Page 97 of Roping Her Alien Ranchers

The thought hollowed me out, creating a void where purpose had once resided. I had always been defined by duty—by oaths sworn to a world and a people I had never chosen. But for the first time, I understood the difference between being ordered to protect and choosing what to protect. I did not merely want a tomorrow with copper hair and freckled skin in it. I wanted to be the one who stood between it and every harm that might come—not because command required it of me, but because I had chosen her as my post.

A crash from behind the house interrupted my spiral of thought. I had a split second of recognition, the situation feeling familiar, but I ignored it and barreled onward.

My senses heightened instantly, battle reflexes engaging before conscious thought could form. Without hesitation, I released my human disguise below the waist, legs splitting into powerful tentacles that propelled me forward faster.

I rounded the corner of the farmhouse, tentacles churning the earth beneath me, only to halt abruptly at the scene before me.

We’d moved the refuse containers behind the house, even erecting a short barrier around them, but apparently few things deterred a trash panda. The receptacle’s contents spilled across the ground in a chaotic array of discarded packaging and food waste. And in the middle of this destruction sat a small, masked creature, front paws delicately sorting through the refuse with surprising dexterity.

“Hoover,” I said, my voice pitched lower than intended. “You are a mildly distressing creature.”

The raccoon’s head snapped up, beady eyes reflecting morning light as they fixed on me. He showed no fear, merely flicked his ringed tail back and forth. He was incredibly smart, considering his brain size. Over the course of several encounters, I had studied his problem-solving capabilities, his adaptability, his resilient nature. He had studied me with equal intensity, somehow recognizing me despite my shifting forms.

“That is not your food source,” I informed him, knowing full well he couldn’t understand my words but finding comfort in speaking to the creature, nonetheless. I’d asked Kalith if a translator could be adapted for Hoover, but the neural link that worked between human and our kind, did not hold true in terms of the smaller mammal. Kalith knew, because he’d already attempted to do so with Manji 2.

Hoover chittered in response, selected a half-eaten apple core from the debris, and held it up as if offering to share. The gesture struck me with force. This small Earth creature had no concept of interplanetary crisis, of duty or mission parameters. He simply existed in the present moment, finding joy in simple pleasures, forming connections where they were available.

I extended a tentacle slowly, allowing it to rest near the raccoon. After a moment’s consideration, Hoover abandoned his apple core and climbed onto the appendage, his tiny claws finding purchase on my skin as he made his way up to my shoulder. His weight was negligible, his presence somehow comforting. I had not intended to adopt an Earth companion, yet here we were—alien and raccoon, both outsiders finding common ground.

As I began to clean the scattered trash, Hoover’s warm body pressed against my neck, I felt the full weight of my dilemma. Each object I returned to the container represented a choice—the oath I had been handed, or the one I was beginning to swear to myself. The raccoon’s whiskers tickled my ear, his small heart beating rapidly against my skin.

How strange, I thought, that I could feel so connected to this primitive creature in such a short time. How much stranger still that I could feel bound to Tammy in ways that defied all logical explanation. How utterly devastating that I would eventually have to sever these bonds and return to a duty that suddenly felt hollow.

Hoover chittered again, as if sensing my melancholy. Perhaps he did. Perhaps Earth creatures possessed emotional intelligence my species had never properly evaluated.

“I know,” I told him softly, placing the last piece of trash in the container. “I know.”

CYRO

I stood in the stable doorway, watching as Vantor strolled along the fence line with that ridiculous Earth creature perched on his shoulder like some primitive ornament. The “trash panda,” as Tammy called it, flicked its ringed tail and chittered occasionally, as if engaged in conversation with my security specialist colleague. The sight would have been comical if it weren’t so poignant.

A highly trained security operative from an advanced aquatic civilization, forming an attachment to a terrestrial scavenger. The creature’s species barely evolved beyond basic problem-solving capabilities. Logically, it was not worthy of a meaningful connection. Yet, I understood the impulse better than I cared to admit, even to myself.

“It’s ridiculous how they have both adopted pet creatures on this planet, as if we can stay,” I murmured, the words escaping before I could analyze their true source.

Kalith had his feline companion “Manji 2,” an Earth cat with striped fur and remarkable climbing abilities that had somehow migrated from a neighboring farm directly into our youngest crew mate’s affections. And now Vantor with his raccoon, a creature that should be classified as a nuisance according to multiple human ecological management texts I’d studied in our database.

They were forming attachments to a world we would soon leave behind. A world we were never meant to inhabit in the first place. Our mission parameters had been clear: collect water samples from Earth’s deepest oceans, analyze their chemical composition, and return with data that might help our scientists reverse the catastrophic evaporation plaguing our home world. Nowhere in those parameters had there been instructions to crash-land in the middle of a rural area called “Kansas,” to integrate with the local fauna, or to form pair-bonds with native sentient life forms.

A soft nickering sound drew my attention away from the window. I turned to find myself observed by gentle, dark eyes set in a mottled gray face. Artie, the elderly Appaloosa, watched me from his stall with the placid patience that seemed his defining characteristic. Unlike the younger horses—the temperamental Mystery with his mahogany coat or the spirited Sassafras with her chestnut coloring—Artie never demanded attention. He simply waited, as if time were an infinite resource available for his casual consumption.

I moved toward him, my steps measured and deliberate as I maintained my human form. The disguise had become almost second nature now, requiring minimal conscious effort to sustain. Only when my emotions ran particularly high did the camouflage falter, revealing patches of my true skin beneath the human facade.

“Good morning, ancient equine specimen,” I greeted him. Artie’s ears flicked forward at the sound of my voice, his gaze remaining fixed on me. I might be deluding myself, but I liked to imagine there was genuine affection in his eyes, that this horse had accepted me fully—in all my forms—just as Tammy had.

My relationship with the older equine differed greatly from my interactions with the other two. Mystery and Sassafras represented challenges—their breeding difficulties had provided an opportunity to apply xenobiological principles to Earth fauna, resulting in what looked like a successful mating. Their genetic recombination, if it produced viable offspring, would serve Tammy’s financial needs while simultaneously satisfying my intellectual curiosity.

But Artie... Artie served no scientific purpose. His advanced age made him reproductively irrelevant. His docile temperament offered limited insights into equine behavioral patterns. By all objective metrics, he was the least valuable horse on the property.

Yet I found myself drawn to his stall each morning, seeking those moments of quiet communion that seemed to transcend our biological differences. Perhaps it was the way he accepted me without question, showing no fear of my alien scent or occasionally slipping disguise. Perhaps it was the gentle rhythm of his breathing that reminded me of the tidal patterns of my home world’s shallow coastal regions. Perhaps it was simply that he asked nothing of me beyond my presence.

I moved to the airtight container where Tammy stored sugar cubes—a crystallized carbohydrate that seemed to function as a universal reward system for her equine charges. The container’s seal had been enhanced with materials from our ship, ensuring that moisture couldn’t deteriorate the contents. Another small way I had integrated our technology into her world, leaving invisible traces of our presence that would remain long after we departed.

The thought sent an unexpected ripple of color across my neck, a momentary lapse in my human disguise that reflected emotional disturbance I couldn’t quite suppress. I extracted two white cubes and returned to Artie’s stall, extending my palm flat as Tammy had taught me.

“Your supplement, elder equine,” I offered.

Artie’s lips, soft and surprisingly dexterous, tickled against my palm as he delicately collected the treats. The sensation triggered a cascade of sensory data that my analytical mind automatically cataloged. At the same time a deeper part of me simply wanted to experience the moment for what it was: connection.