KALITH, VANTOR, & CYRO
Bless the broken star road that led us straight to her.
KALITH
My tentacles flew across the control panels, each appendage executing precise movements with the efficiency my engineering training had drilled into me for decades.
Yet beneath this mechanical precision, my three hearts thudded in an uneven rhythm that betrayed the magnitude of our decision.
We were abandoning our home world. Choosing Tammy.
Choosing a love that made no sense. The thought should have paralyzed me with guilt, but instead, my tentacles moved faster, more determined than ever as I prepared the delivery pod that would carry our samples—but not us—back to the ocean planet where I’d been born.
“I’ve modified the pod. The substance I crafted for crash protection will work well to insulate the samples” I announced, my voice carrying that slight mechanical quality it always did when my emotions ran high.
“Cyro, release the environmental control unit from the research station’s dock, let’s transfer it over. ”
Across the command center, Cyro flashed that he understood, lights blinking across his body. They reminded me of freckles, glowing ones, and suddenly Tammy’s sun-kissed face took over my mind. I had to force myself back to the important task at hand.
As Cyro carefully began to manually move the samples, I fiddled with retrofitting a battery unit, optimizing its abilities, so hopefully it would maintain each samples’ exact parameters.
Vantor was hunched over the auxiliary command, composing the false message that would accompany our samples.
His tentacles tapped against the liquid crystal interface with uncharacteristic hesitation, each word carefully chosen to convince our scientists of our tragic demise.
I caught fragments of his fabrication as he thought, lights strobing across his skin: “catastrophic pressure failure” …
“heroic final actions” … “sample preservation prioritized” …
“hostile conditions, do not attempt” … “Abandon all future excursions.”
A string of convincing lies that would ensure no rescue mission would be launched and no questions asked about three missing G.E.F. explorers, even if one was a renowned xenobiologist and the other a promising, young engineer.
“Is that enough,” Vantor now muttered, more to himself than to us. “Have I deterred them fully?”
“It is tragic enough that they will not look too deeply, Vantor. It lends to shallow waters,” I assured him, understanding his struggle.
Our people were not overly emotional, but they respected sacrifice for the greater good.
They would honor our “deaths” rather than investigate them.
More importantly, they would take our word for it when it came to future Earth exploration.
I ducked under the pod, body having to squish and distort to reach a panel at its base.
My shortest tentacle reached inside for the energy transfer cable and a second tentacle curled around the newly adapted battery, ready to re-power the pod.
Pride swelled in my chest cavity as my differently matured limb performed flawlessly, its unique shape perfectly suited for the delicate connection that required maneuvering in the tight space between components.
I didn’t need one of my modifying attachments. My special appendage had its purpose.
Not the least of which was bringing me closer to Tammy, who reveled in our differences.
The thought of her sent ripples of forest green across my skin—the color of hope in our species’ emotional spectrum. I allowed the coloration to flow freely rather than suppressing it as I’d been trained to do. Here, among my bonded brothers, there was no need to hide what I felt. Not anymore.
I attached the battery, and a few Earth moments later, the pod rocked above me as Cyro pushed inside to secure the samples.
“I have successfully crafted the necessary communication,” Vantor spoke aloud to Cyro and me, since we could not see him in our current positions. “We are twenty Earth meters from breaching the surface.”
As the vessel grew nearer to the transition between ocean and sky, its engines began to properly warm for flight.
The deep, resonant hum of it vibrated through my body, the familiar sensation comforting.
When I pulled myself from beneath the pod, checking that the energy register was lit up now, I flowed across the floor, human legs split into tentacles to quicken my pace, and positioned at the main command panel.
My appendage tips flew across the console, inputting commands.
“Ascent trajectory calculated,” I called out.
“Are we fully shielded?” Vantor inquired, his mind always on the offense.
“We are,” I both spoke and light blinked.
Cyro chimed in then. “The pod is prepared. Let us fulfill our final duty to our people.”
The vessel shifted beneath us as Vantor piloted us upward, away from the crushing depths of Earth’s ocean trench, away from the dark blue surface of expansive waters, higher and higher.
Farther from Sunflower Hills, farther from Tammy.
I consoled myself that it was only temporary. Soon, we’d be holding her again.
Through the external sensors, as I monitored our path for any obstructions, I watched as the strange world I’d come to love grew smaller beneath us.
“Are we ascending toward the atmosphere too fast? The ship cannot tolerate exiting at this speed.” Cyro’s tone was alarmed, but his worry was unfounded. Perhaps his anxiety stemmed from what we were doing, rather than any real threat to our lives.
“The speed is well within tolerance parameters,” I finished for him. I felt as sure of the reinforced hull as I did of our decision to stay. “We’ll be fine.”
“Fine the way Tammy sometimes says she is fine?” Vantor said, his human mouth quirking, a note of humor threading through each syllable.
“Fine has proven to be a matter of perspective with our Omega,” Cyro added.
“We will survive exit and reentry,” I said simply. I couldn’t join them in their teasing. I was having a hard enough time keeping Tammy from taking over my every thought.
As we ascended, our trio lapsed once again into silence.
We burned through the atmosphere, and for a moment, our vessel hovered at the boundary between our past and our future. Then it shot outward to the nearest acceptable distance from Earth’s gravitational pull before stilling once more.
Silently, we gathered around the pod carrying the precious samples.
“Navigation coordinates verified,” I confirmed, checking the pre-programmed destination in the pod’s guidance system. “Estimated arrival time: three-hundred and forty-two Earth days.”
By then, we would be well-established in our new life at Sunflower Hills Ranch.
By then, there would be no going back, even if we changed our minds.
I tried to picture my mother receiving news of my “death.” I imagined the ripples of mourning that would spread through the community of my youth.
The guilt was sharp but manageable, because it was balanced against the hollow emptiness I’d felt every moment since leaving Tammy behind.
I knew even if our future waters turned murky, our deep bond would give us full visibility to press onward.
The vessel slowly rotated, Earth’s curvature becoming visible through the view screens.
The blue, green, and white planet seemed small and fragile from this far away.
It was so different from our home world with its vast, unbroken oceans and crystalline cities beneath the waves.
Few land masses. Only the domed cities above surface which could not be seen so far away.
Yet somehow, impossibly, this foreign planet had become a place I could not imagine abandoning.
“Are we ready?” I asked. That was a loaded question. Ready to send the samples. Ready to truly say goodbye to our planet. Ready to return to her.
Both of my crew brothers flashed an affirmative.
I disconnected the clamps below the pod which kept it grounded to the ship.
Pressing a digital sensor, I initiated the conveyer belt.
We all watched as the world-saving samples drifted into a cavity in the wall.
The blue-tinged vessel hummed with contained energy, its bioluminescent markings pulsing with the rhythm of internal systems checking and rechecking their functionality.
And then the transparent door was closing, a barrier between us and the choice we were making.
I swiped a tentacle across the launch icon.
No turning back.
“For our people,” Vantor intoned, his deep voice carrying the formal cadence of a sacred ritual back home.
“For their future,” Cyro added, his tentacle glowing with soft blue light.
“For a tomorrow of many waters,” I concluded.
The exterior hatch slid open, revealing the vast darkness of space beyond. For one breathtaking moment, the pod sat motionless in its cradle, bioluminescent markings pulsing like a heartbeat. Then the cosmic slingshot activated, propelling the vessel forward in a burst of energy and light.
We watched in silence as our delivery pod—carrying both our world’s salvation and our final farewell—shot away from us, its blue glow diminishing rapidly until it was just another point of light among the stars. The distance between us and our past growing with every second.
“It’s done,” Cyro whispered, his tentacles curling inward with emotion.
I nodded, unable to speak past the constriction in my respiratory chambers. We had made our choice. We had acted on it. Now there was only forward—only Earth, only Kansas, only Tammy. Only home.
VANTOR
I returned to the bridge with hard, determined steps. Allowing my training to take over, I kept focused on the goal. Analyze. Assess. Execute.