Chapter 3
PEER-REVIEWED GLUTES
MIKAELA
Iam brave. I am resilient. I am a survivor of an alien abduction and a crash landing.
But I am apparently not brave enough to win a staring contest with a seven-foot golden alien.
It’s been half a day since I crossed my arms and asked, “Problem, Stabby?” And honestly? I still don’t know if he answered. He didn’t blink. He didn’t move. He just looked at me with those glowing red eyes until the air between us felt heavy enough to suffocate me.
Eventually, I was the one who had to break eye contact, pretending I’m focused on cleaning while my heart was hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.
So, round one goes to the alien.
And round two isn’t looking great, either.
I decided to retreat to neutral territory. Or at least, territory where he can’t stare at me quite so openly.
The sick bay is quieter than the main cavern, tucked into a side chamber where the air stays cooler. Someone draped panels of woven fiber across the entrance to dim the light and muffle sound. It creates a cocoon of semi-privacy that the feverish women desperately need.
Lucy is the worst off today. She lies on her sleeping mat with a damp cloth across her forehead, skin pale and clammy. Her breathing is shallow, rapid. Alex kneels beside her. Her fingers find the pulse at Lucy’s throat, counting the rhythm.
“How is she?” I ask quietly, settling onto the floor near the sleeping mats with my repair supplies.
“Same as yesterday.” Alex’s mouth is a tight line. “The fever peaks and valleys. We just have to wait it out and keep her hydrated.”
Mira, our other medical expert, moves between the rows of sick women, adjusting positions and murmuring reassurances. She’s good at this.
I wish I could do more to help, but my skills are limited to cooking and general moral support.
What does a former science teacher with a mean roundhouse kick have to offer a bunch of stranded, feverish females?
Not much. So instead, I’m here with Erika and Jacqui, stuffing the lumpy sleeping mats with softer fiber so the sick women have a little comfort.
Tina sits in the corner with her ever-present notebook. There are diagrams on the page this time. Diagrams that look a lot like the golden males that are our hosts.
“Hand me that needle?” Erika asks, gesturing to the collection of bone tools spread out between us.
I pass her one of the thick needles the Drakav use. It’s huge, but it’s also smooth and strong, perfectly shaped for punching through the fibers we’re using to stuff the mats.
I take my own needle and begin forcing the softened fiber into the mat in my lap. Soon, the only sounds are the soft rustling as we work, and the occasional whimper from one of the patients.
Traitorous as always, my eyes drift toward the gap in the woven partition.
I tell myself I’m just checking the perimeter. Just scanning for... atmospheric disturbances.
But my gaze goes straight to the corner of the main cavern.
He’s there.
Sarven sits in his usual spot, but he isn’t sharpening his blade. He’s hunched over a small piece of white bone, his massive frame curled around it like he’s protecting a secret.
His face is a mask of terrifying concentration. His brows are drawn down so low they almost obscure his eyes, and his lips are pulled back in a grimace that exposes the tips of his fangs. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was plotting the murder of a galaxy.
“He looks intense today.” Erika’s whisper makes me jump three feet. She pretends not to notice. “What is he doing? Making hollow-point death spikes?”
“He’s carving,” Jacqui says, pausing in her work to tilt her head, listening to the mindspace. “He’s projecting a lot of... well, ‘frustration’ isn’t the right word. It’s more like ‘creative aggression.’”
“He’s definitely making a weapon.” Erika’s eyes narrow in conclusion. “Look at his shoulders. That’s ‘I’m about to go hunt something’ tension.”
“No, it’s not,” I say automatically.
Erika and Jacqui both stop working. They look at me.
I keep my eyes on the needle in my hand, jamming it through the tough fiber of the mat.
“He’s not making a weapon. When Sarven works on weaponry, his shoulders are asymmetrical.
He braces the weapon against his left thigh, so his left deltoid engages, and he leans his weight back to test the edge.
Right now, he’s hunched forward, shoulders even, elbows tucked in. It’s precision work. Not lethal work.”
Silence.
Complete, heavy silence.
I realize what I’ve said about three seconds too late. The heat starts at my collarbone and races up to my hairline.
Slowly, I lift my head.
Erika is staring at me with her mouth slightly open. Jacqui looks delighted. Even Tina has lowered her notebook to peer at me over the rim of her glasses.
“His… left deltoid?” Erika repeats slowly.
“I just noticed it before,” I lie, my voice rising an octave. “You know. Casual observation. Scientific method.”
“You noticed which specific shoulder muscle engages when he sharpens a spear?” Jacqui asks, a grin spreading across her face. “Mikaela. That is… detailed.”
“I trained Muay Thai for three years!” I protest, stabbing the needle into the mat a little too forcefully.
“Body mechanics are important! Plus, science was my day job! I observe patterns. Like…like how Tharn’s footsteps are always completely silent, even when walking over loose stones that crunch under everyone else’s feet.
Or how Kol scans the room left-to-right and never right-to-left. ”
“Uh-huh,” Erika drawls, leaning back on her hands. “And please share with the class what data you’ve collected on Sarven’s glutes. Purely for peer review, of course.”
“I have not collected data on his glutes!” I lie. I have absolutely collected that data. It is extensive data. “I’m just saying that his posture suggests he is engaged in fine motor skills.”
“You notice his thighs, too?” Erika asks innocently. “Since you mentioned where he braces his elbow.”
“It’s a big thigh,” I snap, face burning. “It occupies a significant portion of the visual field. It’s statistically impossible to miss.”
Jacqui lets out a laugh, shaking her head. “You are digging this hole so deep we’re going to hit water. You know, if you really wanted to know what he’s doing, you could just ask him. He’s practically vibrating with the hope that you’ll look at him.”
“I am not asking him,” I mutter, focusing intently on a particularly tough knot in the fiber. “And I was not staring at his deltoids.”
“Right,” Erika says. “And I’m not noticing that Tharn is built like a rock wall.
” She grins at Jacqui. “No offense, you picked a good one. But I’m not studying him.
There’s a difference.” Erika nudges my knee with her foot.
“Go on, Professor. What’s your hypothesis?
If it’s not a weapon, what is Sarven making? A tiny bone trophy of his enemies?”
“A whistle made from a ribcage?” Tina suggests helpfully from her corner.
“Oh, that’s good,” Erika nods. “Maybe a decorative shank.”
“He is making something small,” Jacqui interrupts, her voice softening as she tunes back into the alien frequency. Her expression goes dreamy. “He keeps thinking about... smoothness. And balance. He wants it to fit in a hand perfectly.”
My stomach does a weird little flip.
Fit in a hand?
I risk another glance through the partition.
Sarven is still scowling at the small object in his hands.
He turns it over, scrapes at it with a small stone tool, then holds it up to the light, squinting critically.
He looks like a jeweler who is also a tank.
The contrast between his massive claws and the delicate white object is… disarming.
Through the gap, Sarven suddenly freezes.
He doesn’t look around. He doesn’t scan. His head snaps up, and even across the distance, those red eyes lock onto the partition.
Onto me.
It’s instantaneous. As if he felt my gaze touch him. Physically.
For a heartbeat, neither of us moves. The air in the sick bay seems to vanish. I should look away. I should duck behind the woven screen. But I’m pinned by the intensity of that crimson stare. It’s… heavy.
Then, he seems to realize what he’s holding.
He quickly tucks the small white object into a pouch at his hip, his ears flattening back against his skull for a split second before he crosses his massive arms and assumes his standard ‘Stoic Guardian of the Apocalypse’ pose.
“See?” Erika whispers, far too loud. “He’s totally making you a gift. Probably a shrunken head. Or a really nice rock. Or a toe.”
“It’s not for me.” I drag my eyes away from him, though my heart is doing a stupid, hopeful rhythm against my ribs. “He’s probably just... fixing a toggle. Or a clasp.”
“Drakav don’t have toggles, Mikaela,” Erika says, sounding delighted. “They have spears, a deep distrust of shirts, and abs. That’s their entire technology tree.”
A startled laugh escapes me, blending with Jacqui’s snort and Alex’s snuffled chuckle. For a moment, the heavy air in the sick bay lifts. The tension unknots from my shoulders as the giggling subsides into a comfortable, exhausted silence.
I focus on the sleeping mat in my lap. Pull the fiber through.
Tighten. Repeat. Beside me, Erika starts humming something under her breath.
The sound is soft, almost lulling, and I hear Lucy’s ragged breathing even out into something more restful.
Across the sick bay, one of the other women shifts in her sleep, her face relaxing.
My shoulders start to unknot. The tension I’ve been carrying since we arrived on this planet begins to ease.
Maybe laughter really is the best medicine.
Except, the universe doesn’t always agree. I’m beginning to lose myself in the work when it happens.
A wet, choking sound.
My head snaps up just in time to see Tina drop her notebook. Her waterskin tumbles from her lap, precious water spilling across the stone floor. She doubles over with a violence that makes my heart stop.
Then she vomits.
Not the gentle nausea of the planet sickness. Not the manageable discomfort we’ve all been experiencing. Whatever this is, her whole body convulses with it.
“Tina!”
I’m moving before I think, crossing the space as Alex does the same. We reach her together, and I help steady Tina as she heaves again.
“Don’t fight it,” I murmur, holding her hair back. “Let it out.”
Alex’s hands are already checking. Her fingers pressing gently against Tina’s skin.
“Mira, can you grab another waterskin?” Alex’s voice has gone focused. “And something to clean this up.”
Mira moves quickly, grabbing supplies, and Erika shifts to give us more room as Tina gasps between retches, her whole body shaking. I keep one hand on her back, trying to provide some stability, some comfort.
“Tina, can you hear me?” Alex asks. “Can you tell me what you’re feeling?”
“Hurts,” Tina manages. “Stomach—cramping. Really bad.”
Alex’s brow furrows. She looks at the vomit on the floor, then back at Tina’s pale, sweating face.
“Did you have any warning?” Alex’s frown deepens. “Nausea? Dizziness?”
“No. Just hit me. Was fine, then—” Tina gags again, but nothing comes up this time. Just dry heaves that look painful.
I glance at Alex, trying to read her expression. She’s concerned, definitely.
“Jacqui,” Alex says without looking up. “Can you let Tharn know we need him? Something’s not right here.”
Jacqui’s eyes go distant. “Already on it.”
“Mikaela, help me get her lying down.”
Together, we ease Tina onto her side on one of the sleeping mats. She’s shaking and pale, but the violent heaving seems to have stopped for now.
I kneel beside her, one hand on her shoulder. “You’re going to be okay.” But I’m lying. I’m not sure what the hell is happening to her.
Alex checks Tina’s pulse, then her temperature. I can see the wheels turning in her head.
“This doesn’t match the planet fever,” she says quietly, more to herself than to us. “The onset’s too sudden. Too violent. And she’s burning up. Her skin just went from clammy to scorching in seconds. This isn’t the usual sickness.”
“Could it be something she ate?” Mira suggests, returning with a waterskin and a piece of torn cloth that looks like it once belonged to someone’s sleeve. “Maybe another herb has made her sick?”
“Maybe.” Alex frowns. “Tina, what did you have today? Anything different from the rest of us?”
Tina shakes her head weakly. “Same... same as everyone.”
A large shadow falls across the partition entrance.
I turn to see a silhouette. Features cast in shadow from the light streaming in from the cave entrance.
Red eyes find me, but I already knew who it was.
Stabby. Standing just outside the woven screen, his hand resting on his blade, those crimson eyes scanning the alcove for threats.
“Mih-kay-lah.”
The sound is raw. Tectonic. Like two continental plates shifting deep underground.
I freeze, the breath catching in my throat.
It’s the first time he’s ever spoken to me. I know from the others that it hurts them to twist their throats around our soft, vowel-heavy language, but he forces the sound out anyway. A muscle feathers in his jaw, tight with strain, as he pushes past the pain.
The translator in my ear pulses again.
“Safe?” he rasps, the word scraping out of him.
I can’t breathe.
I was hiding in here to avoid his gaze. I was worried about awkward eye contact and hidden meanings. But looking at Tina’s pale, sweating face, the reality of our situation slams into me. We are fragile here. We are breaking.
He isn’t.
He is seven feet of golden vitality, built for this harsh world. He is the native; we are the dying castaways. My reservations don’t matter anymore. If we want to survive on this planet, we need them.
“I—I’m fine.” I finally manage to choke out. Something rises in my throat. My heart or my pride, I’m not sure which. “It’s Tina who needs help.”
I can feel him hovering there, hand still on his blade, ready to eliminate whatever threat has arisen. But there is no threat…
This is…
What is this?
Tharn arrives moments later, a frantic Haroth right on his heels. He steps past Sarven and through the partition, throwing out a thick arm to block the way, leaving Haroth vibrating with suppressed panic near the entrance, his eyes locked on Tina’s prone form.
“Tharn says this is different from the other sick smell,” Jacqui translates.
“I know,” Alex says. “I just need to figure out what it is.”
I stay beside Tina, keeping my hand on her shoulder while Alex and Jacqui confer in low voices.
And behind me, Sarven stands guard against an enemy none of us can identify.
“We’ll figure this out,” I tell Tina softly, hoping it’s true. “Just hang on.”