MOIRA

Moira was right. The alien hiding in crate seven was a Dweller.

Unfortunately, she didn’t get to have her rightfully earned “I told you so” because, although its survival was nothing short of a miracle, the Dweller was the least of everyone’s concerns. The attention of the Sanctuary focused solely on the unknown alien. News of first contact had spread across the facility and even made it onto social media, although Earth wouldn’t hear about it for a while.

As Moira predicted, Dr. Sketchy took full credit for the discovery and was doing everything in his power to block her from the research. To distract her, he even assigned an additional job on top of her intake duties: coax the Dweller out of hiding.

After intake, if the rescues were safe enough to move, they were given their own quarters. (Albeit, the lock on the door made it more like a cell.) Dwellers were a gentle species, and the one in crate seven had been deemed safe for relocation. Still, they hadn’t come out from under the bunk since their arrival and they would only be forcibly removed as a last resort.

Moira lowered the barrier shield and sat inside the crate. It took a few tries to find the right balance, but she thought she’d found the sweet spot—close enough to see the Dweller, but not close enough to frighten them.

Dwellers, short for Tree-Dwellers, were a highly xenophobic race who selodomly had dealings with humans. Or anyone, for that matter. An intersex species, both (and neither) male and female, they were uniquely, and infamously, beautiful. This one had probably seen better days, but for being an Exhibit rescue, they actually didn’t look too bad. Their hair coiled in tangles around their shoulders but hadn’t become matted, their fur looked a little roughed up but was mostly still smooth, and their antlers were intact. They didn’t show signs of injury, scarring, or even malnutrition.

Although, they were probably hungry considering they refused to eat anything.

With this in mind, Moira placed a plate of lettuce on the floor in front of her. From her pocket, she produced a metal pipe. Dweller language, as beautiful as the race itself, came from pitches and tones, not words. That’s why it had responded to her singing. It wasn’t just because of her ability to carry a tune or her good intentions. She didn’t have much practice with it, but she knew enough to have a basic conversation. Or so she hoped. She placed the pipe to her lips and blew a few notes. “Good morning,” she tried to play. “How did you sleep?”

As expected, they didn’t reply.

They were cute. She had to hold herself back from crawling under the bunk to snuggle them. She’d been right about their age, too. The growth of their antlers suggested they were nearing adulthood, but not quite there yet.

The antlers clacked against the bottom of the bunk when they turned their head. It left them no choice but to bend their neck at an odd angle. They cocked their whole body sideways and practically had their chest on the floor.

“Isn’t that uncomfortable?” she asked with the pipe. “Don’t you want to come out?”

They reached out their hand and pointed to a group of researchers surrounding the unknown alien’s crate. After a bit of poking around, Moira discovered the Dweller and the unknown alien were rescued from the same enclosure in the Collector’s Exhibit. The unknown alien was likely hunting the poor thing when they were recovered. That’s how they “knew” each other, if one could call it that.

“Don’t worry,” she played. “That thing isn’t going to bother you anymore.”

They withdrew their hand and slunked farther into their hiding spot. Damn. Did she play that wrong? She hoped she didn’t accidentally say something offensive.

Sometimes, the Collectors took children at such a young age they had no concept of language. Moira didn’t get that impression from the Dweller though. They looked directly at her when she played. They had understanding in their eyes. They just didn’t want to reply.

If she could establish trust, the whole thing would go so much easier. So, what could she do to get them to trust her?

“I’m sorry,” she played. “What can I do to help you?”

They pointed again.

“I don’t understand,” she played.

The hand withdrew.

Ugh! Okay. That was enough. She had other duties to worry about. She still had to process the rescues who were scheduled to move into their quarters, arrange to have a security crew take them, set up intake medical exams, and a million other things. She left the lettuce on the floor and stepped out. Maybe she’d have better luck later.

The intake door took up the majority of the wall opposite the main building. Someone had opened it for some fresh air and the breeze felt good. The Sanctuary had been established on a moon called M12-45, but everyone called it the Waterfall Moon. Mountains, high rigid rocks, and sudden cavernous precipices covered its surface, all woven together in such a way that water tumbled and flowed everywhere, all the time. Moira loved breathing in the fresh air and feeling the spray and mist of the falls on her face.

Her phone vibrated and she flinched. A smile spread across her face and relief washed over her. Her first message from Earth had finally arrived!

Save anyone yet? - Josh

What? That was it? A one-line text from her brother?

No, asshole, she typed back. But I’m working on it.

She turned and every last drop of blood in her body drained to her toes.

The Dweller poked their head out. It’d be a win, except the “out” they were poking from was “out of the crate which should have been impossible except Moira forgot to close the damn shield!” 

Damnit! Damnit! Damnit! Luckily, no one else has noticed yet. If she ran back to the crate, the Dweller would be spooked and run back under the bunk. Easy. No problem. No harm done.

Except, that wasn’t how it happened. She ran, and they were spooked—like she predicted—but instead of running back into the crate, the Dweller ran out. Straight for crate fifteen.

“Hey!” someone shouted.

The researchers backed away from the Dweller for their own safety, and the unknown alien began throwing an outright fit. The security guards at the door charged and shot. Purple darts stuck into the Dweller’s legs and they fell flat on their face. The unknown alien roared and fought the crate, slamming its entire body into the wall, clawing, biting, and struggling to escape. Black splattered the shield. Blood. Security stepped in, opened the barrier shield, and knocked it out, too.

It all happened so fast, Moira had difficult making sense of any of it. But once the dust settled, all heads turned toward her.

Oops.

“The next ship back to Earth leaves tomorrow morning,” Dr. Sketchy said. His office smelled like body spray. “You’ll be on it.”

“It was an honest mistake,” Moira fought back.

“An honest mistake that could have killed someone!”

“They’re a Dweller. They wouldn’t have killed anyone. I was cleared to go in there in the first place so it had to be safe—”

“Oh, you’re right, let’s just unlock all the doors in the Sanctuary. It’s probably totally fine for these mentally deranged monsters to be wandering around freely.”

She wrinkled her nose. “They’re not monsters.”

“Really? That’s your defense?”

She bit the inside of her cheek and choked back tears. She wouldn’t let Sketchy have the pleasure of making her cry. Not ever.

He sighed. “Fortunately, you haven’t been here that long so your room should be easy enough to clean out. Go. Come back in a few years once you have some real experience and understand how to follow basic rules.”

She shivered and bit her cheek again. “Thank you for the opportunity, sir,” she forced out and marched into the hallway.

A few eyes glanced her way as she passed. By that time, they would have heard about what happened. She let a rescue escape confinement. She put people in danger. She deserved to go home. Six years of school, down the drain. The Collectors would continue stealing children from their beds and pitting them against one another in their twisted zoos, but instead of helping, she’d be back on Earth somewhere, probably working a cash register. All because of a stupid mistake.

She made it to her room, threw herself on the bed, and screamed into her pillows.

Hours passed and she didn’t get up. It was like the world held her down and smothered her against the mattress. What was she going to do? Go back home? Dad would hold the whole thing over her head and judge her for not going into the computer science field like he wanted.

She felt vaguely aware of discomfort in her stomach from not eating, but she didn’t care. If the Dweller could go a few days without eating, so could she.

The Dweller. If only there was something Moira could have done for them, anything to make the Sanctuary not seem so scary. Instead, she probably made the whole place seem even worse. Hopefully, someone would take them to their new quarters while they were sedated. They might feel better once the unknown alien in crate fifteen wasn’t around.

But something about that thought didn’t feel right.

The Collectors only put their prisoners together in the same enclosure to feed them or watch them fight. That much was clear. The Dweller and the unknown alien were rescued together, which meant the unknown alien was either trying to fight or feed on the Dweller.

Right?

Then why did the Dweller run toward the unknown alien when it escaped?

People run away from things that scare them, don’t they? Not at them. The Dweller and the unknown alien were rescued together. Rescued together.

Moira forced herself up and ran from her room, down the hall, and back to the intake bay.

“What are you doing here?” Dr. Sketchy shouted at her from across the room, alerting everyone to her presence like she might do something to purposefully sabotage them. Crate fifteen still sat in the center of the floor. The unknown alien, awakened from sedation, slammed itself into the walls, and the barrier shield on crate seven had been restored, so the Dweller must have still been in there.

“I have an idea,” she said as Sketchy approached.

“Good for you,” he snapped, seized her by the arm, and tried to push her out. “You can send it in a politely worded email on your flight back home.”

“We need to put them together,” she said.

“What? Who?”

“The Dweller and the new alien,” she insisted and pushed past. “You guys have been here all day,” she addressed the crowd of researchers, “how much progress have you made? That alien is aggressive and hostile and won’t let you near it, right? I think I know a way to calm it down. Then, maybe we can get to know it a little better.”

“How?” someone asked, triggering Dr. Sketchy’s eye roll.

“We need to put it together with the Dweller and crate seven,” she repeated.

“Are you kidding?” someone else spoke. “It will tear them to shreds!”

“You’re right, it’s dangerous,” she agreed, “so baby steps. Let’s put the two crates next to each other so they can see one another. The barrier shield will keep the alien from attacking. Security can be ready with the tranquilizers in case anything happens. They were rescued from the same enclosure of the Exhibit. They both had strong reactions when the shield was left open earlier. I think they might recognize each other.”

A few people exchanged glances.

Dr. Sketchy shrugged. “Worth a try, I guess,” he said.

Moira’s stomach twisted. There was something unsettling about him being on her side. Then again, if she succeeded, one of his interns will have saved the day. If she failed, he could brag about how he made the right move to get rid of her. At the end of the day, there was no risk to the rescues. Neither alien could hurt the other with the barrier shields up. At worst, it’d be a five minute waste of time.

But Moira’s career depended on it.

The automated cranes lifted crates fifteen and seven and aligned them with one another, about four or five feet apart.

And nothing happened.

The unknown alien continued to fight and growl. The Dweller remained nowhere in sight. Minutes ticked by. Someone looked at their watch. Okay, so, five minute waste of time it was.

Dr. Sketchy raised his eyebrows at Moira.

Alright, dick, don’t look so smug.

A nose poked from under the bunk. “Wait!” she said before anyone could think to move the crates back.

The Dweller shuffled from out of the shadows. They sat in front of the barrier shield, cross-legged on the floor. The unknown alien stopped. Breathing heavily, it glared at the Dweller with its piercing silver irises. For the first time, Moira could see its defined muscle shapes, its four clawed fingers, its aggressively sniffing nose. No. Not “it.” Also for the first time, she could see its naked body, and though she was no biologist, she guessed it was a male.

Fingers typed away at tablet screens and voices muttered, but Moira found herself frozen. Staring. Slack-jawed.

“Open the handler’s latch,” she said.

“Why?” someone asked.

And she didn’t know the answer. “Just a hunch,” she replied. “Please.”

Dr. Sketchy nodded.

Beside each barrier shield was a five-by-twelve in latch, primarily used to slide in food trays, medicine, or otherwise reach into the crates when needed. The latches on crates fifteen and seven opened and the unknown alien shoved a clawed arm through, scratching and growling.

Everyone jumped.

“Close it!” someone snapped.

“No!” Moira snapped back.

The Dweller climbed to their feet and slipped their arm through the latch. The two aliens reached across the space between them. Moira’s heart raced and she placed her fingers over her mouth. Despite any suspicions or guesses she had, she still couldn’t believe what she saw.

The Dweller and the unknown alien, who had no business being friends even in the best of times, stretched their arms to the limit and took one another’s hands.