Alien, Awakening (Alien, Mine Series Book 2) Page 3

  She rubbed her hands together in excitement and began preparations.

  ~ ~ ~

  I know this dream.

  T’Hargen stood barefoot on a sandy beach and stared out over a deep-blue sea. Golden sunlight flickered and sparkled on the slight swell. A three-masted barque, sails unfurling, swung into the wind not far from shore. He frowned.

  Unaccountable alarm shivered through him. They’re leaving without me.

  But he didn’t know who they were, or why it should matter so deeply. The anchor weighed. Terror at being forsaken sliced through him.

  Yell! he roared at his still, silent, dream-self. Order them not to leave without me.

  But his form remained stiff, mute, helplessly watching the billowing sails propel the craft away. Wait! Don’t go!

  The ship continued, the distance between them lengthening. Unbearable loss slashed at his psyche.

  It’s not too late. They could turn back if they see me. Or maybe I could reach them.

  He stared at the sea, contemplating the dreadful option. The Angrigan racial phobia of deep water rose like a tidal wave and engulfed him. Terror paralysed him. He lifted a troubled, yearning gaze back to the ship, now agonisingly distant. His terrified urgency to hail them back escalated, grabbed him by the throat.

  For the first time, sudden clarity flashed through his mind and he knew the treasure the ship carried further and further from him, leaving him behind.

  His future.

  Now barely a white speck in the distance, the boat hovered between sea and sky. Its image wavered then seemed to turn to him. For a moment Kathryn Holden’s visage gazed at him with dark amber eyes.

  Then she slipped below the horizon.

  ~ ~ ~

  T’Hargen awoke with a bellow of anguish and denial. Pale grey walls confronted his vision. Confusion stamped through his mind.

  Where . . .?

  He heaved in panting breaths and tried to calm the frantic beating of his heart. Recognition of his whereabouts hit him. Cool air brushed the heated skin of his chest and back. He shivered and pressed the heel of his palm to the centre line between his pectoral plates, trying to ease the deep ache there.

  What are you doing in my mind as a symbol of my future, Kathryn Holden?

  Was the change in the dream linked with his musings of ‘we’? He drew a long, deep inhalation, attempting to decipher the message his subconscious seemed determined to deliver.

  What is she to me?

  He drummed the fingers of his left hand on the mattress of the trauma couch. This presentiment was not something to be tossed aside. The last time he’d failed to act strongly on a gut instinct of this magnitude, people had died.

  He scrubbed a hand over his face and pressed his palm into his mouth.

  At least it hadn’t been the other dream that still visited torment upon him, of mutilated bodies agitating around him, their dead eyes filled with profound dismay and the accusations of betrayal. Yes, he’d been following orders, but he was the one to convince the villagers to remain where they were lest they provoke Bluthen interest. Then command decided to move up the timeline for attack. He’d argued vehemently against it, had failed, and the villagers had been massacred.

  With a struggle that seemed intensely difficult, yet effortless with the ease of long repetition, he pushed the memory back into its grave and focused his attention on his current dilemma.

  So, his subconscious saw his future drifting irrevocably away. His future. What was it he most wanted for his future?

  The survival of a strong Alliance.

  How was Kathryn Holden linked to that? Had he subliminally identified something significant in her that would ensure it? Her humanity? Something he’d seen and not fully processed? Is that why he’d initially been drawn to her, he’d recognised in her something that would strengthen the Alliance, not the false promise of inner peace? It would make sense. He wracked his brain for some clue, some indication of her importance, but could define nothing. He stared at the wall and sucked his front teeth.

  It would seem I am not going home after all. Investigation into the thefts will have to wait.

  He heaved himself upright, stretched, and set to checking that the retractable medical attachments of the bio bed were in meticulous order, then grabbed some sterilising swabs and cleaned his blood from where it had soiled parts of the couch.

  That completed, he marched into the cockpit and adjusted his heading to New Earth.

  Chapter 2

  Kat rested her paddle across the gunnels of her borrowed, lightweight canoe, closed her eyes, and dropped her head back between her shoulders. Warm sunlight feathered her face in a sublime caress and she savoured a long breath of fresh, crisp air. She opened her eyes and gazed at patches of high, pale clouds resting on the pure blue of the sky. The gaseous, pallid-yellow parent planet around which New Earth orbited hung like a huge ethereal vista.

  The peace of the lake surrounded her and wrapped her in comfort. Except for the gentle measure of the water lapping the hull, deep, profound silence, like the reassuring murmur of Mother Nature soothing her children, filled her ears. She righted her head and dropped her gaze to the nearby shore. By her craft, the ripples in the clear, shallow water made the bottom of the lake appear to leap away on some urgent errand then return to stillness before once again springing forth.

  Along the waterline, the slim, bright green leaves of alpine plants, their small, bell-shaped blossoms strung like dark-ruby pendants on upright stems, crowded among lichen-freckled rocks. She lifted her Alliance-supplied image-recorder, camera as far as she was concerned, then took a photo and saved it to the flora catalogue, noting the time and day.

  A zephyr puffed the sweet fragrance of the flowers to her. It dragged forth a recollection of the posy she’d last placed on Matthew’s grave and a poignant ache pulsed in her breastbone. She gazed sombrely at the red beauties shining jewel-like in the sunlight.

  How long ago was it? A year? More? Less? She filled her lungs with a steadying breath. The Bluthen captivity had certainly messed with her perception of time. She gazed out across the rocky landscape and stared at the azure sky on the horizon. It seemed like years. The lonely ache Matthew’s murder had left in her heart now glowed with a warm sense of bittersweet gladness and privilege. She’d been damn lucky to know him and have him in her life.

  A gentle man with the strength of his convictions, and that’s what had gotten him killed. And he’d died for what? Principles? That had seemed less than nothing at the time. Certainly not worth his life. Not worth the pain of grief and loss that gutted her soul, sucked the breath from her lungs, and almost suffocated her. Not worth the utter shock of a gaping, agonising hole opening in her heart and the pain as though each breath withered it further. Nor the continual stinging well of grief, her terror of not being able to cope with even the simplest task without him by her side.

  How often had the imagined flicker of his form in the shadows raised the vain hope it had all been some terrible mistake? That he would walk in as he always did? Then the sickening, plunging realisation it was not him, never again would be.

  Envisioning the future without him had felt like a great, sucking hole gouging through her chest that threatened to swallow her. She’d learned to live in the present, to survive one moment at a time, for a moment’s pain she could endure. That had probably helped in the aftermath of the Bluthen.

  She shook her head slightly. Lord, her chest had ached and ached like a great spiky block of desolation lodged in her sternum. Heck, grief had felt like one of those damned aliens clawing its way through her bones and flesh to burst from her chest.

  She harrumphed. Another good reason to leave T’Hargen Mhartak in her past. From the injuries, old and new she’d seen on him, that man put himself in harm’s way far too ofte
n for her comfort.

  She leaned back in the canoe and gazed at the peaceful sky. What she wouldn’t give for one of Matthew’s books right now. He’d loved to read, everything from The Art of War to Chris Hadfield’s An Astronaut’s Guide to Life on Earth, and they’d discuss the books, debating merits and flaws.

  She’d been at Matthew’s graveside, telling him she was no longer angry with him for dying, that he should have put them as a couple first not his need to be himself, and that her emotional wounds had almost healed, when the bloody Bluthen had ripped her from Earth.

  Bastards.

  Well, they’d paid for that mistake and she’d moved on, but she’d always miss Matthew. She’d left a few good friends behind too, hopefully by now they were past her ‘death’. In this place, with these people, she fit. Here, no one judged her, no one found her lacking simply because of her skin colour or gender. They didn’t assess her worth, or lack of it, based on her Torres Strait Islander heritage. She’d made new friends, amazingly resilient people. Heck she should write An Abductee’s Guide to Life on Another Planet.

  Not a bad idea.

  As soon as she returned home—and with the permission of the villagers—she’d pen a paper on their recovery. If what they had all been through and what they’d done to heal could help others deal with their trauma and survival, all to the good.

  Her watch trilled a jaunty prompt, reminding her to begin the search for an evening campsite. She scanned the flat plateau dotted with tor-like hillocks, then paddled towards a promising mound of boulders.

  A soft, icy breeze picked up at her back, ruffled her hair, and her thermal two-piece warmed in response. Afternoon sunlight shafted through the thick, upper atmosphere of the parent planet and imbued the air with a pale-peach tint, much like Earth cast a reddish shadow on the moon when the planet moved between it and the sun. Her newfound peace glowed a little brighter with the beauty.

  Sudden, vivid, underwater movement zipped by her canoe. A thudding plop corresponded with small vibrations rippling through the fabric of her craft to her boots and butt. She’d hit something?

  Plop. Plop. Plop-plop. Plop-plop-plop-plop-plop.

  Several somethings?

  Near where her hand rested, a grey-green tendril about the length and width of a baby carrot, slid, arrow-straight, up the side of the gunnel. Sunlight glinted off globules of water caught in multiple suction cups. It remained pencil stiff for a second or two, like someone testing the wind with a finger, then very slowly, as if in a special effects section of a Michael Bay movie, it curled around the side of the boat and hooked there. A second tentacle slid next to it.

  Then another.

  Okaaay.

  A bottle-green, semi-transparent, conical head slipped smoothly into view. Two large, expressive black eyes peered at her. It looked for all the world like a curious child peering over a fence, albeit a child that looked like a squid. Movement to her left slid into her peripheral vision. She turned. Two more curious squid gazed at her over the side of her craft. A brush of humour mingled with her astonishment.

  Shades of Terry Pratchett.

  Fast blobs of colour rocketed by in the water. Half a dozen squid streaked towards the shore, their heads pulsing rapidly from green to cobalt blue and back. At the shore, they scrambled out using all—one, two, three, four—five tentacles. For a moment they flopped around between the rocks, shaking the flowers, then stilled and stared around. She fancied they looked bewildered, as though wondering how the heck they’d ended up where they were. The lake villagers had mentioned some unusual squid activity. This certainly seemed to qualify. She turned her attention back to the three accompanying her.

  “Are you planning on joining them?”

  Speckled, dark-grey membranes lowered over their eyes then lifted. They continued to gaze at her with . . . surprised calculation. A shiver rippled under her skin.

  Don’t be so fanciful.

  “It’s like this, guys, I’m heading for shore. You can stay or leave.”

  She lifted her paddle, checked for clearance in the water so she didn’t brain any of the little buggers, and paddled forwards. Her entourage remained fixed on the boat, the tips of their little tentacles gently undulating.

  She steered her craft away from the romp? murder? mob? pack?—What did one call a group of squid? Flotilla?—stepped into the shallow water, and beached her craft. The stowaways eyed her calmly and maintained their roost.

  “End of the road, chaps.”

  She cast her gaze skyward, expecting avian predators to arrow in on the vulnerable squid flopping about the shore. Nothing. Clear skies.

  That’s . . . unusual. Wonder wh—

  Something bumped her waterproof boots. The water heaved and boiled about her legs. Half a dozen squid disentangled themselves from the pileup then floundered onto the rocks. She shook her head in mild amusement and reached into her canoe for her gear. A couple of squid obstructed the hatch to the all-weather compartment.

  “Out of the way, you lot.”

  They blinked at her.

  She shooed at them with a waving hand.

  No movement.

  Alrighty, then.

  She stretched a hand towards one. Its mucous-like covering glinted with reflected sunlight. She curled her fingers into her palm and pulled her hand back.

  Perhaps not.

  The need to retrieve her gear pushed at her revulsion. She tensed her fingers into a tighter ball, straightened them then reached for a squid. Tentacles curled towards her and cones pulsed faster. She snatched her hand back and straightened.

  Okay, maybe just a tiny, teeny, wee little burst from the SD, just enough to nudge them out of the way.

  She pulled the Sonic Deterrent from beside her seat, adjusted the frequency and duration, then tapped the engage icon. The squid jiggled violently. Silent noise bounced around inside her head like someone strumming her brain. The tops of the squids’ conical heads bulged. Miniature, white projectiles shot straight up into the sky with semi-automatic efficiency. She ducked beside the canoe.

  Right, the SDs don’t seem to be having the desired effect.

  She peeked over the gunnel. The squid calmly blinked back at her. At least they were on the floor of her craft now. She lunged for her gear, grabbed the bag, spun, and leaped onto the rocks.

  Over to her left, the other group of squid were still involved in an orgy of—

  Orgy? Wait a minute! Had they . . .? Were they . . .? Oh, Lord, did I . . .?

  She halted her rout and studied the creatures. Dot-sized white missiles zinged about like tracer in a fire fight. She glanced at the sky again. Still clear. She looked back at the squid. Whatever they were shooting mostly bounced off the apparently armoured hide of the creatures. Then a tiny spear struck an unprotected area of flesh, protruded there for a moment, then burrowed in.

  She groaned and took another careful step back over the rocks. They were shooting spermata something-or-others, sperm and eggs all in one neat little package. No doubt that explained the absence of predators. No self-respecting animal would come within cooee of these little buggers while they were in this state. Be penetrated by one of those all-in-one sacks and you’d end up playing surrogate host to a bunch of baby squid if it wasn’t removed.

  And this frenzy had happened on the heels of the SD burst.

  Wonderful, looked like she’d managed to sexually excite a flotilla of lake creatures. That’d look so impressive on her résumé. Or maybe the reason they were here, at this time, was to mate, and the SD burst had tipped them over the edge into a bacchanalia.

  Note to self: Don’t use the SD on lake squid.

  She took a quick shot of the creatures with her camera, slung her pack across her shoulders, then turned and fled towards the hillock of boulders that hopefully repres
ented shelter for the night.

  On the far left of the dark-grey rocks, myriad dots winked in and out of existence. Bright, fleeting spots contrasted on shadowy dimness. Curiosity quickened her pace and she hopscotched over soccer ball-sized coarse rocks, careful to avoid the patches of flowers until she stood about twenty feet from the small hill of boulders. The twinkling resolved into—

  A tree?

  Delight streamed through her as the breeze twisted delicate, pale-green leaves. Their silver underside caught the slanting afternoon light, flickered brightly and briefly before the leaf settled. Fine, iridescent cyan lines traced almost rune-like scrolls across the smooth pale-grey bark of the trunk.

  How beautiful.

  She’d not seen its like before and the sheer loveliness charmed her. Tall, curving rocks framed the tree on either side and she stepped back a few paces to encompass the entire montage in her camera lens.

  Behind the tree, a dark hollow in the pile of boulders beckoned mysteriously, or offered possible shelter. She pulled a basic scanner from a leg pocket and checked for hazardous wildlife.

  No one home, at least not within the range of this device, and the rock appears stable.

  The cave seemed to extend for quite a distance and a sense of excitement tingled over her skin as she set forth to explore her proposed night’s lodging. She passed around the beautiful tree, and scanner in hand, edged, half bent, into the shadowy mouth of the cave. Moist air tickled her nose and barely heard echoes of falling water whispered down a long, dark tunnel. Yes, this would make a cosy night’s lodging. With a twist of her shoulders she slung her backpack to the ground and retrieved her torch.