The lights on the containment unit pulsed as they disengaged. Jeriah watched with rapt attention as the walls of the steel box were taken up by the mechanical assembly surrounding it, picking the armored crate apart one layer at a time.

‘Confirmed?’ he whispered softly into the radio embedded in his collar.

‘Does a bear crap in the woods?’ the voice on the other side shot back.

Jeriah could only smile, having heard similar irreverent remarks all morning. He expected it; the snarkier Barton got, the more terrified he really was. And if this thing was the real deal…

‘Bagged in the Wildlands,’ the radio crackled on, ‘fifty kilos out from the heart of the Forest of Shards. Damned thing was being chased by a pack of Verg-‘

‘A pack?‘

‘Horrifying, isn’t it? I know, they normally would’ve spent their downtime trying to tear out each other’s’ throats, but I guess our new guest drove them to overcome their natural, fratricidal tendencies. Over two dozen of the scaly freaks chased it outside the zone.’ Jeriah could hear Barton swallow dryly on the other end of the line. He could practically imagine the pencil-pusher munching on his fingernails in frantic anxiety as if he were sitting in the same room. ‘Three were still alive when the retrieval team got there. One kicked the bucket right after the transport touched down; the boys could hear the Verg cracking its head open on a boulder from inside the chopper.’

Jeriah could only stare at the box slowly being taken apart right in front of him, containing the source of all the Verg’s troubles. To think that such a little thing could slaughter all those beasts…

He gave a low chuckle, saying, ‘Feisty girl, isn’t she?’

‘You say feisty, I say scary as all hell-‘

‘Barton.’

‘Come on!’ the radio hissed back. ‘I was there when we saw a Verg rip the turret off an Abrams tank and swing it like a club! And that was just one of the damned things-‘

‘Barton,’ Jeriah repeated softly. ‘If our guest is truly an Alpha, you know she’s got the full suite of sensory output-input organs unique to their kind. She could probably tell what food you ate for every day of the past year with nothing more than a drop of blood.’

‘I don’t see-‘

‘Which also means,’ he put in sharply, ‘she could very well be listening right now. And if you start throwing a fit and agitate her in kind, who’s the sorry bastard standing in arm’s reach when she gets pissed off?’

For several long moments, the radio crackled with nothing but static. Then, ‘Sorry, boss.’

Jeriah smirked wryly again behind the cloth mask he wore, ignoring the chill claws of fear flitting up and down his spine. Truth be told, his own nerves weren’t in much better shape. If it weren’t for the cameras and microphones recording everything and storing the data offsite, he’d have probably grabbed his head in his hands and hopped around in a shrieking fit.

‘We take no chances on this one,’ he muttered into the radio, watching as the last layer of the containment shell was slowly being peeled away. ‘Put the facility on lockdown, Meyer’s Protocol. All R&D teams are to be escorted to the saferooms, containment squads to guard. Codeword: Dusk of Jade. And clear the chutes,’ he added, ‘all the way to the surface, give her a clear path out. We came to help her, but if she don’t want nothing of it, I damn well don’t want anyone getting in her way. You hear me?’

‘Loud and clear, boss.’ Jeriah could hear Barton transmitting his orders, hearing the faint clarion call of the alarms in the background as the station was put on high alert. In between one of his messages, Barton remarked, ‘You know, you’re going to have to give me ten minutes before you start, boss, so I can get to a saferoom.’

‘Like hell,’ Jeriah retorted. ‘You’re staying right there in front of that computer screen. How else am I going to declare the ‘all-clear’?’

The radio crackled silently, but Jeriah could still hear the clipped remnants of a tirade of swearing and cursing, all of it most likely aimed solely in his direction. ‘Some days, boss,’ Barton muttered, ‘I could just take your crazy mug and punt it through my nonexistent window.’

‘You have a window.’

‘A two-way mirror overlooking the hallway does not a window make, boss. Even with your stupid, fake plant on the sill.’

‘Noted. Now, see to it that Meyer’s protocol has been seen through to the letter, then standby for further orders.’

It didn’t take long. Scarcely a minute had gone by before Meyer’s Protocol had been carried out and confirmed from each section chief. Soon enough, Jeriah and Barton were the only scientists active in the whole facility.

Jeriah watched as the last guarding wall of the containment unit fell away with a dull thud, leaving nothing but silence in the still air of the operating ward. In the center of the room where the unit used to be was a circular platform, holding a small dome of reflective plastic – one last layer of protection.

‘Starting procedure,’ Jeriah called faintly, for the sake of the recordings. Stilling the slight tremble in his hands, he reached out, removing the plastic dome. His brow furrowed beneath his goggles.

‘Upon arrival,’ he murmured, ‘the retrieval team found the Alpha swathed within its own sort of organic cage, a cocoon of some sort to possibly help it heal of its own accord after warding off the Verg. Shape is reminiscent of the bud of a flower, like those found scattered throughout what remains of Brazil. Possibly dryad in origin.’ He hesitated. ‘If these suspicions are confirmed, then this will be the first recorded instance of face-to-face contact with those who call themselves the Craelic.’

Jeriah moved closer, noting the cocoon in the center of the small platform, an iridescent liquid pooling up just underneath. The light coming off of it was faint, and growing fainter by the second after exposure to the outside.

‘But looking now, it seems as if the structure is… withering? Could the damage have been too extensive…?’ A sudden fear making his heart thud rapidly in his chest, Jeriah took up the instruments on the stand nearby, the silver tools dipping towards the cocoon.

The radio hissed as Barton took a breath. ‘Careful!’

Ignoring him, Jeriah took up the scalpel, cut a small incision near the top of the ‘flower’. ‘Making contact.’ A small spurt of pink fluid dripped out, flowing away to reveal the soft, light blue organic flesh within the cocoon. ‘Oh, no, no…’ He cut further, growing increasingly worried as he saw nothing more than blue, bruised fleshy insides, either dead or swiftly dying. Had the Alpha been hurt beyond repair? Had the retrieval team come only to pick up yet another corpse? ‘Come on, girl. Give me something…’

Jeriah pried apart the buds of the flower-like structure, revealing a small form huddled inside, curled up into a fetal ball-

And then Jeriah’s arms jerked, freezing in place. He tried to move them, failed. Then he tried to speak, and failed. He tried to shout, to run, to do anything- and could do absolutely nothing.

Oh, crap, crap, CRAP-

Jeriah’s eyes fixated on the budding flower, he watched as the small figure in the center shifted about, standing up out of the pool of dripping fluids as if being reborn into this world.

Shimmering amber orbs looked into Jeriah’s own, the dryad’s face devoid of emotion.

One of the dryad’s antennae shivered in the air, and a sudden jab of pain lanced into Jeriah’s skull.

Losolo gul nala vyr a voos? A voos?

Jeriah closed his eyes, the only movement he seemed capable of doing. He could practically taste the fear in those words, no matter how the creature tried to hide it. He tried to shake his head to show he couldn’t understand, failed, so he tried imagining it instead. Tried to do anything to keep her calm.

The dryad spoke again, this time in an entirely different tongue. Again, Jeriah couldn’t understand the words, though he caught the echoes of old, old Latin roots.

English! he thought desperately. I’m a New Yorker, born and raised! English, please, tell me you know it!

The tendrils of pain withdrew for a time, then another string of thoughts came. This time they were whisper soft, like a fingertip brushing against his ears.

Who… who are you? Where am I?

He tried to work his lips again, and was happy to find that the dryad had given him back his ability to speak. ‘A friend,’ he whispered, grinning nervously behind his mask. ‘Honest to God, I am a friend. And I’m damned glad to see you’re all right!’

She cocked her head to the side, antennae twitching as if echoing the words inside her own mind. And for just a moment, he thought he saw a hopeful look of relief flash across her pixie-like face.

The radio crackled faintly. ‘Boss, you’re scaring me. I’m about to flood that entire room in naphtha if that little freak doesn’t-‘

The dryad’s head snapped around, glaring back behind her shoulder at a bare section of wall. Without even looking, Jeriah knew, fifty yards distant from that spot, through crushed bedrock and polished steel and sitting perched on the edge of his seat, Barton was caught squarely in the dryad’s sights.

As a muffled curse rose up from Jeriah’s collar, he knew his fellow scientist must have realized that exact same thing.

‘What a lovely girl,’ Barton muttered into the radio seconds later. ‘She can stay for as long as she wants, and can even clear out the fridge for leftovers. Scout’s honor.’

Jeriah chuckled softly. ‘You were never a boy scout, Barton.’

‘Well, don’t tell her that!’