I lasted exactly twenty-seven minutes.
“I’m just going to stretch my legs,” I announced to the empty shelter. “Stay inside the safe zone. Nothing dangerous about that, right?”
Phil, who had been quietly coiled near my sleeping moss, perked up immediately. The vine stretched toward me, its tip curling in what I’d come to interpret as enthusiasm.
“You want to come too, buddy?” I asked.
Phil wiggled his leafy appendage like a green thumbs-up, then wound gently around my wrist—his version of holding hands. The other vines parted as we approached the edge of the platform, forming a natural ladder down to the jungle floor.
“See? Totally safe,” I muttered to myself. “Lor is just being over-protective. Classic sexy alien bodyguard syndrome.”
The jungle floor felt springy beneath my bare feet, a carpet of iridescent moss that seemed to pulse with each step. Phil tugged me forward, leading me along a path that hadn’t existed moments before. The other vines moved aside, creating a walkway that wound between massive tree trunks and beneath cascades of flowering creepers.
At first, it was great. Warm breeze caressed my skin, filtered jungle light dappled the path in emerald and gold, and distant chimes echoed from whatever alien birds lived up in the canopy. Small creatures—like iridescent dragonflies with double wings—darted around me, leaving trails of light in their wake. The vines made way for me, cushioning my steps, occasionally offering small fruits or flowers as I passed.
It was almost...relaxing.
Naturally, I ruined it.
My brain—being the chaotic gremlin it was—started working overtime. I couldn’t help it. The journalist in me was already packaging this whole experience for consumption back on Earth (assuming I ever got back there).
Hook ideas for the “I fell through a government rift and got a tail-curled alien protector—10/10, would portal again.”
“Are vines sentient? Sexy? Both? Let’s discuss.”
Title for the episode: “Snared by a Savage Sentient Vine: How I Got Jungle-Laid.”
I snorted at my own terrible pun, earning a curious squeeze from Phil around my wrist.
“Just thinking about work stuff,” I explained, patting his vine-body. “Don’t worry about it.”
Phil gave me the plant equivalent of a shrug and continued leading me deeper into the jungle. I realized we’d been walking for longer than I’d intended—probably fifteen minutes now. The “safe zone” Lor had mentioned was likely far behind us. But everything seemed fine. Better than fine, actually. The jungle felt... welcoming. Like it wanted me here.
I was so caught up in my internal writer’s room that I didn’t notice the shift in the jungle atmosphere. The subtle dimming of the bioluminescent fungi. The way the chiming bird-things had gone silent. The almost imperceptible retreat of the smaller vines from our path.
Not until Phil stopped cold.
Literally blocked me with his vine-body like a leafy mom arm in a braking minivan.
“Whoa, buddy,” I blinked, nearly tripping over him. “What’s up?”
Phil curled tighter around my wrist, making a softhisssound I hadn’t heard before. The vine tensed, pulling me backward with surprising strength. That’s when I finally noticed what Phil had already sensed—movement in the trees ahead. Not vines. Not wildlife.
Something else. Something wrong.
The movement was too regular, too mechanical. A faint metallic gleam caught the light as it shifted position—some kind of device scanning the area with precise, measured sweeps. It hadn’t spotted us yet, but it was coming closer, methodically working its way through the underbrush.
I remembered Lor’s words about the fugitive he was hunting. The Cydarian weapons smuggler with technology that could destroy worlds. Was this part of that technology? A scout? A weapon?
My heart rate kicked up several notches. Every instinct screamed at me to run, but my feet seemed frozen in place. Phil tugged harder, trying to pull me back the way we’d come, but it was too late. The mechanical thing swiveled in our direction, its scanning beam painting the jungle floor in sickly blue light.
Before I could turn and sprint back to camp, a blur of golden motion burst through the brush behind me?—
“Stay behind me!” Lor roared, claws fully extended, muscles bunched and taut, tail snapping behind him like a whip of fury.
I did not argue.
I pressed myself against the nearest tree trunk, Phil wrapped protectively around my shoulders as Lor positioned himself between me and the threat. The mechanical device—some kind of floating drone the size of a basketball, covered in sensors and what looked disturbingly like weapons—emitted a high-pitched whine and launched itself directly at us.
