Chapter Six
Date unknown
Time unknown
Kalarian Orbit
“SETANA, AWAKEN!”
Jolted awake by the gnarled hand shaking her shoulder, Svetlana’s blue eyes opened and she lurched upright. Blinking, she stared at Tauthin, who stood over her. With her head still spinning from a dream, she surveyed her surroundings. She was nestled against the floor of the bridge next to the antechamber door.
Swallowing and with her heart rate slowing, she ran her hand over her hair. She’d been out like a light. For how long?
Tauthin addressed her again. “The Kalarael are here.”
Eyes flickering to the view screen, Svetlana looked at the camera view of the antechamber, where four of the paladins stood in a semi-circle with weapons ready. The Kalarael greeting party.
“What will we do?” Tauthin asked.
There was only one thing they could do. “Let us go and meet them.”
“Shall all of us go?” Tauthin asked.
“Yes—but I will lead.” Yigôzien had surely told her Kalarael counterparts of Svetlana’s role as savior. If any of this crew was going to get mercy, it’d be her. Turning to the rest of the bridge occupants, she gestured to the door. “Come. None stay behind. Not even Mishka.” Reaching out, she pressed the button on the wall panel. The antechamber door slid up as a rush of cold, sterile air hit her. The paladins came into full view.
When the paladins saw her, every single one of them shrunk back. Even from a distance, Svetlana could see their grips tightening on their alien weapons. They stood tense as if at any moment, she might charge them or unleash some supernatural attack. If they only knew the nerves that were twisting in her stomach. She saw one approaching her. Holding his hand out to her, no doubt an offer to support her in microgravity with his magnetized armor, he went still.
This was it. An eerie silence hung in the air as their first words were about to be spoken. Svetlana could sense them coming from the Kalarael. Even in his armored suit, she could hear him draw in a breath in preparation. The captain of the alien guard was about to speak. What phrase would he utter? What greeting would humanity receive? She only wished—whatever it was—that she’d be able to understand it.
“Itsukae.”
She blinked. Angling her head, Svetlana stared at the paladin as he stood, arm still outstretched.
Once more, he spoke. “Itsukae.”
It’s okay. Her words to Yigôzien. Yigôzien’s words back to her. The most trivial phrase in the world had just become we come in peace. While Svetlana wasn’t exactly knowledgeable in the realm of ambassadorial etiquette, she was pretty sure this could be chalked up as underwhelming. But if it worked, it worked, and so nodding her head slowly and with her own eyes on his…beak…she said back to him with assurance, “It’s okay.”
“Itsukae,” the paladin said, dipping his head as she did.
And here came the trust. Reaching out, Svetlana held her breath and then allowed herself to drift toward him. Clutching his armored hand tightly, she found herself pulled toward him.
If the air in the docking bay was cold, the temperature of the paladin’s metallic armor was downright glacial. When Svetlana touched it, she inhaled sharply, prompting the paladin to start back in fright at suddenly holding a gasping alien. Breathing heavily through his helmet, he said, “Itsukae! Itsukae!”
“It’s okay!” she said back, averting her eyes from him in an effort to be less intimidating.
His heavy breathing barely slowed. “Itsukae…” Now the trembling word seemed as much for the alien as it did for her.
Whatever chip had been on her shoulder in the Zone Runner was completely gone now. Now, she was in their world—helpless, vulnerable. As the paladin turned around to carry her toward the cylinder, she found herself tensing up from head to toe. It was as equally terrifying to cling to him as it was to imagine letting go and drifting off into the docking bay.
And on that topic…
As Svetlana looked at the docking bay entrance, she was surprised to discover that the plasma window had been completely sealed up. There must have been a blast door in the ceiling that they’d lowered. There was no way for the Zone Runner to escape, now.
She spared a glance back to the spacecraft, where several of the other paladins were tentatively approaching. It wasn’t until that point that Svetlana considered Mishka’s role in all of this, and whether or not the beast would play nice with these new beings. Thankfully—at least by the look of it—the Bakma themselves were going along with whatever it was the Kalarael were doing. She could even make out Tauthin holding Mishka by the harness, presumably preventing the canrassi from attacking. Would they all, too, soon be clinging to their own paladin escorts? She wouldn’t have a chance to find out, as she was ushered toward the large, cylindrical tank.
The tank was roughly the size and shape of a bulk commodity trailer. There were console panels, manual wheels, and widgets of every size and sort, none of which she could properly identify. As soon as the paladin drew within meters of the tank, a ramp-like door lowered to the ground. For the first time, the interior came into view.
Hoses were everywhere, hovering in microgravity from the ceiling, along with an array of what looked like showerheads. The most distinguishing feature of the tank, though, was the brilliance of the lighting. There were rows of lights built flush into the floor, walls, and ceiling. It was the closest to natural sunlight that Svetlana had seen from something artificial. There was depth to the light—a hard clearness to it. It couldn’t have been more splendid if she’d been standing in a sunlit meadow.
After guiding her to one of the side walls, the paladin reached out to pull down a short lever that turned out to be a lowering mechanism for a seat. Upon easing her into it, he pulled down a strap to fasten her safely. Craning her neck, she looked to see if any of her Bakma comrades were following behind her, though none were. She was in the tank alone. The door closed, sealing her and the paladin inside. The paladin took a standing position across from her. Hands clasped to his sides, he lowered his beaked helmet as he seemed to be taking her in.
So, what now?
A jostling prompted Svetlana to grip the chair tighter, despite the strap that was holding her in place. Eyes wide, she looked across at the unyielding, armored paladin. They were moving. Looking at one of the windows, she could see the outside of the docking bay moving along as the tank was being transported. Wherever they were going, they were going quickly.
For roughly five minutes, the tank moved through the docking bay then into a corridor that seemed specifically designed for it. Then came a stoppage, then came the uneasy feeling of a rapid descent—and it was during that descent that she realized what was happening. The tank was being moved into the centrifuge. With every few seconds that passed, she could feel that familiar sensation of gravity pulling down at her. Whatever tunnel they’d been in must have had some way of seamlessly connecting to the centrifuge itself. Within another couple of minutes, the force of gravity felt nearly normal. Nearly normal. Tauthin had said the gravity on Kalar was slightly less than that of Earth. Perhaps she was feeling the centrifugal equivalent of Kalar’s gravity now. Sure enough, no sooner had the thought crossed her mind, the tank’s descent slowed until it stopped.
Across from her, the paladin angled his head subtly—as if focusing on some sound she wasn’t privy to. Like he was hearing something through a helmet comm. Sure enough, several seconds after his head moved, he spoke a single word, obviously not intended for her. A moment later, he was walking to her side of the tank to unfasten the seat strap. Following his beckoning, she rose to her feet and followed him to one of the hoses. The paladin took her hand with one of his, while his other grabbed a hose from the ceiling. After positioning her arm so that it was extended outward, he angled the hose nozzle away from them both and gave his own armored hand a half-second’s blast of what looked like pure water. Turning her direction, he held his dripping hand over her arm with the greatest of caution. As soon as several droplets had landed on her skin, he pulled his arm away and grabbed a different hose. With his other hand, he grabbed her other arm and stretched it outward in the opposite direction.
Svetlana realized right away what he was doing. She was an extraterrestrial to these beings, and they had no idea what kind of reaction she might have to whatever they used in the decon process. For all they knew, she was some strange lifeform that was allergic to water. And so they were doing the only thing they knew to do—exposing her in miniscule doses to make sure their cleaning agents didn’t eat her skin off. Under normal circumstances, she was certain they would perform all manner of biology tests before even attempting this, but this was no normal circumstance. With what was clearly a gruesome wound in the center of her face, the Kalarael probably felt a need to rush the process for the sake of Svetlana, herself. Whatever got her cleaner, faster, was okay with her.
Squeezing the other nozzle, the paladin sent a blast of a white, frothy liquid onto his other hand. Once more, he allowed several drops of the liquid to fall on her extended arm before quickly pulling his hand away. Releasing the second nozzle, the paladin tuned her way and watched her.
While Svetlana didn’t know what these chemicals were, she certainly didn’t feel any sort of instant reaction or itch going on. But how long would it take for the Kalarael to be satisfied? When the paladin attached a pair of straps to the ceiling to help her hold her arms out, she had a feeling it would be a very long time.
It was.
Two minutes became five. Five became fifteen. Fifteen minutes became what felt like an hour. And all the while, Svetlana stood there, arms outstretched as harnesses held them in place—and thank God for them. Even with their assistance, this quickly became an agonizing endurance challenge. She understood their caution, appreciated it even, but there came a point during the process in which she honestly didn’t care what these chemicals did to her, because she just wanted her arms down.
At long last, the paladin approached to study the two spots on her arms where the liquids had touched. With his superiors, wherever they were, apparently satisfied, he released her arms from the harnesses and allowed her to put them down. So glorious was that feeling, she actually groaned in relief.
Stepping up to her again, the paladin took her by the arm to gently escort her to the center of the room. With several showerheads built into the ceiling, there was no doubt in her mind that a dousing was imminent. Upon setting her in place, the paladin gestured with an open hand. “Itsukae.” Stepping to the wall, he removed what looked like a small cutting tool from a holder on the wall. Reaching out, he began cutting away her makeshift garments.
For the next few minutes, Svetlana closed her eyes and waited for him to finish removing her clothes. Despite the weeks, it seemed, that she’d been a stripped-down prisoner of Nagogg’s, the removal of what little clothes she had on was as uncomfortable as she could have imagined it. Beneath Svetlana’s closed eyelids, tears began to build. This was such a different feeling from being stripped down on the Zone Runner. There, survival had taken precedence over shame. But here, in front of a species as beautiful as the Kalarael, this just felt wrong.
Only seconds after the last of her garments were removed, a cold, high-pressure blast of water erupted over her. Gasping at the sudden frigidity, she lowered her head with an open mouth, sucking in hard breaths as the tattering pelted the back of her scalp from above. Reaching up with her hands, she wiped her hair back over her head. She opened her eyes just enough to see the crimson-stained water from her body swirling through the holes in the floor. The remnant of what she’d adorned. The blood. The saliva. The urine.
For weeks, all of those things had remained dried up and sticky on her body. In her hair. The foulness of it all had come to represent the relentlessness of her spirit—her refusal to surrender to tortuous circumstances. To a living hell. And now, for the first time in God knew how long, the stains of her captivity were washing away. Svetlana had not seen herself during all the time she stayed chained next to Nagogg’s chair. Not in a mirror, not in a reflection of metal or water. And now, seeing the sheer amount of bloodied water that was disappearing into the drain beneath her, she was so thankful for that.
The showers were barely on for a minute before the consistency of the liquid changed, the water replaced by the same frothy, white liquid that’d come from the second hose. It was thick, and the weight of it on her head reminded her of Mishka’s christening. Mercifully, this new spray lasted only seconds before it was cut off. Shaking her head just enough to whip the froth from her eyes, she reached up to wipe her face with her hands to see. The paladin had once again approached the wall, where he was retrieving a long-handled instrument with what looked like a cloth of some sort attached to one end. A long-distance lathering device. There was no need for that. Extending her hand out, she said simply, “No.” The paladin turned his head toward her. “Please.” Sliding her hand along her arm to show that she was fully capable of scrubbing herself, she said quietly, “It’s okay.”
Silence prevailed as the paladin stood motionless, watching her as she continued to stare at him with her hand rubbing her arm to demonstrate. When that arm was fully lathered, she proceeded onto the next. Seeming to understand what she was trying to indicate, the paladin ceased in his efforts to retrieve the tool and lowered his hand. After dipping her foamed head in appreciation, Svetlana slowly turned around so that her back was to him. With as much privacy as she was going to get, Svetlana drew in a deep breath, closed her eyes, and began the process of cleaning herself up.
As much as this was a matter of practicality, it was also a matter of just wanting to do it. Of just wanting to literally soak in the sensation of soap on her skin. With the paladin watching her from behind, Svetlana took time to clean every crevice of her body. Beneath her arms, between her toes, inside her ears. When it came time for that froth to be rinsed away, she wanted to be truly, truly clean. After all she’d endured, after the nightmare she’d survived, she’d earned that much. And so lather she did, until she’d covered everything. Particular time was afforded her hair, which had so much caked-in gunk in it that her fingers almost couldn’t work their way through the strands—though eventually, the froth did the trick. She only wished she had a mirror now so she could see it shine when that water came down. She hoped it’d be blinding.
And then—of course—came the worst of it. The gaping hole in the center of her face. As soon as Svetlana realized there was no pain emanating from it, she went to work as one would expect a combat medic to. She massaged her foamy fingers into the open injury. She wanted every bit of dried up blood and grime gone. If she was going to wear such a grotesque disfigurement, it could at least be clean.
All in all, Svetlana spent nearly twenty minutes going over every inch of her body, far more than she was sure the Kalarael had prepared to give her. But she didn’t care. No one came in to stop her, so she took full advantage of the allotted time. This was more than an outer cleaning. It was an inner cleansing. She needed this. With a final smoothing back of her hair, she wiped the foam from her hands and turned to regard the paladin. After several seconds, when it became clear that she was finished, the paladin angled his head and spoke a word to whomever it was listening in the helmet. Seconds later, the waters resumed.
As she lowered her head, she felt the froth slide from her body. She opened her eyes through the trails of water only to see it pool on the floor at her feet, then disappear down the drain. Gone was that blood. Gone was that urine and drool. Gone—she hoped—was that vinegary reek of acetone from the Zone Runner. Even stripped of her clothes, she almost felt civilized. It’d been so long since she’d felt that way, she’d almost forgotten what it was like. Rolling her head from side to side, she embraced the spray. She embraced what it felt like to be new. It was so unspeakably wonderful. This was clean by the purest definition of the word. This was reborn. Leveling her head off—for she couldn’t look up, lest water pour into her nasal cavity—she lowered her hands and just allowed herself to be pelted. For the seconds that it lasted, she took it in completely. When the water finally stopped and the sounds of spray were replaced by water droplets falling from her skin, she almost wished to be filthy only to experience the cleansing once more. She’d never felt anything like it.
For several seconds, the tank was completely silent. Behind Svetlana, the paladin who’d escorted her in front of the docking bay remained motionless.
After wiping her eyes, Svetlana turned her head to regard him. What a moment this must have been for the Kalarael guard—for all of the Kalarael who were watching, as she was sure there must have been cameras in the tank somewhere.
At long last, as if he were coming out of a trance, the paladin turned and walked to the other side of the tank. Opening a small, sliding door, he retrieved a towel and a set of light blue, almost translucent garments. They reminded Svetlana of the strange fabric that Yigôzien had been wearing. As he walked across the tank toward her, one clunking metallic step after another, the towel and garments remained extended in his hand.
There was no reason for him to say Itsukae or anything else. Svetlana recognized a hospital gown when she saw one. Dipping her head cordially—a gesture she was well aware the paladin might not recognize as anything—she accepted the garments. Two arm holes and a hole for her head. Some things didn’t change. After as thorough a drying off as she could manage, she slid her arms through the long sleeves and popped her head through the top of the outfit. Taking hold of her damp hair, she pulled it through the hole then let it flop behind her head. When everything was done, she turned her eyes upon the paladin to see what the next step would be.
There was a loud clunk, and the lights in the tank shut off. Svetlana flinched as she was plunged into darkness. It lasted barely a second before the soft glow of ultraviolet lights appeared, emanating from the flushed lights embedded into the walls, ceiling, and floor. Several seconds later, singular lights appeared in rapid succession, moving in a circular motion around the circumference of the corridor and accompanied by a pulsing sound. Every two or three seconds, the pulsing lights and the hum repeated.
Ultraviolet lights. Back on Earth, they were used in hospitals to kill germs and bacteria. The same principle must have been in application here—though she had to assume, to a much more potent degree.
There was another clunking noise, and once again, they were plunged into darkness. A second later, the same brilliant, natural-looking light from earlier reappeared. Ahead of Svetlana and the paladin, the door opened. With the gentlest of gestures, the paladin urged Svetlana forward.
Much to her surprise, it wasn’t a corridor that the elevator opened into. Rather, it was a small, square room that couldn’t have been more than fifteen by fifteen feet. On one side of the wall, a flat, rectangular object that looked similar in size to a single bed floated in midair. There was nothing else in the room. Not a piece of furniture, not a color beyond white, not so much as a shadow beyond those cast by the floating cot. Turning around to find the paladin, she flinched when she saw that a glossy white wall was sliding down in the direction whence she’d come, sealing off both the elevator and the paladin who’d stepped back into it. Before she could think enough to gasp, the wall was already down. She was alone, in a stark, white room, no exit to be seen.
There was no doubt in her mind that this was an observation room of some sort. Despite going through the ultraviolet bacterial decon, the Kalarael still had to assume that she could pose some sort of biological threat. Compared to human observation rooms and their treatment of extraterrestrials, this was actually nice.
Turning to the floating bed, she angled her head to look for anything that might be lending to the appearance of it defying gravity. But sure enough, there were literally no strings attached. Approaching the object, she knelt down to pass her hand under it—just to know for sure. This thing really is floating. Rising again, she placed her hand atop it, just to see how it felt. When she applied pressure with her hand, her hand sunk snugly into the material like memory foam. But even though the white, rectangular cot conformed to her hand, it didn’t sink down so much as a centimeter. Placing both hands atop it, she pushed down as hard as she could. Again, its surface softly conformed to her handprints, but the bed itself remained motionless in air.
This is incredible…
She angled her body to sit down on the cot’s edge. If this was indeed meant to be a bed, she wasn’t about to leave it untested—not after spending weeks sleeping on the rigid floor of the Zone Runner. With her hands against the bed to steady herself, she carefully sat atop it. Upon pulling her legs entirely on the cot, she leaned back and lay down. As the foam softly conformed to every part of her body, she released a long, pacified breath. There was nothing on Earth that compared to the way this material felt. It was like lying down on a flat, cushiony hammock. All that was missing was a breeze and the chirping of garden birds. With her eyes closed in serenity, Svetlana felt as if she was back in Russia on a sunny spring day.
Until she opened her eyes again.
Svetlana nearly leapt off the cot. In front of her, where there had only moments ago been a solid, white wall, there was now a clear, glass partition. And standing on the other side, clustered around one another and staring with wide, yellow eyes, was a throng of Kalarael. Svetlana swung her legs off the bed and jumped onto the floor. So fast was the movement, even the Kalarael on the other side of the partition jumped. And then, staring at each other as if they were frozen, Svetlana and the Kalarael went still.
She counted seven of them in total, each with different colored down-feather hair and vibrantly patterned wardrobes. Moreover, they were varying in skin tone, with skin colors ranging from porcelain white like Yigôzien, to shades of brown, orange, even blue. Where had they come from? Had the opaqueness of the wall simply faded away? It didn’t matter. They were in sight of her, and she in sight of them. The Kalarael were seeing an Earthae for the first time. Even as extraterrestrials, the expressions on their faces were unmistakable. This was awe and fear. And who could blame them? They were staring at an alien.
Her focus honed in on a tall Kalarael at the front of the group. Besides his height, he was easily identifiable by his sleeveless, blue and silver outfit. Atop his head was a long mane of white, orange, and purple down feathers, and his skin was the color of sandstone. Bending down, the tall Kalarael seemed to be manipulating an unseen control panel. From the ceiling, a crisp sound emerged, like an open mic. A second later the Kalarael spoke, though no sound emerged from anywhere in the room.
Svetlana scrutinized the Kalarael more closely. There was no doubt he was talking, but if this was indeed an open mic she’d heard above her head, she certainly wasn’t hearing him. All the while he spoke, his yellow eyes stayed transfixed, until at long last, his mouth stopped moving. Standing upright again, the tall Kalarael waited. Above Svetlana, as if by a time delay, an extraterrestrial voice made its presence known.
“Hello.”
Svetlana blinked. That greeting…it was in Bakmanese! Taken aback, Svetlana answered purely out of instinct. “Hello.” Yigôzien had told her that they’d captured living Bakma. Whoever had them in custody—whoever was studying them—must have picked out some words of the Bakmanese language. But to what extent?
Once again, the mouth of the Kalarael in charge was moving, and once again Svetlana heard nothing. He must have been speaking to a translator. The Kalarael’s mouth stopped moving, and after another brief delay, spoken Bakmanese emerged from above. “Koti-Raen the name.”
His name was Koti-Raen. The word placement was a bit off, but she understood what he was trying to say. Though she didn’t show it outwardly, inside, she was relieved. This was doable. More than doable. At this point, Bakmanese might as well have been her native language. Pointing to herself, she said, “My name is Setana.”
Once more, the translation went through, except this time, there was a visible reaction from the Kalarael. The yellow in their eyes collectively brightened. As the Kalarael behind Koti-Raen murmured amongst themselves, Koti-Raen actually smiled. Leaning forward again, he addressed the unseen translator again.
This was exhilarating! Svetlana couldn’t restrain a smile from escaping her lips. She was communicating with a new alien species via a common language. This took the phrase, “it’s a small world,” to a whole new level.
The voice emerged once more. “Test biology. Sickness potential?”
They wanted to run tests on her—to check for a sickness. Nothing about this was unexpected. “Yes, you may test my biology.” She wanted to be careful to use as many of the same words they were using as possible. Their level of Bakmanese fluency was likely limited.
“Doctor come,” came the semi-delayed answer. “Prepare you not afraid.”
Svetlana nodded her head. “I understand you.”
A human-sized, circular hole spun open in the wall to her right. Standing in the center of it was a Kalarael in a full-bodied suit. Unlike the armored paladins that she’d seen thus far, this suit had a clear visor that allowed her to see the Kalarael inside. Though she couldn’t see his features, she could see his eyes. Like the others, his eyes were yellow, a color that seemed to be correlated to apprehension or nervousness. Here was a Kalarael stepping inside the equivalent of alien confinement. He had a right to be scared.
As for the suit itself, it was stark and clinical compared to the other multi-colored outfits worn by the observers. It was composed of a tight, form-fitting silver fabric. Beyond the visor, there were no real distinguishing features at all. In one of the being’s hands was a small, cylindrical black object. In the other hand, he held a tray.
With every step closer the doctor took, his tray rattled more. He was terrified. Clearing her throat—an act that in and of itself caused the doctor to stop in his tracks—Svetlana said aloud in Bakmanese, “Tell him I will not hurt him.”
Several seconds of silence passed in the room before the speakers activated and the voice she’d been conversing with spoke—this time in the delicate tongue of the Kalarael. Her message, being relayed. The doctor again drew closer.
“Sample wholeness of blood, skin, hair, saliva,” the voice above her said in Bakmanese.
“I understand,” Svetlana answered.
Bending down, the doctor placed his tray on the floor. He approached Svetlana with the small, black cylinder.
“Your hand to give,” said the translator.
Svetlana complied, extending her hand for the doctor to do whatever he needed to do. Upon taking her hand, the doctor examined it carefully, feeling and poking until he’d come upon the fleshy part of her palm, beneath her thumb. Reaffirming his grip on the cylinder in his other hand, he pressed it down against that part of Svetlana’s hand.
Slurr-pop!
Multiple needles stuck into her hand from the device, causing a sharp pain that made her eyes water and her body flinch—which consequently made the doctor flinch, too. But the deed seemed to be done, as the doctor quickly drew the black cylinder away.
Well, I guess that’s the “blood” part.
As for the skin, hair, and saliva, those were less painful to provide, as the doctor simply produced a small blade to scrap off some surface skin, something akin to a tweezer to pluck out a hair, and a small, clear cup for her to spit in. All of these things were placed inside their own separate containers and put inside the box on the tray. It was at that point that the doctor pulled a tiny, black sphere from the box. Svetlana arched an eyebrow. The voice in the speaker said, “Movement you cease.”
“I understand,” she said.
Holding the sphere out, the doctor pressed his hand against a touch sensor atop it, causing it to levitate forward and in front of her. As the doctor stepped back, the device popped open, revealing several pinpoints of light within its frame. As instructed, Svetlana stood motionless as the device orbited, the lights flickering and flashing all the while. The only explanation she could come up with was that this must have been a scanner that was getting a layout of her body. She was surprised that she wasn’t asked to remove her sackcloth garments first, but they were so scant, it likely didn’t matter. Within thirty seconds, the scan was complete. The sphere closed up again and then drifted toward the doctor, who promptly took it.
It was in the moments that followed, as the doctor hastily collected his things on the tray, that a thought came to Svetlana’s mind. “Wait,” she said in Bakmanese before the doctor could go. When the translator repeated the phrase in Kalarael, the doctor paused and looked at her. Pointing to her nasal cavity, she said, “Test blood here.”
All the while she’d been captive, that disgusting wound had been left untreated beyond spit from Mishka. She wanted to know if there was any level of infection present at all, even if on a smaller level than she could feel. Perhaps—just perhaps—one of those little black cylinders could tell her.
The voice from the speaker said, “Explain the reason.”
“This is not how my species looks,” answered Svetlana, gesturing to the hole where her nose once was. “My nose was cut off while with the Bakma. I fear the wound may be infected.” Those were harder words to throw out there considering the simplicity at which she was communicating with this disembodied voice, but hopefully he’d be able to make out enough to understand what she was saying. Apparently, he did, as after several seconds more words were spoken in Kalarael. The doctor acknowledged, then produced a second, unused black cylinder. Carefully, he approached Svetlana’s face with it.
This was going to hurt. Those little sucking needles had sent real pain up her arm, and now they were about to puncture the middle of her face. But the pain was a necessary evil to find out what exactly was going on with that injury, if indeed the Kalarael had the know-how to determine it. The end of the cylinder was placed against the open wound. Svetlana closed her eyes and braced herself. The tears welled before the trigger was even pulled.
Slurr-pop!
“Ow!” Try as she might, nothing could stop the yelp from bursting forth. Every muscle in Svetlana’s face tensed when the needles stuck into her face—right into that fleshy part that had once been a nose—and it took every ounce of strength she could muster not to shrink back when the needles withdrew. But alas, the deed was done. Bending forward with shimmering eyes—for she couldn’t help it—Svetlana didn’t even see the doctor collect his things and hurry for the exit. She was too focused on the throbbing pain.
“You feel pain,” the voice said.
To say the least. But with every second that passed, it subsided a little more. Sucking in through her cavities, she wiped the moisture from her eyes.
“Kalarael assist Setana.”
The smallest breath of laughter escaped Svetlana’s lips. “How?” she asked, her head still downcast despite the observers before her. They might have been fascinated by this new, exotic alien creature, but right now, Svetlana wanted nothing more than to just be alone. Poked and prodded, she felt miserable.
The disembodied voice spoke again. “Results soon. Kalarael assist Setana.”
“I am an extraterrestrial. How will you get results so soon for a lifeform you have never seen? You do not know how my body is supposed to function.”
“Technology.”
Softly, she laughed. “Must be good technology.”
Several seconds passed before the voice spoke again. “How is the breathing?”
“My world has higher oxygen. Breathing is difficult for me here, but I can survive. The wound on my face is more significant.” Without them having ever seen a reference before, there was no way for them to know what a human being was supposed to look like. Looking at them again, she gestured to her nasal cavity. “Earthae have a nose, similar to yours, which helps us to breathe. That nose is gone for me, now. It makes breathing even in my own atmosphere difficult.”
She could see Koti-Raen receiving the information on the other side of the partition. There were subtle clues she was beginning to pick up on, mostly thanks to her time with Yigôzien, such as the perking of Kalarael ears when they were listening. They pivoted and twitched just like a dog’s.
“Give Kalarael time,” the voice said.
Time, she’d give in spades. “I will. Thank you.” Angling her head a bit, she asked, “What is happening to the others that were with me?” The fate of her comrades in the Zone Runner was, at present, a total mystery.
This was a question, apparently, that prompted discussion, as the whole of the Kalarael turned together to converse. Even paladins from the back of the room approached the quasi-huddle. This went on for almost a minute before Koti-Raen faced her again, mouthing whatever answer would be translated in the moments to follow. Svetlana listened intently as the translation came. “Darishu watch Bakma.”
Svetlana blinked. “Darishu?”
Koti-Raen angled his body, gesturing to the paladins. “Darishu,” she could see him mouth. Sure enough, the translation confirmed the Kalarael word.
So that was what the paladins were called. Darishu. Drawing a breath, she asked, “What will be done to them?”
Her question was answered with a question. “Did Bakma cause wound?”
“No,” she said firmly. This part, she had to make sure they understood. “The Bakma who caused my wound are dead.” You owe me one, Wuteel. “The Bakma on the spacecraft are different. They helped me escape.” And they weren’t the only ones. “There are two other lifeforms that helped me, too. One is small and white. We call their species the Ithini. That Ithini’s name is Ed.” There was no reason to force the Kalarael to try and pronounce Ei`dorinthal. “There is a large, brown animal, as well. We call them the canrassis. That canrassi’s name is Mishka. He is my pet.” Her pet that could probably bite through one of those darishu in one bite. “If Mishka shows aggression, he is only afraid. Bring him to me, and he will listen.”
Those were a lot of terms to take in, and she wasn’t sure they would all survive translation. For a second time, her answer prompted a group discussion amongst the Kalarael, as they convened to discuss their response. Svetlana knew the Kalarael considered the Bakma a threat. Hopefully she’d earned the benefit of the doubt in their color-changing eyes. At long last, an answer was given her. “No harm to them.”
Thank You, God.
“All must be tested.”
She understood. “You must test their biology,” she said in Bakmanese. “I understand.”
“Anything for you needed?”
An easy question with an easy answer. “I need to drink and eat.” Quite desperately.
“How do we feed?” the disembodied voice asked.
“I have been eating Bakma food,” she answered. “It is called calunod. It is on the spaceship.” As revolting as the seaweed-like substance was, she had to give it credit. It had sustained her, even in limited quantity. There was no questioning that she’d lost tremendous weight, but she was alive. “There is no food on the spaceship for my species. I will try any food that you offer. I will also need water to drink.”
Another brief discussion ensued before she received her answer. “Kalarael will test biology, then provide food. Will provide water.”
She’d take it. “I understand, thank you.”
“Rest is for you now.”
For a second time, she approached the cot, pressing her palm upon it to see it depress inward. Climbing atop it, she once again lay down, closing her eyes and wincing a bit at the brightness of the ceiling. As if it were known that that’d be her reaction, the room dimmed. Though she wasn’t quite in the proper spirits to outright smile, she came close. If it wasn’t for the fact that she was light-years away from home and locked in an alien quarantine, this might actually be nice.
Drawing a deep breath through her mouth—the easiest means by which she could breathe at present—Svetlana rolled onto her side, tucked in her knees, and fell asleep.