This ship, Ravok’s ship, is a testament to a civilization light years ahead of human technology.
Taking a step back, I allow myself to merely observe as Ravok takes a seat in the cockpit. His tall, imposing frame cuts a striking figure against the gleaming shimmer of the alien technology. He settles into the chair easily, smoothly sliding his hands across the console in a practiced fashion.
Arrays of buttons flicker to life under his touch, the soft glow painting his skin in tones of sapphire and amethyst, accentuating the sharp contours of his face. Suddenly, an enormous screen fills with a flurry of alien texts and symbols.
The alien words twist and scroll across the screen in a beautiful way while simultaneously feeling threatening – maybe it’s the harsh slashes that make up Ravok’s language. He seems unaware of my wariness and observation as he intently studies the strange symbols.
His fingers are almost a blur as he flicks through levers and clicks various buttons. His luminous eyes never leave the screen as he works.
After a few minutes that feel like an eternity, Ravok rises from his seat, and a chill slides down my spine at the look of worry painted across his stoic face. It’s a stark contrast to the confident figure he had presented minutes ago – the contrast drives a punch of fear into my gut.
Ravok then approaches the glass-encased chair or bed – I’m not sure what it is. However, when I look around, I don’t see any other place where he can sleep. Although maybe there’s a bed behind one of the gleaming, almost seamless panels lining the spaceship’s walls. However, the ship is pretty tiny and spartan, so I can’t imagine how there are any additional living spaces other than what I can see. I stand back, giving him room. He runs his fingers over the odd spherical indentations on the side of the dome. A tablet slides out of the side of the dome, alien characters dancing across its surface.
Those eerie white eyes of his dart run over the characters on the screen, and I can see the worry drop from his forehead. He seems relieved, which reassures me.
Ravok glances back at me where I’m hovering near a wall and holds my gaze, his white eyes shining with resolution. He raises a hand, palm out, signaling me to stay put. I can’t help but swallow hard. His serious expression does little to calm my frazzled nerves.
“Purdunkt forn, Leelee.” His deep voice rings clear in the still air. Although I don’t understand the alien words, I getsit-stayvibes. A silent nod is all I can offer him because staying and not touching anything aligns perfectly with my existing plans. Knowing me, I’d hit a button and launch us into space or explode the moon or something.
My breath catches in my throat when Ravok taps a button on the screen, and the glass dome slides open. The only sound is a sleek whisper against the silent cabin ambiance. Its smooth movement reminds me of those sci-fi shows I used to binge-watch when life was simpler, when aliens were only figments of Hollywood’s imagination.
Ravok turns to give me another look, his gaze softening briefly before sliding into the chair. His impressive physique makes the chair seem small, but he settles with apparent ease, entirely at home.
As quickly as it slid open, the glass folds back over him, encasing Ravok securely. I can’t help but step closer, my eyes wide with fascination yet concern. His expression remains peaceful, almost serene, as he takes one last look at me through the translucent barrier.
CHAPTER 30
Ravok
I’ve never been as touched as I am when we approach my ship and realize that Leelee – entirely on her own – tried to camouflage and hide my vessel. To protect me – before I had even regained consciousness. She had no idea if I was dangerous, and she had done her best to assist a stranger, one not of her species at that. If she’d had any idea who I truly was, there was no way she would’ve rendered assistance. Because if I had been uninjured when I first woke, there is an excellent chance that I might’ve attacked her without provocation. In that sense, I am glad of my injuries – otherwise, I would’ve never had an opportunity to get to know this unusual female.
I don’t know how Leelee has gotten herself exiled to her lonely, isolated hut. However, I do know that she is vulnerable there, completely alone and unarmed, with only Mango and his minuscule claws to protect her. She is damned lucky that no one has taken advantage and hurt her. I’ve dealt with enough of herfellow humans to know that many are as vicious as the worst Cryzorian Executioner.
I might not be on this planet long, but while I am here, I can protect Leelee. Once my wounds heal completely, perhaps I will build fortifications around her home to keep out intruders. Then Leelee can be safe and have memories of my generosity – a token of my thanks and affection.
I decide to do whatever I can to ensure her safety, to do what I do best.
Once we enter my ship, I prompt the computer to do a complete diagnostic check.
As I approach my cryo-pod, Leelee raises her hand to stop me. I stare at her worried face. “It is safe, Leelee,” I warn her. She might not understand the exact words, but I know she understands my meaning when she nods.
As the plas-cover slides into place, encasing me in the cryo-chamber, I instruct my nanites to interface with my ship’s computer system. My pod appears fully functional despite the crash and curious human scientists trying to pry my ship apart. The rest of my ship hasn’t fared as well. The ship’s structure is fully intact, but several systems have either been damaged in the crash, or beforehand by my captors. I push away the concern that I might be unable to fix all the systems to make my ship usable again. Being unable to leave this planet is not an option.
Once I settle back into the chamber, I look at Leelee through the clear shield. Worry is etched clearly on her face. I give her a reassuring look that helps settle her a little.
My fingers dance across a small console panel inset inside the chamber. I command the cryogenic chamber to run diagnostics on my body, specifically targeting my universal translator.
The analysis system beeps in warning, and I lie back, holding myself still so that the system can work.
With a final glance at Leelee, I watch her tense up as the chamber fills with white gas. I know she is scared and worried for me – I marvel at how revealing her expressions are. I wish I could explain to her that this is normal and not to be scared, but I can’t. My reflection in the glass flickers like a distant star before the gas swallows my vision until all I can see is white.
When the universal translator becomes operational again, it will be a relief. The idea of bridging the communication barrier that separates me from Leelee is more than appealing.
As I surrender to the hum of the cryogenic systems, the familiar procedure begins. Searing cold surrounds me, metallic and unforgiving, like the cosmic winds that howl across the polar cap of Cryzor. My consciousness dips and fades into nothingness, quickly pulling me beneath the icy waves of forced slumber.
A soft beeping sound slowly wakes me. Opening my eyes, I watch as the white gas begins to disperse. I roll my shoulders and am pleased that there is finally no lingering ache from the projectile wounds in either my shoulder or my side. I send a quick command to my cybernetics to verify that my body is whole and healthy. As my nanites swarm through my body, I check the analysis report on the tablet attached to the cryo-pod. It details the injuries from the projectiles, the fracture in my arm and one of my ribs, and a few strained and torn muscles and ligaments. The nanites hum softly within my cell layers, broadcasting the promising news of my full recovery. The stinging bite of my injuries has been subdued into a distant echo and the report says that my universal translator should be fully functional. I type a quick command for the cryo-chamber to open.
Through the transparent chamber top, I glimpse Leelee. She hovers outside the cryo-pod, her brown-green eyes radiating worry. She bites her lip and twists her fingers in distress,betraying her concern for my well-being. She is too lovely for this universe – and for me.
