Presently, Thyathyrec felt cooled down and strong enough to brave exploring the interior of the craft for himself. He wanted to verify his initial impressions rather than rely on everyone else's word or documentation. In that respect, he understood their concern about his falling behind, but he didn't have much he could do in the way of fixing that.
Once inside, he had to admit he did feel quite a bit excited at the idea. A new life entirely different from their own! Even if the life ended up being a spy from the next domain in a strange disguise, it still beat the same old, same old. What did he even do with himself before today? Ponder how to optimise the optimised. Struggle to reorganise the reorganised. Fight to pull new inventions completely out of thin air, something he had thought himself successful in doing ONCE, until he checked the library and found out that portable phones already existed. This from way back when he had turned eight, too, so since then...? Not a fresh new idea from him or anyone else. They really needed an infusion of newness, however it came—even if just through more colonists! They had hurt immensely from losing the crews on the missions, and only at his big meeting with Ahfiamiďiec did Thyathyrec manage to convince him that sending out anyone else threatened the colony's very existence.
On that: He wondered what happened to the birth rate in the colony. Janaler Cynie Òryųrian's son was the last and youngest, at three years old, but nothing stopped anyone from having more, did it? Three years since the last mission, and the then-minors too young to get drafted, like Thyathyrec, had now become fully adult, yet none had taken any steps toward continuing the colony's legacy. That alone REALLY threatened the colony, for no good reason at all.
He shook himself out of his daze. As though he should really have kids on his mind at the moment. The strangest stream-of-consciousness he'd had yet, in the entryway of a foreign craft.
On that: It did feel very much like a scouting ship, meant for short-term missions with little—if anything—in the way of atmospheric travel capabilities. The entryway looked just like an airlock, for one thing, which also explained the parts of the exterior that looked like ablation shields. For another, the interior proper had practically no floorspace, with almost every surface covered in gadgets of some kind: computer, tubes, even a sleeping bag with straps. A table jutted out of the wall, and Thyathyrec realised with some fiddling that it folded out, easily stored in the wall when not in use.
A section to one side resembled a life support system, though a long out-of-commission one. The pantry area had plenty of space, half of it depleted. He didn't recognise the food items it contained, but the packaging seemed rather similar to types he had seen before in spacecraft articles. He considered trying something, but who knew if they could eat it safely until they ran tests on the composition?
The craft had items with the same squiggles as the exterior did, too. He made a note of what items had squiggles; they appeared in many of the same places one of their own crafts might. Perhaps instrument labels and the like, though hardly enough to learn the language. He also noted the lack of windows—an issue of safety for spacecraft—and an area that looked like the navigation system more closely resembled the instrument panels of one of their planet's own space shuttles than an aeroplane's.
By then, some of the other scholars returned, greeting Thyathyrec as they passed. One showed him what looked like clothing, about human size. That made sense, considering what he'd seen of the alien; it looked exactly like a pristine version of what the alien wore, though one piece had a hole where its tail would go, and another silky piece looked like – a skirt? What would the skirt do? It seemed too fragile for practical use. He couldn't even assume the alien's gender by that, since men wore skirts in some parts of the world, and he couldn't even conclusively prove it WAS a skirt. For one thing, it had a tiny waist...
Thyathyrec nodded at all of the new information they shared with him, careful not to reveal his hand about the alien's whereabouts. He did conclude only the one had arrived on the craft, based on the size and lack of APPEARANCE of a second being, mostly from the fact they only found one size of clothing.
"Check this out," Zòlthen said, nudging Thyathyrec in the arm with a slim book. He glanced at the insides: more squiggles. Possibly enough to decipher the other squiggles, in time, though STILL no sequentially repeated characters. Curious.
"A log book?" he asked, hazarding a guess.
"That would be awesome," Zòlthen cheered, hopeful. "We could learn so much from it if it is!"
Thyathyrec flipped through it, looking for some kind of pattern in the "words." It still only registered to him as squiggles, albeit neat ones. He imagined the hand writing them taking great care in their inscription.
Curiously, he felt a twinge of sadness when flipping through the pages, like the author felt completely alone when transcribing the events prior to the crash. He didn't know why, but the idea of the alien grieving flashed into his mind, filled with regret about the mission failing and about never getting to see home again.
That would be the case, wouldn't it? Alien life crashes to our planet in a craft not meant to travel long distances. No sign of a mothership; the exterior had far too much wear for it to have travelled only a short distance within the galaxy. The pilot wouldn't ever see its loved ones again, with our technology not even reaching the scale of this craft.
Had it not landed in the colony, maybe the alien could've gotten an assist from the world's superpowers—assuming they even agreed to help it return home—but not an isolated island with barely enough people power to sustain the existing life, much less to throw an insane amount of resources into sending one alien away.
He desperately wanted to help it now, even though he knew his options dwindled by the moment.
"We're almost done cataloguing everything unique in here," blurted IЪel, bursting into the main area. "So nice of you to finally join us, Thya. You figure anything out?"
Thyathyrec glared at him but bit his tongue. "I think the owner kept a journal," he ventured, knowing the comment would go over as well as a lead balloon but needing to participate to keep IЪel sated.
"Well, YEAH," he snorted. "Might as well throw the mission if the agent didn't keep a log."
"I mean I think it's a JOURNAL," Thyathyrec emphasised. "There's a difference. A log would have diagrams and things like that every so often. This is more regular, like diary entries, more stream-of-consciousness than scientific stuff."
IЪel considered this. "Fine, perhaps it's a writer. Story any good?"
"You know I can't magically understand and decrypt what looks like pure gibberish just by looking at it."
"Could have fooled me, Chosen One."
Thyathyrec visibly clutched the book, making it evident to everyone there that he did NOT want to start a fight. He started to throw the book down, but something made him want to keep it, and he stopped himself at the last moment, clutching it to his chest as he hobbled outside. "I'm going to take this back to decipher."
"Fine, then," IЪel conceded, shrugging. "The rest of us will join the perimeter scouts to hunt for the crew."
Thyathyrec hesitated. He couldn't just leave them to find the alien without him. "Why are the scholars joining?"
He scowled. "You should know why. The colony's short-staffed all around. Everyone who can help must help."
Now Thyathyrec clutched his staff tightly. "I want to help, too."
IЪel snorted in contempt. "Why do you want to be on the hunt?"
He found it tough to explain in a way that wouldn't rouse suspicion, but he couldn't just leave the alien's capture to those brutes unsupervised. It felt like the surest way to get an alien to autopsy rather than to interview. "I can study the pilot's movements and recommend the best course of action, or if there's a threat."
"Pssh. You'll be a liability in your state, when the slightest change in elevation trips you up, literally. Besides, they've already set up camp, and supplies are running low as it is, given we expect a sustained outing. It's too much trouble adding one more to the roster."
Thyathyrec grumbled in anger but bit his tongue. Tell me how you REALLY feel, he wanted to say. "So what would you have me do instead?"
"Your normal job, I don't know." IЪel glanced around. "If you can come up with USEFUL ideas from what we already gathered, be my guest. Read that book you seem to want so badly. Otherwise, you're dead weight."
Angrier, if he could believe that, Thyathyrec slammed the book onto the fold-out table. "If you have a problem with ME, take it up with Ahfiamiďiec. I don't want any part of that chip on your shoulder."
IЪel calmly took one step away, ensuring his complete safety from Thyathyrec. "Too bad," he sneered, "because you have it."
The frustrating part: Thyathyrec totally understood IЪel's attitude, but he had equally zero power to fix that. What did Ahfiamiďiec mean by doing this to both of them? Getting another audience to air his complaints was on the order of winning the lottery, even at Thythyrec's rank, so he could only bear it until everything eventually – became right. If only...
"IЪe-ku, my guy," Mylikò interrupted with trepidation. "Is this row really necessary? We all want to do our best here."
IЪel sighed, turning away. "I can't stop anyone who wants to join, but these were our instructions. Ask Òryųrian-can if you have doubts."
Shaking his head, Thyathyrec hobbled out of the craft, once again taking the book up in hand. He met Kyò at the exit, where she had preferred to wait so not to interfere with scholar work.
"Here is your medicine and water," she offered, handing him the packet and a canteen. If she had heard the fight, she gave no indication.
"Thank you, Aliac-cy," Thyathyrec murmured softly, doing his best to calm down as he swallowed his medication with a large gulp of water. No point in taking it out on innocents. Hopefully his mood would improve with a bit less pain and more mental focus.
The pain killers had less effect now, after having had a steady diet of them for years, but they didn't really have the means to produce new ones, or even many more of the old ones. Still, he kept taking them to satisfy Kyò and the higher-ups. The so-called "brain drugs" he had to wonder about, but they did exactly as advertised: the clouds in his mind started to clear, and he found it easier to concentrate, even if it meant he brainstormed a trickle. He supposed eliminating possibilities faster still counted for something.
The alien: He had no chance of finding it a way out on its own. He could barely move his own body without assistance, much less another's, and one that didn't understand him. It would have to escape without his help or not at all; in case of the latter, he at least wanted to observe its treatment to ensure it didn't get hurt. How could he do that?
Thyathyrec poked his head back inside the craft and saw Mylikò. "What are the plans for capture?" he asked her. "Just running up to it with a rope doesn't seem like it would work."
Mylikò nodded toward the transport. "Scouts have tranqs handy. Probably fine to cuff the subject after that, until we reach the holding area."
He needed more information. "What if the 'subject' is super strong and breaks the cuffs?"
She laughed. "You can't break these cuffs."
"Ah? You tried?"
Mylikò shrugged. "One of my projects is studying alloys. The new cuffs I designed can withstand 50,000 Nudhens, which is like two trucks pulling them apart sideways at 100 kilometres an hour!"
He squinted at her. "That math doesn't sound right..."
She scratched her head. "Really? I may have misremembered the exact numbers. Well, point is, if the subject can do THAT, I think we have bigger problems than restraints will solve."
The alien definitely didn't look to Thyathyrec like it could do that, but maybe looks could deceive? He didn't want to risk glancing up again and giving away the alien's position, though, so he stifled his curiosity.
Oddly enough, he could still – sense – its presence. It definitely felt like if he DID look up, he would absolutely find his quarry waiting there. He felt silly at the wishful thinking. Why would they have such a special link between them? Stupid egotism rearing its head at the strangest times, as though he wanted to remember how it felt like to ACTUALLY be special, instead of having all kinds of expectations foisted upon him that he couldn't possibly live up to.
He could only think of one solution: if something threatened the alien, Thyathyrec could guard it, but for how long? Also, would it even do any good, since even Cynie's toddler son could outrun him?
Whatever he did, he had to make the gesture. He couldn't live with himself if he didn't even try. He wanted to speak with the alien, to connect with it, both of them teaching and learning from each other. Thyathyrec felt as trapped as the alien; they had at least that much in common, and certainly they would have even more.
"It is time," Kyò noted, interrupting his thoughts. "You need to go clean and eat."
Why did only he have to stay on task? He didn't even feel hungry, for one thing. "I want to stay here a little while longer."
"My orders. You saw craft, now back home."
He felt like a child protesting bedtime. "What am I doing that's more important than this?"
She pouted, too, not disguising her dismay. "My orders, they told me. You have been out for too long."
Thyathyrec cringed. Yet another factor he had to consider in his ill-conceived plans. "Fine," he grumbled. "Let's go."
The trip back took longer, not the least reason being he didn't have Lyiyn helping him out. Lyiyn... They didn't even see each other at the crash site. Fate really must want them apart after all, that he wouldn't get to keep his promise. Disappointed, he even conceded to letting Kyò give him a ride in the chair to get the trip over faster, as miserable as he felt at the moment.
"Eat," Kyò ordered as she held the book for him, when they arrived at the canteen at his usual time, with his prescribed meal. Thyathyrec could barely remember the last time he got to order his own food, years ago.
Not that he could think of any that didn't make him feel nauseated. "Not hungry," he complained.
"You are too old to have tantrums," Kyò scolded. "Eat your meal, you are too skinny."
Ugh. He stared at his plate with increasing amounts of disgust as he reviewed the courses. Sighing, he decided to start with soup, to gulp it down without tasting any of it. Afterward, he felt bloated, but Kyò didn't let up. "You need to finish the rest."
"This is far too much food, Aliac-cy!"
"You need to eat at least minimum nutrients! Eat the meat."
He stared glumly at the animal that had died just to lie untouched on his tray. Certainly in the past, he would have inhaled his dinner and asked for more. It agonised him to waste food, but he didn't feel like being sick—much less on someone—later on.
Thyathyrec closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. Unfortunately, he had object permanence, and the meal didn't magically vanish when he looked away. Sneering, he took a small piece of the pre-cut grilled bird and chewed it slowly. His stomach started to hurt from the soup after only a few moments, but Kyò kept her arms crossed, staring him down. He wondered what she would do if he actually lost his lunch right then.
"I need to use the facilities," he muttered, trying a different tactic.
Kyò sighed, hopefully at last conceding. "Let us go home, then," she murmured, wheeling his chair away from the table and taking him back to his dorm.
In his bathroom, Thyathyrec managed to relieve himself after a bit of effort, then washed his hands and glanced at himself in the mirror. His platinum blond hair flew every which way after not getting combed before all of the fuss that morning. It contrasted starkly against his tanned skin, an identical shade to the majority of the colonists, other than those like Kyò and Mylikò whose pale-skinned families had immigrated later. Cynie also had genetically pale skin, but her time spent training outside nearly every day had given her a tan nearly as dark as Thyathyrec's.
Lots of the girls (and maybe some of the guys?) his age had coveted his sky-blue eyes, too, but lately – at least to himself – they looked cold and dead, freezing everything out, particularly when paired with the bags under his eyes from restless sleep. Most days, he wished he could sleep until he died, but he suspected his sunken eyes had taken up permanent residence and would outlast the heat death of the universe. Not like he could even so much as hold a pen without Kyò hovering over his shoulder with worry.
Thyathyrec picked up his – dead – electric razor. Kyò must have forgotten to charge it. He would have done it, but he didn't have the charger. He scratched at his chin; he still had maybe a day or so until it looked too unprofessional. At least he could brush his teeth, though even the clean taste didn't bring him any particular pleasure.
"My razor has no charge," he told Kyò after cleaning up, handing the device to her. He at least appreciated her having placed the book by his bed for him.
"Oh, I forgot," she gasped, taking the razor from him. "I apologise, Thya-ku. I will have it ready for you tomorrow."
"It's fine." He had stopped caring about his looks ever since getting the small scar on his lip and long one across his neck, anyway. At least no one judged him for them, or not that he knew about. Actually, some days it felt weird that they didn't. Did Ahfimiďiec put a gag order on anyone giving him trouble for them?
Chosen One... He knew he would have gladly rubbed that in IЪel's face four years ago. Since then...
"I want to go back to the crash site now," he told Kyò. "They could use my help."
Kyò couldn't argue any more. The staff would have cleared the rest of his meal after they left the canteen. "Fine, we go back."
The transport awaited them, the driver clearly annoyed at having to stay on call, but she should have expected this, give the state of things. Not that Thyathyrec enjoyed wasting so much fuel on himself and, by extension, Kyò. What he wouldn't have given to be able to walk to the site! He had even put the finishing touches on an idea for a reinforced leg brace to help with his rehabilitation, but Ahfiamiďiec had redirected all metals to very specific defence projects, leaving Thyathyrec with nothing. His laundry list of complaints grew by the hour!
With Kyò's assistance, Thyathyrec reached the craft again, and on the way there, he casually scanned the horizon for the kehfyk tree where he had seen the alien before. There; it had disguised itself with leaves, most likely stuck to itself with sap, but he could recognise it immediately even as it had climbed higher into the tree.
Remaining casual, he waited for Kyò to reach the craft entry before attempting to stand again. What could he do now? He conspicuously made an effort to locate his colleagues. "Do you see where the other scholars have gone, Aliac-cy?"
When Kyò turned, Thyathyrec glanced up at the alien, making his most obvious worried face. The alien moved ever so slightly away from the tree trunk, as though attempting to parse his expression.
BANG!
Suddenly, the alien fell sideways, clutching the tree for dear life and struggling not to fall. Thyathyrec froze in abject horror, looking around for the source of the shot. In the distance, he thought he could make out Yďiny with a rifle just behind a bush. Had he accidentally revealed to her where she should fire? Cursing himself, he subtly returned his gaze to the alien, which had fallen well into full view of everyone in the vicinity.
"Yeah, got it!" shouted Cynie, pointing toward the dangling alien, now falling from the tree. "Restrain the creature!"
Thyathyrec freaked out at the development. Stay calm, he told himself. This isn't what I wanted, but they don't suspect me of being a traitor yet. He wondered if he could get away with trying to be the first one to reach it.
"Where are you going, Thya-ku?" Kyò shouted as he struggled to get to the kehfyk tree.
"It's been shot! I want to see it!"
She tugged at his sleeve. "It is dangerous!"
"It's – been – shot."
Their argument deflated as Saic reached the alien first, where it had fallen into the mud. He clipped cuffs onto its arms, seemingly unconcerned for its well-being. What if it had seriously injured itself in the fall?
"Let me see!" Thyathyrec insisted, hobbling up.
Saic waved him off. "Too dangerous, scholar."
"Saic," Thyathyrec growled.
The soldier glared at him. "I said it's too dangerous. Back off." By then, Yďiny had also appeared, aiming the rifle at the alien in case it jumped up suddenly and attacked.
"What if you injured it so badly it dies? I want to check!"
Yďiny shook her head. "You bloody carefree scholars and no sense of self-preservation. We prefer having YOU alive than IT."
Thyathyrec greatly resented the sentiment. "Well, it's restrained. It should be safe to just CHECK. Please."
A thunderous sound pulsed through his body. Was his heart really racing so quickly? It felt like the closer the alien came to death, the worse his own body reacted; of course, they wouldn't let him confirm or dispel his fears. He clenched his fists in agony waiting for their reaction.
Saic beat him to it, hamfisting the alien's face and looking into its eyes, then feeling its neck. "Seems almost human," he noted, "with similar reactions to being tranqed. Pulse seems fine, if faster than expected."
A curious feeling flooded through Thyathyrec. Envy? Disgust? "May I verify?"
The soldiers glanced at something behind Thyathyrec, and he turned to find IЪel standing there, arms crossed. "Desperate to meet the new kid?" he asked with a sneer. "This isn't just YOUR invader."
Why... "I thought you wanted me to contribute."
"I said you could read that novel you found."
"And in my shoes, you'd be happy with that? You'd just suck it up and follow orders from your subordinate?"
"Seven Heavens," IЪel cried, raising his arms in the air, "you just HAVE to have everything your way, just because you have a useless title! We will have the ABLE-BODIED folks take the invader into custody, and ALL THE SCHOLARS will get to study it in the safety of the containment unit. Is that okay, Your Majesty?"
Normally, that would be more than fair for everyone. Not this time; for what reason, he just couldn't bring himself to leave its side. Thyathyrec's brain went on overdrive trying to figure out a good compromise, putting up his hands in mock defeat.
"I said I want to check," he insisted. "I want to verify it's alive, with no significant injuries that might hurt or kill it if we move it the wrong way. Then, I will not object to the others transporting it. I just want to do more than be—" Here, he glowered. "—'dead weight.' Please."
IЪel scratched his chin under the glares of the gathering crowd and decreasing patience of the ones waiting for their turn to act, as though he meant to delay the team by trying to come up with a good reason to deny Thyathyrec any sort of glory. Finally, IЪel turned away with a dismissive wave of a hand. "Fine, examine away, medic."
Thyathyrec gave IЪel a restrained scowl but otherwise moved as fast as he could to the alien's side. It excited him greatly to see it—her. Yes, the half-conscious creature before him definitely had a gentle feminine face, almost the same tan skin as his own but with a sort of animal nose rather than human. She had creases in her face that appeared to signify age, but not quite to the degree of Kyò. Her body appeared even more human other than her ears and tail, the latter thin and matted with mud. From a cursory feel of her body—which he inwardly apologised for doing—nothing he could tell seemed broken; at worst, she might be bruised.
"Peace of mind secured," Thyathyrec stated with resentment as he stood again, hobbling away without a second look. "You can move her now—carefully, on a stretcher."
It killed Thyathyrec to walk away, as though abandoning the alien, but he knew he would better serve her by doing his best as her sideline ally: work behind the scenes and, where possible, directly to make her captive life at least as comfortable as he could manage. They might grow suspicious and accuse him of being a race traitor, or of the alien hypnotising him into doing her bidding, if he acted TOO directly. He had to reduce the potential problems between all of them to the best of his ability for his plans to have the most potential for success.
Failure was always an option, of course, but in this case, failure would mean destroying TWO lives.
