Chapter 13

Ravok

Pain. It's the first sensation that claws its way into my awareness, insistent and unyielding. The agony makes me wish for the sweet oblivion of unconsciousness, but I am not that lucky. Like miners digging through layers of bedrock, my nanites tirelessly work to repair the massive amount of trauma my body's endured. I haven't felt pain like this since the early days of combat drills with my training pod.

I struggle to open my eyes. It's an almost insurmountable task, like lifting boulders instead of mere eyelids. When I finally manage to peel them open, sunlight floods my vision. I squint against its harshness, my vision slowly adjusting to the searing brightness.

I gaze at the unfamiliar surroundings. From the worn wooden surface under my body to the rudimentary construction of the dwelling, I realize that I am in a place that is primitive, even by human standards. I am laid out on the floor like discarded cargo, as though the humans who brought me here didn't care enough to provide something more comfortable. However, I am relieved to realize that I am not back at the human military compound. Anything is better than that.

I find no signs of immediate danger. No armed humans are watching me with distrust and fear in their eyes. There is no sign of advanced security systems. I'm not even strapped down or secured in any fashion. No one even seems to be in the building with me.

I need to make my escape; to get back to my ship and assess it for damage. However, when I try to sit up, the pain is so overwhelming that my vision starts to darken. A low moan of agony slips from my lips before I can seal my mouth against any sound escaping.

I must accept that I cannot make my escape until I heal more. My nanites demand rest to expedite the healing process. Judging that I am safe enough for now, I let them pull me back into the merciful void of unconsciousness. Every thought, every sensation, slowly fades into nothingness as I lapse into a dreamless sleep.

A soft,melodic chirping noise rouses me from unconsciousness. My senses swim, awash with disorientation. At first, I think I am back on my home planet – a place I haven't seen in years. The sound, so similar to the native Cularia birds that sing in the dense forests of my home, lulls me into a brief second of tranquility.

But as the threads of sleep begin to unravel, I realize the truth – it is not a Cularia I'm hearing, and I am not on Cryzor. I ignore the pang in my chest at the realization. My focus shifts, narrowing on the sound. I realize I'm hearing a human female's voice, lilting and gentle. My translator must be malfunctioning, stealing my understanding of her words and rendering her voice into a simple melodic song.

Pain still ripples through my body, yet it isn't as blaring as before. My nanites have been mending my damaged body while I rested. But they haven't completed much yet, so I'm far from ready to challenge my captors.

Keeping my eyes closed, I pretend to still be unconscious, hoping this will allow me to glean more about my situation.

Moments pass as I listen to the woman's soft voice. I strain my ears, listening for others, but she is the only voice I can discern. I lay still, mentally assessing the damage to my body. In silence and secrecy, I will heal, observe, and plot – the most familiar elements of my existence. All the while, her voice ebbs and flows around me, creating an unlikely atmosphere of serenity around the grim reality of the situation.

As the subtle vibrations of her steps grow closer, I narrow my eyes to thin slits. I need to see who my captor is. Through my limited field of vision, she steps into view. Small and vulnerable, her diminutive size surprises me, making her seem almost vulnerable. I'd only seen a few breeding Cryzorian females in my youth before I was sent on my mission. They had been large, fierce breeders selected for their superior genetics. My vague memories of my mother are similar, although I remember her touch and voice had been kind.

The female is tiny by Cryzor standards. For a moment, I wonder if she is a youngling, but I dismiss that idea quickly after a glance at her intriguing curves. She must've been the runt of her birth group, and I'm a little surprised her progenitors wasted resources to get her to adulthood. Her skin is the color of unripe pueriv, creamy and pale. Her hair is the color of deep, rich soil, with luscious curls that frame her face. Her features aren't dissimilar from a Cryzorian's, although her eyes are a remarkable swirl of brown and green. She has a tiny mouth framed by pink lips. For a non-Cryzorian, she is surprisingly captivating.

The human female is carrying a small, fluffy, orange creature in her arms, almost as if it were an offspring. The animal has four legs and a long tail and is covered in striped, orange fur. This female keeps her meat stock inside her domicile.

How primitive. And disgusting.

I have to force my face to remain expressionless as a grimace of distaste tries to twist my lips.

In my realm, we place our livestock in designated compounds where they belong. Not inside our abodes like some prized treasure. Do these earthlings essentially farm inside their homes? How utterly distasteful; it's nauseatingly archaic. I force my features to regain their stoic composure, unwilling to alert her of my awakened state. Time, as I have learned, is the most powerful weapon I carry.

I lay still and watch the human female through slitted eyes. She maneuvers her way toward me, her cautious steps making me believe she fears me. Intriguing. She should be scared to be in the presence of a Cryzorian warrior. I am capable of snapping her neck before she could even register it. Usually, that is; not in my current state, but my nanites will rectify that soon enough. I note the hints of trepidation in her movements and stark fright in her wide eyes. Yet determination overshadows her fear which piques my interest.

I close my eyes as she comes closer, not wanting to alert her to my awakened state.

A sensation of coolness graces the heated skin of my forehead. My eyes almost pop open without my command when I realize the female has pressed her hand to my forehead. Confusion momentarily clouds my mind. This gesture… its purpose eludes me. What is she doing? Yet soon, I realize her soft hand feels like a soothing balm against my heated skin. It lulls my senses, ebbing away some tension knotted in my muscles. I'm not in any immediate danger from this tiny, underfed creature, so I let my muscles relax and focus on healing.

She kneels at my side, her human hands hesitating only a moment before making contact with my injuries. I bristle, preparing myself for more pain. Expecting agony, I am instead treated to tender, careful touches. My eyes almost open again, needing to figure out what this female is up to. She is a vile human so I must remain vigilant.

As the female checks over one of my arms, I become aware that my limb is wrapped in some sort of crude splint. Realizing that I have several incapacitating wounds, I run a diagnostic on my body. Inside my bloodstream, my nanites are buzzing like a hive of insects gone mad. They scramble through the maze of arteries and veins, busying themselves with mending torn tissues, staunching blood flow, and boosting immunity. Information bombards my consciousness via the neural links I share with them. Several fractured bones, internal bleeding, and a massive concussion – I could have died, I realize with a jolt. Images flash through my mind: the red pulse of alarms, my ship's failing flight, watching the ground rising to meet my vessel, the violent crash-landing, and then… her. Her face is blurred in my memory, but she was there – the human female with eyes filled with fear and concern right before darkness claimed me. I'm surprised that she did not immediately return me to her authorities. I'm sure she would've received a reward – and based on this hovel we're inside, she could use it.

This female must've found me and somehow brought me to this place. For reasons I cannot fathom, she tried to patch up my wounds. I realize that she has even covered my nudity with a shroud of some sort. It's a strangely kind gesture. Or perhaps my nudity offended her sensibilities; some species value modesty. I shouldn't assign good intentions to her gestures when I don't truly know her principles. Only a fool would trust her motives, even if I am grateful to be out of the weather. However, I assume she is healing my body and hiding me away for nefarious purposes. She'll probably be rewarded for my recovery and return.

I push my senses out but do not detect any other nearby humans. Strange that a female is alone, without guards or protection. This begs the question: why would anyone ever willingly let a female, especially one as delicate looking as she is, live alone in squalor? A female is to be protected, not abandoned. In the past, I'd never been allowed near a precious female. I believed it would be years, if not decades, before I was allowed the privilege. But now the knowledge that a creature like her – finer than any I'd ever seen – happily shared her meager surroundings with me burns in my mind.

It is only now, faced with the mystery of this female's intentions, that I wish I had paid better attention to the societal structure of this planet's species. If I'd spent any time learning how humans behaved and interacted with each other I would perhaps be able to ascertain her motives better. However, it didn't make sense at the time; it would've been a waste of my time. I was just here to assess the viability of the planet's resources – the creatures scurrying over the surface, unknowingly going about their brief, useless lives meant less than nothing to me. So why would I bother to watch the interactions of a doomed species?

She fusses over me for a few more minutes, all the while murmuring lowly. She pats my shoulder before rising to her feet. I'm perplexed by her behavior, and that irritates me. I don't like when things aren't logical and clear. It puts my teeth on edge and makes me want to break things.

As she retreats, I open my eyes and watch her. The human female begins prattling on in her strange, high-pitched voice, talking to no one. Actually, she appears to be talking to her meat stock. She scoops up and snuggles the animal under her chin. I watch, perplexed, as she coos to the creature in her soft, lilting bird voice. Why is she talking to it? I tilt my head in intrigue as she kisses the beast on its fuzzy head and strokes it with utmost care. She kissed her food. No. I must be mistaken somehow. Perhaps this animal is not food? It is hardly more than a meal or two anyway. My gaze flickers between the woman and the fluffy creature. It doesn't seem much like a guard animal. Perhaps it is vital to one of the many religions of this planet. How the female behaves with the creature aligns with the worship of an idol. I find myself intrigued but know better than to indulge my curiosity over a doomed species. It is better to keep each planet's citizens as vague constructs.

I follow her movements as she busies herself around the room, always returning to check on me between tasks. She talks to herself, uttering words I wish I understood. I cannot fix my translator until I return to my ship. It is beyond my nanites' capabilities.

She moves with quiet grace, each action fluid as she pours a bowl of food out for the tiny beast. As dim light filters through the windows in the cabin, I lay in silence watching as the female bustles around the confined space. The scent of something frying wafts enticingly, causing my stomach to growl audibly. I press my lips together, forcing myself to ignore the gnawing hunger that claws at my insides. My gaze traces her movements, observing how she stirs whatever is sizzling, then shuffles over to tend to other tasks. The small creature twines about her ankles, crying plaintively. I'd believe it was starving if I hadn't just watched the woman feeding the creature.

The way she dotes on the animal, coddling the tiny, fragile creature as if it is something precious, stokes my curiosity further. I can't begin to imagine the point of treating a simple beast like that. What a strange female.

Silently, I assess my tattered strength, calculating the odds of a successful escape if I attempt to flee now. But my shredded muscles and the dull throbbing in my arms, ribs, and ankle remind me harshly that I am not fully healed. I have yet to reclaim the power that once coiled within me like a dormant beast. So, for now, I watch as the human goes about her routine. It appears patience has become my only ally in this strange world. Most of my life has been waiting – flying through galaxies alone in the dark – so I should not find this an arduous task.

The female approaches me again with a bowl, so I quickly close my eyes and quiet my body to complete stillness. I keep my eyes stubbornly closed, mentally preparing myself for whatever horror might await me. However, instead of the sterile, harsh touch I've grown accustomed to, a soft hand brushes against my cheek.

Her warmth is radiating into me, making my heart pound.

Suddenly, an aromatic scent wafts into my nostrils, stirring my hunger. It has been days since I consumed anything substantial.

"Sur? Sur? Awr oo ungry?" A soft voice says from above me. I feel her hand grab my shoulder and give it a shake. "Sur?"

She says a few more things too quickly for me to parse before she lets out a quiet sigh. I focus on her voice, the rhythmic cadence of her words almost consolatory. Is she attempting to nourish me? The thought is baffling, and yet…

After a final attempt to rouse me by shaking my shoulder, she rises to her feet, her presence departing, and with her so does the appealing scent from the bowl. A pang of regret stings me, and I silently curse the situation. My stomach betrays me, painfully twisting in anticipation of sustenance that it will not be granted, at least not yet. Stay strong, Ravok, I coach myself. You are a Cryzorian. Patience and determination are your allies – let no human, no matter how intriguing she may be, make you lose sight of your mission.

If surviving this strange planet means understanding their ways, I should pay better attention to the female. I keep my eyes closed as she seems nearby. I hear her cleaning up her small cooking area, dishes clattering as she works.

After a few more minutes, she leaves me, muttering to herself as she puts on shoes and exits the dwelling, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

Her absence comes as a sharp loss, the silence resounding in my ears, a stark contrast to the soft rambling I've started to grow accustomed to. I study her dwelling, soaking in the details – the worn decorations, items scattered here and there. Then I spot the small animal that had been following her like a shadow, but now sits on a chair watching me like an emperor from his throne.

In the now-silent room, I feel my eyes start to get heavy. Despite the pain still coursing through my veins, exhaustion weighs heavier on my body. My nanites buzz beneath my silvery skin, stitching my wounds together at a microscopic level. I need to remain vigilant in this strange environment, but despite my need to remain aware and awake, my mind slips smoothly into the void of sleep.