Page 19 of Roping Her Alien Ranchers

“Noted,” I replied, beginning to move away again. I didn’t get far.

“But you are not doing anything until the ship is powered back on,” Cyro ordered, clawing to regain his so-called authority. “We cannot risk exposing ourselves without knowing what kind of lifeforms might be nearby.”

“You do realize we crashed without stealth mode engaged,” Kalith said, his expression looking confused, “If there’s any sentient creature in the vicinity, they know something has happened. It won't take long to discover our ship.”

“Which is exactly why we need to power it on now and turn on the shields,” Cyro barked.

“Sure thing, boss,” Kalith gave his tentacled approximation of a shrug, his tone derisive as he said the word boss. “And when we do that, the motherboard will probably overload thanks to melted pathways that try to force power down other routes that will, I promise you, fail and make matters worse than they are now.”

“It’s a chance we’ll have to take,” our blowhard commander pressed.

“No, it’s not.” Kalith shook his bulbous head, which was shifting into a crimson, annoyed hue. “We can make the choice to check all we can before powering up.”

“You will do as I say, Kalith.”

“Or I will not do as you say and, instead, I’ll take my short, stub of a tentacle and shove it so far up your mantle cavity that you choke on it.” Kalith crossed his tentacles, pointedly refusing to touch any ship controls.

“Fine, then I’ll do it.” Cyro stomped toward the controls, his gaze roving over the blank screen. The overbearing puss bucket didn’t know how to reverse Kalith’s shutdown code.

“I have not relinquished my command power,” I finally breathed out, the frustration boiling inside me. “We are still in crisis, Cyro.”

“Exactly, and it’s my crisis now,” he replied dismissively. “We have landed, and the imminent threat is⁠—”

“Possibly right outside the ship’s hatch. This is not your crisis. I do not recognize your power to take back command,” I interrupted, emphasizing the need for tactical action. “I’m going to do my job and keep us safe. You do your job minus the ordering us around part…whatever that entails, aside from scraping samples into collection tubes.”

His gaze heated, his body shifting dark brown, nearly black. Our kind only took on that hue when they were ready for all-out war. A heady, spiced scent wafted from him. Territorial. Aggressive.

I wouldn’t be intimidated.

“Cyro, we may be stuck on this planet together for a long time. Let’s stop measuring terminal organs and the size of our spermatophore packs and instead focus on survival.”

He gave me a strange look, then cocked his head. “My terminal organ is above average in both length, girth, and abundance of production.”

“That’s a weird flex,” Kalith shifted across the floor, tentacles moving fluidly, and nudged Cyro’s side. “But just so we’re all aware, mine’s abnormally long and bent at the tip.”

“For Bantor’s sake,” I breathed out. “We are in a perilous situation and my future depends on whether you—” I pointed one tentacle at Cyro— “can get off your self-built pedestal of superiority and act like a real part of this team, and whether you—” I pointed another sucker-lined arm at Kalith— “can stay serious long enough to actually fix the ship.”

“Are you changing the subject?” Kalith narrowed his gaze; the slitted wave of his iris laser focused on me. “Is your terminal organ unimpressive?”

I growled. Then, before I could think it through, I let my heavy, long, girthy penetration organ slide into view. I gyrated my body, swinging it between the five tentacles currently supporting me upright, its tip hovered just above the floor of the ship.

Kalith’s gaze widened.

Cyro sputtered in surprise.

“I usually win when it comes to measuring, but we can see this through if you both insist.”

“I’m good,” Kalith held up four tentacles, suckers pointed toward me, begging off.

“That will be a citation for indecent exposure. I’ll write you up the minute we’re home.” Cyro’s body was a tie-dye tapestry of pink and pale yellow as he stumbled over every word.

“Sure, Cyro, you do that.” I retracted myself, then turned away, striding toward the sliding doors… which did not open as I approached. I pressed the tips of six tentacles between the two barriers, pushing outward with all my might. I could only create a small gap, but that was all the space I needed to contort my boneless body through into the arched hall that led to the cargo bay.

Without really meaning to, one of my tentacles lifted and punched one of the ungainly environmental suits the moment I stepped into cargo. I was glad I didn’t need to strap on the exoskeleton. The heavy monstrosity restricted rather than enhanced my movements. With every adjustment, that suit molded to the body. It was tight in places, unwieldy in others. It was the opposite of my natural state. Graceful. Fluid. Uninhibited by a skeletal system. It forced me to curl my longest tentacles around my middle; there was no place for them inside the five protrusions. One upper space for my head. Four others to contain appendages.

It had taken me two days of training to properly slot two arms into one cavity, three in another, and one each into the lower two spaces. This particular design was made to mimic bipeds of various planets, should we need to hide our true forms. How could any creature survive with such limited anatomy? Four appendages; I couldn’t even imagine existing that way.

I thought back to the first training session.