural flexibility and nipped at my fingers.
“That’s it,” I growled, feeling my skin flash hot orange patches beneath the human exterior.
What followed was not my finest display of combat expertise.
I spun in circles, the raccoon now somehow on my back.
I reached behind me, but it evaded my grasp with infuriating ease.
When I finally caught hold of its tail, it made a sound like the warning sirens on our ship and wrapped itself around my arm, tiny teeth bared.
I shook the human arm vigorously, which only encouraged the furry monster to climb higher, until it perched on my head like some sort of living hat.
I dropped to the ground and rolled, certain this would dislodge my opponent.
The raccoon simply hopped off, watched me complete my tactical maneuver, then climbed back onto my now-grass-stained body when I finished.
After three more minutes of undignified struggling that I was grateful my G.E.F. commanders couldn’t witness, I admitted defeat. The creature was clearly not hostile—merely insistent on establishing some form of relationship.
“You fight well for a non-aquatic species,” I conceded, my breathing slightly labored. “I propose a truce.”
The raccoon settled onto my shoulder, its warm weight strangely comforting. Its whiskers tickled my neck as it sniffed curiously at my skin, perhaps detecting the faint scent of ocean that all my kind carried regardless of form.
“I shall call you Hoover,” I decided, thinking of the vacuum that had proven such a worthy adversary that morning. “A name befitting a creature of your tenacious nature.”
Hoover chittered in what I chose to interpret as approval, then curled its tail around my neck in what might have been affection or a half-hearted strangling attempt. Either way, I found I didn’t mind.
I thought of the cat—the one Kalith had claimed and dubbed Manji 2—currently treating our crashed vessel like its personal territory. Perhaps Earth’s smaller life forms weren’t threats but potential allies. An intriguing development that warranted further study.
My contemplation was interrupted by a pained shout that made my skin flash cold blue with alarm. Tammy. My human disguise stabilized instantly as my training kicked in. I moved toward the sound at maximum velocity, Hoover flattening himself against my shoulder as if sensing the urgency.
I discovered Tammy by the compost pit, holding her palm and unleashing a string of Earth expletives that our language processors were still working to categorize. Some appeared to involve deities and reproductive functions in combinations that made little biological sense.
“Goddamn mother-fucking piece of—” She looked up, noticing my approach. “Oh, Vantor. Just got a splinter the size of Kansas in my hand from the damn shovel handle. I try to do one thing, and I screw it up.”
I was at her side in an instant, assessing for serious damage. Her palm displayed a puncture where a wooden shard had embedded itself in her soft skin. Blood welled up around it—such a vivid red, so different from my own bluish fluid.
“Allow me,” I said, not waiting for permission before taking her hand in mine.
I pressed a suction cup to her injury, the one disguised as a fingerprint on my human thumb.
Automatic extraction protocol engaged, and I felt the wood fragment dislodge into my specialized collection pouch.
I held up the splinter—two centimeters of jagged wood—examined it briefly, then discarded it.
“Injury contained,” I informed her, then pressed a different digit to her wound.
“What are you—” she began but went silent as I released a small amount of healing gel, sliding it across her damaged skin.
“Antiseptic, coagulant, and cellular regeneration compound,” I explained. “Standard field medical treatment.”
Tammy stared at her palm where a thin, slightly iridescent film now covered the wound. “That’s... actually pretty cool. Thanks.”
It was then that she noticed Hoover, who had remained remarkably still throughout the procedure.
“Um, Vantor? You’ve got a raccoon on your shoulder.”
“Yes. This is Hoover. He presented a security threat initially but has since been tamed by my superior combat skills.”
A laugh burst from her, bright and genuine. “It’s just a trash panda. They’re basically the least threatening thing out here, unless you count how they’ll steal anything that isn’t nailed down.”
As if to prove her point, Hoover chose that moment to leap from my shoulder and dart away with what I now realized was a button from my shirt clutched in his paws.
Tammy grinned. “See? Told you.”
I frowned at the retreating form of my newly named companion. “It is an absurd creature.” Even to my own ears, my tone sounded saddened that the “trash panda” had left me.
“Don’t worry, it’ll be back. Especially if you feed it next time.” Tammy soothed with a smile. “Though, that’s exactly what you shouldn’t do. They’re greedy little monsters.” Her tone suggested amusement rather than censure.
“I will carry substance in my human pants pockets so I am ready,” I decided aloud, already planning which foods might appeal to a creature with such tactical prowess.
Tammy’s lips quirked upward as she looked at me with an expression I couldn’t quite decode, but which made my core temperature rise by no less than two degrees. “You know what, Van? You’re kind of adorable for a big scary alien.”
I wasn’t entirely certain what “adorable” signified in this context, but the way her eyes softened when she said it made me hope it was a warrior’s compliment of the highest order.
The air shifted before I heard their footsteps—Cyro and Kalith approaching rapidly from different directions, drawn by Tammy’s earlier cry.
They emerged from behind different outbuildings, their human disguises perfect except for the telltale flush creeping up their necks—a bleeding through of our natural coloration that happened when emotions ran high.
I recognized the hues immediately: the deep teal of Cyro’s concern mixed with primal impulses, while Kalith’s skin showed faint traces of forest green jealousy.
I didn’t need to see my own skin to know similar colors were betraying me.
They both halted, taking in the sight of my hand still gently holding Tammy’s, my body positioned protectively close to hers.
“We heard shouting,” Cyro said, his metallic-sheened eyes darting between us. “A threat?”
“Injury,” I replied tersely, not stepping away from Tammy. “Contained.”
Kalith moved closer, his gaze fixed on where my healing secretion glistened on Tammy’s palm. “You used biological assistance?” Frustration flickered across his face, as if he were irritated that he hadn’t been the one to aid her.