One of the seated aliens beckoned her closer. It was painfully thin; its color seemed faded and it moved slowly. She wondered if it was sick. It motioned her to sit with a flat, economical downward gesture, its fingers partly curled. She sat, facing the gaunt alien. Her guide squatted beside her, its long, slender toes splayed wide for balance.
The sick alien examined her hands, turning them over and looking at her palms. Then it pinched her fingertips, one after the other, forcing her claws to extend. It hurt. Juna tried to pull away, but the alien’s grip was like iron, despite its frail appearance. It examined the red spurlike swellings on her wrists, and ran its fingers lightly over her back. It even spread her legs and examined her genitalia. Juna remembered showing sheep at farm fairs as a teenager. She knew now how those sheep felt as they were being judged. She suppressed the urge to struggle. Her life depended on these aliens. A hostile move now could be fatal.
At last the examination ended. Her guide and one of the other aliens got up and left the room, pushing through a crowd of curious onlookers at the door. Juna suddenly felt very weak and shaky. She rested her forehead on her knees as the shock of all she had been through today caught up with her. She wasn’t giving them a very good impression of the human race, Juna thought, embarrassed by her weakness. With an effort, she mastered herself and sat up.
The two remaining aliens watched her in silence; faintly luminous patterns flowed over their skins like the reflection of waves in a pool. The frail alien motioned toward a pile of gourds. More patterns flickered over its skin. The other alien got up and brought the sick one a gourd. The sick alien lifted the lid, pulled out a thick honeycomb, and handed it to her.
Gingerly, Juna bit into it. Thick, sweet honey dripped down her chin and gushed into her mouth. She chewed, sucking the sweet syrup out of the comb. She swallowed the honey and spit the comb into her hand. Her skin turned purple as she looked inquisitively at the alien. It handed her an empty leaf. Juna set the chewed wax on it. Bees began clustering on the wax, probably taking it away to use again.
The sweet honey hit her system with a rush of energy. Her head cleared, and she felt much less shaky. She brushed the emaciated alien’s hand with her knuckles, hoping that her skin reflected her gratitude. Its ears fanned wide in surprise, and it looked at its companion, flushing purple. A wash of patterns flickered over the companion’s skin, too fast for Juna to follow. The sick alien watched, then flickered patterns back.
Watching, Juna realized that those patterns had meaning. The aliens communicated visually. Her heart sank. If the aliens’ language was visual, it would take a long time for her to learn to communicate with them, especially without her computer. The Survey was scheduled to leave about two and a half Earth-Standard months after the flyer crash. Juna had no idea of how long she had been unconscious. If she didn’t get back to base soon, she might be marooned here forever. Her throat tightened in fear at the prospect. She had to move swiftly. If she couldn’t get an alien guide in a few days’ time, then she was going to have to set out on her own.
The other aliens returned bearing large leaves piled high with food, and several big gourds full of water.
Juna’s stomach growled. The aliens’ ears lifted and they looked at her, purpling with curiosity. Embarrassed, Juna blushed. Her skin turned a deep, rich brown, almost its original color. Pale blue and green waves of color washed over the sick alien. Was it laughing at her? Juna shrugged, mod blushed a deeper brown. The sick alien laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder. She smiled and brushed its hand with her knuckles again. She was beginning to like these people.
Her guide offered her a gourd brimming with clear water. Juna drank deeply. The water was flat, with a faint acidic tang. So much had been going on that she hadn’t realized how thirsty she was. The aliens drank, then splashed water over their skins. Juna sluiced water over herself, mashing away the sticky honey.
The aliens began eating. Her guide picked up a small purple fruit, smelled it, and handed it to her. Juna picked it up, and examined it. She didn’t recognize it, so it was probably yet another species new to the Survey. She smelled it, in case this was expected. The fruit had a rich, complex odor, aromatic and sweet, like a fine wine. The sick alien touched her arm with its knuckles. She glanced up. It held out a similar fruit, and showed her how to peel and eat it. It tasted like one of her father’s finest botrytic Rieslings, only without the alcohol aftertaste.
The food was delicious, but the textures and flavors were disconcerting. One fruit smelled and tasted like custard with cinnamon, another Iruit resembled fresh crab. Juna sampled the pale grey meat. It tasted sweet, as though marinated in fruit juice, and salty, with a faint hint of cheese. It was odd, but not unpleasant. She wondered what kind of animal it had come from.
The aliens urged food on her until she couldn’t eat another bite. The meal made a huge difference. She no longer felt as if a strong wind could blow her away. When everyone was finished eating, her guide poured water into a bowl made from half a gourd and presented it to each person in turn. They rinsed their hands and arms, and splashed their faces to wash off the remains of their meal.
When that was done, the sick alien held its arms toward Juna, spurs up. It wanted something. Unable to understand, Juna shook her head. The alien reached out and grasped her arm just above the wrist. Its touch was cool and firm. Then its wrist spur pricked her arm, and she was unable to move. Fear surged through her as she fought this sudden paralysis. As quickly as it had come, her fear was washed away. Juna knew she should be terrified, but she couldn’t reach her fear. Her guide grasped the sick one’s other arm. Their wrist spurs joined. A third alien linked wrist spurs with her guide.
It was like being trapped in warm ice. She could feel a presence moving through her like a chill in the blood. It felt as if slimy hands were fingering her flesh from the inside. Enmeshed in a cocoon of passivity, she could only sit in paralyzed terror as an alien presence took over her body.
Once, in the refugee camps, five older boys had held her down and taken turns raping her. She had been only eight. This alien violation brought it all back—the shame, the humiliation, the helplessness. Anger surged up inside her. She hurled her rage against the alien presence inside her. It was all she had left to fight with.
Then a wave of unadulterated pleasure swept aside her rage as easily as though it were a feather in a breeze. She drifted in a warm sea of euphoria, divorced from her body. Nothing mattered anymore. She drifted happily into unconsciousness.
Juna awoke. She was half buried in a pile of moist leaves. Two aliens slept in piles of leaves on the other side of the room. She remembered the cold presence investigating her body from the inside, and she shivered despite the humid warmth of the tree.
Then she remembered the wash of pleasure that had wiped away her resistance. She sat, shivering, naked, and terrified by how easily the aliens had taken her over. And she had enjoyed it.
She had to leave. Better to die, starving and lost in the jungle, than to remain here and endure more violations like that.
She gathered what she could: a flint knife, a water gourd, a small net, and a braided coil of stout cord, and placed them in one of the aliens’ shoulder bags. Then she collected all the food she could find and put it in another bag. Slinging them both over her shoulder, she began the long climb out of the tree.