“I can’t.” Jeffrey rubbed a hand across his face. “If, like you say, they could be anything, then maybe they’re masquerading as a table. Or a lamp. Or a goddamn peanut butter sandwich, for all I know.”
“Or a member of your crew,” she fired back.
“Yes,” he said with a sigh. “If these things exist and they can take any shape, then I suppose they could be disguised as a member of the crew. But if the enemy has infiltrated my ship, I have no knowledge of it.”
“Oh, they exist, Lieutenant Brunt,” she said, leaning closer, a sinister cast coming over her face. “They’ve taken control of seventeen planets in the systems around Zanthar. Seventeen that we know of.”
“And you think Earth has been infiltrated?” Jeffrey countered. “Why? We’re a backward, primitive planet, according to you Zantharians. Why bother with Earth?”
“That’s what I’m here to find out.” Her features hardened. She slid into the other chair, leaning back and pinning him with her glare. “Who gave you your orders? Who sent you to find Dr. Sylvia Cohen?”
Jeffrey shrugged. “NASA HQ. Likely at the insistence of the government, and the public. Everyone wants to know what happened to the scientist in search of life on other planets.”
“Your HQ, is it possible that they’ve been infiltrated? Couldn’t your orders have been a front, a means of getting more Hareema onto Zanthar?”
Jeffrey gave her words consideration. Could NASA have been infiltrated by some alien menace?
The command for the rescue mission had come from the top. From NASA director Danner Thompson himself. If the director had been compromised, then who else could have been taken over by the shapeshifting jellies?
All of this is conjecture, he told himself. “We could sit here all day debating whether the command back on Earth has been taken over by the enemy. It won’t help us out of our current situation.”
He stood, circling the table and approaching the alien female. “Right now your ship is headed God knows where, and my ship is gone too. Things are spiraling out of control, and command personnel from both ships are locked in this room bickering.”
He leaned in close. “Don’t you think that’s strange? Doesn’t it worry you that your commander no longer seems to trust you with vital information? Can’t you consider for a moment that your orders might be a distraction, a tactic to get you out of the way while your ship is diverted?”
Kat’Chinna looked up at him, her widening eyes the only hint that his words might be getting to her.
Jeffrey had to press his advantage. Instead of continuing to loom over her, he squatted, bringing his face level to hers. “I know you think my crew, my ship, hell, my entire planet has been taken over by your enemy. But, just for one moment, please consider that your ship is in just as much danger of infiltration.”
His voice lowered, his tone earnest. “And who better to impersonate than the commander of the Zantharian flagship? Who could question him?”
The alien female shook her head, but he saw the red flush from earlier begin creeping into her skin again. He took her hand, clasping it in both of his. “What is this?” he asked, momentarily distracted by the change in her skin color. “Why does your skin change like this?”
Kat’Chinna seemed to be staring at their hands. He felt a faint tremor in her body. “Our skin changes with our emotions,” she said, her voice small. “Green is calm. Yellow is anger. Red…well…”
“Fear,” he murmured. It made sense now.
A flash of memory hit him then. The gorgeous alien female underneath him as he kissed her. Her skin has changed then, too.
“And purple,” he asked, his voice gruff. “What does purple mean?”
She blinked at him, then turned away, standing up suddenly. “Stop wasting time.”
The spell was broken. Once again, he’d tried to get her to open up, to let down her guard and relate to him. And once again she’d turned away.
Jeffrey stood from his crouch and crossed his arms across his chest. “Stop pretending that my idea has no merit. You’re just as much a pawn as I am right now. But it doesn’t have to be this way. We could work together, figure out what’s going on aboard your ship, confirm for ourselves that the enemy hasn’t taken over.”
“The idea is ludicrous. You saw yourself on the bridge. Major Ontarii exchanged energy with another crewman. He can’t be Hareema.”
Jeffrey’s brows furrowed. “Are you absolutely certain? Couldn’t the energy exchange be faked somehow?”
Kat’Chinna shook her head. “No. Not that I’m aware of.”
“You said the Hareema were on seventeen planets. Surely all of those planets weren’t entirely defenseless. They must have found a way around those defenses, so why not a way to fake the energy exchange?”
“Our energy is bioelectric. It’s a part of our genetic makeup. Although the Hareema can impersonate solids and liquids, they still have substance. They can’t create energy where none exists.” Her tone was matter-of-fact, but Jeffrey thought he detected a hint of doubt underlining her lecture.
“I assume your people have studied the Hareema. Have you done a full genetic analysis?”
