Chapter 4
Na’Ren
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My crew had little time.
We began our expedition before Earth dawn. In three separate scouting teams, we spread out over the terrain. One team evaluated the landscape, took samples. Another tested the effect of Earth’s atmosphere on our poorly adapted respiratory systems. My team set out to identify possible threats. We lent special attention to the cryptic series of holes and trenches that had been dug into the soil. Though empty and posing no apparent threat, their confounding purpose warrants further exploration.
I felt the electrical storm build in my blood even before the Terran stepped out of his dwelling.
It sizzled along my nerve endings. It rang through my bones. It burned .
And now I am holding him in my arms.
When he fell, I lunged for him. I stopped his descent, but could not prevent us from staggering into one of the deep trenches, and we disappeared down into its depth. The wound in my side ached. Now, the walls of dirt press in around us, and shielded from the eyes of my crew members, I finally feel like my attention is undivided.
It is all focused on him .
The Terran groans as he blinks awake. Ocean blue. The color that flooded my vision as my ship careened toward the surface of the Earth. Blue and deep and staring at me.
Then he opens his mouth to shout.
Panicked, I muffle it with my hand clamped over his lips. The touch sends another thrill of electricity through my body.
The man whimpers against my palm.
My brain chemistry has gone faulty. Like all of my hive cohort, I learned how to control my pheromonal communicator signals in my youth. But now, they extend eagerly, reaching out to him. To find them suddenly outside of my command leaves me unsteady. Desperate.
What is happening to me?
I swallow against the fear. Steady myself.
“Please,” I whisper, “do not be afraid. I will not hurt you.”
The man stares back at me for a long, long moment, and then he nods. Carefully, I remove my palm from his mouth. His lips have grown redder from the rough contact of my skin.
Behind me, I can hear the scuffle of my crew. They are waiting for my word. They are, perhaps, drawing weapons. Ja’Lin, especially, was uneasy with the Terran’s approach. And when he seemed to see me—
It should have been impossible.
I have used our cloaking devices on countless expeditions. They have never failed.
But the Terran saw through the distortion field.
Last night, too, he knew our ship was there. He sensed it. That, too, should have been impossible.
Who are you, impossible creature?
He is...not Andromedan. His appearance is not what I am used to. His skin is soft and pale, not armored with the carapace of my people. He is smaller in stature, narrower, an electrical whip of a creature. And yet.
Those ocean eyes.
The vulnerable line of his neck.
The spark of life that arcs out of him and jolts me awake.
The man is such a slight weight in my arms. I can feel his breath as his rib cage expands and contracts against my body. He is warm, a radiant heat seeping into my cool skin.
“What is happening?” he asks. His voice, too, is small.
Sir , Ja’Lin presses into my mind.
The man in my arms gasps out a breath. The sound is beautiful and fragile, another slender bolt of lightning that penetrates my nervous system. I try to jerk away, but have nowhere to go. The man stays firmly against my chest.
His brows draw together. “What was that sound ?”
First he can see us. Now, he can hear us? My tactical mind runs systematically through the list of possibilities.
“What is your name?” I ask him.
Sir , Ja’Lin warns again.
The man swallows, the knob of his throat bobbing.
“Robin,” He says. His face blushes a soft pink, a Terran biological reaction that indicates embarrassment or agitation or excitement. “Like the bird.”
“Robin,” I echo, “like the bird.”
Sir, requesting permission to assist.
But I do not want assistance. I do not want the rest of the world to crowd in against this connection I am forging with this creature in my arms. This man who sees me. Who can hear me when I speak in my silent language. Every chemical impulse in my body is rooting me to this spot, every Andromedan instinct I possess.
The Terran is not a threat— Robin is not a threat. And I do not want him to view me as a threat either.
“Robin. I am Na’Ren.”
He— Robin —repeats my name, an experiment, a question. He says it with his mouth, his tongue, and then—
Then the tendrils unfurl in my mind. They press into my awareness from outside of my body, and they are unfamiliar. These are not the clear insistence of Ja’Lin’s thoughts. Not the clipped competence of my crew. No, these tendrils are sweet and bright, a warmth that spreads down into my body.
The tendrils ask me a question: What are you?
And I answer before I understand what has happened: We are not from here .
The tendrils of my mind tangle around Robin’s, and we stare at each other. My heart pounds. His heart pounds—I can hear it in my own head, I can feel it in my chest, drumming along beside mine, a perfectly harmonized beat.
Robin’s ocean eyes are wide, his pupils large and black as he watches me. Breath hisses from between his lips. He swallows.
“Where are you from?” he asks, this time aloud.
He says it with his voice, but I feel his words climbing inside of me. He is speaking through his throat; he is speaking through mine. I cannot lie to him because there is no boundary between us anymore.
“Gamma Andromedae,” I say, “far from here.”
A breath whooshes out of him. “Sounds like it,” he says.
“Our ship...” I start and then trail off. I clear my throat and try again. “My people are now unable to leave.”
An expression passes over Robin’s face. It requires neither voice nor telepathy. It transcends every difference between us.
Sympathy.
“Oh,” he says, ocean eyes damp at the edges, “I’m so sorry.”
Behind me, I can hear Ja’Lin snarl. I am breaking every mission protocol I have ever learned. I am breaking them with impunity, without hesitation. I can feel the tension rippling through my crew, but I do not doubt my actions. I do not doubt that I would abandon every Andromedan rule, if Robin only asked.
I would abandon my duty.
With a sudden jerk, I release my hold on Robin and press away from him. I need space between us, space to think. Space to gather myself.
Robin blinks up at me. And though I am no expert on Terran body language, his confusion is clear on his face. He is coming back to himself, too. Both of us are rising from the mist of connection. A spell neither of us cast.
His lips are parted.
I force myself to look away.
Sir, your crew requests a status update.
That confusion again on Robin’s face. Can he hear all of us? I snarl back at the sudden surge of jealousy, the bitter thorn that wants his attention all to myself.
Officer, I project, my eyes on Robin’s face. If he can hear me, I need him to understand my goodwill. I have secured the safety of a Terran named Robin.
“Terran,” Robin mutters, his face flushing red again.
Do you require assistance, sir?
Then Robin’s eyebrows raise. “Sir,” he repeats, and even I can detect the amusement lacing the word. As if I needed another associate to heckle my authority.
I stand up, captain-straight, an attempt at regaining my position. The posture tugs against the wound on my abdomen, although I do not give in to the pain. When I narrow my eyes at him, Robin sobers. Still, I can see the twitch of his mouth. I struggle not to smile back.
Assistance is not required, I inform my first officer .
I offer Robin a steadying arm. “Shall I help you out of this trench?”
To my surprise, he sputters a laugh. His blue eyes glint as he says, “I knew I was going to fall into one of these holes someday.”
He takes my arm. Together, we scale the shallow trench, soil tumbling down behind our feet, stones clicking against stones. As we rise above ground level, the cool dampness of the earth evaporates under the sun, and so does our cloistered solitude. I get solid footing, and my crew watches on.
Ja’Lin stands at the front, his body taut and battle-ready. Someone who did not know him would be unable to see the fury behind his eyes, but I see it. I see it, and I know that it is aimed solely at me.
Robin’s warm presence is half-hidden behind my body.
“Robin, this is my first officer, Ja’Lin.”
Robin hesitantly reaches out a hand, and Ja’Lin jerks back, his lip raised in a snarl.
“Ja’Lin,” I say, allowing a warning to creep into my tone, “this is Robin. You will remember that we first made contact with the Terran last night, and you will also remember that we frightened him quite badly. Please, help me improve his impression of the Andromedan people.”
In other circumstances, I might silently implore my oldest friend, Please do not embarrass me . But I do not know what Robin can hear of our conversations. It is perhaps best if I erect some walls between his mind and my own.
Robin surprises me by taking another step toward Ja’Lin, despite my first officer’s intimidating form. The Terran juts out his hand again. He adopts another smile that makes his blue eyes sparkle, and it does not escape me how brave he is being, even though he is afraid.
“Ja’Lin, Robin wishes to shake your hand. I believe it is an Earth greeting.”
Angry breaths raise and lower Ja’Lin’s shoulders. His dark eyes bore into Robin, his body rigid. Then, he acquiesces. He takes Robin’s hand, allows a single shake, and then he backs away.
Relief courses through me. Clean and cold, and when Robin turns back to me, he is still smiling.
I know what this feeling is, and I should not be experiencing it. Robin is not an Andromedan. I can think of no rational explanation, no scientific interpretation for why he has been able to burrow into my mind. My people only feel this when they have found their mate.
And that is impossible.
Still, Robin’s gaze strays down my chest, a lingering study of my body, and heat surges up into me. I should not feel this way for a Terran. Should not hear his thoughts in my head. Should not feel his heartbeat at the pit of my throat.
I take half a step backward, when Robin gasps.
“You’re...bleeding.” He reaches out, lightning-quick instinct, and presses his hand to my abdomen, just above my wound.
Warmth spreads out from the touch. It is the warmth I remember from childhood, from the hive, when all of my compatriots lived alongside me. The touch is a comfort, and after the strain of the last day, I sag into the consolation of him.
“It will heal.” My voice does not sound like my own.
Robin’s fingers dig in. Five points of pressure. Deeper connection.
Please. Come inside, he says in my mind.
Already, he has gained more control of his telepathy. I do not know how he has the ability, and the fact seems to surprise him as well. But he is using it for me.
I swallow and meet his gaze. Blue, blue, ocean blue.
Yes , I answer because anything else feels impossible. Yes .