Page 11 of Exiles on Earth
The boom of impact with the planet shakes us both. The bot hunkers down in an emergency procedure, legs piercing the floor and its body crushing down on top of my torso. I hold onto it as the ship bucks and plunges, its weight keeping me pinned as we crash to a halt.
Light seeps through a crack in the cargo bay, a dim, fragile glimmer. Cold pours from the sky, soaking me in moments, but I can breathe, confirming it’s not a vast body of water beneath us. It’s rain, pouring into our ship, torn open like a ruptured can of milanutrientpaste.
There’s no time. I drive my fists into the bot again and again, the full force of my shoulders and hips behind every punch. My knuckles scream in agony as its panels dent, crushing the fragile mechanisms inside. We’ve survived an attack and a crash, but I can’t let my body falter now. I won’t let my crew down.
I push to my feet, holding the bot at bay. Outside, the new planet stretches before me, a silver-gray sky pressed low, boiling clouds swirling ominously. The ground is churned from our crash, deep furrows carving through the soaked soil, stretching into the horizon.
Standing in the center of them, open-mouthed, is a small biped. Slim, no obvious armor, but perhaps something like my scales. Studying it for threats, I note no weapons, rounded limbs, strong shoulders and ample hips outlined by its wet, clinging coverings.
Lips trembling, they rush forward, shouting at me. I can’t understand them yet, and the bot demands my focus. Grabbing its legs, I twist violently as it lashes out. Sharp metal digs into my sides, but I lock my scales tight, absorbing the blows.
The biped keeps shouting, “Oh sh-et, oh sh-et!” My nanites will take time to infer and translate, but time is something I don’t have. The biped closes the distance, lifting a bar with a blunt triangle on the end. “Watch out!” they yell, swinging it at me, rain flying out in an arc.
The weapon clangs against the bot’s headplate with a deafening crash. They aren’t attacking me—they’re trying to help.
But the bot recalculates its target. Its head swivels toward the biped, the beam gun charging with a terrifying sound.
“Run!” I shout, though they won’t understand me. Clutching the barrel, I brace myself for the blast that could take my hand, shielding the biped with the remainder of my strength.
They strike again, on the module this time, denting it with a resounding clang. Sparks erupt, and the bot screams as it convulses.
The targeting system! “Again, right there!” I order, stabbing a finger at the same module so they’ll understand.
They swing hard, smashing it with a clang, and the bot screams, swinging its upper system around to reach them.
I seize the moment and plunge my fist into its servos, feeling the cold wires against my skin. I grip the central command wire—raw sparks burn my fist, blood slicking the wires—but I rip it free with a final, desperate heave.
The bot spasms one last time before falling still. My body sinks into the rain-soaked ground along with the dead bot, pinning me against the mud. My hearts thud so violently I fear they might break through my hardened scales, but gratitude to the native surges through me in warm waves.
The ship sits silent except for the clink of raindrops on the cooling metal. I glance upward into the torn cargo bay, confirming my crew is alive, dazed but breathing. Arture, bloodied and grimy, fumbles with his straps, a jagged gash bleeding a mixture of lubricant and blood on his forehead.
The local comes to a stop above me, a figure cloaked in the downpour. I jolt, unsure how they moved so quietly. They block out the rain as they stand above me, a rope of hair sliding over their shoulder as they lower toward me, their wide eyes locked onto mine. If they mean to attack, I have nothing left to defend myself.
Their high voice breaks through my ringing ears, and even though I can’t understand them, their words wrap around me. My gaze wanders over their form, revealed by the rain-soaked covering. Their chest rises and falls rapidly, the two protrusions outlined by the cling of fabric. A female. A real female.
Warmth spreads through my body like the water soaking into me. The local asks something, but my ears ring. Even if my nanites could translate already, I’d still be dumbstruck.
A female. An actual female. Here, on this planet. Her hands grip the makeshift weapon with white-knuckled intensity,her long hair clinging to her face, which is twisted with concern.
My second reaction is one of rage. Where are her males? They should be here, protecting her. If she were my mate, I’d never leave her side.
A string of words flows from her pink lips, and my nanites can translate the ones closest to trade standard. “...Off...” She picks up the bot’s arm. These things are heavy; if I were fresh, I could lift one, but in my exhausted state and to any other bipedal, they’re substantial. She pulls backward, and the bot’s body rises.
I don’t understand her orders exactly, but I recognize an opportunity to get free when I see one. I scramble away, shoulders and back flaring with hot pain. Once my torso’s free, her strength gives out, and she stumbles forward. “...can’t… sorry!”
A female, apologizing? “You do not apologize. You’ve already done so much.” Much more than I ever expected. It’s my place to attend to any female near me, to undertake any tasks, to carry out any of her wishes, to fight for and protect her.
I pull my legs free and get to my feet, testing my limbs. My thighs ache, my back and shoulders tremble. I straighten my spine anyway and face the female.
She gapes up at me, her perfect pink lips parted. Her face is as pale as the sun-bleached Olorian desert, but red spots bloom on her high cheekbones as she looks up my body, along my chest to my wide shoulders, and up my neck to my mouth. Her pupils dilate slightly, nostrils flaring, and when our eyes meet, a jolt like a spear lands in my guts. Drenched by rain, her rich brown hair in long ropes that tangle over her shoulders, she’s beautiful.
I take a step toward her, and immediately she lifts the weapon across her chest.
I fall to my knees, spreading my empty hands wide. She should never feel threatened by me.
She closes her mouth. “Are … okay?”
‘Okay’? What does that mean? The nanites haven’t offered an alternative translation yet. “I am 345961LIA Gerverstock, forever in your debt. You can call me what you wish and I will answer to that name, but my crew refer to me as Ilia.”
