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Before I can think about anything else, large and frightening octopus-looking aliens wielding weapons begin shooting at us. I fall to the dirty floor and put my hands over my head, hoping somehow that will protect me. Suddenly, I feel an intense pain in my right thigh. I know I’m hit, but as if in a dream, I’m too scared to touch it with my hand. After a few seconds of the pain radiating through my body, I slowly put my hand down to feel the blood and shredded flesh. I scream as I continue to investigate my wound. Then I feel a bone. My bone and above all the screaming and shooting, I begin to yell as if instinctually, “I’ve been hit! Scarlett, I’ve been hit!” I don’t expect anyone to do anything, but I feel I must do something with the last moments of my life. I don’t want to give up on life now. I am not a quitter.
Scarlett moves closer to me and takes off the only thing she has covering her breasts and wraps it around my thigh. “You are going to survive this, Ivy.”
“It hurts so much.”
“That’s going to stop the bleeding. We’ll get out of here and find a hospital. I’m sure there’s a doctor traveling with these military men.”
Everything becomes blurry, and I feel the ground moving like we are on a boat at sea during a storm.
Soon, the shooting dies down, and the men in black armor advance toward us. I look up, and one opens his face shield and makes eye contact with me. His skin is grey, but otherwise, he looks completely human. He runs towards my cage and opens it as if he always knew the code. I watch him shout to the women surrounding me, “Move! Move! Move! Get out of this cage,” in his slightly accented English.
Everyone is sluggish, but people are moving. I can’t stand. I look down at my thigh bone sticking out of my skin through Scarlett’s torn shirt, the purple goo surrounding it, and even eating away at the fabric. Whatever I was hit with is literally eating me alive. I’m sure I’m going to lose this leg, if not my life. It hurts so much I actually want my leg cut off.
Scarlett tries to lift me, saying, “Come on, we just need to get out of here.” But she can’t hold my weight, and I can’t help her. I’m in too much pain.
“Leave me.”
The last thing I see is Scarlett hovering over me, her dirty blonde hair shielding me from everything else, saying, “No, Ivy, come on. I can’t carry you. You’ve got to do this.”
I want to tell her to go without me, but I don’t have the strength to do anything. I can’t even tell her I love her or I’ll miss her. I try to say, “Go,” but can’t. I’m going to die here.
When I open my eyes next, the same grey man who opened our cage hovers over me, saying, “Human woman, you’re going to live. I’m going to get you out of here.” Then he picks me up like I weigh nothing and continues to give commands in accented English to the other humans in one breath and then, in the next moment, issues what I guess are commands in another language to his men in black armor. He smells of petrichor and something spicy. It’s a welcome scent after what I’ve been subjected to in the cage. I don’t know why, but I worry about how I must smell, which is ridiculous because I should be worried about dying. Why am I not concerned about that anymore? Am I dreaming of this knight in shining armor with grey skin? Am I dead?
Another grey man standing beside my rescuer addresses all the humans as if praying. His English is flawless, with a British accent, but I hear his native language too. It makes me wonder if their skin color is part of their armor and if they are actually normal colors underneath the grey. “Humans do not fear us. The gods have guided us to save you. You are the Lost People, and we are the Alliance Force sworn to protect you. You all still walk in the gods’ light. Please come with us, and you will be returned to Earth. Your governments have hidden our existence from you, but as you’ve discovered today, aliens exist. We are on your side because, as the gods degree, humanity and the Alliance are one.” I notice his lips don’t move in unison with his mouth, so I don’t know how he communicates in English. Then I realize it must be some advanced translator, like a small speaker, through his uniform, and that’s why his crisp British accent is perfect. It’s a translation device. Or I’m hallucinating all of this. It would make sense in my dream that all aliens would wear black and have British accents. And if I am dying, of course, there would be some kind of priest here too.
Then another black armored officer takes off his helmet, also revealing a grey face, and says in not such a pleasant tone, again his lips not matching his perfect British accent, “The Galactic Court gives the right to the Alliance Force to protect humans and retrieve them from any unofficial vessels within the Solar System. Any complaints must be made through your Galactic Court representative.” If the other man was a priest, this one must be a lawyer.
One of the other human captives must also be a lawyer because she asks, “Who is Earth’s representative in the Galactic Court?”
The man in black armor seemed just as shocked as the rest of us that she’s asked this question, and after a second, he replies, “Earth chooses not to have a representative. Humans caught outside your solar system are at the mercy of the Alliance Force if you’re lucky. If you’re unlucky, the mercy of other species.”
“So who do I make my complaint to?” the same woman asks, clearly unsatisfied with his answer.
“You can make your complaints to the gods,” the grey man with lips that don’t match his words replies sternly. “Now listen carefully. Our ship is here now. I want the most abled-bodied women to enter first. The wounded, we will carry on to get this done as quickly as possible. Do not be scared. We are going to return to Earth. Please follow my colleague. We will not hurt you. We’ve pledged our lives to protect humanity.”
“I want to go with you,” I say to the man, still holding me. However, I don’t know if I said the words out loud or only thought them. All I know is that I want to stay with this man. It simply feels right.
He looks down at me with the most striking grey eyes, as if he has forgotten I was with him, and says in his slightly accented English, “No. You should go with the other humans.” I find it reassuring that, unlike his companions, he doesn’t have a speaker on his uniform and that his lips match his words. He’s actually speaking English.
“But my leg,” I protest. But then I realize it doesn’t hurt anymore. “Have you healed me? I can’t feel the pain anymore.”
“I gave you a kind of medicine that has slowed the wound from expanding and is keeping you alert. You’ll not feel it again until the doctors treat you in our medical center, and they will be able to heal you completely.”
“Are you taking me there now?”
“Yes, all of you will go there and then back to Earth. We are saving you from alien abduction.”
“Please, take me with you,” I beg. I worry that this is all too good to be true. I don’t want to be put in another cage. And if I happen to be put in another cage, let it be this man’s private cage. I could look at his face for the rest of my life. I don’t even try to make sense of the words coming out of my mouth or the emotions I’m feeling.
The grey man carrying me doesn’t say anything, but he says something to the other military men in a language I don’t understand. The other men don’t seem happy with what he has said, but to my relief, he keeps me with him as I watch all the other human women file past us.
Five
Sem
I lift my visor so the humans can see my face. I’ve noticed this helps to speed up the process of getting humans to do what we say. I also speak English without my translator, so it’s more reassuring for them if my lips match my words and their language isn’t heard through an awkward speaker on my armor. Even though most of my officers refuse to take the time to learn a human language, they all agree it does make a difference. Just before I’m ready to start my standard spiel for human abductees, my eyes settle on a small human woman with dark hair cut to her shoulders like the goddesses. If it weren’t for her skin color, she could be Alliance. She’s unable to move because one of her legs got hit in the crossfire. Her thigh bone is exposed, and she’s bleeding profusely. I’m surprised she’s still conscious. She’s small but strong and worth my attention. “Humans, make your way out of the cage and follow instructions. Move, move, move!” I say, trying to get as many humans out as possible to get to the small woman. After a few seconds, I make my way to her, and as soon as we make eye contact, her green eyes piercing mine, my breath catches. This woman. She is my other half, the hair and the eyes. And she’s here for me to save. I hear yelling behind me, and I’m brought back to the present. I touch the woman’s thigh, and she screams. There’s still hope. I reassure her that she will be okay, but I can’t even be sure of that. As part of the agreement with the GC, we’re not allowed to bring humans back after five minutes of death. Thankfully, our doctor on the base doesn’t always follow GC laws, so there’s still a chance she’ll survive.
Before picking her up, I inject her with a microscopic medical device from my personal allowance to slow the bleeding and manage the pain. Then, I take her small form into my arms while I oversee the transfer of the rest of the humans. I’ve held many humans in my arms before, but none have felt as electric as this. Even with the hint of unwashed human, she smells good to me, and I feel lost for a moment as if everything in the galaxy has stopped. Soon, the noise around me fades back in, and I’m brought back to the here and now.
