“Crashed” Part 7
There she was.
Standing in the doorway.
Glowing.
A fiery orange aura rippled off her skin — or rather, off the suit that clung to her like a second layer of light. It pulsed for only a few seconds… then faded completely.
Ken and Patty stood frozen. Then, without a word, they moved — Ken closed the blinds and curtains. Patty slipped around Cellima silently and drew the drapes over the glass door.
The room dimmed.
Stillness settled over them.
And then — she spoke.
Not aloud. But clearly. In their minds.
“I am Cellima. Third rank of four observers assigned to this mission. Regrettably… I am the sole survivor.”
“I offer warm and humble greetings to you, my hosts — and extend deep apologies for the unexpected interactions. My need is greater than the instruction from my directors.”
Her thoughts were gentle, but composed — as if translated through empathy itself.
Ken glanced at Patty, then back to Cellima. He opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, another wave of thought arrived.
“Your shelter has been compromised.”
Cellima turned her head slowly, as if scanning the walls.
“While concealed, I observed one of your soldiers place devices in this structure — audio sensors. Listening arrays.”
Ken’s brow furrowed. Patty’s eyes widened.
“I request permission to disable them. Only then can I speak aloud without risking detection or violence.”
Ken gave a short nod.
Patty added, “Do it.”
Cellima raised one hand. The air shimmered — barely. From a small device in her palm, a light pulsed outward, a silent energy passed through the room.
A moment later, she spoke again — this time, aloud.
Her voice was soft and melodic, accented in a way that felt ancient and unfamiliar — yet unmistakably female.
“The radiance you saw,” she said, “was not instinct. It was consequence. A shutdown signature of the camouflage field.”
She looked at both of them in turn.
“The suit — it is controlled by thought. It bends light, projects environment… but there are limits. Sudden changes in brightness — like your military spotlight — cause it to falter. For .77 seconds, I was visible. That was enough.”
She paused.
“They fired blindly. They believed I fled. But I had not yet moved. A stray projectile struck my arm. Minor… but impactful.”
Ken exhaled slowly. “That’s why you contacted us.”
Cellima gave a slight nod.
Then, silently — as if letting them into her private thoughts — they heard:
“Their minds are open… but not unguarded. They fear me, yet they wonder. That is the beginning. I will ask for permission… before I act.”
Patty took a step forward. “You don’t have to ask. Not from us.”
For the first time, Cellima smiled. Subtle. Barely there.
But unmistakably real.
They moved to the kitchen, sat around the table — the same table where life had been quiet just days before.
They talked. Not about weapons or war, not even about technology. They talked like people — or beings — trying to understand one another.
And when the conversation ended, there was no fear. No distrust. Just a shared sense that something important had just begun.
Then — the knock.
Loud.
Sharp.
Unexpected.
The three of them froze.
Ken’s eyes moved to the door.