Chasing Cthulhu (Urf Oomons #2)

I have been captured by Seereechees again. This time I am caged with my human and her animal in the storage bay of a Seereechee ship. It is more crowded than when I was here last, with human females staggered about in individual cages, all naked. I would have never thought anything about the way other life forms clothe themselves before my time on Earth. My people, Homeworlders, do not wear any sort of coverings. Most everyone that I have traded with in person, whether furred, scaled, or smooth like a Seereechee, wear little to no clothes.

But humans do. Humans will cover their forms from their necks to their strange little toes and even wear tiny coverings on their heads at times.

It is strange to see all these human females with their skin bared, without any coverings or adornments. I know now that this is not their natural state, and they are unwillingly exposed. That is why I immediately worked to cover my human’s form when I woke up. Wrapping many tentacles completely around her, trying to keep her covered. I only succeeded in startling her. I could taste her distress at being uncovered, but for some unknown reason, she grew even more distressed when I covered her up.

“Stop it, you!” She yelled at me, berating me in front of her fellow humans. Then she slapped one of my tentacles, right on one of the sensitive cups along the underside.

I have overstepped. I assumed she would prefer not to be exposed like this when all humans work diligently to keep themselves covered.

Perhaps she finds my touch distasteful? She would not be alone in this feeling. Most sentients in the known universe revile my kind, keeping their distance and avoiding all contact. It was too much to hope that this one would be different. Just because I admire her does not mean she feels this way toward me.

Holding my hands up in a universal ‘not a threat’ signal, I move all my tentacles back away from her, as far as I can in this small space. I look off to the side, as looking at her directly for any length of time could be interpreted as aggression.

“Awww, poor guy, you’ve hurt his feelings!” This is from one of the caged humans in front of us.

How could she know? I made an effort to keep my dermis from changing color with emotion. When I look down at myself though, there is a blue cast to my gray coloring.

“He just grabbed me. With his tentacles,” my human argues.

“He looks so sad!” Another human observes.

“It’s okay, octopus-guy. She’s not mad.” Another adds.

My human turns to face me, and gives me a considering look then says, “I’m not mad at you. You just startled me is all.”

I nod to indicate my understanding.

“He understands you?” one of the humans asks, aghast as if I have trespassed on their conversation.

“Yes,” my human answers, “but he can’t speak.”

“I most certainly can speak,” I object.

“Oh, that must be his alien language,” another one observes.

“He can understand English, but can’t speak it,” someone off to the side observes. “He may not be physically able to.”

“I’m Gloria,” my human introduces herself, pointing at her upper chest.

I very carefully enunciate the name given to me by my human crewmate months ago, and answer, “Kuh-thoo-loo,” then point toward my own chest with one tentacle. I suddenly realize that humans would not introduce themselves this way and point with a clawed hand.

“Did he say Cthulhu?” one of the humans whispers lowly to another.

“He did.”

“Okay, Cthulhu,” Gloria says, “Can I call you Lu?”

I nod again. It is a very useful human gesture, this chin-dip nod.

A Seereechee drone enters the room and I attempt to draw its attention.

“Drone, these human females require coverings and access to the translation matrix,” I demand.

“No.”

“Humans cover themselves, they need clothing to maintain their mental and physical well-being.”

“No.”

Seereechee drones are not sentient. Not in the way that the rest of us in this room are. They have a hive mind that they are connected to. It has been theorized that there must be some sort of organic hub, a Seereechee drone queen, that directs all the drones on a ship and cuts off individuals who are captured or compromised. They can be reasoned with, but they never explain anything so there’s no arguing with them. If the answer is ‘no’ that’s it. No further statements or questions will sway them.

I think a moment and then say, “This female,” I gesture toward Gloria with one tentacle, “needs a translation device if she is to be caged with me. For her safety and mine.”

I watch as the drone quietly turns away from me and exits the storage bay. They did not say no, so perhaps they’re retrieving a translation device. Or maybe my human and I will be separated.

I look around at all the human females chatting with each other though they are naked, caged, and separated. I can scent their distress and apprehension, but there is a facade of easy banter. Why are they expending this energy to act relaxed in a stressful situation? It could be that chatter is soothing to human females. As my eyes drift over this crowd, my gaze is snagged by something distinctly not-human caged along the far wall. It is an Arana-Vora, a dangerous predator. Arana-Voras can only survive on a diet of sentient life forms. They are vile and disgusting creatures.

My first instinct is to pull my human close and protect her from this new danger, but I stop myself. We are safe in this cage, and she has already made her unfavorable feelings about my touch plain. I force my tentacles to curl in on themselves and away from her.

The Arana-Vora is not attacking anyone. There is a human female in the cage with it, and I can see that she is alive. Unconscious, but living. If the beast was going to make a meal out of anyone, it would be the one conveniently left in its vicinity.

Arana-Voras can go up to fifteen years without eating anyone, I remind myself. This one is not necessarily a danger to Gloria or any of the other Earth females. I need to focus on more immediate issues. Like escape. I did it before. I am sure I can escape Seereechee enslavement again. And take Gloria with me.

Gloria did not react in abject horror to the sight of me. She was not terrified when I touched her. Startled and angry at my presumption, I think, but not paralyzed with fear as I assumed she would be. Perhaps, if I can get us free of enslavement and safe on my home ship, she might wish to stay with me. Why should she want to return to her overcrowded planet? Where she might be attacked by brutish males or kidnapped by dishonorable Seereechees at any time? I could take care of her and keep her safe.

All this time the human females have been chatting with each other in their adorable Earth language that sounds like the squeaks, peeps, and chirps of tiny woodland creatures. But they are suddenly quiet. And staring at me.

I freeze. What has happened that they would look at me this way? Then I glance at Gloria and see that while I was lost in thought, two of my tentacles had wound around her. One coiled at her torso, the other snaking around her lower leg.

I release her again, moving as far away from her as I can. I need to get control of myself.

I hear a bubbling chirp that translates to amusement, then another. Even Gloria makes an amused sound and says, “Those tentacles kind of do their own thing, don’t they?”

I nod, embarrassed.

I have not been paying attention to our surroundings. I am surprised when the Seereechee drone appears again next to our cage. It has a clip-on translation device that it pushes through the cage wall. Gloria is immediately at the wall, checking its solidity, looking for a weakness where the clip was pushed through, but she will not find any.

“Gloria,” I say to get her attention, but I am unable to speak those human sounds and the approximation that comes out does not get her attention.

Scooping up the translation device, I snag her hand with one tentacle, turn it palm up and deposit the metal clip there.

“This is for me?” she asks, squinting at it.

I nod. Pantomiming, I demonstrate that she should clip it to her cute little shell-shaped ear.

She does so and I draw a breath to speak to her now that she will understand, but I’m interrupted by human screeches.

Following the noises, waving hands, and pointing digits of the females I see the Arana-Vora outside of his cage, cradling the unconscious human in one arm and stabbing a Seereechee drone in the ear with the dagger-sharp tip of a foreleg. It hisses and chitters at the dying drone, standing half out of its cage, the force field offering zero deterrence to its escape.

As I realize that we are all in terrible danger from this beast, it turns its gaze toward me. I swear its glowing red eyes spark with recognition and as it moves in my direction. I grab my human and force her behind me.

Then the fog descends.