Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Bee walks into my apartment after her shift at the hospital.
She’s fuming mad and covered in black goo from head to toe, and she points a furious finger at Lora with a wordless noise of disgust before stomping into my kitchen, pulling out a bottle of wine, and drinking it straight from the lip.
Not a sip—my girl is gulping it down like she needs whatever’s at the bottom of that bottle inside her yesterday.
Lora and I were just cuddling on my couch watching some of the newest short form videos popping up since the end of the war on the InvasiveParasiticBodySnatchers. He thinks that human comedy is top tier among sentient species in the galaxy, and we’ve been giggling together for about an hour.
I set my phone aside, and Lora helps me to my feet by stabilizing my hips. “Whatcha covered in?” I ask my beautiful, bitchy cousin.
She pops the top of the bottle out of her mouth, glaring at me. “Oh this? This is alien vomit. Ask me why I’m covered in alien vomit, Ollie. Go ahead. Ask.”
The look she’s giving me makes me take a step back. “I—don’t think I want to know…”
Suddenly, she smiles at me, but it feels like she just stabbed me. “I’m going to tell you, cousin, because this vomit is all your fault.”
“I cannot possibly be responsible for alien vomit that definitely did not come from Lora,” I deny. I’m not about to take responsibility for something I have zero control over.
Bee’s smile stabs me again. “Did you know that some of our alien nannies are in fact allergic to unfiltered human blood? Did you know that it hurts like a bitch when some of our alien nannies need a bit of blood to trigger their healing mechanisms and bite the closest human for a fix? Did you know that alien allergic reactions are projectile vomiting? Did you know it’s not all sunshine and roses for the rest of us?
We don’t all get our aliens and HEAs, too? ? Did you know that, Ollie? Did you?”
I’m just not a nice enough person to take her rant of questions too seriously, and my laughter explodes out of me in breathless guffaws.
I raise my hand in apology to my cousin's very real anger, but I can’t help it.
“Oh my… fuck… Bee…” I gasp, laughing all the while.
“Are you… an alien… allergen?” I exclaim, dying as I try to breathe.
Bee’s anger morphs slowly into laughter, and she nods, setting the mostly empty bottle on the counter. “Yeah, apparently I am.”
I burst out laughing again, imagining Bee, who is the picture of professionalism as an emergency care nurse, being shocked and horrified when the alien she’s trying to help vomits all over her only to learn that she’s the reason.
“I’m sorry. I’m… sorry. It’s just…” I can’t finish and start laughing again.
Bee shakes her head at me, corking the wine. “What the fuck, Ollie?” she laughs.
“I just hate this for you, but also it tickles me so much, too,” I apologize, getting the giggles back under control.
“I love you, but you need a shower and a soak in the hot tub, and I will make you a nice charcuterie to go with your soak and open a fresh bottle for you.” I feel like she deserves some pampering after finding out she could kill someone with her blood.
Bee gives me a real smile. “Yeah. Do that. I deserve some fancy cheese and artichoke hearts,” she agrees, kicking off her shoes. She walks herself to my bathroom, and I turn to Lora, who’s been suspiciously silent.
“What aren’t you saying?” I ask after Bee shuts herself in the bathroom.
“I hope her supervisor explained that every person from my species will be allergic to her blood, not just the one who discovered the allergy. We all share the same immune responses,” he rattles thoughtfully.
“I’m sure they will let her know one way or another, but I can tell her if you like,” I offer. That doesn’t seem like a reason he didn’t participate in the conversation, though. “You could have told her,” I point out.
Lora rattles negatively. “I cannot breathe in the allergen expellant, and I do not have a filter mask as part of my uniform because I am not in a career that requires it. I could not speak because I was holding my breath until the particles of the expellant were filtered through the ventilation system.”
“That was a long time to hold your breath.” It might be a little concerning if aliens weren’t aliens, amiright?
“I can reduce my need for oxygenated air to only what is in my lungs for up to two Earth standard months. I will go into a hibernation of a kind after a week, and my movement is slowed after a few hours. It is a survival mechanism evolved from a time when our ancestor species would become buried in sand storms that could last for weeks.”
The more I learn about his species, the more impressed I am.
Not only about their physical capabilities, but also about the sheer amount of self-knowledge they have.
I doubt their scientists ever fought for recognition because their religious leaders didn’t like what they were discovering.
“What must it be like to be able to study history and not have to fight with religious zealots about it?”
Lora rattles in agreement. “Your species’ religious zealotry isn’t unique in the galaxy, but it is uncommon among the species that advance to space exploration.
Religion often limits a species’ cognitive development and technological advancements.
The rigidity that being part of a religious system requires is valued and it is unknowingly bred for rather than the creative and whimsical nature of invention.
Species that breed for creativity see themselves technologically advancing because of their pursuit of invention. ”
I frown, sighing at that. “That’s sad. Humans are the worst.”
Lora squeezes me around the waist. “I disagree. You simply need a little guidance.”
Alien nannies to the rescue.