Analog Science Fiction and Fact - July-Agust 2014

by Penny Publications

  "Your muscle is cut on the inside, in several places," he said. "What should I do? Should those be sutured?"

  "They will heal." Her voice was a rough whisper. "Pour in salt water, to clean, and close it."

  He rinsed the wound and closed the flap of skin and tissue, pressing it against her inner flesh. Small runnels of blue-tinted water seeped into the tub. Careful to hold the wound closed, he adjusted her position and moved on to the next disk.

  By the end of the ordeal she was choking back screams. The fish smell was stronger, her flesh spasming as bluish fluid oozed heavily into the tub. But there were no more stinging spines.

  She lay passive, saying nothing till the worst of the spasms passed, then asked to be let down fully into the water.

  He lowered her with great care, assuring that the wounds stayed closed. Then he took away the dripping pillows and stood watching as smaller ripples of pain—he knew it must be pain—trembled across her torso and down still-useless limbs.

  He wiped his face on his shirtsleeve, for the first time in his life completely ignorant of a patient's body, helpless to ease her pain. Tears welled as he saw how pale she was, the cloudy lids shut tight.

  "Please, is there anything I can do to help you?"

  She took a shuddering breath. "Warm water, as before. Not too much."

  He drew the warm water, rechecked the breathing tube, and switched off the lamp. At the window he paused a moment, watching Shep on patrol around the barnyard and kitchen garden, then drew the drapes and returned to the tub for his silent watch.

  After a time, hand throbbing, he peeled off the gloves and went to the kitchen to see to his own wounds. Rinsing first with salt water—humans had once been sea creatures too!—then a cleaning solution, he applied antibacterial cream and bandages and pulled on a fresh glove for his chores in the barn.

  When he returned an hour later, showered after the barn work and his hand rebandaged, Vooorh was awake and beginning to flex her limbs. The incisions he had made were already healing under their soft scabs. He moved closer to inspect one, but she drew away and he went out to see to the chickens.

  When next he came in she was standing in the tub, arms and legs unsteady but functional. She flinched away again when he stepped closer to examine a wound, but he could see that they were better.

  In fact, she seemed healthier all over. Her mouth was once more the tightly pursed orifice he recalled. The fold in her midtorso was neatly closed, protected by the four small tentacles snugged about her. The fish smell was all but gone. She still swayed a little as she stood.

  "Vooorh, I'm sorry, but I have to ask. The four small limbs... our species lose the parts we do not use, but these still seem vigorous."

  Vooorh drew breath, just short of a hiss. She stood straighter now, and stronger, the small limbs tight about her. "That is a private matter with us," she said. "Now, may I have clothes?"

  She unnerved him, standing; a head taller than his own six feet, radiating cold. He shook himself and went for the clothes.

  A hooded blue sweatshirt of Sara's, thick and soft, fit the width of Vooorh's upper body well enough, and hung long on her shorter torso, balancing her proportions to something more like a human's. But the sleeves and sweatpant legs were far too short, exposing inches of smooth ochre skin. And suckers.

  He'd cut the sleeves and legs from her ruined inner garment before burning the rest in the fireplace. Now he pulled the sliced boots over her strange feet, wrapped the washed and dried pant legs and sleeves around her shins and forearms, and secured it all to the sweatsuit with duct tape. No chance she'd ever pass for human. He'd have to make sure it never came to that.

  He'd cushioned the incisions with gauze pads, but the tank's pressure was still uncomfortable on her shoulders. He carried it as he led her to the kitchen table and set it on the floor beside her chair. He felt the weight of her gaze as he searched the refrigerator for any human food she might stomach.

  "You have fish?" She asked, sudden in the silence.

  He nodded.

  "That," she said. "In small pieces, with salt. Mixed with water."

  He changed to a fresh glove, chopped a frozen fillet, and fed the pieces with water into the blender.

  Her squared eyes watched his every move: washing an empty cola bottle, funneling in the fishy glop, setting it on the table before her. The lip fit her tiny mouth almost perfectly. She sipped, holding the breathing tube to one side; then, shuddering, sucked the bottle dry and set it down.

  "You are strange to me," she said, her windy voice unsettling in Sara's kitchen. "You seem kind. But you threatened my pet, and you hurt me without need! I cannot understand."

  She'd mentioned the pet before her own injuries. It was a good sign. Washing up and changing the glove, he thought on the pet. Not a huge beast, and leashed for safety. But with a screech like a catamount. And the claws, plainly the source of all the injuries...

  And he'd raised a scythe against it.

  He'd hoped she understood. But only her squared eyes spoke to him now, and those he could not read.

  He pulled out a chair, sat heavily.

  "Your pet had attacked Shep," he said, voice as calm as he could manage. "Animals on the mountain, too. I was protecting them, as I have always done."

  Her eyes were unchanged.

  He took a breath. Tried again.

  "It spooked me, you see? To think there was some sick bastard out on my mountain. I tried to think it was a mountain cat. But I couldn't believe it, not the way the animals were all healed up. I was mad as hell, and scared besides! So when I saw your pet, and I knew... all I could think of was them, the animals, and I just... boiled over."

  He leaned forward, watching her face. "Now I've thought about the way you healed them, what that says about you. And I'm not proud of what I did. But with the little I knew then..." He shook his head. "I'm just grateful that the other—"

  "Sshaas, my brother."

  "—that he pulled your pet away before I could do any harm."

  "Your mate, Sara, did not act as you did."

  Jason looked down at his rough farmer's hands, his battered ring. "Sara sees the good in everyone," he said, and caught Vooorh's gaze. "Or the good she hopes is there." He smiled. "Most of the time she's right, and I love her for it. She's been hurt, too. But it's just not in her to see how hard the world can be."

  "So your people—"

  "Are peaceful, for the most part. Or would be, if experience hasn't taught us otherwise."

  Vooorh regarded him with wide, squared eyes.

  "You are a primitive people."

  He sat back. "And your life is all peace and harmony?" He gestured at her makeshift clothes. "Are you free from fear even now?"

  She looked away, and he let it go. Why in hell had they come here? And why had they stayed if they thought so little of humans? Even this one, whose life he had saved!

  He sat up straight in the chair, scraped it back, reaching to the counter for a sealed plastic bag. He laid it on the table. "As for your pain, here's the cause of it."

  She opened the bag, suckered fingers nimble on the plastic, and poured out the four disks, staring at the crude eyelets on their surfaces. She hesitated, touched one, then drew back her hand.

  "Those are vicious things," Jason said. "Meant to stay put in whatever living thing they're planted in. I can't imagine—"

  "The shell people are smaller than my kind," she said, "and we can be hard to catch. They wanted to be sure of holding me." She regarded him seriously. "You did the best you could," she said. "I owe you thanks."

  He nodded, silent.

  She looked away a long moment, then back.

  "Your hand, it is better?"

  "I think it will heal." He shrugged, rubbing his palm. The punctures felt bruised. "There was something... sticky... on your skin, and I'm wondering..."

  "Only mucous, from the membrane that covers me. Some humans have been harmed by it, but all recovered. As you say, the cut
s will heal."

  "Glad to hear it," he said. But mucous! He'd been afraid of that. And from an alien.... He gathered the disks, hands trembling a little as he sealed the bag and put it in the cupboard.

  He stood there for a moment, facing the cupboard door, thinking. Then he turned toward her, leaning on the counter.

  "I'm afraid that little bit of fish won't hold you long, and you need your own clothes. It's time I got you back to your people."

  "Yes. It is not far."

  "Not with your ship. But as high in the National Forest as they are, and on our mountain roads, it's farther than you'd believe."

  Vooorh glared at him. "How do you know that?"

  "Know what? Where they are?" He shrugged. "Sara went with them to look for her friend Connie, the one who was taken. She told me before they left. I know the general area, but not—"

  "I know where they are," Vooorh said.

  The road map he'd been studying was still on the table. He pushed it toward her. "Can you show me?"

  "Not by roads," she said, and looked away.

  He reached for the phone. "Maybe Sara can meet us somewhere. I'll see if she's in range."

  He didn't get to ask.

  "Can't talk now," she said as soon as she answered. "Please, just stay by the phone. I'll call back soon as I can."

  "Okay, but I can't wait long. I found—"

  But she was gone. He stared at the phone, puzzled, and shoved it into his pocket. Something in the way she had sounded. Flustered. Not like her at all.

  It had to do with the crabs, he'd bet. Like those other questions, about the cuts all over Vooorh's body, and how in hell she'd wound up in that cave. He shook his head. So much to ask, now that she was better. But it could wait.

  He turned back to Vooorh. She sat motionless, staring at the ceiling. He cleared his throat.

  "One thing about our slow mountain roads—they're quiet. The only place we'll see real traffic is Erwin, over the Tennessee line, and we ought to be through there before five even without the traffic. Dark comes early in the mountains this time of year." He took his watch from its peg, checked it by the stove clock, and put it on. "Past noon now, and two and a half, maybe three hours to drive. We should be ready to go when Sara calls."

  It was a raw day, still cold for October, and damp. Fall leaves lay wet and fading from an overnight rain. Jason shivered as he led Vooorh out to the back porch and left her there with a hose, soaking her clothes for the trip, with Shep on guard and her tank on the rough boards beside her. He pumped his arms to warm up a bit as he headed to the garage for the Jeep. The old Scrambler's four-wheel drive was better on rough roads than the truck. Its long wheelbase and hard top gave good shelter in the back.

  He tilted the passenger seatback forward and folded the rear seat down, sliding in a clean watering tub behind the front seat. That left a little room behind the driver's seat for storage, and more at the back. Beside the tub went blankets and jugs of water, Shep's snacks and bowl, then pillows, salt, and a jacket for himself. It wasn't everything they'd need, but it was a start.

  Back on the porch he nested three jumbo trash bags, stuffed the inner one with pillows and blankets and poured in a jug of salted water. He was hosing it all down when the phone rang.

  "Jason, love, I am so sorry! They say the shell people can intercept cell phone calls, so I drove into town for a pay phone. How are things there?"

  "I found Vooorh on the mountain last night, in the halfcave."

  "Oh! Thank heaven she's safe. We have been worrying—"

  "She's hurt pretty bad, Sara. I've done what I could but she needs her own folks, soon as I can get her there."

  "We need her too," Sara said. "We're hoping to rescue Connie tonight. The shells have other captives too." She paused. "It could get ugly."

  He knew from Sara's voice what her expression would be: lively with all her good-hearted strength, sad at the threat of conflict.

  "It could get even uglier," he said gently, and told her about the disks. "I'm thinking those critters might trouble us on the road."

  "My God." She paused. "I think we need both of you, Jason. As soon as possible. Could Lester look after the farm for a day or two?"

  "Probably. I'll give him a call."

  "Good. I'll meet you at the Church in Mt. Carmel, in the parking lot."

  "I'll be taking some back roads. I'm not sure when—"

  "Just text me something silly when you're getting close."

  "Something like 'I love you'?"

  "Yes," she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice. "Something just like that. Be careful, Jase."

  "You too, hon."

  He ended the call, glancing at Vooorh as he punched in the neighbor's number, and stopped, staring.

  She stood motionless on the porch, blue hood almost reaching the rafters, eyes wide and much less square. The hose lay at her feet, spraying water into the yard.

  She was holding one hand before her face.

  "Forgive me," she said, "I did not mean to overhear."

  She lowered her hand, blinked at the hose on the floor but ignored it.

  "You have high regard for your mate," she said, and took breath to say more, but hesitated and bent to pick up the hose. When she stood, redirecting the flow into the bags, her eyes were square again.

  "But you are still a primitive people," she said, and turned away.

  Jason checked the number he'd punched in, and hit send. That gesture she'd used—was it apology? Embarrassment? No idea. But one thing he was sure of. That look in her eyes, as she spoke of his regard for Sara... it was the same look he'd seen as he settled her into the tub last night. Or it had been, till it changed.

  He shook himself. Vooorh was done with the hose, Shep was getting antsy, looking up toward the high woods, and Lester still hadn't answered... Ah! There he was. Jason made his arrangements, watching Vooorh where she waited on the porch. That look. Could it have been fear?

  Minutes later, with everything packed and the trash bags arranged in the tub, he added more water and helped her climb into the wet bedding with her breathing gear. Good. Plenty of room in the bags. If she needed, she could duck down and hide.

  He had started back to the house on one last errand when Vooorh called after him, asking for the disks. "For my father," she said. "He is Eldest of our ship. He should see what the shell people have done."

  He nodded, collected the disks from the kitchen, then went down to the locked closet in the hall for his shotguns. Three pump-loading Mossbergs, old but well cared for, one loaded with buckshot. He set the choke on that one for a tight pattern. If he had to use it, he'd need a dependable hit. Pocketing the bag of disks and an extra box of shells, he gathered up the guns and went out of the house, locking the door behind him.

  Vooorh eyed the guns as he stowed them behind the front seats. "An advanced race would find a peaceful way," she said.

  Jason leaned an arm on the seat back and handed her the disks. "I see," he said. "And what peaceful way have you found to deal with them?"

  She blinked her squared eyes and said nothing.

  After a last look around, he whistled Shep into the passenger seat, climbed in, and tried his hand on the wheel. Not half bad. He stowed the extra shells in the glove box with a bag of gloves and bandages, started the Jeep, and drove down the lane at a carefully normal pace.

  It was just after one o'clock, with a cool mist still clinging to the hills. Traffic on the back roads would be slow, as he'd told Vooorh, but on this day, the cars were less a concern than the people they carried. He feared state troopers and nosey strangers almost as much as shell creatures in the dark. He grimaced. There was more than one kind of troublemaker in these hills.

  He looked and listened, and pulled out onto the strip of packed-down gravel that ran below the farm. Minutes later he turned onto a narrower track, dirt this time, only graveled where the mud holes were deepest. The Jeep jounced and shimmied, bringing a few soft hisses from Vooorh's tub
. Shep sank his claws into the passenger seat and sighed.

  A mile or so later Jason stopped at a rundown store set back in the woods.

  "We need a few things," he told Vooorh under his breath. "You'd better keep low."

  She laid her strange hand on the seatback. "We should hurry more."

  "We haven't seen any aliens." He turned to face her. "Have we?"

  She was looking toward the Jeep's worn overhead. "No. We have not seen them."

  "We need food and water, and this is the safest place to get them," he said. "We'll be able to hurry soon."

  He tapped the horn, climbed out of the Jeep and shut the door.

  "You open, Harvey?" he called.

  A teenage boy in torn overalls looked out the door.

  "I need water and a couple of sandwiches. You got any fresh?"

  The boy nodded and disappeared inside. Jason followed.

  "I'll need some of those rock-salt shells you load too," he said, knuckling the worn counter as he passed. "The heavy ones, for those old Mossbergs of mine." The boy had several boxes laid out when Jason got back with the food and water.

  "Some critter botherin' your chickens, Mr. Jason? I hear there's a big cat up your mountain. Somebody heard it that real still day we had first of the week."

  "Nah, just noticed I was about out of 'em." Jason pushed two boxes of shells toward the cash register and pulled a bill off a thin roll. "Must have been old man Sanders talking about the cat."

  The boy nodded. "He said it was real loud."

  Jason added the shells to the bag of food and pocketed his change. "He's dreaming again. Last time it was a Grizzly." He hefted the jugs and nodded goodbye.

  Stowing the bag and water by the tub, he settled behind the wheel to load the empty guns.

  "Old man this side of the mountain heard your pet the other day," he told Vooorh as he replaced the guns in the back. "What kind of animal is that, anyway?"