Page 25 of Exiles on Earth
“Listen, are you scared of me? You don’t need to be.”
“Scared?” He cocks his head, probably as his nanites translate. “No. Wanting to show the proper deference due to your status. Keen to please you, and make right the accident.”
Please me, huh?
His tropical blue eyes search mine. He has irises, same as me, but his are wider. Deeper. Richer. Very striking.
Keeping his voice low, he asks, “Are you afraid of me, El-len female?”
“Just Ellen, and… I don’t know yet. It’s all so much,” I answer honestly. “Where on earth… well, outside of Earth, I guess, have you come from?”
“Oloria. A planet in what we call the Druma quadrant, circling the star Stel. But I don’t know where that is in relation to here. My pilot should be able to tell us exactly, but he’ll need to calibrate first.” His fists clench briefly. “Soon. If he doesn’t calibrate soon, he’ll be unable to perform his function.”
Sounds like he’s talking about a machine. I shake my head. These aliens are definitely alien alright.
“If I may ask one more question, for your comfort?” he asks, voice low.
There’s a gentleness in the way he speaks to me—especially when he lowers his voice like this, to avoid startling me. I pinch the top of my nose, skin clammy from the weather. “You can always ask questions, Ilia.”
He points to a stack of tubs and bound cardboard piled on a pallet leaning against a structural steel post. “May I move this?”
“Sure. Tomorrow I’ll get the tractor out and?—”
Red races down Ilia’s arms, muscles swelling to twice the size in its wake. His scales strain over the new bulges, stretched pale blue and lilac, as he bends and lifts the entire pallet, easily a ton of material.
Holy fuck.
I scramble back at the raw power he’s flinging around like it’s nothing, the physical difference between us flashing like a neon sign. He could absolutely crush me.
Pausing, Ilia looks down at me, then jerks his head to a space further inside the dusty lean-to. “May I move it there?”
Mouth dry, I nod, because holy fuck am I unable to speak.
Slowly, as if scared of startling me again, he carries the pallet across to the space, then squats and sets it down with deliberate care, as if it’s fine china.
Once it’s down, he takes the shackles he was wearing out of his shorts pocket with a clink. A small blue light shimmers from the bands.
“I can see you’re wary of us, as you have every right to be,” Ilia says quietly. “It rips at my hearts to think of you scared of me, and I want you to begin to trust me.” He snaps the manacles on his wrists, then puts his arms around the steel beam keeping the lean-to ceiling up. As they get close, the light from the bands merges, sealing the shackles together. A small square falls to the floor with a rattle.
Ilia nods toward it. “That’s the only chip keyed to these betrillium manacles. Take it and rest easy knowing I can’t move tonight, or I’ll bring this structure down on my crew’s heads.”
All I can do is stare. He could handle me like a pretzel, but he chained himself facing the steel beam.
His brows knit together. “It’s clear you’re wary. This will help reassure you.”
Bending down, I pick up the small square, the size of a postage stamp. It shivers against my palm, like it’s resonating to a deep chime.
Ilia closes his eyes briefly. “Don’t be alarmed. I’ve spoken to Nevare when he touched my brainwaves, and asked them to come here.”
Sure enough, the grind of boots on gravel rings out, five huge shadowy shapes coming across from the house to the lean-to. I curl my fingers around the chip as green Gara limps under the lean-to’s corrugated roof, helped by one of the purple triplets. The rest stay outside, giving me a wide berth. Their gazes flick to Ilia, their leader chained to a pole, and then me, but they avoid looking me in the eyes.
They’ve had every chance to hurt or attack me. Ilia’s careful to show me he’s in control of his strength, using it only to help his crew.
And to save me.
My gut says I can trust Ilia, that even though he smashed into my barn it was an accident. That he needs help, and I helped him without thinking before. But my gut said I should give Terry a chance, too, and it was wrong. So wrong.
I’d let Terry in, let myself believe he saw me—really saw me—and then he disappeared like I was nothing. Like I hadn’t mattered at all. That kind of mistake? It leaves marks, and it builds walls.
