Текст книги "Roks captive"

Автор книги: A.G. Wilde

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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 24 страниц)

“This is stupid,” I tell myself. “You have limited water. The smart move is to go back.”

But something tells me to keep going. Call it intuition, desperation, or just plain stubbornness, but I can’t shake the feeling that turning back now would be giving up our best chance at survival.

I check my supplies again. If I’m extremely careful with my water, I might have enough to reach the next formation and still make it back to the transport. It’s a risk, but at this point, what isn’t?

“Sorry, Jacqui,” I murmur, turning my back to the direction of the transport. “I need to see what’s out there.” But just for security, in case of anything, I leave a message.

Using tiny stones all around me, I create an arrow pointing to the other rock formation with a ‘BRB’. If they come, Jacqui and any of the others will get what I mean.

But it won’t get to that point.

I’ll make my way back.

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Chapter 6

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TRESPASSERS WILL BE THOROUGHLY MISUNDERSTOOD

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ROK

The male sleeps against my clan’s boundary marker.

I crouch, watching from my position among the sandstone outcroppings. My skin ripples subtly, adjusting its amber-gold patterns to match the surrounding rocks.

This traveler has committed an outrageous offense.

In all my cycles, I have never witnessed such a blatant territorial challenge. The boundary markers are sacred to all Drakav—to rest against one is to claim it, to challenge the clan’s right to the territory beyond. Even rival clans respect the protocol of proper challenges.

Yet this small, strange male simply collapsed against our marker as if it were nothing more than a convenient resting spot.

I extend my senses, attempting to catch his thoughts, but encounter only silence. No Drakav would shield their mind so completely unless they were hostile. Every attempt to establish a connection meets an impenetrable void.

Perhaps he is a youngling? His size suggests he might be, though something seems off. He lacks the proper markings of any clan I recognize. His skin is a strange pale color, and he wears coverings unlike anything I have seen.

A ripple of unease goes through me. What horror have the creatures this male killed endured for him to drape their hides as trophies across his body? Strange hides that cover his legs and chest. Worse yet is the reflective hide that catches Ain’s light. It must have come from some creature I have yet to encounter in all my sols.

And the sounds he makes…Gods, my ear holes bleed. Constant, meaningless vocalizations expelled through his mouth. No proper mindspeak at all.

I shift, crouching lower, my complete focus on the male before me. I suppose it is good that he is so loud. If not for his constant vocalizations, I might not have found him.

Last dark, when I first spotted this intruder approaching our marker, I had hastily raked warning symbols into the sand. The pattern was haphazard, rushed, but any Drakav would recognize the meaning: Turn back. Danger ahead. Territory claimed.

The male ignored them completely.

Now he stirs, making more of those strange vocal sounds. He manipulates something to his mouth and I go still when a drop runs down the corner of his lips.

Water.

He is drinking water.

It is from a strange waterskin, though I am not sure I can call it a waterskin at all. I almost give away my position with the urge to move closer just to investigate, when, without thought or reverence, the male wipes away the drop that ran down his lips with the back of his hand.

My veins go cold. Wasteful. A being who would waste even a drop of the sacred life-giving liquid can be nothing but dangerous. A destroyer. A defiler. This confirms what I already suspected.

This male is a threat.

I tense as I watch him survey his surroundings, my muscles coiling with the instinctive readiness that makes my tribe such feared warriors. Has he detected me? Impossible. My camouflage is perfect. The male’s gaze passes directly over my hiding place, lingers for a moment, then moves on.

His attention shifts toward another clan’s territorial marker in the distance, and alarm pulses through me. That marker indicates the boundaries between my clan and theirs. They are our rivals. Males we have fought against and bled because of. If this male intends to take passage through our lands to go into theirs, I cannot allow it. We cannot appear to be weak. And we cannot appear to have helped this intruder. If he is as dangerous as I think he is…I should eliminate him here.

I must act. But how?

The male begins moving again, not back the way he came, but into our territory and toward the rival clan’s.

I watch as he arranges small stones into a pattern before departing and I creep forward once he’s a safe distance away, examining the creation.

It is a crude thing, but it has a point and an end. Even I can see it’s a directional marker pointing toward our settlement, with strange symbols beside it. A message for others of its clan, perhaps? Reinforcements? This might be the beginning of some invasion.

The decision is made. I will follow this strange male. If he is scouting for an invasion force, I must know his purpose. If he is a lone intruder, I must prevent him from reaching the rival clan’s territory and getting further into ours. Either way, I cannot let him wander freely.

I move in silence, my feet gliding over the hot sand without leaving even the slightest impression. The heat brings comfort to my foot pads. This is my element, my territory—where I am most powerful.

The male, in contrast, moves like a wounded sandfin dragging itself across the dunes. His footfalls are heavy, clumsy, leaving tracks so obvious that a blind nestling could follow them. Each step pushes deep into the sand, creating a trail that might as well be marked with signal fires.

“Who are you?” I project the thought toward him, focusing my mindspeak carefully. Nothing. The void remains.

But the male stops suddenly and turns around. I drop, my body flattening against the dust, skin shifting to match the exact shade and texture of my surroundings. My dra-kir hammers in my chest. Did he sense me? But no, he merely surveys the terrain before turning back and continuing his awkward trudge.

As Ain climbs higher in the sky, pouring its merciless heat onto the dust, I expect the male to seek shelter. He is obviously struggling. Instead, he continues, though his pace slows significantly. More vocalizations emerge from him—sharp, clipped sounds that carry a tone of… frustration? Pain? I cannot interpret the meaning.

He stops again and I freeze, this time behind a small rock outcropping barely large enough to conceal me. The male adjusts the shiny layer of his strange hide coverings, revealing more pale flesh beneath. He secures this covering over his head. I barely catch a glimpse of his dusty yellow fur.

What I do catch is a glimpse of his exposed arms. They are turning a deeper shade. A shade that often signals rage or warning in the dust. I don’t move, my entire focus on him, waiting for him to lurch towards me in an attack. Instead, he turns, stumbles, and carries on.

Strange.

If he is not changing color as a warning, then… Is he unwell? Maybe he is no scout after all. Maybe he is heading to a Giving Stone—the place where all Drakav go to die. And the place where all Drakav emerge into this world.

Wrong. The nearest Giving Stone is in the opposite direction, and this male persists, continuing his determined march toward the rival clan’s territory.

“Stop your advance. This territory is claimed.” I try again with my mindspeak, pushing harder this time, but the void remains. Either he is deliberately blocking me, or—more disturbing—he is incapable of receiving mindspeak at all.

A being without the most basic form of communication? Impossible.

By the middle of the day, Ain blazes directly overhead, turning the dust into a pleasant warmth. Some creatures hide when Ain is at her highest point, but her rage does not affect me. The male, however, is clearly suffering. His movements have become erratic, his vocalizations more frequent and strained.

He finally collapses into the meager shadow of a small rock, consuming more of his precious water. That is twice now. Drinking so much in such a short time. It is wasteful. Unheard of.

He must carry some illness.

The next few solmarks pass with the male huddled in the diminishing shade while I maintain my vigil. When he finally rises to continue his journey, I notice his skin has changed color again—parts of it now an angry red. I know no clans that change color like this. All the Drakav I know are similar shades to me: amber-gold. Some lighter. Some darker. But never red.

It is a strange camouflage that appears to serve no purpose.

I am right about this male harboring some illness. It is even more important that I stop his trek through the dust. I watch as he winces before moving forward, still toward the rival clan’s marker.

What a void-minded ka’vrakt.

His determination is both impressive and troubling. What could drive an ill runt of a male to push himself this way? What goal could be worth such suffering?

I can think of nothing good.

As Ain begins her descent, the light grows softer and the male’s pace quickens slightly, as if renewed by the promise of coming darkness. The rival clan’s marker is now clearly visible on the horizon, perhaps another solmark’s journey at his current speed.

I cannot allow him to reach it. The truce between our clans is fragile at best. The tension between Kol (our leader) and Lucek (theirs) has been rising high since the water scarcity sols ago. A strange male crossing from our lands into theirs will be seen as either an attack or collusion—neither scenario ends well for my clan.

Each step brings him closer to the boundary, and my skin prickles.

I cannot let this happen.

I won’t.

Surging forward, my body is a blur of motion against the darkening landscape. The male doesn’t hear me approach—how could he when I move with the silence of wind over dust? At the last possible moment, he begins to turn, some instinct perhaps warning him of danger.

Too late.

I tackle him, angling my body sideways to take him off course, even as I’m careful to control my strength against his smaller frame. I expect an immediate onslaught against my mindspace, but there is nothing. What occurs is a shrill screech that comes from the male’s throat. I’d cover my ear holes if I didn’t have to grab his limbs as they suddenly kick out in every direction, trying but failing to land a blow on me.

We tumble across the dust, my momentum carrying us several lengths before coming to rest with the male pinned firmly beneath me, my hand covering his mouth to prevent more of that Ain-awful noise coming from his lips.

His eyes—the sight of them makes me freeze. They are a strange, single-colored blue without proper vertical pupils. Now they widen at me in shock and possibly fear. I can feel his dra-kir racing against my chest, his body radiating heat that speaks of exertion and stress.

His strange eyes dart wildly, searching for escape. Up close, I can see other disturbing details. His skin is even paler than I first realized, showing every pulse of his dra’kir beneath. Then there’s the rounded flatness of his teeth visible through parted lips, the small pertness of his nose. Not to mention the complete absence of status markings on any visible skin.

He is the most beautiful male I have ever seen in all my existence…and yet, everything about this male is wrong.

The struggle intensifies as he thrashes beneath me, making those horrible sounds despite my attempt to muffle them. My concentration slips for a moment, thrown by his strange features and the complete absence of mindspeak. Clawless digits connect with my jaw. The impact is weak, but that single touch is enough. It sends a burst of information through my nervous system—temperature, texture, scent—all foreign, all wrong.

His screeching grows louder, and my blood runs cold. Those sounds will carry across the dust. Every dust stalker within range will hear it, and the thought of those massive predators with their crystal-tipped claws makes my skin ripple with unease. Even a full hunting party approaches those beasts with caution. Alone, with this thrashing male drawing attention…

I must stop his racket.

I do not know how.

I release him and spring back, dropping into a defensive crouch, my body coiled and ready. The male scrambles away, falling twice before gaining his feet. He backs away but doesn’t flee, watching me with those unnatural eyes. His chest heaves with exertion and my brow tightens. His chest is not flat like mine.

There are two rounded mounds. He must carry gourds strapped underneath the strange trophy hides he wears. What else does he hide? A blade? Some weapon I cannot see?

My gaze snaps up to his when more sounds suddenly spill from his mouth. This time in shorter bursts.

It hurts my ears.

I am not used to such constant noise-making. It has been many many moons since I had the need to use my own voice—and that had only been because I was in dire circumstances. With no Drakav close by, I could only shout to get someone’s attention as the sandfin had tried to pull me under the dust to its den.

This male needs to be silent.

Ain touches the horizon. Soon the dust stalkers will begin their hunt.

My gaze travels over the male before me. To the wide blue eyes. The strangely soft face. The way he’s looking at me, still making those vocalizations that I wish I could silence.

I’ve prevented him from reaching the rival clan’s territory, but now I face an impossible choice. I cannot take him back to my tribe—bringing an unknown male to our sanctuary would be unforgivable. But I cannot leave him here, either to continue his mission or to become prey. If he dies in our territory, his clan—wherever they are—might seek vengeance.

Dust curse it.

A distant screech echoes across the dunes—not the male this time, but a hunting call. The male’s head snaps toward the sound, and for the first time, I see real terror in those strange eyes.

What am I to do with this void-minded, water-wasting, marker-defiling creature?

The answer comes to me as another screech tears through the air, far across the dunes. The male’s strange coverings will not protect him from what he has attracted here. His pale hide will be torn to shreds before Ain rises again.

I sniff the air, eyeing him as his chest rises and falls with heavy breaths.

I know what I will do.

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Chapter 7

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WHEN “FIRST CONTACT” MEANS EXACTLY WHAT THE FUCK IT SAYS

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JUSTINE

It’s a man. A person. The first living thing I’ve encountered apart from that ungodly screech I heard in the distance just now.

My heart hammers against my ribs as I stare at the figure before me. No, not a man—something else entirely. Humanoid, yes, but definitely not human.

“Holy shit,” I whisper, backing away slowly. I’ve discovered an alien.

If this doesn’t confirm we’re on another planet far away from Earth, I don’t know what will.

Unless the Xyma hired really committed cosplayers who got just as lost as we did, I’m going to go with door number one: definitely alien.

He’s tall—at least seven or more feet of lean, sculpted muscle. His skin is the first thing that draws my attention—a golden amber that seems to shift and ripple like the very dunes around us. His face is angular, with high cheekbones and a strong jaw that could cut glass.

And he’s completely, and utterly NAKED.

I avert my gaze then realize there’s nothing particularly…obvious…to avoid looking at. Either his people have different anatomy or there’s some kind of concealment I’m not seeing. I’m too disoriented to figure it out and frankly, being poked in the eye by D is the least of my concerns right now.

Oh shit, what did the Xyma do when they arrived on Earth again? I was so frickin’ terrified I can hardly remember. Funny how the entire Earth population has just moved on and accepted them from those early days. But the being in front of me does not look accepting right now.

“Um, hello?” I try, raising my hands in what I hope is a universal gesture of non-aggression. “I come in peace? That’s what you’re supposed to say, right?”

The being winces at the sound of my voice, his strange eyes narrowing. They’re amazing—vertical pupils like a cat’s, with irises the color of true topaz flecked with bronze. His reaction makes me lower my voice to just above a whisper.

“Sorry. Too loud?”

He remains in a crouched position, perfectly balanced on the balls of his feet, looking ready to either flee or attack. His nostrils flare slightly as he…sniffs me? Great. I probably smell really rich right now.

“Look,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady and quiet, “I’m lost. My people are back that way.” I point in the direction of the transport. He doesn’t even turn his head to look. Doesn’t even glance at my arm. Those eyes remain locked on mine and it’s hard to keep focus. I shake my head, clearing my thoughts. “We’re stranded. Do you understand?”

Nothing. Not even a flicker of recognition in that predatory gaze. But he’s watching me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle—not with fear exactly, but with the distinct feeling of being sized up. Like I’m a puzzle he’s trying to solve, or worse—a threat he’s deciding how to neutralize.

His lips pull back slightly, revealing teeth that are all pointed at the tips. Does this dude tear raw meat from the bone?

“Shit.” I’m raw meat, currently on trembling bones.

The alien snarls again and the message is clear enough: back off.

I swallow hard. “Okay, so you’re not the friendly welcoming committee. Got it.” That’s fine. This is fine.

Be brave, I tell myself. He’s here, so there must be others. And after walking so long and seeing only sand, he’s more than I hoped for. Much more. And I know this.

So I lift my chin a little higher and force down the lump rising in my throat.

Be brave.

“I need your help.”

Despite the alien’s obvious wariness, I can’t help noticing details about him. The way his hair, a rich tan color like the sand around us, looks like it has metallic highlights and moves like liquid across his shoulders when he shifts. The strange markings on his chest that seem to have some purpose beyond decoration. The way he holds himself, coiled and ready, like something barely tethered and untamed.

I try a different approach, mimicking drinking water, then pointing to myself and making a walking motion with my fingers. “Water? Shelter? Do you know where I can find either of those things?”

His head tilts slightly. Is that curiosity or confusion?

But I’m encouraged by any reaction that isn’t overtly hostile. I continue with my makeshift sign language. I point to the horizon, then make a crude house shape with my hands, followed by lifting my shoulders and arms in the “who/what/where/when” gesture.

“People? Settlement? Dare I say a city?” Yeah, that might be pushing it. “Anything that isn’t endless desert?”

His eyes track my movements with laser focus. I’m desperate. As long as his people aren’t cannibals, rapists, or both, I’ll take anything. When I finish, he tenses even further, if that’s possible. His gaze darts from my hands to my face, then to the dying light of the sun on the horizon.

Nothing in his posture suggests he’s about to help. If anything, he seems more suspicious, like my simple question has confirmed something negative about me.

“Okay. Maybe appearing in your backyard and asking you to take me to your house doesn’t really inspire trust.” I sigh, running a hand through my hair. I barely get my fingers through. It’s filled with sand. Great. “Look, I’m not a threat. I’m just lost, thirsty, and in need of your assistance.”

The alien’s nostrils flare again, and he makes a strange clicking sound in his throat. Is that communication? Annoyance? Gas? I have no way of knowing.

I decide to try one more time, using the most basic approach I can think of. I point to myself.

“Justine,” I say clearly, tapping my chest. “Jus-tine.”

Something shifts in his expression—a subtle change that suggests I might have finally broken through. He straightens slightly, rising to his full height in one fluid motion that reminds me of a wave rolling up a beach. It’s unnervingly graceful.

My heart leaps. “Yes? You understand? I’m Justine.”

Another wince at my voice, though less pronounced this time.

I reach up and touch my ear. The alien tracks the movement. The moment I feel the earbud the Xyma gave me still there, my heart leaps again. If he speaks, maybe I’ll be able to understand him. I have no clue if this thing needs the Internet or some kind of connection to work. Don’t even know if it translates all languages. I just have to hope.

But the alien before me has not said one word.

His expression doesn’t change, but something in his posture shifts. He’s still wary, but there’s calculation there now.

It’s a small victory, but a victory nonetheless. I try again with the settlement question, pointing to him first, then making the house gesture, then a gathering motion with my hands to indicate multiple people.

“Your people? Your home? Can you take me there?”

The effect is immediate and alarming. The alien’s entire demeanor changes, his eyes literally darkening and those sharp teeth becoming fully visible as his lips pull back in a full-mouthed snarl. The raised markings on his chest seem to darken, too, and he takes a step toward me that is definitely not friendly.

“Whoa!” I raise my hands. “Sorry! Bad question! I take it back!”

Somehow, I’ve hit a nerve. Asking about his people was clearly the wrong move. Maybe they’re territorial. Maybe they eat humans for breakfast. Maybe they just hate tourists.

Whatever the reason, I’ve screwed up, and now this golden-skinned warrior looks ready to do that meat-off-the-bones thing I feared earlier. If I could only get him to understand⁠—

A blood-curdling screech tears through the air, much closer than before. The alien’s head snaps toward the sound, his anger instantly replaced by something closer to alarm.

Another screech answers the first, this one from a different direction, and the alien makes a decision so quickly I barely register the change. One moment he’s glaring at me, the next he’s lunging forward.

“No, wait—” is all I manage before I’m upended, my world tilting as he throws me over his shoulder like I’m a sack of potatoes.

“Put me down!” The wind is knocked from my lungs as my stomach connects with his shoulder. “What the hell?”

He ignores me completely, breaking into a run that doesn’t feel natural. It’s too smooth, too fast. Each stride covers ground that would take me three steps, yet he moves with a silent grace that seems impossible for his size.

The blood rushes to my head as I hang upside down, my protests muffled against his back. The skin beneath my hands is warm to the touch and unexpectedly smooth, almost silky despite its appearance of toughness.

For a moment, I’m distracted by the little points of light that appear where my fingertips press into him.

Another screech tears through the air, closer now, and the alien picks up speed. My complaints die in my throat as I realize that whatever’s making that sound is hunting us, and the alien—despite his obvious dislike of me—is trying to get us both away from it.

“What is that thing?” I gasp, though I know he can’t understand me. “And where are you taking me?”

No response, of course, just the steady rhythm of his running and the increasingly frantic pounding of my heart. The desert blurs past in my inverted vision, darkness falling rapidly as BS (Batshit Sun) disappears completely.

Wait. He’s running parallel to the rock formation I was heading for, not toward it! My carefully plotted course, my water calculations, my deliberately placed markers—all becoming useless with every step this alien takes.

“No, no, no—wrong way!” I smack his back again, which accomplishes exactly nothing except probably annoying him further. “The big pointy rocks! That way!”

Nothing. It doesn’t make a difference. He can hear me, I’m sure, but he can’t understand me and even if he could, I’m not sure he’d listen. Fuck. Not only am I being kidnapped while something with murder-screech capabilities hunts us, but now I’m going to be completely lost.

The screeching grows louder, then multiplies—more than one of whatever nightmares is out there. The alien’s pace somehow increases even further and I catch glimpses of rocky outcroppings passing by. We’re no longer in the open desert but moving through more rugged terrain.

“Jacqui will never find me,” I choke out, fighting back tears of panic. “None of them will. I’m supposed to be heading back with information, not getting abducted deeper into…wherever the hell this is.”

My words are lost in the wind of our movement. The alien shows no sign of slowing or changing course. Every passing moment takes me farther from the crashed bus, farther from the women depending on me.

The others won’t look for me. They’ll think I succumbed to the unforgiving desert. But Jacqui…Jacqui will. She’ll come after me. She’ll follow my markers straight to where I was supposed to be, but I won’t be there. She’s going to think I’m dead, or worse—she’ll keep searching until she runs out of water herself.

“Please,” I try again, voice cracking. “My sister—I have to—” But the alien’s grip only tightens as he changes direction, veering sharply toward what looks like a sheer cliff face in the deepening darkness.

It’s pointless. What’s worse, the screeching behind us has multiplied. Three, maybe four distinct screeching calls now, getting closer despite my captor’s impressive speed. Whatever’s chasing us, it hunts in packs.

The alien suddenly drops into a crouch. The movement is so abrupt I nearly lose the single biscuit I’d scarfed down for lunch. The emergency blanket gets loose and flies away.

“Wait!” Oh shit.

I reach for it, but he’s moving again. Different this time. More stealth than speed, weaving between rock formations I can barely make out in the darkness.

The screeching stops.

Somehow, that’s worse.

The alien freezes and I hold my breath, acutely aware that my racing heart might as well be a drumbeat announcing our location. His muscles coil beneath me, and I know with certainty that whatever’s hunting us, it’s close enough to taste our scent on the wind.

The alien moves. Not running now—climbing. The world tilts again as he scales what feels like a vertical surface with me still slung over his shoulder. How he’s managing this with one arm, I have no idea. The rock face scrapes against my side as he maneuvers us into…a cave?

The absolute darkness is disorienting. I hear him moving, feel the shift as he finally sets me down. My legs wobble beneath me, and I reach out blindly, finding cold stone at my back.

“Where—”

His hand clamps over my mouth, callused palm pressing hard enough to hurt. There’s nothing gentle about it. The message is clear: silence or death. Given the circumstances, I’m voting for silence.

The alien moves away, and for a terrifying moment, I think he’s going to leave me here. But then I sense rather than see him positioning himself at what must be the cave entrance. His breathing is silent, but I can feel the coiled tension radiating from him. The cave isn’t large—my outstretched hands can touch both walls, and the ceiling feels low enough that he must be crouching.

Outside, something moves. The sound is subtle. A whisper of movement across stone. Somewhere out there a pebble dislodges and clatters, echoing into the stillness. The alien’s reaction is immediate. I sense him dropping lower. Pressing against the wall, I try to make myself as small as possible.

Then I hear it. A single click sound. Not from the alien this time, but from whatever’s outside. It’s answered by another set of clicks, then another, until the cave entrance is surrounded by what sounds like dozens of chittering, clicking monsters, the sound they make echoing off the stone like laughter.

I stare straight ahead, eyes wide in the darkness, barely breathing. They’re communicating. Hunting. And we’re trapped.

When the sounds rise to a crescendo, I squeeze my eyes shut tight, my lower lip bitten between my teeth so hard I taste blood.

No. Not going to die here.

I’m not going to die like this!

Minutes pass like hours. I don’t dare move, barely dare to breathe. And the alien remains motionless. So silent that at one point I wonder if he left. Disappeared when there was a chance to do so, without me knowing.

Finally, my eyes adjust to spot his dark shape against the marginally lighter cave entrance. He’s standing there, hands tipped with dangerously long claws. Looking like he’s ready to tear apart anything that breaches the entrance.

When the sounds outside eventually fade, I hear him exhale. Those claws disappear, going back into his fingers like they were never there. And then something extraordinary happens. His skin begins to emit a soft, amber glow. It starts with raised markings across his chest, spreading outward like veins of light beneath his golden skin. The illumination is subtle, but it’s enough to reveal the interior of the rocky chamber.

I forget to breathe for a moment. He’s…magnificent. Savage and alien and dangerous, but magnificent. The light plays across the harsh planes of his face, those vertical pupils now reflecting his glow. His body is all lean muscle and scars, telling stories of survival I can only imagine.

The sight of those scars snaps me back to reality. Whatever he is, he’s clearly dangerous—and I’m alone with him. The thought sends my mind racing to darker places. If creatures dangerous enough to mark him like that are out there, what chance do the others have?

Jacqui. My chest tightens. Instead of returning to her and the others with information, I’m trapped in a cave with a glowing alien who either saved me or kidnapped me—or both.

The worst part? I have no idea how to find my way back. Even if I could somehow slip past my alien captor, the twisting path we took to get here is already lost on me.