Weather update? My translator intones.
I stiffen. That wasn’t a chirp. That was one of the Little Green Men.
More chirping echoes in my translator. The storms have stabilized. We should be able to find a sufficient landing area very soon.
Look for the cargo hold. If the ones in stasis are still there, we can recover them.
We’ll set down near it.
“What is it?” Aehako looks at me from over his shoulder.
It takes me a moment to realize that I’m clutching his neck so tightly I’m practically choking the man. I relax my grip, though my anxiety remains. “They’re coming. The storm’s gone and they want to land.”
“Then we have to hurry,” Aehako says. He looks to Haeden, and the man nods. Before Harlow can protest, she’s slung over his shoulder like a pack, and then both aliens are off, running through the snow at a speed faster than our human legs can move.
As more alien chatter feeds down, I can only hope we get there before they realize the translator is nowhere near the old cargo hold and come looking for me.
I want this thing out of my head now.
? ? ?
Even though the sa-khui — our blue alien friends – call it the Elders’ Cave, it’s actually a spaceship. Some three-hundred-and-change years ago they crash-landed here much like we did, and over time lost the use of their technology. The ship is still there, and the computer works. And if they have the advanced technology to have a working spaceship once upon a time, I’m hoping that they also have some sort of working medical equipment that can get this thing out of me.
At this point? I’m willing to chop off my own ear to get rid of it. The implant feels like an anchor, weighing me down with worry.
I’m relieved when the snowy expanse of the ship appears in the horizon. It’s enormous, like a gigantic, overly flat hill. Off to one side I see the ‘cave’ opening. It represents safety, even as I hear another sequence of alien chirps come through the translator.
“Hurry, please!” I squeeze Aehako’s neck as something bright zips past in the skies overhead. It’s not headed in this direction…yet. Doesn’t mean it won’t, though.
Aehako picks up the pace, and with me clinging to his back, he heads for the entrance to the ship in a full-on sprint. Haeden follows close behind.
As we approach, I see the rounded door entrance. It’s iced over and dark, but the interior is deep. The snow around the door itself is high, masking any steps. We race inside, and I see that off to the sides there are doors tightly hugging the rounded walls.
“Can we shut the doors?” I ask frantically. The chirping is filling my ear to the point that it’s making my anxiety go wild.
“Mja se fah-ree,” calls out a computerized voice. Door sequence initiated, the translator tells me.
“What’s it saying?” Harlow asks, sliding off of Haeden’s back.
Aehako releases me gently, pulling out one of his bone knives from his belt and eyeing the skies. “It says it is quenching doors. I do not know what this means.”
“Sequencing,” I correct. “That means it’s about to shut them.” I pull Aehako back a step or two, watching. I’m a little unnerved that the computer’s listening to us. We’ll have to be careful what we say.
There’s a heavy groan of metal, and then the snapping of ice. Harlow shields her face and Aehako protectively steps in front of me as ice flies everywhere, and then the doors to the hatch roll shut. The sunlight disappears, and we’re in utter darkness.
Somewhere in the dark of the interior, a red light blinks.
“Hello?” I call out. “Can you turn on the lights?”
A big hand clasps my shoulder, nearly making me crawl out of my skin. “Stay close, Kira. We do not know if it’s safe—“
“North American English, Planet Earth. Is this the default language you wish to use?”
“Um, yes please.”
“Accepted.”
I glance around. Maybe the computer is like an overgrown version of Siri from my iPhone. “Computer, turn on the interior lights, please.”
Something sizzles and I jump closer to Aehako. A flutter, and then a dim light comes on overhead.
“There is a malfunction in regards to the lighting in the main bay. Please contact a service technician.”
“Computer, please turn off malfunctioning lighting and turn on all other lighting,” I correct. I don’t want anything catching on fire. I rub my arms, mindful of the chill in here. Temperature control might be a bit too much to hope for. “Are we safe with the doors shut?”