Page 107 of Roping Her Alien Ranchers

Home. That word again. It felt wrong somehow, misplaced in my thoughts.

I found myself staring at my reflection in the darkened portion of my screen—the human face I had crafted so carefully, which I was senselessly maintaining right now. The face Tammy had touched with such wonder, had kissed with such passion. I allowed my camouflage to slip slightly, watching as the human eyes slipped down my human cheeks, as the human cheeks sagged at the jawline, as the human hair began to retract into the scalp, which was roughening with texture. When I was satisfied that I could abandon the human guise, I pulled it back into place. Though, now, I allowed more of my natural, iridescent purple to disrupt the human skin tone.

The preservation process came to a close.

“I have finished,” I said, voice shaking. We had what we came for. We should be celebrating our success, planning our triumphant return. But my voice wasn’t shaking from joy. Quite the opposite in fact.

We were three broken creatures, drifting in Earth’s darkest depths, carrying water that might save our world but could never wash away the memory of what—of who—we’d left behind.

And I did not think I would ever recover.

KALITH

My tentacles pushed outward from my human body, and they worked across multiple control panels simultaneously, each appendage tip executing precise movements as I prepared to manage the ship’s internal adjustments during ascent.

“Initiating ascent,” Vantor said in a clipped tone.

“I am prepared,” I answered.

Cyro said nothing, his form motionless, seemingly adhered to the small research station’s seat.

We began to rise.

Slowly at first, then picking up speed until we held a steady rate of nine Earth meters per Earth minute.

The ship’s environmental system hummed a familiar note as it adjusted to the gradual decrease in external pressure during our ascent. When we reached a safe depth, the system would begin purging saltwater at measured intervals. I should have found comfort in the mathematical precision of my work, in the engineering challenges that had once been my greatest joy. Instead, I felt empty. My true, boneless body flattened out and lifeless. My focus drifted.

To tractors.

Radios.

Toasters.

Barn raising.

The feel of Tammy’s body.

“Kreshtak!” I cursed in my native language as the tip of my shorter tentacle turned the calibration dial too soon, nearly disrupting the delicate balance necessary to keep the ship undamaged as we surfaced. I glared at the offending appendage—the tentacle that had always been the source of so much mockery in my youth. Before Earth, I had planned to have it surgically enhanced upon our return. Before Tammy.

Tammy, who had never once looked at my tentacle which never lengthened properly with disgust or pity. Who had instead sought it out specifically, claiming its slightly different texture was “extra special” against her skin. Who had pressed kisses to its tip while whispering that she loved every part of me, especially the parts I’d been taught to hide.

As I noted our current angle of ascent may cause a collision with an above protrusion and I made a small adjustment, a thought struck me with such force that my chromatophores flashed bright yellow with distress.

“I forgot to feed Manji 2,” I blurted out, the words escaping before I could analyze their appropriateness. My voice sounded strange in the command center, breaking the heavy silence that had enveloped us for days. “We should go back.”

The moment the words left my speech organs, the flicka-sec my outburst lit up my skin with sparks of light, I knew how irrational I was being. Manji 2 would not suffer without me. At this very moment, the feline was likely being pampered by Tammy. So, worry for my cat wasn’t truly the issue, and we all knew it.

Cyro turned from his station, his neck rippling with subtle color changes that betrayed his emotional state despite his carefully maintained human façade. “It is illogical to go back for your feline, Kalith,” he said, his voice lacking the clinical detachment he clearly aimed for. “I am sure Tammy will care for it.”

I noted how softly he spoke her name, with reverence, as if the syllables themselves were precious. We’d all been avoiding speaking her name, though I knew she occupied Cyro’s and Vantor’s thoughts as completely as she did mine.

“But who will care for Tammy?” I asked the question before I could stop myself. So much pain. Sadness. Seeping into every tentacle tip.

Our no-nonsense, by-the-book, scientist’s chromatophores pulsed with pastel hues that shifted toward smoky gray—the colors of longing and unresolved grief in our species’ emotional spectrum. When brightness faded away, when the hue of corals no longer graced our skin, when we felt flat and unable to inflate.

The silence that followed should have been awkward but instead felt like the first honest moment we’d shared since leaving Tammy. I stared at my tentacles, at the artificial tip that suddenly seemed like a betrayal of everything Tammy had taught me about self-acceptance.

To my surprise, Vantor pushed away from his security station, his massive form casting long shadows across the command center as he crossed his tentacles and leaned against the inner hull. His body had softened slightly, smacking of a vulnerability he rarely showed.