Chapter Two
Jeannie Gardner blinked at her brightly lit surroundings. Enveloping warmth thawed the cold that had begun to penetrate deep into her flesh. She strained against her bonds anew, as if they might magically liquefy or evaporate in the balmier air. Escape remained impossible, however.
She had to settle for getting out some other way, though she saw precious little hope of that in the bizarre place her captors had taken her. There appeared to be two doors on either side of the rounded structure, including the one she’d been brought through. She couldn’t run trussed as she was—and in the unfamiliar outdoors surrounding the building, where would she go that was guaranteed to be safe?
The new setting made her think of a massive telescope observatory. The dome overhead was constructed of curved triangles of clear glass. They showed the large planet that hung in the heavens and gave the sky an eerie light. Too high up for her to climb and break through, even if she wasn’t wrapped up in the coil the striped beings had tossed around her.
Podium-like structures constructed of the same metallic material as the dome’s shell circled the empty center of the room. Along the curved walls, screens displayed strange symbols—possibly an alien language—as well as one that showed an overhead shot of what was obviously a landscape. There were also screens that were blank.
It was a space that could accommodate a couple hundred people. Much of it was empty, and Jeannie wondered what kind of gatherings took place within the curved walls.
After three weeks outside of the alien laboratories—to the best of her calculations, it had been three weeks now—she’d grown used to that unfamiliar sky with its blue planet that watched over her trials and travels. Yet she’d never seen anything resembling the pair of men who had taken her prisoner. Though their skin was smooth, they had stripes like tigers all over their bodies. Manes that made her think of zebras, spiked brushes that might have been mistaken as Mohawk hair styles but for the fact the hair grew down to between their shoulder blades.
Now there were more than two. Four more striped men approached. Her heart thundered as they neared, but she forced herself to breathe deeply, to quiet the panic that wanted to come. She had to remain rational, to stay calm so she could survive should the situation go wrong.
Jeannie managed to hold on to her composure enough to evaluate the creatures closing in. They scared her. Fascinated her. Their rumbling but sibilant speech sounded bizarre, but it was not unpleasant. They didn’t come off as vicious, despite their intimidating size.
Maybe she would be okay. The creatures were clearly intelligent. Even gentle so far, if she didn’t count the zap that had come from the one man’s electrical stick. Particularly kind was the man that held her close to his body, sharing his warmth with her chilled skin. That was another bizarre twist among hundreds in her topsy-turvy life. His flesh had started out as hard as steel and now felt every bit as pliant as hers. He smelled of the outdoors, a nice, woodsy scent. He peered down on her now, his irises as shiny as brand-new nickels with eight-pointed starburst pupils. His pointed ears moved, perking toward her as if he waited for her to tell him something particularly clever.
If not for those weird eyes and ears, and the gold, brown and white-striped skin, his face would look human. He looked like one of those cosplayers that went to comic book conventions, a kind of tiger-zebra-superhero, perhaps. Certainly his physique ran in the hyper-masculine superhero direction.
Holy smokes, he and the others were naked too. Naked...with no genitalia. Jeannie was relieved she wasn’t in danger of being ravished by Super Alien Dude and his friends, but a small part of her mind thought it a shame that such stunning specimens had no equipment. A very small part of her mind. Appreciation of the male form aside, she needed to get the hell out of here—wherever here was.
The other manimals—she kept thinking of them as that, with the stripes they wore—converged on the alien holding her. Their nickel eyes were wide as they jabbered excitedly. They were various hues of browns, golds, whites, blacks, and even greens. All were striped, lending them a natural tiger-camouflage aspect. Each had pointed ears that sat on either side of their head but higher than where a human’s ears protruded from the skull. The ears were pointed, reminding Jeannie of foxes. They changed shape slightly too, sometimes scooping into cups, as if to catch every sound coming from whatever direction they pointed.
And they were all naked. Though they appeared masculine, none of them possessed even the most vestigial hint of a sexual organ. Kneeing them in sensitive regions to make her escape was apparently out of the question.
They gathered around the creature that held her in his—its?—arms. Their expressions looked human enough. Jeannie seemed to be a thing of curiosity to the group. One said something in a questioning tone. The manimal holding her rumbled in return, his response filled with hesitation. The questioner held out a hand, one of its three fingers pointing. Jeannie’s eyes widened as the finger elongated, stretching toward her. The creature’s hand never moved, but the finger grew until it touched her shoulder. It rubbed her skin for a moment and then retracted, returning to the same size as the other fingers. It scratched its head, its expression confused and wondering.
Others touched tentatively. She flinched, but they didn’t hurt her. They seemed only stunned and curious. Jeannie sensed no threat, which did her overwrought nerves a lot of good. Though she was still fearful about the situation, terror no longer swamped her.
They couldn’t be worse than the other aliens, the ones she’d escaped. Those terrible creatures had abducted her from her home in North Carolina and subjected her to awful experimentation. These manimals weren’t nearly as bad as the cold, diminutive Grays and the large, mantis-like creatures that ordered them around.
That didn’t mean the manimals were safe, though. She feared them, unsure of what they would decide to do with her. Their teeth from the canines back appeared sharp. She wondered if they ate flesh. She wondered if she looked like food to them. Her pulse picked up speed once more.
One of the manimals came closer. He leaned in and then drew away, his nose wrinkling. Jeannie could have almost laughed at the reaction had she not been in such a bad spot. She had to stink after being on the run for so many days. Maybe that would be enough to convince these creatures she wasn’t worth a taste.
The creature holding her squeezed her a little. She gazed at him, and he smiled down at her. He said something, his voice soothing. His body was strong but not hard as it had been when he’d first grabbed her. Human-ish, with pliable skin. When she’d banged her fists against his chest, he’d been a wall of concrete. How was that possible?
The one who had helped catch her patted her head and also spoke in gentle tones. The others began petting her too, speaking quietly, as if they were soothing a stray puppy they’d found.
Could that be it? Did they think her some sort of animal? They acted more inclined to be nice than not, even though they had bound her in some sort of strange, flexible strap that wound from her chest to her knees.
Great. With my luck they’ll put me in a zoo and charge admission.
Still, it was better than being food. Or a lab experiment. Maybe these funny-looking fellows would even help her if they realized she was an intelligent being. Maybe they would help her get back home.
Jeannie knew nothing of these—whatever they were. If she let them know she was as thinking as they were, they might go crazy with superstitious terror and kill her on the spot. But she was caught and not in North Carolina anymore. Jeannie wasn’t even on Earth. She’d have to take a chance.
She’d been brave these last few weeks, braver than she’d ever known a person could be, yet it took every last mote of courage left for her to open her mouth and speak. Her heart hammered though they continued to pet and chatter to her in voices pitched for a child.
When her lips parted and she inhaled, the one who held her caught his breath and winced. His ears folded in on themselves, much as they had before when she’d screamed, as if her despairing shriek had pained him. They sprang open when she spoke instead.
Enunciating carefully even though it couldn’t possibly help them understand her, she said, “Hello. My name is Jeannie.”
* * *
Kren’s ears popped wide open. He’d expected a scream. Not that he’d blame the Tysu, not when she was surrounded by so many of them. She couldn’t know they were all charmed by her unique prettiness, made all the more adorable by how small and helpless she was. Every man tried to calm the fear in her wide eyes by petting her dirty but silky hair, soft shoulders, and funny little feet with their stubby fingers.
They must have been overwhelming to her. That’s why when she opened her mouth, he’d expected the earlier high-pitched shriek that drove through his skull. It was a great shock to hear her make a different noise, muffled by his closed ears.
He glanced at the others. “What was that she did?”
Nex, the officer who had been the first of his men to touch her, stared at her with undisguised shock. “That—that had the cadence of speech.”
“There you have it,” Bort opined. “Artificial intelligence of some sort. It’s got to be a Monsudan creation.”
“Maybe it’s not Monsudan,” Nex challenged. He’d been the most determined to refute the need to destroy their odd find. “It didn’t sound like their language.”
Kren stared into the Tysu’s face. She returned the look, her attitude that of fearful waiting. He couldn’t help the jab of hope in his gut. “Could she possibly be sentient?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Translator online.”
He’d reacted just in time because the Tysu chose that moment to speak again. Her voice was soft and lilting. The sounds she made were deliberate and repetitive. “Jee-nee. Jee-nee.”
She kept saying the same thing. Her hands, pinned to her thighs, wriggled. She closed all her fingers except the ones closest to her thumbs. She tapped them against her legs. “Jee-nee. Jee-nee. Mah nayme iz Jee-nee.”
The translator spoke from speakers on the curved walls, its electronic voice slightly buzzing. “Language unknown. Unable to translate.”
Bort blinked, his earlier suspicion wavering. “It’s not Monsudan. Even if it spoke a derivative of their language, the translator would know it.”
Kren’s surge of hope grew larger. He looked at those insistently tapping fingers. “Arga, take the flex strap off. I think part of her communication might include hand signals. She’s trying to tell us something.”
Arga paused before obeying Kren’s order. “Everyone, armor up. She doesn’t seem to have any offensive capabilities, but we shouldn’t take chances.”
Kren didn’t protest, though he thought armoring skin was overdoing it. His instincts said this was not an aggressive creature. However, he wouldn’t put his men in unwarranted danger and he was not about to set a bad example. His skin rippled along with everyone else’s as they readied for trouble.
Arga grabbed the end of the strap above the Tysu’s right knee. “Strap coming off,” he said and flicked his wrist.
The flex strap unwound, slipping through like water where Kren and the creature’s body met. She sighed and smiled at Arga as the strap wrapped itself in a small circle to be tucked in Arga’s belt again. Kren wasn’t the only one whose breath caught when she rewarded his partner with that grateful expression.
She stretched her arms and wriggled her fingers. Then she looked Kren in the eye again and tapped her chest just above her breasts. “Jeannie. Jeannie.”
Kren considered. “Maybe she’s telling us what she is.”
His most junior officer, a young man named Pon, spluttered with disbelief. “Wait—you really think this thing has self-identity?”
“Let’s find out.” Kren sat her on a computer podium. Her feet swung three feet off the ground, and she gazed down at him, her expression expectant. He pointed to himself. “Risnarish. Risnarish.” He pointed to her. “Jeannie.”
She sighed with relief and nodded with enthusiasm. “Jeannie. Risnarish.” She pointed to herself and then him as she spoke the two words. Then she garbled something else and pointed to Arga.
He grinned to be included in the exchange and thumped his chest with a fingerless fist. “I am also Risnarish. Risnarish.”
That earned him a confused look from the Jeannie. She pointed at him and then Kren. “Risnarish? Risnarish?”
Nex had come close with a medical analyzer. He was authorized as a crisis medic, having been in the healing arts before switching to law enforcement. Sometimes Kren thought Nex regretted leaving his old vocation. Nex had a scientific bent and enjoyed dabbling in research projects.
Jeannie noted the olive-and-brown striped officer to her right and pointed to him while giving Kren a questioning look.
“Risnarish,” he confirmed. Maybe the differing coloration confused her. He motioned to all the men. “Risnarish.”
Two lines appeared between her brows as the Jeannie drew them together. Then all at once her expression cleared. She laughed a little, her head shaking.
The sound of her humor was throaty, a wonderful sound. Kren’s mouth dropped open with fresh shock as he exchanged a glance with Arga.
Nex nearly dropped the fragile tube that was the analyzer. He recovered and choked out, “It laughs. It’s made an expression of Spirit.”
Bort took a couple of steps back, his wide face comical with almost fear. “Not possible. It can’t have a soul...can it?”
Another officer named Chal gave him a crooked smile that was half disbelief, half delight. “You heard it, didn’t you?”
Kren said to Arga, “Monsudan creations do not laugh. This is not one of theirs.”
Arga gave him a warning shake of the head. “It’s not up to us to decide that.”
The Jeannie touched Kren’s arm to gain his attention. He looked into her face. “What is it?”
She pointed to him, to Arga, then Nex. She pointed at every man in the room. “Risnarish.” She pointed to herself. “Human. Human.” Again she pointed to him. “Risnarish.” Herself. “Human. Human.” She stared at him, as if willing him to read her mind.
Kren thought hard. First she had called herself a Jeannie. Now there was this new word, Hyoo-man. She had said it as if correlating it to Risnarish.
Arga rubbed the back of his neck. “This is getting us nowhere fast. We need to call the Elders Council.”
“Arga—” Kren started.
“You know we have no choice.”
He gritted his teeth. “Arga—”
“Arga?” The Jeannie gazed at Kren’s partner. “Arga? Risnarish.” She pointed to herself. “Jeannie. Human.”
Nex quivered with excitement. “Wait! Could she be saying she has an actual name?”
Pon looked affronted. “That’s something only sentient beings claim.”
“Why couldn’t she be sentient? Maybe her species is Hoomin like ours is Risnarish.” Nex stepped closer and jabbed his chest with a finger as she had done. “Nex. Nex.”
The Jeannie nodded her head, as excited as him. “Jeannie.” She pointed to him. “Nex.” The finger indicated Arga. “Arga.” Then she said something else that ended with “Jeannie.”
Kren’s partner’s jaw dropped. “She is named. It really could be.”
Bort shook his head, holding it between his hands as if to keep it from exploding. “Attaching a name to oneself can be another expression of Spirit. This is not possible.”
Over the excited chatter of the other officers, Nex grinned at him. “She laughed, though. She shows intelligence. I think we’re looking at a new form of sentience.”
Kren focused on the strange but lovely face in front of him. The implications of her existence were huge, certainly too much for him to grasp at the moment. More for his own clarity than anything else, he pointed to himself. “Kren. My name is Kren. I am Risnarish. Your name is Jeannie. You are Hyoo-man.”
Her smile was bright, full of those flat, inoffensive teeth. It enhanced her alien beauty, making his hearts beat faster.
She clapped her hands and nodded her head. A garbled string of sounds came from her mouth, but his name rang clear in the midst of the incomprehensible noises. Hearing her say “Kren” made his belly tighten. It sounded like music from her smiling lips.
Nex was excited. He threw out theories as fast as his brain came up with options. “Maybe she’s from an alien race that has found its way to our system. Or the Tysu has been here all along, hidden as all the legends claim. Or someone from another dimension! You know, I bred with a woman who works in physics. You should hear the theories of alternate universes she talks about.”
Kren had sudden inspiration of his own. “I have an idea how we might find out a few answers. Writing screen, enable.”
A holographic screen swam into being before him. It floated in midair between him and Jeannie, startling the Hyoo-man. He grinned through the bluish square at her and made a comforting noise. He walked around to stand on the same side she faced.
As she watched with interest, he pointed a finger and narrowed the end to a small point. He used that finger to draw a quick sketch of her riding in a dartwing. The white-lined image was only a bare representation, but Kren had a talent for art.
Jeannie gave him a look that said he’d impressed her. He shrugged his shoulders and grinned self-consciously before waving his hand over the drawing to wipe it away.
She said something in her indecipherable language, then raised her hand hesitantly and jabbed a blunt-ended finger at the screen. A white blob appeared. She muttered, her tone apologetic.
Arga snorted. “You’ve intimidated her. She feels badly that she can’t draw as well as you.”
“It’s all right,” Kren reassured her, wiping his hand over the blot to give her a clean screen again. “I had a marvelous teacher.”
Jeannie smiled and started again. Her movements were unsure, the lines wavering. The image she drew was crude. But not bad. She seemed to be hampered more by the blunt end of her inflexible fingers than the ability to draw.
Kren watched her face as she worked. She sucked her lower lip into her mouth, concentrating on the image she created. Her brow crinkled again, her face grim with purpose. She scowled at the way her drawing was turning out, waving her hand over it a couple of times to erase her first attempts.
She was definitely intelligent, Kren decided. He wouldn’t be at all surprised to discover she possessed a soul, sentient and animated by the All-Spirit.
Nex’s upset voice broke into his happy contemplation. “Oh no. Is that what I think it is?”
Kren looked at the drawing Jeannie was putting the finishing touches on. It was crude, the lines thick. Childish almost, especially compared to Kren’s earlier sketch. But he could identify the figures.
She’d drawn a round-headed stick figure with wavy lines that Kren supposed represented Jeannie’s head full of hair. The eyes were tiny dots, the mouth a down-turned curve that expressed sadness despite its unsophisticated rendering. It was on a horizontal plane, lying on a rectangle. Jeannie pointed to it and confirmed Kren’s supposition: “Jeannie.”
Other figures stood vertical around the rectangle. They were rendered equally as crude, with larger heads, big holes for eyes, and drawn shorter than the stick-Jeannie. Kren’s hearts sank as his fellow officers began to mutter to one another.
Jeannie’s drawing was rudimentary, but the small-bodied, big-headed creatures were immediately identifiable all the same. Kren looked at drones, creations of the Monsuda.
It could only mean that Jeannie was also of Monsudan origin, a biological creation of their obscene labs. She would have to be killed.