Moonlight was working its way through the remaining cloud cover, highlighting the aliens’ slick skin. Working in unison, two of them presented Cara and Traveler to Adam, slightly bowing to Sal before stepping back, their faces devoid of any expression. Did they even have facial muscles? Without mouths to move, maybe they didn’t—yet I could see the distinctive contours of cheekbones and jawlines.
Resigned to being useless, I settled into openly staring. Adam embraced Cara, tenderly kissing her forehead before peeking into the bundle of cloth that was Traveler. The little fist opened, releasing Cara’s hair, and batted his face. With a huge smile, he wrapped his arms around them both and guided his little family into the safety of the cabin. When he shut the door, I felt a part of myself snap free and recoil. I was useless. Untethered. What was I doing here? I didn’t belong here, but where was I supposed to be?
The third alien was the only one to acknowledge me. Probably feeling as useless as I did, it had moved to my side, but made no other overture.
“Hello,” I tried. Could it even understand me? I could barely understand myself. My ears felt stuffed with cotton, although thankfully the buzzing had faded.
Sal was apparently engaged in some sort of telepathic conversation with the other two. His lips weren’t moving, but his body language was full of forceful intent, and their posture was acquiescent. He looked like an ass.
Oh, God. Were the servants engineered without mouths so they couldn’t talk back? But how did they eat? Or breathe? I couldn’t see nostrils in the long, wide noses. Nor, now that I was looking, could I see ear canals. Only graceful arcs that hinted at something beneath.
Maybe the smooth, gray skin wasn’t skin at all. What had Sal said about gases in our atmosphere? Perhaps these were just protective suits. I sure hoped that explained the eyes, too. They were the stuff of nightmares—slightly bulging, elongated, and glossy like pools of oil.
The alien beside me had edged closer, and I turned back to it with an expression as friendly as I could manage.
A gentle swell made the boat rise and dip, and we both adjusted our footing. Somehow, that made me feel more comfortable—we were both living creatures, and therefore equal, if different. It couldn’t help the way it looked to me, and for all I knew, it was trying to start a pleasant conversation and I was too limited to hear its thoughts like Sal obviously could.
Slowly, as if not to startle me, it raised one hand and then the other, using its long fingers to peel back the blubbery membrane on one index finger, exposing a fleshy-pink human fingertip. Fascinated, I stepped closer as it showed me its bare appendage, complete with a pale, short fingernail and a bendable knuckle. An inch of skin at most, but it was enough to help me see the person behind the featureless bodysuit. I could picture warm human eyes, and a wide smile on an inquisitive, childlike face—they probably wished they could interact with us more, because we wouldn’t treat them like Sal did.
Of course, we might shoot them or dissect them . . . but we wouldn’t be blasé and superior. I winced at the irony, and it stretched its finger toward me as if wanting me to touch it. I glanced at Sal, but he was still lording it over the other two; and really, what was the harm? They’d seemed to take good care of Cara, so it shouldn’t be carrying any space germs or anything.
Having made up my mind, I raised my left index finger and eagerly reached out. The alien’s fingertip was cool and soft, and I collapsed under the excruciating torture.
This Is Pain
I was in a car accident once, before airbags and mandatory harness laws; and staring up at the floorboard of a crumpled Honda waiting for someone to find me on a deserted road was a blood-soaked, bone-cracked, soul-crushing experience that I thought was pretty much the measuring stick for physical pain. Even childbirth couldn’t compare, though I came close to death then, too.
But sprawled on the clammy deck of a rocking boat, with my arm suspended above me, connected to a malevolent alien by a mere fingertip was another classification entirely. Inside I was thrashing, screaming, beating, kicking, biting, and writhing to free myself—but control over my muscles had been severed by burning needles of pain that pierced every cell and pinned me into place. I couldn’t even blink as the alien tilted its head to study me on its makeshift specimen board. My gaze was out of focus, my irises trapped in their last contraction, but I knew the immense black beyond the alien’s head was its ship, and desperation surged with my agony.
I couldn’t move, I couldn’t breathe, the pain, oh God, the pain . . . Adam! Didn’t he know? He had to know. Adam help, please, help me . . . Sal tricked me; he tricked us; he lied . . . Eileen! Eileen, Eileen, Eileen, I have to get back; I have to; I have to; I have to—mute, nauseating whimpers echoed in my lonely torture. Adam, help . . . Eileen needs us, please help. Please. Eileen.
The alien pulled on my puppet arm, and my head flopped sideways. Large bare feet walked into my range of focus, and my arm was forced backward, ratcheting the pain in my shoulder to a new level of misery.
It was Sal, his voice distorted and furious, and then . . . bliss. My arm slapped the deck like a dead fish, and I wept for my exquisite release. Curling on my side, I shuddered through silent sobs as pain gave way to tingling numbness.
The alien crouched beside me, and I cowered, too weak to scramble away, knowing I was utterly defenseless unless I could. It pointed at my forehead, and Sal dropped to his knees—his expression a harrowing mirror of my
