Page 16 of Exiles on Earth
“Oh, fuck me,” Arabella gasps, whipping her camera up. Furious clicks from her accompany the men as, sweating and straining, they carry the wreckage of an orange rocket to one side of the garden.
Laura and Nicole turn, openmouthed, to me.
“Six that I’ve seen,” I supply, as Arabella snaps away. “And a big scary robot I bashed into submission with a shovel.”
“Oh boy, oh boy!” Arabella continues taking photographs without pause, breathless.
The aliens heave the fuselage toward the garden. Once they lay it down, the big guy—the one I saved from the robot, and who shielded me from the resulting explosion—shakes his head, sweat flying from his scalp in an arc. He catches sight of us and turns, staggering a little before planting his feet firmly. He has to be exhausted.
“Shall we talk to them?” I venture.
“Can we?” Arabella and Nicole ask. “Do they speak English?” Nicole continues.
“I’d speak to them in Welsh, even,” Arabella says. “It would be hilarious if aliens could speak Welsh.”
A smile cracks my stiff face. Of course Arabella would love to find a Welsh speaker, even if they are an alien. “The big guy spoke English. He said something about nana bots.”
Arabella pauses to flick through her photos. “They’re gorgeous. Absolutely delicious.”
“Should we talk to them?” Laura asks. “Regardless of whether they can communicate, should we? We aren’t ambassadors for Earth. What are they here for?”
I shrug. “No idea. They crashed, one of the robots inside was trying to… I dunno, shoot the big guy. I told him to stay put, and I called you lot to help me decide.”
“I think it’s emergency services time,” Nicole says, face pale.
“No!” Arabella cries, letting her camera drop to freefall against her chest. “They’ll cut them up or something horrible.”
“Maybe they deserve cutting up,” Laura says, gaze sliding toward them. “They could be an advance force.”
“Or criminals,” I put in. “They all seem to be in some kind of chains, even though they don’t exactly slow the big guy down.”
“So… it could be a prison ship or something.” Laura blows out a slow breath which fogs in the air.
“But he did save me, and I wouldn’t expect a heartless criminal to do that,” I tell them, face heating as I look at the big man.He meets my gaze squarely, unflinching, and his chest flashes a lighter gold. Why does he change color? Is it because he gets flushed too?
I rub my cheeks angrily to disperse the embarrassment lurking there. “He didn’t let me get blown up by the robot, so I don’t think he’s all bad.”
“Blown up?” Nicole says, olive face paling. “Ellen, this is too much. Let’s call the police.”
“I thought that, but… what if the only reason we don’t know about aliens?—”
Arabella gasps. “Is because the government kills all the witnesses!”
Laura rubs the top of her nose. “Ellen, don’t get Arabella all riled up.”
“But that was exactly what I’m thinking,” I admit. “It’s plausible, right?”
Nicole purses her lips. “Now I’m looking at what appears to be a rocket and some out-of-the-ordinary tall men who change color and appear to be perfectly happy walking around shirtless in fucking February, I suppose anything’s possible.”
Something else occurs to me. “And whether they are or aren’t aliens, I’ll be in the paper. Fassbender might use it against me somehow.”
The girls look at one another, grim-faced. They’re all stalwart anti-Fassbender for multiple reasons, not in the least because he’s trying to get his hands on my land.
Laura crosses her arms over her crisp, perfectly ironed shirt. “I suppose we can’t figure anything out until we talk to them.
“Yes!” Arabella fist-pumps the air, brimming with excitement.
Her enthusiasm dampens slightly as we make our way to the yard. The remaining walls of the barn loom precariously, threatening to collapse at any moment, so I lead us on a wide path aroundthe rubble to where the ship lies embedded in what was supposed to be my kitchen garden. Floss trots beside me, her old legs stiff but steady, releasing a soft, uncertain whine as if finally noticing the devastation. I bury my fingers in her thick, graying fur, calming her, while tempering the molten anger simmering in my chest. This is the obliterated cherry on the flaming shit cake of today, but there’s no way I’m giving up on my farm. Not for anything. Not even aliens.
