I woke up to blindness and a strange, high-pitched buzzing in my ears. It felt like my eyes were open, but I couldn’t see a thing. My muscles tensed as I started to panic, and I didn’t even notice how sore I was until I moved my legs to kick at whatever was on top of me. I realized with horror that the Paragon had crashed, and I was trapped under the wreckage.

The stink of acrid, burnt rubber and thick smoke filled my nose and forced me to choke back vomit. All I could hear was that buzzing, and I didn’t know if it was from the sudden pressure change which had occurred when the ship careened into the atmosphere or something else. I gritted my teeth and forced my legs upward in an attempt to shove the object above me away. I felt it give slightly, but not nearly enough to move it. My panic increased as I wondered if would die of starvation trapped here. I tried again, and it gave a little more. On the third try, it separated from its other parts with a loud whine of protest, and I was instantly dazzled with weird, white sunlight.

I righted myself and started to awkwardly maneuver through the warped metal of the destroyed ship. I was certain I was going to throw up at any moment now, and my vision was blurry in such a way that everything I saw seemed to have a disconcerting ripple effect. After what felt like hours, I was free, and I collapsed onto the ground like a dropped puppet.

The grass beneath me was bizarre. It was tan in color, but it was brighter and more vibrant than the kind of grass I was used to. It felt as soft as gray dandelion fuzz. Through the tall blades, I made out the forms of several bodies gathered around the ruins of the ship, and my stomach rolled violently as I realized they weren’t moving. The buzzing was finally fading away into a soft hum, and I pricked my ears for any noise inside the Paragon, hoping against hope that those inside were still alive. I didn’t hear a thing except for the crackling of flames.

I realized that, if there were any survivors, I might be their only chance. I inhaled deeply and was instantly struck by what I breathed. The air was different, cleaner, almost sharp in its purity. It seemed to take less effort to fill my lungs and satisfy my need for oxygen. I let out the breath slowly and methodically, counting each second as a measuring stick. Then, I shakily got to my feet again.

My eyes had finally adjusted to the white light, and I was instantly paralyzed with awe as I saw my surroundings. The peculiar grass seemed to stretch for miles on flat, limitless land until it met with an ethereal sky of turquoise and lavender swirls. Despite the sunlight, I could clearly make out the pricked pattern of winking stars between each elegant flourish. Punctuating the landscape, there were several trees, widespread and alone in their roots. They each boasted at least eight long, gnarled branches which extended in all directions and were adorned with queer tendrils of leafy flora. Everything seemed to be in Technicolor, brilliant and utterly brazen in each hue, almost as if from a painting. I couldn’t stop myself from repeatedly blinking just to make sure that the crash hadn’t injured my eyesight—or my brain, for that matter.

I turned back around to look at the Paragon. The ship was utterly decimated and looked like nothing more than a pile of rubble from a junkyard. Thick flames licked the creases between bent and broken metal, and I noticed immediately that the flames were unusual in their color: a rather salmon-like hue. Dark gray smoke poured continuously from every inch of the spacecraft in bursts so thick they looked more like cement than smoke. I wanted to cry. There were almost certainly others inside, still alive and frightened, but to attempt to rescue them would basically be a suicide mission.

There had to be something around that could help me. I scanned the visible perimeter of the ship before glancing around the foreign terrain, searching for anything I could use to clear a path or push the burning debris aside. Before I located anything, however, movement caught my attention. In the distance, I saw the form of somebody who seemed very human approaching. I felt panic swell in my chest, and I wondered if I should hide. It was possible that, on this strange planet, whoever that was would not be friendly to me.

Before I could decide if I wanted to hide or to ask for help, though, I saw the humanoid reach to its side and unsheathe a weapon. It looked like a scimitar, but it glowed a bright fuchsia color and seemed to pulsate. I knew that thing had seen me and hiding would do no good now, so I stood with my feet planted firmly in place, waiting for whatever was to come.

As he drew nearer, I wondered if my eyes were deceiving me. He was very human in form; tall with two arms and two legs, and a head, of course. His face looked like any other human’s face as well, but his skin was blue. It wasn’t the shade of sickly blue caused by suffocation, either; it was a beautiful, hydrangea kind of blue, and it seemed almost translucent. I realized that what I interpreted as translucence was actually a pale shimmer practically indiscernible if not for the white light of the alien sun dancing off of it.

His eyes were trained on me, unmoving and focused; I lost myself in them for the briefest of moments. They were small, but they were intense in both their color and their expression. He clearly had an iris and a pupil as human eyes did, but his iris was ghostly white. His eyes were set beneath a stern brow and above a pair of exquisitely-sculpted cheekbones.

I was so captivated by his eyes I almost didn’t notice his body. When I did, I was just as enthralled. As sculpted and angular as his cheekbones were, his abdomen put them to shame. I could clearly see each and every muscle, so defined that the indents between them looked like marker-drawn lines; as he walked, they flexed and rippled. His arms were equally as toned, but he wasn’t beefy as I would have expected by looking at his stomach. They were lithe and athletic with evident but gentle curves where his biceps and triceps were. I couldn’t see his legs, for he was wearing a pair of pants made from some kind of leather I had never seen before, but I imagined they were just as impressive.

He stopped walking when he was about ten feet away from me, and we just stared at each other. I didn’t want to speak. I wasn’t sure what he was going to do, and I couldn’t help noticing the way he alertly gripped his weapon. He looked back at me with the same kind of wariness I felt, and then he opened his mouth.

What came out was a series of clacks and clicks and snaps, and it sounded strangely similar to the crackling of the flames behind me. They were staccato sounds which only lasted for a second, but so unusual were they that I was rendered speechless for a second. He stood there, looking at me with his weapon brandished, and I realized he was waiting for a response.

“I-I don’t understand,” I said.

My voice sounded extraordinarily weird to me. It was like I hadn’t heard myself speak in years and I’d finally broken the silence. The unsettlingly clear air made my words sound almost melodic, rather like a song. I tried to remain stock-still to avoid appearing threatening to him as I waited for some sort of conversational reciprocation.

He opened his mouth again, and I expected some more clacks. What I heard, instead, stunned me.

“Who are you?”

He had a low, growling voice which seemed predatory in its nature. His words had the same kind of staccato delivery as his clacking had. I was able to understand him, though, and it surprised me so much that I almost couldn’t answer.

“You…speak English?” I asked.

“I speak whatever language is spoken to me,” he said. He jerked his scimitar forward and repeated, “Who are you?”

“Tabitha,” I answered at once, my eyes on the sword. “Bartel.”

“You are human, Tabitha Bartel?” His eyes were unnaturally still as they stared at my face.

I started to nod before remembering I meant not to move. “Yes.”

“You are from Earth?”

“Yes,” I said again.

He stared at me a moment more before slowly-painstakingly slowly turned his gaze to the Paragon’s wreckage behind me. In the same growl, he asked, “What happened?”

“I-I don’t know,” I said. I started to turn to look at the ship as well, but the movement startled him, and he leaped forward with the scimitar extended toward me. I shrieked, my hands shooting up involuntarily to both protect myself and show him I was not a threat. He placed the tip of the weapon below my chin and used it to tilt my face up to his.

“You will not move,” he intoned.

“Okay,” I whispered. I didn’t realize I was shaking until I felt the sword jiggling slightly against my neck.

He didn’t speak as he looked back at the ship, keeping the glowing scimitar in place beneath my chin. I watched his eyes glide slowly over the broken structure, lingering on something unknown for a second or two before moving on to something else. I kept my hands up by my ears and tried not to swallow for fear of the sword puncturing my throat. There was silence between us for a long time as he just looked, and, finally, I spoke.

“Where am I?” I asked.

My words jarred him, and his ivory irises darted back to me. For a moment, I thought he wasn’t going to answer me—or, worse, that he was going to kill me—but then he responded.

“You are on the planet Albaterra,” he said.

“And…what are you?”

He studied me for a second. “I am A’li-uud.”

“Are there more of you?” For some reason, I couldn’t stop the questions. They offered me some reassurance, though I didn’t know of what nature.

Again, he studied me before replying. “Yes. We are to Albaterra what humans are to Earth.”

I wanted to nod, but I refrained. The tip of the scimitar was still resting against my throat, serving as a reminder that this creature, this A’li-uud, could kill me at any moment.

“Do you have a name?” I murmured hopefully.

This time, he didn’t answer me at all. Instead, he lunged forward unexpectedly, and I yelped. His fingers closed around my upper arm and yanked me to him with such a powerful grip I had no chance of getting away without tearing my own arm off in the process. Trembling violently, I started to whimper, and tears flooded my eyes. I was certain I was experiencing my last moments of life.

“You are to come with me,” he said.

“What?” My voice sounded high-pitched and gravelly with fright. “Where?”

“You will come to my village to be questioned.” He shoved me forward with such strength I nearly fell on my face, and, when I straightened up, I felt him press the tip of the sword against my spine. “You will lead.”

I nodded as the tears finally started to dribble down my cheeks and took a step forward. Then, I remembered the other crew members and stopped dead in my tracks, not even thinking I should warn him in case he continued to walk and ended up spearing me clean through.

“The others,” I said loudly. “There might be others. There were ninety-seven of us. Some may have survived the crash.”

“They are not your concern,” he growled.

“I can’t just leave them to die!” I cried tearfully, now weeping freely.

I anticipated being told to shut up, to keep walking, to do as I was told, but he said none of those things. Instead, he was quiet for a beat, and then he spoke.

“If there are any survivors, my warriors will find them.”

“Will they kill them?” I asked.

“They will be ordered to bring them back safely to the village,” he told me. His voice was calm and steady, and it sounded so genuine I felt relief flood through me.

“Thank you,” I whispered. I was sure he wouldn’t be able to hear me, as my words were quiet and he was standing behind me, but he replied at once, and I realized his hearing was exponentially better than a human’s.

“You are welcome, Tabitha Bartel. Now, walk.”