Bower breathed deeply, looking deep into his eyes.
“Do you trust them?”
Jameson nodded.
That he didn’t speak was curious. Bower figured he’d said all there was to say and that he knew both she and Elvis needed to cross this bridge on their own.
Bower wanted to believe him, but she was aware that with each step the situation seemed to slip further out of her control. And yet, what control had she ever really had? None. And what could she and Elvis do with a creature from another world? Where could they go? Where would be safe? Jameson was right, there was nowhere left to run. They’d escaped Adan’s men, now they had to trust someone. They couldn’t run from everyone.
“Stella ain’t going nowhere without me,” Elvis growled. It was a double negative, but Bower appreciated the emphasis.
Jameson nodded, providing his consent. He looked at Bower.
“We’ve got to get her home,” she said. “We’ve got to try to get her back with her folks.”
Again, Jameson nodded.
Bower glanced at the creature with its twisting fronds. She suspected Stella knew some of the terms they’d used in their discussion, at least those she and Elvis had taught her, but Bower doubted whether the alien understood all that had been said. If the creature understood, it never let on as it continued to examine the plants with absorbed interest.
Elvis walked over toward the alien, saying, “Home, Stella. We’re going to take you home.”
“Home,” the creature said, still using Bower’s voice. It was only then Bower noticed the soldier holding a handy-cam as he stood in the doorway, capturing their conversation and the creature’s reactions on video. This would make for some interesting viewing at some point, she figured.
“Yes. Home,” replied Elvis, reaching out and gently touching the alien’s blood-red, glassy fronds. The creature towered above him, reaching up to within a foot of the ceiling. The edge of its tentacles looked sharp, like the blade of a knife. If Bower didn’t know better she would have expected to see Elvis withdraw a bleeding hand, but he didn’t. Stella was equally gentle with him.
Someone was talking to Jameson, whispering in his ear.
Jameson turned to them and said, “One of the Spooks is on station, the Osprey is on approach. We need to get to the helipad on the roof. I don’t want to linger. Even with all this firepower bearing down on the city, I don’t want to tempt a fool with an RPG.”
“Green light, Stella. It’s time to take you home,” Elvis said as he grabbed his starched shirt from the table, carrying it like a jacket over his shoulder. He followed Jameson through the doorway and out into the hallway. The alien didn’t hesitate. Bower followed behind the broad creature. The cameraman beside her was fascinated by the alien’s motion, leaning down to get a good long shot.
As they crossed the reception area, Bower was aware of eyes watching from all sides. No one on Earth had seen anything like this before, well, very few had, she figured. There was an understandable level of curiosity.
Jameson led them up a broad staircase, along a first floor corridor and then waited behind a metal fire-door overlooking a rooftop helipad.
“How do you think she’s going to take the noise of a helicopter?” Bower asked. “And what about the disorienting motion associated with flight?”
“How did she take the truck ride?” Jameson asked in reply.
Bower shrugged, to her there was a world of difference, but he didn’t seem to think so.
Looking through the small glass panel in the door, Bower saw the Osprey come in hard. The pilot wasted no time putting the craft down. The rear ramp lowered and a single soldier jogged out, the loadmaster.
Jameson opened the door and the noise within the corridor jumped from roughly seventy decibels to well over a hundred and ten. Unlike the pilot of the Osprey that had touched down in the village of Abatta, this pilot wasn’t powering down his engines. They sounded like a freight-train roaring past.
The alien bristled and began moving back toward Bower, moving away from the door.
“You’re scaring her,” Bower yelled above the commotion.
“We have to go,” Jameson yelled.
“Green light, Stella. Green light,” Elvis cried, but the creature ignored even him.
Bower knew she had to do something, and yet the prospect of being skewered by the glistening, sharp blades of the creature terrified her. She dropped to one knee, making herself small. Fronds lashed out before her, and she had visions of being shredded like Bosco, and yet something similar had transpired when the factory door had been opened. Stella had responded to her back then, not more than twelve hours ago.
Bower closed her eyes.
“I know,” she said softly, barely able to hear her own voice over the rush of noise around her, and yet she was confident Stella could hear her. Bower had long suspected Stella understood more than she let on. “I know you’re afraid. I am afraid too.”
In the factory, using the same terms in different ways had helped Bower communicate basic concepts with the alien. She hoped that would work now.
“We’re all afraid, but we need to get you home. We need to get you away from here.”
She opened her eyes. Several of the insects that normally clung to the creature’s core sat on the end of the fronds closest to her face, swaying gently before her, examining her, trying to arrive at a course of action.
“I know you’ve been hurt. We all have, but don’t be afraid. You need to trust us, we’re taking you home. Green light, Stella. Green light.”
Again, Bower’s suspicions about the tiny creatures on the fronds seemed to be confirmed. Rather than one alien, it appeared she was dealing with hundreds, perhaps thousands of them, all riding a behemoth that responded to their deft touch like a chariot. There was intelligence there. Although she knew better, she couldn’t help but read intelligence into the tiny creatures staring back at her. They were sentient, she was sure of it.
“Stella,” Elvis called out over the howling wind. “Green light, Baby. We’re taking you home.”
“Home,” the creature replied, and Bower finally understood why the alien retained her voice. The extraterrestrial creature might have had its closest affinity with Elvis, but it had always been Bower who spoke with clarity. Stella trusted Elvis to act, Bower to speak.
Slowly, the alien moved back toward Elvis.
Bower watched as the tiny creatures nearest to her remained on the trailing fronds. They leaped from one swaying, spindly appendage to another as the spiky alien apparatus rolled away from her, keeping their focus on her, ensuring she continued to follow.
Elvis stood on the tailgate of the Osprey, calling out over the noise of the engines. Stella followed him. Bower stayed close behind them, despite her misgivings about these hybrid aircraft. The loadmaster closed the ramp as the craft lifted off the ground in a hurry, before Bower was seated. The last thing she saw beyond the imposing steel ramp was Jameson and Smithy waving goodbye.
Elvis moved up through the empty belly of the craft and took a seat near one of the few windows in the fuselage. Stella stayed by his side.
Bower staggered through the craft as it rose rapidly in the sky, holding on to webbing on the sidewalls to keep her balance. These were clearly combat pilots. Comfort wasn’t a concern. Bower understood there was a need to be safe, but it wasn’t like anyone on the ground actually knew they were carrying an alien, or even cared. Her stomach was queasy. She wondered whether she should ask the loadmaster for a barf bag now or later. Moving hand over hand up through the cargo hold, she eventually dropped herself down opposite Elvis and the alien.
The loadmaster stayed down by the ramp, and Bower could understand why. The alien creature half-enveloped Elvis. Stella anchored herself, wrapping her scarlet-red fronds around one of the seats and some webbing reaching up high on the side of the craft, but she was so close to Elvis she covered part of him. Elvis didn’t seem bothered in the slightest by the swirl of red blades drifting past his face and body. Beetles and bugs swarmed over his chest, around his neck and down his anemic left arm. Bower was fascinated. She wanted to get up close, to watch what they were doing, but their magic, for lack of a better word, probably wasn’t visible until you got down to a microscopic level, perhaps even a subatomic level.