The Next Morning

Simone lies curled up on the bed in a fetal ball, blankets drawn around her and up to her chin. She is now full and a little hungover.

Crank sits cross-legged on the floor, watching over her, just as he did the previous day. The remaining ooman food Simone ordered from what she called a ‘restaurant’ is still spread out on the table. Crank reaches up a hand and retrieves a large cherry tomato. Popping the small tomato in his mouth, Crank chews it methodically. The fruits and vegetables on the serving tray are much better than the burned foods she had offered him. Not very filling, but the texture is agreeable.

Simone stretches noisily and her left arm falls off of the bed. Crank casually reaches and repositions Simone’s arm back on the mattress and under the cover. He tilts his head as he watches her sleep, listening to the soft purr of her snoring. If only all oomans were like Simone. Well, not all of them. He still needs specimens to hunt.

As if suddenly sensing Crank’s eyes on her, Simone opens her lids and stares straight into Crank’s watchful face. Propping herself up on an elbow, Simone places her face in the palm of her hand.

“Have you been like that all night?” she asks. Her tone is incredulous.

“Not all night…” Crank prevaricates.

Simone gives him a look which says she does not believe him and sits up on the bed. She again stretches noisily. Reaching out with both arms, she brings them above her head before drawing them back down.

Crank is unable to help himself. He studies Simone very carefully—noting the slenderness of her neck, her tapered waist, and long legs. Even without her pointed heel shoes, she is still of formidable height. Not unlike a female from his own planet. Not only are Simone’s legs long; they are also very well-built. The calves of her legs appear quite muscular, even as viewed through the material of her shiny black suit of armor.

Simone notices him watching and cuts her stretching session short. She returns her arms to her sides and crosses her legs on the bed.

“Why me?” Simone says softly, her eyes locking on Crank’s face. “Why not someone else? Why are you protecting me? What do you need me for?”

Crank takes another cherry tomato from the tray and balances it on his hand, expertly rolling it along atop his clawed fingers. Simone watches the hypnotic movement with childlike fascination. For an alien who claims to be new to this planet, he sure does know a lot of human tricks.

“I need someone to…Guide me.” Crank says measuredly.

“I…I don’t understand—,” Simone begins.

Crank lifts a finger of his unoccupied hand and continues his statement. He subtlety monitors Simone, as he continues to roll the tomato over his agile fingers.

“What I know of Earth is from texts and stories from long ago," Crank continues. "I am a stranger to this world. I will need guidance if I am going to survive here. I have no one else.”

Simone climbs from the bed and goes to where Crank is seated on the floor. She drops down beside him, placing a hand on his knee and staring into his face. Being this close to him, she is able to take in many more details. The smell, almost like being near the sea, which emanates from his skin. The tiny creases around each round eye. The flecks of green within those same golden-brown eyes. The texture of each beaded braid. The exact number of his teeth.

Once again, Simone finds herself staring at his mouth. Tearing her eyes away, she returns them to his face.

“But why here? Why me? Why now?” Simone says. “I’ve dreamed of a day like this ever since I was a girl. I knew there was something more out there…In the universe. There was no way that we humans were alone out here. Space is just way too big. No way. You come to me now…Like something out of a dream. Right when my world is falling apart. And I almost can’t believe that it’s real. It feels like some sort of fever dream. I can only imagine what my ex would say, if he knew about all this.”

Simone takes Crank’s large clawed hand, in her own two hands, and turns it palm up. She runs a finger over the skin on the palm of his hand—like a shaman reading his fortune.

“Why me?” Simone repeats.

Crank responds as honestly as he can; leaving out all of the unsavory details.

“Other forms of life on this planet are far too primitive. And a male companion would not do. Ooman males are…”

Crank catches himself before he can say that human males are primarily for sport—for the collecting of trophies.

“Unpredictable,” Crank course corrects.

“You mean…They can be overly aggressive?” Simone says with a sly smile.

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Crank nods and offers a simple answer. “Yes,”

“They’re always itching for a fight?” Simone adds.

“Yes,” Crank says again.

“They almost never fight fair?” Simone continues to prod.

Simone releases Crank’s hand, and he silently nods his head. He scrutinizes her with renewed interest. Simone's manner tells him that there is more going on than what he is aware of.

“And they love a good competition?” Simone says, her voice dropping to a silky suggestive tone.

Crank’s round eyes search Simone’s face—not quite sure as to the cause of her widening smile. Is it possible that she can sense his discomfort?

“Not to mention, they make for one hell of a sport?" Simone teases. "Am I right?”

Crank's eyes narrow as he realizes she has seen through his omission. A tiny yautja smile tugs at his mouth, and he does his best not to laugh. The ooman is very perceptive.

“Hmmm. Sound like anyone you know?” Simone asks rhetorically.

Inching closer to Crank, she runs a hand over his forearm and bicep. Toying with the mesh which covers his skin, she studies the armor covering his chest. She strokes it with a finger. She is certain that a strange vibration travels through her hand as she touches the metal of his breastplate. This is no Earthen metal.

Crank studies Simone as well. Her brown skin covered in almost indiscernible minute holes. Her rounded nose and full lips. The reddish hue about her cheeks. He takes notice of the scent of her flesh, almost like sloso fruit, and the sweet smell coming from her hair. There is also the faintest aroma of the six alcohol-based drinks, she downed the previous afternoon, lingering on the skin around her lips. A tiny seed, from the fruit she called a strawberry, clings to the corner of her mouth.

Imitating what he believes to be Simone’s grooming ritual, Crank reaches up with a clawed finger and removes the seed from the corner of her mouth. At first, she almost recoils. However, she relaxes when she realizes his true intent. Crank wipes the seed from Simone’s mouth and stares at it on his fingertip. Simone laughs and grabs a napkin from the table. She wipes the seed from Crank’s finger but he closes his hand over hers. Simone stares at him inquisitively.

“What’s the matter?” Simone quietly asks.

“Why do you wear that?” Crank says.

He lightly touches her arm, indicating her tight shiny leather outfit. Simone's voice rises with her obvious surprise. She imagines what a female version of Crank might look like.

“What?" Simone exclaims. "Don’t women wear clothes where you’re from?”

Crank nods as if he has spoken out of turn and is now trying to backtrack.

“Yes, they do,” Crank says. “I am referring to the shiny armor that you wear. I have never seen another ooman female wear such armor. Even in the ancient texts.”

“It’s not armor, Crank,” Simone says between a laugh. “It’s just regular clothes. We ooman females like to look nice. But even if it were some type of armor…I’d wager a guess that it would serve the same purpose as that netting you wear. Or your metal breastplate. Or the yellow slicker you used to conceal your appearance—”

Simone leans in close, pressing a hand against the metal of his breastplate. She is now absolutely certain of the vibration she feels there.

“It protects you from the elements,” Simone says, her eyes dropping to Crank’s mouth. That strangely fascinating and hypnotic mouth.

"Sometimes...Ooman females need protecting. Even from ourselves," Simone explains solemnly. "Sometimes, we can have such fragile egos. We need to feel like we’re on top of things. Like we could take over the world without even trying.”

Crank squeezes Simone’s other hand, which is still gripped within his own. His brow raises and he refuses to tear his eyes from hers. Eyes filled with life, mischief, and pain.

“Do you want to take over the world?” Crank asks—Impressed by the very idea.

Simone laughs loudly, her shoulders bobbing and her black curls bouncing against her neck and shoulders. Crank finds himself enthralled by her laughter, the purity of it. His words have touched her. They have made her laugh.

“Don’t take things so literally, Crank!" Simone says. "No, I don’t want to take over the world. Right now, I’ve got enough on my plate just trying to keep my head above water. I’ll leave the world domination to people much better at it than myself.”

Simone’s laughter abates and silence comes over the room. Shifting uneasily, Simone glances to the side and catches a glimpse of Crank’s mask sitting on the sofa. She points to it.

“Your mask…It allows you to see in infrared?” Simone inquires. Her excitement is not unlike that of a kid in a toy store.

“Yes,” Crank answers. “Most of the creatures we hunt are very skilled at stealth and favor the dark. Using infrared allows a hunter to even the odds.”

“Hmmm. That’s interesting,” Simone utters quietly. “And each hunter makes their own mask? Does your mask have any special significance? What makes it special…An extension of you?”

Crank stares at the mask from where he sits on the floor. Memories of his clan, his kin, and his murdered ancestor; float to the forefront of his mind.

“I melted the combistick and wristblades of my great grandfather to create my mask," Crank explains. "Cha’tal was the elder of my clan. He was killed when the black serpents overran a habitat he was commanding. My great grandfather killed nearly fifty of them before they took him down. He destroyed the habitat to protect my clan, and my kind, from the serpent beasts. It was his untimely death which turned me away from the recklessness of the hunt. I no longer saw the point. So, I planned my exit from Yautja society…And came to Earth.”

It is Simone’s turn to squeeze Crank’s hand.

“And…You came to me,” Simone says quietly. She traces the flesh of Crank’s hand with a polished fingernail. “But, why take such a risk?”

Tears spring to Simone’s eyes and she finds herself leaning toward Crank. His mandibles open and Simone is drawn to his mouth. How did one kiss such a mouth?

Crank is unsure of the correct thing to do. He believes that Simone is fainting again, and slides an arm around her waist. Simone places a hand behind his neck and stares intensely into his golden-brown eyes. Coming to her senses, Simone shakes her head vigorously. What the hell is she doing?

Laughing uncomfortably, Simone removes her hand from Crank’s neck and runs it through her curly hair. She hurriedly climbs to her feet.

“I need a drink,” Simone utters with manic energy. “But first, I need to use the bathroom.”

She turns to walk away, but Crank quickly stands and grips her right forearm. He moves as if to accompany her, but Simone waves him off.

“No…” she says. “Nothing dangerous is going to attack me in there. You don’t need to go with me. I’ll be fine.”

Crank remains where he is, and Simone hurries into the bathroom. She shuts the door and leans against it, trying to catch her breath. What the hell is she doing? Is her life so hard, and is she really so desperate as to fall in love with the first alien she meets? Obviously, so.

After a couple minutes, Simone locks the door and begins to undress. A cold shower will do her some good.

Outside the bathroom, Crank presses a large hand against the wood of the door. He would swear that he can feel Simone’s warmth through the door; as she leans against it. A feeling of sadness overcomes him. He had hoped to see what was beneath the shiny black suit.