These past few days I’ve ventured into the forest, something has felt different. I can’t place what it is, because at first glance everything is as it was before. There had been a bit of rain over the weekend, which didn’t matter since I was exempt from my task on weekends anyway. Good to know the traditional working week is still observed in space.
I’m trekking into the forest again now, and that familiar ticklish feeling is falling over me once more. It’s almost like I’m being watched, but the feeling is less… sinister. I’m unsure exactly how to consider it, to be honest. It’s not something I have ever felt before.
My luck these past few days has been nothing short of spectacular. I saw the children again, and since then I have seen the same woman I first saw two days in a row. I attempted to follow her around at a somewhat sluggish pace, if only so she wouldn’t notice me. I’m not sure what would happen if she did, but I’m nervous to find out. My lazing trailing meant that I lost her a few times as she went around foraging, but I was mostly successful in finding her again afterwards.
Every day on Rheia is a beautiful day. Even when the sky is dark and clouds pregnant with rain, and storms fizzle in the air. There is a certain ethereal beauty that is born as electricity plays in the sky at night, illuminating the wild outline of the Rheian jungle. Today, however, feels especially beautiful. Rheia sits a little further away from its sun than Earth does, so when the sun lands on my skin it warms it, but doesn’t feel quite as scalding. The breeze is cool and brings with it something akin to birdsong, luminescent flowers and vibrant shrubbery moving in tandem to the same melody.
I can’t help my admiration. My memory of Earth is nothing like this — I wasn’t alive when it looked even remotely similar. Humanity squandered the natural beauty of our planet. So being here and being able to see something so breathtaking and untouched? It feels like a miracle. I can understand Ritika’s affinity for plants and botany. Though I do wish she would get over her fear and come out here with me sometime. It’s only a matter of time before they send her out to get samples, anyway.
Some time later I have settled behind a massive, hollow log, deciding it’s as good a place as any to sit and wait. There is a fuzzy plant similar to moss and a flowering vine crawling over the aged bark, and it does a decent enough job of hiding me that I’m happy to set up. I forgot my tablet today, so I’m going to be taking notes the old fashioned way. I still have the smart device on my wrist to lead me home, and the communication device in my pocket, so I’m not all too worried. Besides, I kind of miss writing things down by hand. It feels a lot more personal, and I like making my handwriting look pretty.
As the day begins to go on, the pages of the journal get filled with a combination of odd little observations of whatever creature scuttles past, and the occasional doodle. A tiny, four-winged creature with a cone beak and two long, fluffy antennae lands on the log at some point, completely capturing my attention for the better half of thirty minutes. Completely unbothered by a foreign presence, it pecks at the wood, carving out a place for it to settle while it opens its beak and a long, thin tongue emerges to dip into the centre of one of the vine’s flowers.
It’s fascinating. Half a page of the journal gets dedicated to it, and I fondly give it an unofficial name of Piwi. It seems cute enough to suit it.
Piwi doesn’t stay long, though. As soon as it slurps its fill of nectar from the large cup of the flower, it is letting out a pleased chirp and fluttering away, all four wings sweeping the air so quick that they turn into a blur. It buzzes up, onto a branch perhaps a metre above me, and repeats the process with the blooms there. I decide to give the poor thing some privacy after being stared at for the better part of an hour.
The second my gaze returns to the front, I’m frozen in my spot. Familiar amethyst skin peaks through the foliage, but it doesn’t belong to any of the kids or the female I have seen thus far. For a moment, I can’t help but simply stare; the scene so breathtaking it burns itself into my memory unwittingly.
The log I’m hiding behind is situated a good fifty metres from a small lagoon at the base of a sheer black stone cliff about three metres high. Water trickles down over the edge, sparkling turquoise, and there at the very edge of the bank is the huge figure of what can only be a Rheian male. He must have been in the process of washing something while I was distracted, because part of what makes the image so mesmerising is not only the sunlight’s dancing reflection off the water against his front, but the droplets that settle over his smooth, poreless skin and glitter like crystals.
An audible splash is what brings me from my daze, and not wanting to let the opportunity slip past me, I scramble silently for the journal. The pen feels awkward in my grasp with how quickly I scribble down words.
[— The subject is crouched. It appears to be a male of the species. Skin is rich, hue similar to a lighter form of tanzanite. Horns are large and straight with a slight twist, unlike that of the female which curl like rams horns. Height is similar to previously witnessed, full extent to be observed but believed to be above six foot. Tail is long, not currently being used. Appears evolved for balancing? . . . ]
Movement in the periphery of my vision distracts me, and I look up to see the Rheian bringing cupped hands to his mouth, sipping from the crystalline liquid. For a moment, I am distracted by the way his muscles shift beneath his skin, long, broad back straightening and tail curling behind him. Contrary to the female’s tail, his is longer and thicker, less whip-like and more… fluffy. Like the tail of a panther, or a snow leopard. I can’t tear my eyes away, and when I do its with a spark of frustration.
[ Possibly prehensile. Flicks similar to a cat. . . I miss Mochi.]
My pen drops between the pages of the journal, landing on a crudely drawn rendition of my cat, and a hand comes up to rub at my eyes. There is a familiar tired ache behind them becoming increasingly present. I wish to hit my head against the trunk of the tree beside me and knock myself out. The more I do this stupid job, the more I’m conflicted. I’m annoyed I was even assigned it in the first place, but now that I’m doing it… I’m actually enjoying myself. At the same time though, I feel like I’m wrongfully stealing a job and experience that shouldn’t be mine. We have biologists and zoologists on our team. This should not be something assigned to me; I don’t even know what I’m doing. I would rather these groundbreaking observations be done by someone qualified, as opposed to someone like myself — but I also don’t want to let this go.
I really don’t mind observing the inhabitants of this planet. Rather, I think part of my problem lies with the fact that I was told to do it. Maybe I have an issue with authority, or maybe I’m just damn lazy. My point still stands — there are other things in my job jurisdiction I could be doing right now that I actually know how to do.
For one thing, how am I meant to keep these observations unbiased? If I manage to get this whole entry out without slipping once about how attractive this alien specimen is, then it’ll be a fucking miracle. I’m so distracted that I’m genuinely worried I’m going to scribble out an unwarranted comment on the poor creatures shapely behind any minute now.
Embarrassing, humiliating. I am a very unfortunate spectator to my own thoughts.
Well, doctor’s orders were to spend six hours a day minimum observing any Rheian I came across, so I suppose if I get back to it and knock out the last hour watching this one, then I can be back at the base and curled up in bed reading in no time. Well, after I finish my reports. Actually, perhaps I could stay out here a while longer.
Letting my sigh escape through my nose, I wrench my eyes back open and bring my gaze back to where the alien is over by the stream.
Correction; where the alien was over by the stream.
He’s gone — I’m suddenly very awake and very regretful that I let my concentration lapse for so long. It’s so hard to actively track down one of these slippery aliens in the first place that it’s going to take me another day at least to find another one to observe!
I’m about two seconds and a wayward bug to the face away from a complete burnout-fueled breakdown when a long, violet finger enters my vision and hovers above the drawing of my cat.
“Kitty?”
Were I a woman of less control, I might have screamed. As it stands, I jump about a foot in the air and squeak, “What the fuck!”
I turn my head so abruptly that the motion actually makes me roll off my front and onto my back.
There, reclined like the cheshire cat across the low branch above me, is the Rheian I had been observing. He has retracted his hand and is cradling it to his broad chest, but contrary to how chastised that pose is he doesn’t appear very chastised at all. Foxlike eyes, black sclera with a galaxy of stars contained in a pupil-less orb in the middle, track my every movement. His lips curl slightly at the edges and reveal hints of sharp canines. Or… are those fangs?
For a few long moments, we sit in stalemate, gazes locked. His tail flicks behind him, swaying in a large arc before the fluffy end twitches and it sets in the other direction. Breaking our staredown, he leans forward slightly and peers at my journal once more.
“Is not a kitty?”
What the fuck.
I must have said that out loud, because his gaze flicks to me immediately after I think it. Feeling somewhat lightheaded, I clear my throat and manage to squeak out a response. “Yeah…”
He seems to register that word as an affirmative, because something lights up in those galaxy-speckled eyes. Almost before I can register it, he adjusts his massive form, coiling it up and around the branch before he drops gracefully to the ground and slinks over beside me. It results in something eerily similar to a heart attack on my end.
“How are you…” I speak the words aloud to myself, mentally tearing through all the minimal knowledge I have of the species native to this planet. They have their own tongue, and it’s very different to ours from what we know, so how the actual fuck is this one talking to me in my own language?!
His pointed ear flicks at my voice, eyes slipping to my form. Bizarrely, a slow grin tugs his lips like he knows what I was asking, the tip of an indigo tongue peeking out to run over the edge of his biggest canine. The sight makes a shudder of something primal roll down my spine — whether it’s fear or something else is a matter I’m not entirely ready to unpack yet.
What the fuck is happening.
Comments (1)
See all