did not light any candles. She brought a chair closer to the window and peered through the boards out into the night. When the sun rose, she didn’t go outside to tend to her animals and barely tended to her own needs.
Why was it here?
~***~
It had been three days since the woman had come out of her house. Bilal was certain she had seen him, and he chastised himself for being careless. He had moved dangerously close to the house in an attempt to see inside. It was stupid. But she had put up the boards, and he could not see inside to get a sense of her.
Unless … she was sick.
He shuffled in consternation, his flesh rippling and changing from the camouflage of greens and browns to nearly black.
~***~
That fateful night, he had been healing his own damage and hers as well. The wounds to her breast had been too much for him. It had taken nearly all of his strength, and he needed enough energy to make the long trek back to his pod. He’d done the best that he could, ashamed that he couldn’t completely remove all evidence of the injury. He certainly had the ability. Bilal’s tentacles shielded fine filaments that could join with objects for the purpose of exploration and understanding. He understood each cell and neuron and found its pattern. He could detect and repair any anomaly. His kind had long since eradicated human diseases such as cancer, Parkinson’s, and AIDs. It was part of being processed on the mother ship before being reintegrated with humans on Earth 2.
He had worried about her as he had carried her injured and bloodied body back to her home. She was in shock and was losing a great deal of blood. Despite this, he was curious about her. She had long dreadlocks and formed a tentacle for the purpose of examining her hair. Now that he was an adult, humans generally shied away from him unless they were his friends. He knew that humans didn’t like to be touched by Centaurians, and he understood. They didn’t like the feel of his cool, smooth flesh.
But Centaurians had to touch. They didn’t see well with their eyes and saw with their sensors, which were confined within their tentacles. They could taste, see, hear, and sense things with the fine, sensitive filaments. Once exposed, the filaments didn’t have to be connected to an object to “observe.” But it was the preference of Centaurians. Humans called them touchy-feely. He found it interesting that humans considered that a bad thing.
Bilal had placed her on her sofa and had connected a tentacle to several different areas of her body. She was a strong female, healthy despite her self-imposed exile. He found a vertebra that needed straightening. She probably had some pinching in her neck because of it. He didn’t have time for that, though. Bilal concentrated on her injuries, tackling the smaller ones first in case he ran out of “juice” and had to leave them unattended. He liked that particular human euphemism. “Juice” was a good interpretation for what he needed to use to facilitate the woman’s healing.
He allowed his filaments to go beyond her injuries in order to collect “samples.” He stared at her dreadlocks and her brown skin while he should have been concentrating on his task. He could tell that she was right around forty Earth years old. She was tall and what humans called “shapely.” He determined that she had carried a child to term, and his flesh rippled. She lived alone because the house only had one human smell. He understood from Earth 2 that the loss of a child was the most devastating loss that humans had endured during the epidemic. Many humans never recovered from it even twenty years later. He wondered if the offspring she had lost had been a victim of the disease or had been taken to Earth 2. He thought it was the first. The most resistant humans joined with the Centaurians sometimes for the sake of their children.
His body turned black. How could she live like this—alone?
He completed his task and
Why was it here?
~***~
It had been three days since the woman had come out of her house. Bilal was certain she had seen him, and he chastised himself for being careless. He had moved dangerously close to the house in an attempt to see inside. It was stupid. But she had put up the boards, and he could not see inside to get a sense of her.
Unless … she was sick.
He shuffled in consternation, his flesh rippling and changing from the camouflage of greens and browns to nearly black.
~***~
That fateful night, he had been healing his own damage and hers as well. The wounds to her breast had been too much for him. It had taken nearly all of his strength, and he needed enough energy to make the long trek back to his pod. He’d done the best that he could, ashamed that he couldn’t completely remove all evidence of the injury. He certainly had the ability. Bilal’s tentacles shielded fine filaments that could join with objects for the purpose of exploration and understanding. He understood each cell and neuron and found its pattern. He could detect and repair any anomaly. His kind had long since eradicated human diseases such as cancer, Parkinson’s, and AIDs. It was part of being processed on the mother ship before being reintegrated with humans on Earth 2.
He had worried about her as he had carried her injured and bloodied body back to her home. She was in shock and was losing a great deal of blood. Despite this, he was curious about her. She had long dreadlocks and formed a tentacle for the purpose of examining her hair. Now that he was an adult, humans generally shied away from him unless they were his friends. He knew that humans didn’t like to be touched by Centaurians, and he understood. They didn’t like the feel of his cool, smooth flesh.
But Centaurians had to touch. They didn’t see well with their eyes and saw with their sensors, which were confined within their tentacles. They could taste, see, hear, and sense things with the fine, sensitive filaments. Once exposed, the filaments didn’t have to be connected to an object to “observe.” But it was the preference of Centaurians. Humans called them touchy-feely. He found it interesting that humans considered that a bad thing.
Bilal had placed her on her sofa and had connected a tentacle to several different areas of her body. She was a strong female, healthy despite her self-imposed exile. He found a vertebra that needed straightening. She probably had some pinching in her neck because of it. He didn’t have time for that, though. Bilal concentrated on her injuries, tackling the smaller ones first in case he ran out of “juice” and had to leave them unattended. He liked that particular human euphemism. “Juice” was a good interpretation for what he needed to use to facilitate the woman’s healing.
He allowed his filaments to go beyond her injuries in order to collect “samples.” He stared at her dreadlocks and her brown skin while he should have been concentrating on his task. He could tell that she was right around forty Earth years old. She was tall and what humans called “shapely.” He determined that she had carried a child to term, and his flesh rippled. She lived alone because the house only had one human smell. He understood from Earth 2 that the loss of a child was the most devastating loss that humans had endured during the epidemic. Many humans never recovered from it even twenty years later. He wondered if the offspring she had lost had been a victim of the disease or had been taken to Earth 2. He thought it was the first. The most resistant humans joined with the Centaurians sometimes for the sake of their children.
His body turned black. How could she live like this—alone?
He completed his task and
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