Page 1 of Invasive Species (Outcasts of Oloria #2)

ONE

ARABELLA

The smooth lines of this spaceship are fucking sick. They’d be even better if there wasn’t a hole torn all along the side of it, of course, but the benefit of that is a tantalizing glimpse of the inner workings of the craft. Too tempting.

I heave myself through the gap while the aliens are busy, through two layers of matte metal.

They look thin as paper, yet are evidently strong enough to cart real life aliens around through the void of space.

It’s shaped like a dressmaker’s needle, with a bulb on one end connected to a long thin straight bit.

Or maybe it’s more like a turkey baster.

Regardless, it’s bright pop art Andy Warhol orange and silver on the outside, and the insides are all kinds of metal shades, from blacks swirled with grays like a storm, all the way to bluish twilight finishes.

I trail my hands along the art nouveau walls as I walk down the needle bit to the bulb.

I can stand upright in here, but I bet the tall alien dudes who crash landed a few weeks ago have to stoop to get around.

I imagine Ilia, the biggest one, on his hands and knees and I get the giggles at the idea, but I quickly sober up thinking of them crammed in the narrow space of this needle.

The ones who look like triplets, Dom, Arik and Nevare, would be knocking into each other with their broad shoulders, and I can’t see Arture, who has a metal replacement arm along with his right eye, folding tight enough to fit in here.

No wonder Gara always has a scowl on his face.

Gara’s the grumpy green alien who’s always glaring at me, particularly when I’m cajoling Ilia into making changes to the design of the barn they’re remaking.

Yeah, the one they blew up and have to make good again.

I still can’t believe that we—Ellen and I—fraternize with aliens. Honest to goodness, real life aliens.

They look human enough, if built like brick shit houses, except for the scales rippling all over their skin.

Oh, and they don’t wear shirts either, so we get a good ogle of their bare torsos every mealtime.

Watching their scales is like experiencing a spectacular color show, their scales shifting into rainbows of color depending on their mood.

I wish I could paint them, but I can’t paint a damn thing right now. I need more inspiration.

Hence my little foray into the ship itself. Because, I mean, it’s right there, but whenever I ask grumpy guts Gara if I can go in, he flat out says, “It’s too dangerous,” and Ellen won’t back me up.

I mean, I pretty much have to go in if the alien says I can’t. There might be a security issue or something, right? Even though I’m one hundred thousand percent sure the guys won’t attack us or whatever, it’s still a great excuse, so I’m here asking for forgiveness rather than permission as always.

The cockpit thingy has the biggest hole torn through it, like some demented giant used a can opener on it. Rain stained some of the cobalt-blue metal on the floor an ashy gray, and someone has torn a hole in the desk, ripping out computer guts everywhere in a tangle of wires .

The most breathtaking structural element is the window.

From outside, it shines orange like the rest of the ship, but from in here, it’s a perfectly transparent wide window that goes one hundred and eighty degrees either side of me and then all the way up overhead.

I crane in to see boiling clouds gathered low along the sky over Ellen’s family farmhouse, and all the way down through the soil horizons where the cockpit plowed to a stop in the earth.

I hunker low and watch a worm make its way across the screen, and my mind slows.

It's like my thoughts become contained and I can focus, the same as during a cold swim, my favorite way to get my brain to cooperate with me for the day. Maybe there’s some special metal in here or something?

Wouldn’t that be amazing, an alien metal that cures ADHD?

"What are you doing here?" Gara’s voice jars the silence of the cockpit.

I jump, of course I do, because he appeared like a fucking jack-in-the-box out of the hole in the side of the rocket. He’s always bigger than I remember, even though he’s the smallest of the aliens, and right now, his face is twisted into a grimace. His scales slowly turn a sour green to match.

But I try to play it off; the guilty flee with no one chasing them, after all, and I have nothing to be sorry about.

Standing, I place a hand on the broken panel between us. “I’m looking around. This alien tech is really cool?—”

“Get out.” Gara’s scales bristle, clacking together like puzzle pieces snicking into place and turning a bright mixture of spring green and teal. He could be scary, blocking the exit with shoulders brushing either side of the door, but I know them well by now.

“I’m only looking,” I protest.

He points an accusing finger at my guilty one. “Right there, you’re touching.”

“Yeah, well, just having a poke around.” I trace my finger along the edge of a panel, my cheeks heating.

I suppose he’s got me there. “Your architecture is amazing. You've got a streamlined curved motif both outside and inside, and everything fits together beautifully. Even your materials feel… I dunno, all smooth and warm like wood even though it’s metal.”

Gara stares at me babbling, then shifts his gaze to glare at my hand on the panel. “This ship is unsafe, we shut down the main electricals but there could still be residual current.”

“I won’t go poking or prying. Much,” I tease.

His hands ball into fists, jaw clenching. He grates through his teeth, “From my rudimentary assessment, I thought humans were made of similar tissue to us. Very conductive tissue. Am I mistaken, and humans are immune to electrical surges?”

“Nope,” I say with a grin. “Rudimentary assessment? Do you mean sneaking a peek?”

His scales drain to a silvery-green on his cheeks and chest. The alien chokes out, “I have not spied on you.”

“Didn’t say that.” I draw a circle on the panel. “Wouldn’t exactly surprise me though. We are a completely new species to you, after all.”

I’ve seen the way Ilia looks at Ellen like she’s a goddess. My brain spirals down a billion rabbit holes; how nice would it be to have someone look at me the same way?

Instead, Gara looks at me like I disgust him. Except, now, his eyes go wide, staring behind me.

Yeah, like I’d fall for that. “What are you hiding in here, hm?”

He darts to me faster than I ever thought possible. I flinch on instinct, fists half-raised, useless—and then his hands are on my shoulders, gripping hard, pulling me flush against his chest. My brain short-circuits; no fight, no flight, nothing kicks in. I'm just a hedgehog in the headlights.

Then he throws me—out through the slash in the rocket's side and into Ellen’s garden. I land hard, gasping, and before I can scramble up, he’s already with me, shouting something fierce and guttural in his language.

His green-black arms wrap around me, tight and unyielding. He ducks his head over mine, curling his body around me like a shield. A living cocoon.

“What are you doing?” I finally find my voice, trying to slip underneath like a bar of soap. He holds my full weight easily, like I weigh nothing in his huge strong arms. “Let me go, you?—”

A blast from behind knocks into him. Gara’s bulk lurches and we go down hard. He holds me suspended above the mud at the same time as his hand catches his fall in the squelchy earth.

My ears ring. Fuck! And I realize—he’s not attacking.

He’s protecting.

“Dom, Arture, get down!” he roars, too loud in my ear. I flinch and burrow my head in his chest.

Two more blasts and thunks as bodies hit the ground by the house. No. They’ve been hit!

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I babble, the words nothing more than a frantic mumble over the rapid drum of his heartbeat, thud thud thud thud , far too fast, the whirr of murderous machinery, and the patter of rain as the heavens open overhead.

The green alien above me goes still, his body shielding mine from whatever’s behind him. I slowly wrap my arms around his neck to support myself, and he whispers in my ear, “Stop… moving.”

Over his shoulder, a robot spider-legs into view, each claw clicking on the gangplank. The red beams on its barrel glow like Sauron’s eye, swiveling around in a slow scan, smoking after having fired at Dom and Arture.

Cold seeps into my blood and I freeze in place, hanging off Gara like a baby monkey.

Swallowing hard, Gara meets my gaze. There's real fear in his nuclear green eyes. He can make his scales go super stiff, but I’m guessing a shot at close range would still kill him.

I go as limp as I can, not even breathing underneath Gara's shielding body.

His skin gets colder and colder, scales going from racing green to olive green, lowering his body temperature because that thing probably uses infrared.

Cold sharpens my mind incredibly, but the adrenaline might also have something to do with it; nothing like a drop of fight or flight finally kicking in to increase focus.

A beam flashes over his shoulder and the robot’s barrel gun follows.

Fuck. I tense but Gara’s utterly still, eyes locked onto mine.

As if my brain is trying desperately to let me escape elsewhere, I start cataloging details like I'm preparing to paint him. He has little scales all over his cheeks and even across his eyelids, olive green right now but usually a rich jade, and he has hairy eyebrows like ours. A swoop of his chestnut hair, heavy with rain, droops down from his forehead to brush mine in little flutters as he breathes. His arms aren’t shaking even though he holds me up parallel to the soil. He’s strong as hell.

The robot clanks away, gun barrel pointed up the hills like a hunting dog's nose, and races off toward the sheep fields. Fuck, fuckity fuck.

“Is it gone?” I whisper.