Page 37 of Alien Attachment
When I return to the cockpit, he hasn’t moved. The sight of him so still, so diminished, makes something twist painfully in my chest.
“I need to find us better shelter,” I tell him, knowing he can hear me on some level through our connection. “Somewhere to hide until you recover. Until we figure out our next move.”
I secure the portable med-scanner to his chest, syncing it to my wrist unit so I can monitor his vitals remotely. Then, with careful movements, I extend his bond-link tendril to my wrist. Since I finally stopped fighting our connection, the bond has strengthened in unexpected ways—what started as mere meters now stretches almost throughout the ship. It’s as though myacceptance has transformed the tether between us from a chain to something more like a lifeline, elastic and responsive to our needs.
“I’ll be right back,” I promise, squeezing his hand. The skin is still too cool, but I swear I feel the faintest pressure in return. “Hold on.”
The ship’s airlock cycles open with a hiss, revealing a landscape that looks like something from a fever dream. The planetoid’s surface stretches before me in shades of deep purple and charcoal, illuminated not by sunlight but by veins of luminescent mineral that thread through the rocky ground like frozen lightning. The sky above is a starless void, clouds of some unknown composition obscuring any celestial bodies that might exist beyond this wandering world.
In the distance, jagged mountains rise like the teeth of some cosmic predator, their peaks lost in the roiling clouds. It’s beautiful in a desolate, haunting way—the kind of beauty that makes you feel very small and very alone.
The scanner on my wrist beeps, directing me toward an energy signature a few hundred meters from our crash site. Something artificial, perhaps—a structure, a cave, anything that might offer better protection than our damaged ship.
I move carefully across the alien terrain, constantly aware of the tendril connecting me to Jhorn. Each step away from him creates a subtle pull, a reminder of our bond that I find oddly comforting. I’ve spent so long fighting this connection, but now... now it feels like the only thing keeping me anchored in this strange, hostile universe.
The ground beneath my feet is peculiar—crunchy on top like frozen snow, but it gives way to something softer underneath, almost spongy. The air carries a sweet, ozone-like scent that reminds me, with a pang of longing, of Jhorn’s skin when his bioluminescence flares with emotion.
Through our bond, I feel a flicker of response—not words, but awareness. He’s listening, in his way.
Stay with me, I project through our connection. I’m going to find us somewhere safe.
The energy signature leads me to what appears to be a fissure in the rocky ground, a dark gash perhaps two meters wide. Warm air rises from it, carrying that same sweet-ozone scent, stronger now. My scanner indicates a cavern system below, extensive and... inhabited?
No, not inhabited. The readings are confusing, showing signs of technology, energy outputs, but no life forms. An abandoned outpost, perhaps. A smuggler’s cache. Or something older, stranger.
I’ve reached the limit of the bond-link’s extension. I can go no further without bringing Jhorn to me or returning to him. The decision is easy—I won’t leave him vulnerable in that broken ship any longer than necessary.
I’m coming back for you, I project through our connection. I think I’ve found us shelter.
The return journey seems to take forever, urgency lending speed to my steps but also making every second stretch endlessly. When I reach the ship, Jhorn’s condition appears unchanged, but the med-scanner shows slight improvements in his vital signs. Whatever rest his alien physiology is taking, it’s working—slowly.
Getting him to the cavern is going to be the challenge. He’s larger than me, heavier, and completely unresponsive. But I’ve moved cargo before, including some that didn’t want to be moved. I can handle this.
I rig a makeshift travois from emergency shelter components, my hands working automatically while my mind catalogues everything I know about Jhorn’s physiology. Sensitive to temperature changes—check, I’ll need to keep him warm.Those tendrils can support significant weight when conscious—unfortunately not helpful right now. Enhanced healing capabilities—something to be grateful for.
With considerable effort and a few creative curse words that would make a dockworker blush, I manage to secure Jhorn to the travois. His tendrils hang limp except for our bond-link, which maintains its connection to my wrist with a stubbornness that mirrors my own determination.
“This might get bumpy,” I warn him as I begin the slow, arduous process of dragging the travois across the alien landscape. “But we’ll get there. I promise.”
The journey back to the fissure tests every muscle in my body and several I didn’t know existed. The makeshift sled catches on rocks, slides sideways on loose gravel, and seems to gain weight with every meter. By the time we reach the edge of the dark opening, I’m drenched in sweat despite the cold air, my muscles screaming in protest.
But we made it. We always make it, somehow.
The fissure opens to a narrow passage that descends at a gentle angle into the planetoid’s crust. I activate my portable light and peer into the darkness, noting how the walls glisten with the same luminescent mineral I saw on the surface. The glow grows stronger as the passage descends, providing enough ambient light to navigate safely.
The passage widens after about fifty meters, opening into a cavern that stops me dead in my tracks.
“What the hell?” I whisper.
It’s vast, far larger than my scanner indicated, and utterly breathtaking. The ceiling arches high overhead, studded with crystalline formations that reflect and amplify the bioluminescence of the mineral veins. The floor is smooth, almost polished, and at the center stands what can only bedescribed as a structure—a perfect dome of some translucent material that seems to shift and flow like liquid glass.
Within the dome, visible but indistinct, are shapes that might be furniture, technology, living spaces. An outpost. A refuge. Something built by intelligent hands for intelligent purposes.
My scanner goes haywire as I approach, readings fluctuating wildly before settling on a simple message: CONTACT CONFIRMED.
Before I can process what that might mean, I feel a surge through our bond—Jhorn, responding to the energy of this place. His consciousness flares brighter, more present, drawn toward awareness by whatever power thrums beneath the surface here.
I drag the travois to the edge of the dome, where what appears to be an entrance shimmers in the crystalline surface. As I approach, the material parts like a curtain of water, revealing an opening just large enough for the travois.
