Page 30 of Roping Her Alien Ranchers

"Look how the appendages are specialized for different functions. The weight-bearing lower, flatter and wider for balancing across varied terrain. The upper clearly evolved for small motor movements and tool manipulation." If we weren’t in such a precarious situation, I would insist we bring this specimen aboard to study… even if it did go against our mission directive.

The small biped continued its frantic vocalizations, volume increasing to levels that were becoming uncomfortable to my sensitive auditory receptors. It gestured repeatedly with the pointed tool, creating obvious threat displays that would be concerning if they weren't so laughably ineffective against our superior physiology.

Kalith's attention had shifted fully to the primitive implement the creature brandished. His engineer’s mind—always more focused on tools and mechanics than my firmly-rooted biological interests—was evident in the way his tentacles twitched analytically.

"I’d like to see the tool up close," he communicated, his skin pattern shifting to muted, segmented lines, evenly spaced, slowly flowing over his body. He always looked that way when his engineer's brain was at work. “It looks slightly different than the other I took aboard the ship.”

Before I could respond, Kalith extended one of his tentacles with surprising speed, snatching the implement from the biped's grasp. The creature froze, its vocalizations cutting off mid-sound. The eyes seemed to enlarge, the fluid-filled orbs threatening to pop out of its face. I observed with interest as its facial features transformed—the aggressive display melting away like sea foam, replaced by something new. Its mouth formed a perfect circle, mimicking the widened shape of its eyes. The biochemical cloud surrounding it shifted again, the sweet undertones completely overwhelmed by the sharp tang of fear.

"Its expression has shifted. Limited facial morphing abilities," I noted, recording the observation in my mental research log, then I inhaled deeply. "The removal of its primitive weapon has triggered an intense fear response. It smells… unpleasant. Fascinating how dependent it is on artificial extensions for confidence."

“Do you have to sound like a textbook all the time, Cyro?” Kalith manipulated the tool with his tentacles, turning it this way and that, his natural curiosity making him flash hot pink “Same archaic metallurgy, yet poorer condition. Something we’d only see in a museum back home.” He lifted it, shoving the forked end in my direction, clearly amusing himself. “Think these pronged tools are for defense?” He taunted, bringing the tines nearer.

“Stop fooling around, Kalith,” Vantor cut in, a tentacle darting out to take the tool away from Kalith. The latter was too quick though, moving the tentacle curled around the wooden pole just out of reach. Vantor gave a wet, gurgle of irritation, but didn’t pursue the matter further.

The biped's mouth opened, its high-pitched utterances resumed. There was a different quality now—hurried, more fragmented. Its upper limbs gesticulated wildly, pointing to itself and then to us in a pattern that suggested it was attempting to communicate.

“Taaa” it slapped its chest once, “meee,” it slapped its chest a second time. Then it waved a hand in our direction, a line of hair above one eye lifting. “Myyyy,” it was nearly shouting now, odd sounds splintering as it tried to make us understand it, “ranch!”

How quaint, yet ultimately futile. We needed the translators, but Kalith had written them off as unreliable due to the crash.

With time, perhaps, we could immerse ourselves in the language and cross that barrier. I had a wave of regret that I had not taken the basic Earthian speech crash course more seriously, but there were far too many nuances and dialects on this small green-blue planet. It reminded me of the mythical Pillar of Pantonia back home, a story told to small ones to explain the variations in light communication between our many water-bound colonies.

My attention drifted from the small biped back to the four-legged creatures in the distance. They were clearly the dominant species on this landmass—larger, more graceful, with a natural dignity that the vertical biped lacked. Their retreat behavior showed intelligence and appropriate caution, unlike this small creature's foolish aggression. How smart could a sentient creature be if it opted to charge headfirst toward a perceived danger?

Perhaps we would finally solve the mystery of the “message in a star bottle.” Perhaps the four-legged creatures were ones who had reached out to the stars, hoping for a response.

"I believe we should continue to focus our communication efforts on the quadrupeds," I announced to my companions, my skin shifting to blue-purple. It was beginning to grate that my mission companions were disregarding my authority. "We have already determined their obvious superiority as the more evolved species on this landmass.”

I twisted my body, still stretched tall, to once again observe the impressive beings standing on four muscular limbs. Their size, their physical perfection, their appropriate distance-maintaining behavior were trademarks of a dominant lifeform. This small biped was likely some form of symbiotic lesser species—perhaps a parasite or commensalist. Turning back around, I peered at the biped yet again. Was its purpose to defend the quadrupeds? If so, it was ill suited for the job.

"True," Vantor responded, his precise hue patterns reflecting cautious agreement. "The quadrupeds did respond with appropriate strategic withdrawal rather than this one's ineffective aggression. However, the present threat should be evaluated and dealt with first."

“This being is hardly a threat,” I scoffed. “It lacks both the physical strength and the mental acuity to inflict the slightest damage.”

"But this small one obviously approached us and wants to communicate," Kalith’s voice sounded odd—his vocal cords drying in this environment, the wet gurgling becoming sandy, scraping out of his throat. His metachrosis patterns showing a slight rebellion. "Doesn't that suggest intelligence?"

I dismissed his observation with a flash of electric lime, intellectual confidence across my mantle. "Parasites often display greater risk-taking behavior than their hosts. It's a well-documented phenomenon across multiple planetary ecosystems. No, the quadrupeds are clearly the dominant intelligence here.” I felt a flash of irritation, coloring momentarily shifting with my mood.

The lower lifeform continued its futile attempts to speak with us, though the sounds were beginning to seem like base, instinctual responses versus anything meaningful. I turned away from it, extending my sensory tentacles toward the distant quadrupeds instead. Their large eyes, mobile ears, and powerful bodies suggested a far more evolutionarily successful design than the fragile biped.

"We need to stop wasting time," I declared, my chromatophores settling into a solid deep blue, showing I had zero doubt in my earlier assessment. “The quadrupeds are our best chance at finding what we require on this planet.”

Without waiting for Kalith and Vantor to agree, I began flowing across the ground, flora brushing against my bumpy, moist skin and suckers.

Behind me, the parasite’s yells rose to a new, distressed pitch, but I paid it no further attention. In the hierarchy of this strange, dry world, the small red-filament creature was clearly of secondary importance at best. Our mission required efficiency, and that meant prioritizing contact with the dominant species of this alien environment. The others could pretend I was no longer in charge, continuing to cite some ridiculous rule of order, but I would do what I did best: study and adapt so we could work toward the most important goal: going home… after getting our samples.

The nearer I moved to the closest quadruped, the louder the biped’s shouting grew. Continuing my advance, I swiveled my head just enough to see the fiery-crowned native racing after me. My mission companions moved slowly after it and seemed in no hurry. I would write a scathing review of their behavior once we were back on course. This time, I might even submit the assessment with the mission logs. Vantor and Kalith might be the nearest I had to friends, but this was far from the first time that they’d band together to thwart my command.

VANTOR

I scanned the perimeter of the pasture, instincts honed by endless star cycles of G.E.F. training that directed my every movement. The ground beneath my tentacles was coarse and unforgiving, but I navigated it with ease. The biped’s scent wafted back toward me as it chased after Cyro, thickening in the air with an unmistakable blend of fear and desperation—a heady concoction that sent ripples across my bioluminescent patterns as I observed the scene unfolding before me. Though, the scene seemed to shimmer no matter how hard I concentrated. If I stayed in this strange being’s presence, I risked succumbing to whatever strange power its pheromones wielded. That would put me at a major tactical disadvantage.

Kalith moved alongside me, his body flowing with a nervous energy, his tentacles twitching in response to the chaotic atmosphere… or perhaps the biped’s scent was wreaking havoc on his senses too. I noticed how his earth-toned skin rippled and darkened, mirroring my own unease and confusion as the situation progressed. He still held the primitive tool, nervously rolling it over within the circles of two curled tentacles. Kalith muttered something, a string of moist bubbles and pops, but I couldn’t make out his words.

“Keep it together,” I grunted at Kalith.

His head swiveled, our gazes clashing momentarily, then we both looked away simultaneously.