Human-Centaur Relations

by Jack Doe

  "Stand up," Anul'thek said to Bryce, who hesitated. Anul'thek laughed and stood, hauling Bryce up by the armpits to stand. Bryce cringed and grinned sheepishly, waving self-consciously to the audience.

  One of the centaurs said something, and they all laughed, including Anul'thek, who retorted with something, causing another wave of laughter.

  "What'd he say?" Bryce asked.

  "She," Anul'thek corrected him, chuckling. "She said she's got first dibs on you, but I told her I already got 'em."

  Bryce's jaw dropped, and he turned as red as a tomato in embarrassment. Anul'thek grinned and hugged him. "Ya gotta lighten up, Bryce!" he said jovially. What the hell, Bryce thought, and he turned and grinned at the centaur who'd called dibs on him and blew her a kiss. The centaurs roared with laughter, which gave way to applause.

  "Attaboy!" Charles called out to him. Bryce shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers. Anul'thek sat back down, and Bryce followed.

  "I'm sure we'd all like to hear from our visitors, yes?" Ing'ma asked the crowd, and he was answered by more whoops and cheers.

  "Get on up there," Anul'thek grinned, giving him a nudge.

  Bryce swallowed. Public speaking was not his forte. Actually, it scared him shitless. Talking about Stonehenge was one thing, but standing in front of a bunch of people and talking about anything other than Stonehenge...well... Life is joyous, he thought. Well, at least if I were shitless, that might make things easier later on, the thought to himself with a chuckle. He made his way down to where Ing'ma was standing. Charles had just made it there.

  "Stand right here," Ing'ma said to Charles, "and speak. You don't have to yell; everybody will hear you just fine."

  Charles took Ing'ma's spot and looked out across the fields. Everywhere he looked were centaurs in various stages of relaxation: some eating, some lounging, some even fornicating while watching the show. He beamed and addressed his hosts.

  "It may not seem much to you all," he began, and then stopped, looking around in surprise as his voice boomed back at him in every direction. "Okay, that's pretty cool," he said with a grin. Ing'ma stood next to him and translated. The audience chuckled.

  "It may not seem like much to you all," he began again, "but I have spent the last sixty years waiting for a moment like this." The centaurs grew silent and listened. The emotion in his voice caught their attention, and they seemed to simultaneously lean in toward him.

  "My grandfather started telling me stories of centaurs when I was a boy," he said. "A race of wise, kind, gentle souls that my ancestors took for granted. Ever since then, I have dreamed of this day. I thought about what I would say, what expressions of gratitude I could give that might amount to anything, what words of apology I could give for my ancestors' actions, what excuse I could make for mankind today." He paused, his voice cracking. His eyes grew wet. "Yet here in your presence," he said, swallowing, "where I was instantly greeted like a long-lost friend, where before any of you even knew my name, you were inviting me to feast with you, to play with you," he searched the room and found the mare from earlier, "and even to mate with you," he said, tipping his head to her. She grinned and gave a cat-call. The centaurs laughed but quieted quickly as Charles continued. "There are no words," he said. "I cannot convey the happiness that seeing you has brought me. There are not enough songs that mankind has ever written to express it. If there is a song you have that can, I hope that you will share it with me, because my people cannot conceive of it. I cannot begin to thank you for the welcome I have received; I could not even conceive of such a welcome, let alone wish for it." His voice grew sad. "And," he said, his voice hoarse, "there are no words to describe the sorrow I feel at my ancestors' loss of your company or my peers' failure to improve. To think that we have spent five thousand Earth years apart is..." He held up his hands and gave a helpless chuckle. "What can I say, there are no words."

  Everywhere, the centaurs were silent. Some wept from their own feelings of loss; others, from their empathy for Charles and his race. There were no dry eyes, though.

  Charles took a breath, and his smile slowly returned to his face. "But life is joyous," he said, echoing the centaurs' maxim. Many heads perked up at the utterance. Charles's voice grew stronger, and his smile broader. "And we are here now. Let us not dwell on the past, which has passed. Let us not dwell on the future that is not yet here. Let us be glad in our time together; let us celebrate each other's company, and let us, for just a moment in time, remember the good old days, those many thousands of years ago!"

  The centaurs were on their feet before he even finished, applauding, cheering, and crying out in agreement. Ing'ma retook the center of the room.

  "Well-spoken, Charles!" he said, embracing him warmly. "And don't worry; we have just the song, which we'll get to here in just a moment." Charles beamed and thanked him, and then turned to Bryce, who applauded his grandfather, his eyes streaming. In the emotion elicited by his grandfather's speech, he'd forgotten that he would have to speak, too.

  He swallowed hard and nervously stepped to the middle of the room. He looked out among the friendly faces smiling encouragingly at him, saw foals poking at each other mischievously, and felt Anul'thek's hand on his shoulder. He glanced behind him and smiled.

  "I hope you will forgive me," he said, glancing around uncertainly as his voice returned to him. "I am not a very good speaker, but I promise to do my best." If it was possible, the centaurs smiled at him all the more kindly.

  "I cannot speak for humanity," he said, "but I can speak for myself. When Grandpa told me about you when I was nine years old, I was so excited. The idea of noble, strong, selfless creatures seemed so wonderful." He paused. "But then he told me that you were in space, and to this day, I remember how disappointed I was. Everybody knows aliens don't exist," he said, grinning ruefully, "but up until then, his story seemed plausible. I couldn't express then how disappointed I was that he had built me up, telling me about how great you were, and then let me down like that." He turned to his grandfather. "Grandpa, I am sorry I doubted you," he said earnestly. His grandfather nodded, smiling, his eyes wet again.

  Bryce turned to face the centaurs again. "Yet as disappointed as I was, part of me always hoped that it might be true. Grandpa always told me to wish on shooting stars, and I always did. I always wished that I'd get to see you one day. Just a few days ago, I was ready to give it up as a lost cause. I was wrong," he said firmly. "And I don't care if you are from space!" The centaurs chuckled again.

  "Every day I have thought of you; every day I have wished to see you, and now here you are," he said, wonder in his voice. He paused, as if seeing them for the first time. He shook his head. "I am very happy to be here," he said, "and I want to spend as much time enjoying your company as I can." He shrugged helplessly. "I'm not very good at giving speeches," he said, "so let me just say thank you. Thank you for answering my wish. Thank you for letting us visit. Thank you for everything."

  The centaurs nodded amongst each other and applauded. Bryce bowed his head and stepped over to let Ing'ma retake the center. He looked to his grandfather, who hugged him and told him in his ear, "You did just fine, Bryce. Just fine." Bryce smiled self-consciously.

  "Bryce is right," Ing'ma said. "Let's waste no more time with speeches!" The centaurs applauded. "If you will all indulge me," he said, looking at Charles, "I think it's time we reminded the humans of the song we taught them almost twenty thousand years ago." Charles's eyes sparkled with excitement, and Anul'thek stood between Charles and Bryce so that he could interpret.

  Ing'ma sang the opening lines of the song, like a call to musical arms.

  Gather, friends! Hurry up!

  We've so much to celebrate.

  Find your voices now,

  For it's never too late!

  The centaurs joined in in unison, their voices shaking the ship.

  Sing out, brothers!

  Cry out, sisters!

  Lift your voices high; let y
our spirits fly!

  Let the tidings spread from every living head

  That life is joyous!

  The centaurs cut loose, stomping their hooves and clapping their hands.

  From the trees that nourish us

  To the fields so bounteous, and

  From the streams and falling rains,

  To the wind that pulls our manes,

  Life is joyous!

  From the friendships that we share,

  Spreading here and everywhere, and

  From the foals that laugh and play,

  To the elders, wise and gray.

  Life is joyous! Joyous!

  From the fruits of our labors,

  Shared with all of our neighbors, and

  Tender moments we can share,

  With our friends from everywhere,

  Life is joyous!

  In our songs, and in our art,

  In all pursuits that tug our hearts,

  Science, math, and hist'ry, too,

  All of life's sublime pursuits,

  Life is joyous! Joyous!

  The centaurs all bowed their heads in solemn reverence and genuine appreciation for everything they had named. The last verse of the song was sung like a hymn:

  In work, in play, our needs are sate;

  Our blessings we appreciate.

  Joy, we know, comes from inside.

  This is the motto of our lives.

  So has it been since we were young,

  But hear it now on every tongue:

  Life is joyous.

  When the song was over, the centaurs all gave a great cheer, embraced each other warmly, and set about feasting on the fruits and drinking from wooden pitchers that seemed to come out of nowhere. The wine inside the pitchers was rich, fruity, and potent, and Bryce and Charles had to be careful not to overindulge. Anul'thek and Ing'ma sat with them, along with many other centaurs in a giant circle. As other centaurs came to join, space was made. Bryce and Charles got very good at performing the greeting as they eventually greeted each one of the centaurs and exchanged smiles. The feast went on long into what would have been night on Earth.

  Chapter 20

  As the sun was rising in England, the centaurs lay still, all of them satiated and as happy as they had ever been. Bryce smiled and shook his head, standing over his grandfather, who lay dozing on the grass, not a thread on him, with a half-eaten piece of one of the exotic fruits cradled in his arm on his chest. Bryce leaned over and gently took the fruit, taking a bite of it as he walked the stream to recycle it. It tasted like an orange soda float. He took a few more bites and then let the fruit fall into the water, where the burbling rapids carried it swiftly away.

  Bryce almost wished he was wearing clothes right now: he had to admit that he missed his pockets, a great place for his hands. He walked among the trees, catching hints of each of their unique scents. One smelled like chocolate; another like strawberries. One like oranges; another like tomatoes. It seemed there was no flavor that was unfamiliar to the centaurs, and it seemed that there was no flavor that they hadn't been able to reproduce. He smiled to himself. He stood near the edge of the field, where the vineyards began, and looked out over the scene: thirty or so centaurs all lay sleeping. Some of the foals slept with their dams or sires; others slept with their mentors, and still others slept either alone or cuddled up with their friends.

  The sight made Bryce think of Anul'thek. He frowned. He hadn't seen him since he woke up what he guessed was an hour ago. He continued his stroll with more purpose than moments ago. He made a full circuit around the field, yet he didn't see his friend. He wandered over towards the observation deck. Maybe he was there, unable to sleep, too.

  He came to the smooth surface where the door ought to be. It occurred to him that he didn't know how to open it. Running his palm along the metal, there was no seam, no indication of a latch or button. He frowned and squared his shoulders to the doorway. Maybe it was motion-activated? No go. He tried waving his hand at it. Nothing. He tried doing tai-chi moves at it—not that he knew tai chi, but it seemed like a good idea—but no use. He sighed and muttered under his breath, "How do I get you to open?"

  The door materialized and melted away. "Really?" Bryce said under his breath. "All I had to do was ask?" He shook his head, but stopped. He had found Anul'thek, and he had found Ing'ma, too. Ing'ma had mounted Anul'thek, both their backs to the door, and Ing'ma's cock was buried up to the testes inside his pupil. Both seemed to be enjoying themselves immensely. Ing'ma's tail thrashed, as did Anul'thek's, and both made some guttural noises as Anul'thek's semen splattered all over the ground in front of them. The two of them sighed in bliss.

  "I–" Bryce cut himself off. The two centaurs turned as Ing'ma dismounted.

  "Oh, hi, Bryce!" Anul'thek said cheerily. "How–?" He stopped as Bryce took off running across the field. Anul'thek looked at his mentor helplessly. "Why?" he asked his mentor.

  Ing'ma frowned. "I'm not certain," he said, "but it might be worthwhile to find out sooner rather than later." Anul'thek nodded and left the observation chamber. Ing'ma took to cleaning up the mess with gusto.

  Anul'thek trotted out into the field, looking for Bryce, concerned. He spotted him clear across the field by himself. He took to the outside of the field so as not to awaken his kinfolk. Bryce was sitting with his arms around his legs, his knees pulled up to his chest.

  "Hey..." he said uncertainly. "You okay?"

  Bryce looked up to face him, his eyes wet and his face cross.

  "You!" he hissed angrily. "Go away!"

  Anul'thek took a step back, shocked. "Bryce, I–"

  "I said, 'go away!'" Bryce said, his voice no longer a whisper.

  Anul'thek stood for a moment, dumbfounded, and then reluctantly walked off. Bryce buried his head in his knees.

  "Ing'ma," Anul'thek said to his mentor when he made it back to the observation deck, "I–I don't know what I've done," he said helplessly, feeling on the verge of tears.

  "Didn't he say anything?" Ing'ma asked, frowning.

  Anul'thek shook his head. "No, he just said 'You! Go away.' I've never heard such venom from a human before."

  Ing'ma started. "That is very unusual," he said. "Did you two have words last night?"

  Anul'thek shook his head again. "No, Ing'ma, we were fine at the feast. He was happy, and I was happy that he was happy."

  Ing'ma considered it. "Check if any of the anthropologists are up," he suggested. "They may be able to shed some light on it. I'm no expert on their behavior," he admitted.

  Anul'thek nodded and walked out quietly among the sleeping centaurs. He found one of the anthropologists sitting and drinking fruit juice from the fruit's hull.

  "Ala'ni?" Anul'thek asked, approaching her. She turned, looked up at him, and smiled.

  "Hello, Anul'thek," she said, stroking his back as he sat next to her. He returned the gesture. "Nice morning, isn't it?"

  Anul'thek nodded. "Yes, it is," he said, "but I have a human-related question for you."

  "Oh?" Ala'ni's eyes lit up. Her years of studies and the sleepless nights the last few days might have paid off, after all.

  Anul'thek described Bryce's behavior.

  "What were you doing when he came to the door?" Ala'ni asked.

  "Ing'ma and I were breeding," he said. He gave her a curious look. "Does that matter?"

  She pursed her lips. "Humans can be very funny about sex," she said. "I'm not certain, but it almost sounds like you being with Ing'ma distressed him."

  "Why would it?" Anul'thek asked, baffled.

  "I think you'd have to ask him," Ala'ni replied.

  "He won't talk to me," Anul'thek said, frustrated.

  Ala'ni cringed. It was very uncommon for centaurs to cease communication unless very angry. "Maybe you could talk to his grandfather?" she suggested. "He may know what's going on."

  Anul'thek nodded. It was a start.

  "Let me know what you find out," she said. "It's good information
to know." Anul'thek thanked her and sought out Charles, who had just awoken.

  "Good morning, Charles," Anul'thek said, smiling pleasantly.

  "Ah, good morning, Anul'thek!" Charles replied, and then winced and held the side of his head.

  "Are you all right?" Anul'thek asked, concerned.

  "Yeah, just a little too much to drink last night," Charles replied ruefully. "Bit of a headache."

  "Wait here," Anul'thek replied and trotted off to one of the far corners of the field. He plucked some grapes from one of the vines and brought them back. "This should help," he said.

  Charles shrugged and popped them into his mouth. The taste was like sour apples, and the texture was like chalk. It was with great difficulty that he got them to go down.

  "Oof, I don't mean to be ungrateful, Anul'thek, but those are hard to swallow!" Charles said.

  "How do you feel?" Anul'thek replied.

  Charles frowned, and then his eyes lit up. "Better!" he said, grinning. "Thanks, Anul'thek."