Turns out, living with actual aliens gave me some serious credibility in the paranormal investigation community, even if I couldn’t tell them exactly why.
“Just a little more to the left,” I muttered, nudging the crystalline transmitter that served as the heart of my interstellar communication system. The device—a wedding gift from Veren, of all people—glowed faintly beneath my fingertips. “Come on, you stubborn piece of space tech. Work for Mama.”
Phil extended a tendril to help, wrapping delicately around one of the calibration knobs and turning it with a precision I could never match. The screen flickered, stabilized, then burst into glorious high-definition clarity.
“Yes!” I pumped my fist in victory. “Phil, you’re a genius. The ultimate IT department.”
The vine preened with a shake of its leaves, coiling around my wrist in a smug little squeeze that clearly said,Of course I am. You’re welcome.
I glanced around my treehouse workspace, still marveling at how perfect it was. Lor and the jungle had collaborated to create it after our third trip back to Earth, when I’d complained about lugging equipment back and forth through the rift gate. I’d expected maybe a small desk, notthis.
A living structure was woven into the upper branches of three massive trees, with walls that could open to the jungle or seal tight against the elements. Legion tech was seamlessly integrated with the organic architecture: power cells disguised as glowing fruits, atmospheric regulators hidden within clusters of leaves, and a security system that utilized the jungle’s own neural network as its eyes and ears.
My recording setup dominated one corner, while a oversized hammock hung in another—perfect for those late-night editing sessions that inevitably turned into naps.
And then there was the bed—a massive thing of moss and memory foam that had somehow been transported through the rift gate without my knowledge. The sheets still carried Lor’s scent from this morning, that unique musk that made my stomach flip even after months together. I’d left him at the new Legion outpost, going over security protocols with his team while I worked on today’s episode ofCryptid, Please!
My podcast had taken a fascinating turn since meeting Lor. I couldn’t tell my listeners the full truth, of course. Legionprotocols about first contact were painfully strict, and Earth wasn’t ready for the whole “aliens are real and one of them is doing unspeakably hot things to your favorite paranormal podcaster” reveal. But I could weave what I’d learned into my content, correcting misconceptions about extraterrestrial life with carefully vague “anonymous sources.”
My listenership had tripled. Turns out, being technically right about everything made for compelling content.
I settled into my recording chair—an ergonomic miracle that adjusted to my body with living sensors—and tapped my microphone.
“Testing, one, two...Hey there, cryptid lovers. This is Miri De Leon, coming to you from a very remote location to bring you the truth behind the legends.”
I paused, listening to the playback. Perfect. No jungle sounds bleeding through, no alien birdsong to explain away. Just crisp, professional audio that sounded like it could have been recorded in any studio on Earth.
But that was for later. Right now, I had a more important call to make.
I pulled up the personal communication interface and keyed in my brother’s contact info. Earth was nine hours ahead right now—or was it behind? Time got weird when you traveled between planets. Either way, he should be home from his shift at this hour.
The call connected after three rings, the screen remaining black for several seconds before my brother’s face appeared. Marco looked exactly as I remembered: perpetually exhausted, perpetually concerned, a faint line between his brows that had been there since our parents died. He was still dressed in his work gear as a utilities lineman, suggesting he’d just gotten home.
“Hey, sis,” he said, not looking up from what appeared to be a sandwich he was assembling. “Thought you were recording today. Did you?—“
He finally glanced at the screen and froze, knife hovering above what looked like sourdough bread. His eyes widened, darting to take in my surroundings, the alien architecture of my treehouse, and Phil, who had chosen that moment to wave a friendly tendril at the camera.
“Miri?!” The knife clattered to the counter. “What the fuck? Where are you? I thought you were off in Vegas or something?”
“First of all, don’t worry about all that. I’m safe.” I said, sobering up from my hysterical laughing fit. “I’m actually better than safe. I’m great. As for where I am...” I took a deep breath. “I’m on another planet. GL-7, to be exact. It’s a sentient jungle ecosystem that’s really far from Earth.”
Marco stared at me, mouth slightly open. “This is a joke, right? Some elaborate prank for your podcast? Because if it is, it’s not funny, Miri.”
“Not a joke,” I assured him. “And this,” I gestured to Phil, who wiggled helpfully, “is Phil. He’s a sentient vine and my best friend in the jungle. Say hi, Phil.”
Phil extended himself toward the camera, forming a small blossom at the end of his tendril that opened and closed like a waving hand.
Marco’s face drained of color. “What the actual fuck?”
“I know it’s a lot to process,” I said, unable to keep the excitement from my voice. “But it’s real. All of it. Remember those weird energy readings I was tracking in Montana? Turns out they were coming from a rift gate—a portal to another world. I fell through it, literally, and ended up here.”
“A portal,” he repeated flatly. “To an alien jungle.”
“Yep. With sentient plants and everything. The whole ecosystem is conscious—it’s like one giant interconnected mind.And there are other aliens too. Like the Legion—they’re this interstellar collective with a peacekeeping force that protects places like this. They have outposts all over the galaxy.”
Phil curled proudly around my neck, as if to emphasize this point.
Marco set down his sandwich, untouched. “You expect me to believe you’ve been living on an alien planet for the past six weeks, hanging out with jungle vines, and not just been holed up in some DND fantasy con?”
