Page 31 of Roping Her Alien Ranchers

Cyro had paused a few feet from the nearest quadruped, once again trying to transcend the language and species barrier. His tentacles reached out, the ends of his appendages twitching with anticipation as he called to the frightened horses. But every time he extended his limbs in greeting, they recoiled farther, leaving me to silently question his strategy. He was earnest in his attempts but, perhaps, ill-prepared to navigate this new realm of confusion. It was funny, seeing the always confident scientist grapple at success without the normal tools at his disposal.

The biped screamed again, picking up her pace. It was almost to Cyro. Its rising panic echoed through the air, the thick scent of its warring emotions engulfing me like fog. A primordial awareness tingled at the edges of my perception, reminding me of past encounters on my home world—of prey and predator. No, not exactly that. Not enemies facing off. There was something below that, layers of biochemicals that somehow called to my own. Suddenly, its turmoil cracked through my composed demeanor, causing feelings of deep-rooted responsibility to tighten my chest. The biped tried to defend the quadrupeds so fiercely that I couldn’t help but admire it. Though, given the way the creature looked at smelled right now, I should probably do my duty and shield Cyro.

Before I could cross the distance, it happened—a moment I would come to define as ridiculous in retrospect. The biped braved closer proximity to Cyro, curled the protrusions of her upper right appendage into something like a ball, and then cocked her limb back. She rocketed it forward, slamming Cyro at the intersection of one tentacle and his main body.

Cyro grunted, his eyes widening, his coloring shifting erratically in surprise.

The biped hit him again and I watched as my mission companion wrapped four tentacles around the creature’s middle and lifted it high enough that its lower limbs kicked uselessly above the ground. The biped yelled and struck the tentacles anywhere it could reach.

I came to a stop, surprise freezing me. Kalith paused too, amusement gurgling up his throat and bubbling out of his mouth. I crossed four tentacles over my chest and stared in disbelief.

"What is your intention, biped?" Cyro asked, unfazed by the creature’s assault.

The biped's shriek pierced the air. "Release me!"

Though I did not understand its words, my tentacles tensed involuntarily at the sound— a reaction I couldn't explain. Cyro held the creature suspended, its limbs flailing uselessly as it struggled against his grip. Something about its distress made my chromatophores pulse with an unfamiliar pattern. Wrong. This felt wrong.

I shifted my weight, the dry earth scraping beneath me. Every moment in this arid climate made me long for our deliciously wet planet.

"Cyro," I called, my voice emerging rougher than intended. "Perhaps you should set it down. I think it’s harmless."

Cyro turned toward me, his skin flashing dismissive patterns. “Have your visual organs failed you, Vantor? Can you not observe that I am currently preoccupied dealing with this barbaric lifeform? Is assaulting me a sign that it is harmless?”

Ignoring Cyro’s sarcasm, I appealed to his logical side. "Its behavior is that of a cornered prey, Cyro, and without the translators, attempting to talk to it is futile.”

“I do not believe that I cannot, in some basic way, reason with this infernal creature,” Cyro volleyed back, turning his attention back to the fire-haired being. “Stop fighting,” he spoke slowly, as if talking to one of our young ones back home, “you are small and weak.” Despite his confident words, his unoccupied tentacles twitched, betraying his nerves.

“I said let me go!” The biped screamed unintelligible words again as its scent became even sharper and odious. Fear? Determination? My training had never covered interpreting alien biochemistry, yet somehow, I recognized it. I almost grinned. What Cyro had spent ages studying to become an expert in, I instinctively understood. He’d hate that.

“Kalith! Vantor! Come closer!”

When Cyro called our names, I approached cautiously, my bioluminescence betraying my conflicted state. Behind me, Kalith's tentacles curled inquisitively. The creature twisted in Cyro's grip, and I found myself strangely hoping he wouldn't tighten his hold.

“Are you both suddenly immobilized by some unseen force, or have your auditory functions ceased to work?” Cyro shouted, his tone agitated and tense.

I glanced at Kalith and unfolded my tentacles. In synch, we both surged forward toward Cyro and the flailing biped.

Cyro and the biped continued to exchange heated words, though neither understood the other. As the creature kicked one of its lower limbs out, Cyro sucked his body inward, creating a cavity, ensuring the biped only hit air.

“Get our translators, Vantor,” he growled, his tone void of any gurgling wetness. I stared at him for a moment, weighing the foolishness of his command. He was aware that Kalith had deemed them unserviceable.

"You do recall that—” but my protests were cut off before I could finish.

“Just get them, Vantor. They'll work well enough for such a simple-minded creature,” Cyro persisted, his metallic-silver eyes flashing with intensity as they met mine.

With a swift nod, I dropped to the ground, slithering across the blades of grass, slipping easily beneath the wooden barrier, and flowing over the dusty, gravely earth between the pasture and where we crash-landed. By the time I reached the ruined structure with our battered ship seated at its destroyed center, my body was coated in a layer of uncomfortable grit. I didn’t pause to shake off the grime, instead staying focused as I navigated around debris, weaving in and out, dodging sharp edges. Despite my effort, new wounds sprouted across my already heavily scarred form.

At the entrance point of our ship, I raised a tentacle and pressed a sucker to the disguised panel. Lightly, I traced the pattern to activate the entrance. A hiss sounded, the ramp lowering, a fresh wave of atmospheric fog bleeding out.

Retrieving the small, disc-shaped translator devices was a quick job, no searching involved. Though Kalith said they were damaged, he’d left them in their charging port.

The four discs pulsed intermittently, and I doubted they’d do us much good. Yet, our fearless leader had insisted, so I secured them against the suckers of one tentacle and journeyed back to the chaos.

Once back, I first secured my own translator in place, pressing the crescent around the bulbous auditory node on the right side of my head. Afterward, I did the same for Cyro and Kalith. The creature was gesticulating so wildly, still hoisted in the air by Cyro, that I hesitated before placing the fourth translator upon its body. Of course, I also hesitated because I wasn’t sure anatomically where its auditory bundles resided.

“Target just below one of the curved protrusions on the side of its head,” Cyro instructed, understanding my hesitation.

I did so, though the biped did not make it an easy feat. It twisted, turned, yelled, kicked, and even bent far enough over to clamp blunt white teeth around Cyro’s tentacle. Cyro shrieked, finally loosening his hold and causing the lifeform to fall toward the ground.