Healing Hands

by Stella Cassy

All the heat's gone out of my voice. It doesn't seem like it wants to hurt me but--wait a minute.

  Holy shit. I've been abducted by an alien.

  Though it looks like it may just be one of them. Do aliens usually run around in packs? They do in the movies. I just don't... understand. Aliens don't exist, just like dragons and all that other silly stuff. They're a figment of a sick mind or an overactive imagination, both of which can be cured by any number of herbs and corrective eating, by the way.

  "What is a mace?" it asks. He? It sounds like a he.

  "It's this shit, and I have no idea why it's not working," I growl, turning the bottle around to look down the tube.

  It's one of the worst human instincts imaginable. The burst of spray hits me directly in the eyes and I scream, throwing the can down and flapping my arms. Tears pour down my cheeks and breathing is out of the question. Now I've gone and disarmed myself, along with completely ruining any chance I had of protecting myself from this hulking thing.

  Something catches me under the legs and lifts me as if I weigh as much as a child. It hurries me along, the breeze tugging at my hair. There's a grating of plastic on metal and I'm falling into water.

  "Submerge yourself. You'll feel better," the beast thing encourages.

  It can't hurt, and at worst this thing drowns me, right? I take the best breath I can manage, that tastes like fire, and dunk myself into the tank around me.

  The effect is immediate. My nostrils fill with cool, soothing water that has to be more than just plain H2O. It's like aloe on your arms after a day at the beach and I manage to open my eyes. They're still burning, but the effect is tolerable now. Something that I can bear instead of screaming and smacking myself in the head.

  He peers in at me, worry written all over his strange features. Gills protrude from either side of a jaw that's wide and heavily boned. His dark green eyes blink as he observes me, set into a face that's too much a mixture of human and animal to bear. I do think the slim, curling horns at the top of his head are... interesting. That's a plus, right?

  That's when he closes the top to this tank and leaves me deep in water with no way to escape. He's hitting some panel full of buttons. A current flows through the water, but I'm already swimming to the top and gasping for the tiny amount of air trapped beneath the lid. I cling to the top, eyes shut tight.

  "What are you doing?" he asks.

  "I can't breathe!" I scream, though it comes out thready and weak.

  "Take a breath then," he encourages, motioning at the water.

  His gills catch my attention once more and I get it. He doesn't understand. He doesn't know. I beat on the top of the tank with my fist, trying to draw enough breath through the pepper spray and the splashing water to yell at him.

  I finally do. "Humans can't breathe water!"

  In an instant, the lid is gone. He rips it away, peering down at me and offering one lightly furred arm. I grab it, holding on for dear life as he draws me out of the container again.

  "My apologies," he frowns. "I had no notion of it."

  At least this time I'm on my feet. With the lack of water, there's a burning starting in my eyes again but it can't be helped. I can't swim forever and he has no idea what humans can and can't do, apparently.

  When I get my breath back, I shake my head at him. "It's not your fault. You don't know. Can I go home now?"

  "I'm afraid that isn't possible," he says, and I feel my heart sink.

  "Why the fuck not?" I snap.

  "You are a doctor, aren't you?" He doesn't bother to answer my question. I scowl at him for it.

  "A doctor of natural medicine. In humans, not whatever you are."

  That seems to perplex him. Good. He deserves it. And what does he mean by it's not possible? I never consented to this.

  "My home planet is suffering from an acute viral infection," he finally says. "An outbreak. We need your help."

  "And if I fix this, you'll send me home?" I ask.

  "If possible. Of course. The monarchy may decide that it is impossible."

  I stare up into that strange face and I can't help but think he's almost cute, in the same sort of way you have a crush on a cartoon character when you're a kid. My brows knit. If I have to help him to get home, there are worse things.

  "Fine. What do I need to do?"

  3

  Rothren

  How quickly this human female slides from terrified to business. It is an admirable way to act in the face of this frightening, new, strange situation. I realize this must be worrisome for her. Perhaps she has a mate of her own. I gaze over her form and consider that it's likely this one hasn't borne children. From our studies, the hips tend to spread when they bear young. Hers, however, are quite tight---as is everything else my wandering eyes takes in.

  I slap the thought away. Humans are unfit mates for our kind, unable to reproduce, unable to cope with mating. Our monarchs have proclaimed it since the beginning of time. There is something to be said for mating for pleasure, but that ends quickly. It never turns out well and I spent most of my young life avoiding that trap. I must wonder if it would be such a trap if it were with a human, however. It is not as if they can chase us into the further reaches of space. They still have trouble reaching their own moon.

  We walk toward the small laboratory on my ship. It consists of only a few tables, an airlock for disposal and a few teetereats scampering around in a half-aquatic terrarium. Their many thousand legs and eye spots draw her attention. She leans back into me, staring.

  "What are those?" she sputters.

  "Teetereats. Nothing of interest. They simply perform well under stress, giving us time to experiment with whatsoever needs to be done," I answer.

  "They look like lime green millipedes with eyeballs all over them."

  Having no notion of what a millipede is, I simply blink at her. She shakes her head, murmurs a polite 'never mind', and starts opening a wide variety of cabinetry. Everything is written in our language. It occurs to me that this could be problematic for her.

  "If you require translation, I am capable of it," I offer.

  The female turns her head and looks up at me. She is so very small.

  "I'd appreciate it. I have no idea what all these marks mean on these things," she shrugs, putting down a bottle of highly explosive fluid.

  I breathe a small sigh of relief. I believe their term for it is nitroglycerin, and though the compound is not precisely the same, the properties of dropping that bottle certainly are. She has no idea the danger she is in, the danger I have recruited her for, and some part of me feels regret at that. These humans are such gentle, innocent creatures and I must wonder if the monarchy is trying to preserve that. Our contact has certainly proven testing for this particular human.

  I don't even know her name. They have those, don't they?

  "Does your mate have a name for you?" I ask as she digs around in a pile of vegetation, all carefully sealed.

  "Don't have a mate. I guess he'd call me honey if I was interested?"

  "Your name is the prolific vomit of an insect's bounty?" What terrible parents she must have had.

  Her laugh trickles into my ears, so sweet that I can hardly stand up. My fingers grip the table beside me and I take a deep breath, trying not to lose control. Such a musical sound must be well missed in her home right now.

  "My name is Marie Mallory. Well," she pauses, staring at a three-leafed yaril's powdered roots. "Mom named me Marion. I've always gone by Marie."

  I must admit, this confuses me at some level but I find myself nodding, following along after her. I would give anything to make her laugh again.

  "Does it mean something, in your language? I was a linguist at home, before. I have never come across the word."

  "It's French for Mary, I think," Marie says.

  Why this English-speaking female is named something French, I do not entirely understand. We keep our names specific to our cultures. Perhaps the humans are more expansive with su
ch things. She pulls out roots, stems, plants--this is where she knows what she's doing, I assume, because she seems to be looking for something in particular. Our physicians work with a mixture of plant-life and chemical components. I seem to remember that humans are largely the same.

  "What exactly am I trying to cure?" she asks.

  "The Neff. It is a virus that attacks the nervous system. Small pink sores appear on the body and the afflicted dies within a few days. Most of the time, in any case, my daughter lasted only two days," I say.

  She stops once more and frowns at me, "I'm so sorry about your daughter."

  My chest tightens and I close my eyes. This is a mistake. I see the nurses hurl my daughter's fresh corpse upon the burning pile all over again. To think that I am here staring at this female's body, when Eilari’s bones are fresh cinders beneath all the others that have died while I have been gone. I try to shake the image away, but it is too much. We will still be days returning to my home planet. It took nearly a week to get here. Even if Marie is capable of discovering a cure, how many will be left to receive it when we return home?

  I am a fool.

  Before Marie, I go to ground and sink to my haunches. My heart burns and I rub my forehead.

  "She was only four," I whisper. "Only four, no child should die so young."

  A pale, strange hand rests on my shoulder as I try to contain myself. I fail. The tears strike hard and fast, a sob shamefully escaping my throat. This is my life now, and should she prove to be anything other than perfectly helpful, this will be my death.

  Her arms slide around me. This is a hug, I know it from my studies. It is so much more pleasant than I could have imagined, warm and sweet. I can taste her scent on the air, a mixture of fruit and nuts that are foreign, interesting.

  Arousing.

  She wipes my tears away with a bit of paper from her purse, even as I rest my head on her shoulder and carefully return the hug. I do not wish to hurt her somehow. These humans seem to be a little less robust than my kind, given all of our studies.

  I do notice that the tears have ended.

  "I don't mind helping to slay a baby-killing virus, Rothren. I don't. I just don't want to end up dead like in some bad space movie. Okay?" she says.

  "When did you learn my name?" I ask, carefully running a finger through her hair. It seems to be the origin of that enticing scent.

  "It's on the drawing in the cockpit," she sighs.

  And my world threatens to stop turning. I had forgotten my daughter's drawing, a sketch pinned up behind my chair. She'd written my name so many times in all the languages I'd taught her. I should put it through a sealer when I get home, preserve it. A last gift from my little girl. Something to remember her by.

  The tears come unbidden again. Marie is there to hold me through all of them and I wonder what I did to deserve this. I have stolen this female from her home, her family, her friends. Yet she is so kind as to tolerate my ridiculous actions.

  I get a grip on myself some time later and draw away from her. She seems rather hesitant to let go, but there is work to be done.

  "Do you have anything that looks like a little red cup flower? We call them side-saddle flower, but you may know them as something else. I can't imagine that's universal," she chatters, obviously trying to help me save face.

  "You believe a flower may be enough to correct this problem?" I ask, following her to the herbal storage unit.

  "It worked for the Native Americans. It may work for you," she says.

  "Native Americans?"

  "Don't worry about it."

  With the ship on autopilot, I have no real need to steer or watch where we are going. Instead, I dig in with her and we search. Each packet has a picture of the plant it came from. I offer countless ones to her to inspect, yet none seem to match what she has in mind. The search is frustrating, but it is enough to put my daughter from my mind. For now.

  "Aha!" she chirps.

  It's one of the last bags on the ship, a flower that resembles a drinking container. There are only a few tired, dried flowers within but there they are. I stare at these little purple blossoms, finding it hard to believe that these may be the savior we have been searching for. Certainly, the physicians back home tried every possible combination of botanicals, didn't they?

  "This is exactly what we're after," Marie nods. "But we need the roots, too. The stems, flowers and leaves don't do much for this kind of thing. The roots can be boiled, ground down, and used to perform the likes of which miracles are made of."

  "Is it something that few people would consider to be a medicinal plant?" I ask, taking the bag from her.

  "It's not commonly used, no. The fact that it grows on your planet is wild, almost unbelievable-"

  "It doesn't," I answer, pointing to the small emblem on the back of the package. "This is from your world. We sent harvesters down every now and again for certain medicinal plants. This must be one of them."

  "It'd make sense," she says with a shrug. "It's been used for thousands of years back home, and for a pretty wide variety of ailments. Maybe it takes a little more than this to get you started, but I'd bet that it's a great start."

  A flower could have saved them all. I run my fingertips over this precious bag, the contents within so very potent. I have the roots here, somewhere. We simply used to separate each part of the plant and dry them in the conservant so that our medicines did not become mixed. A quick glance nets me the root system for this plant as well, buried well at the bottom of the bin.

  How many years has it been since I bothered to dig through here, to clean this out? How many of our people stock this sort of medicine, never knowing that a cure was mere inches from their fingers? If it is common enough for me to have, surely it is common in the laboratories.

  "May we make a second guess, just in the case of this not working entirely?" I request, my voice as polite as possible. "I trust your views, but this is a common ingredient on my planet. I have trouble believing that our scientists did not see it as a cure, test it, and find it wanting."

  "I can try to whip something up with the rest of this. There's some good stuff here," Marie says and I relax.

  Going to the monarchy with more than one cure, especially one that was likely untried by our scientists, is preferable. Out of instinct, I lean over and kiss her atop the head. It is affectionate, but I try to draw the line at that.

  I wish I knew what scent coated her hair. This close, it is engulfing me. I close my eyes and, for a moment, allow myself to stand there and inhale.

  "Do you like that?" she asks, her voice a purr.

  I open one eye enough to look down at her just in time to feel her hand scratch the creamy fluff on my chest. A soft, weak moan leaves my mouth before I can so much as protest to it. I hear her laugh and my toes all but curl. She has no idea what she does with that voice of hers.

  4

  Marie

  When my horoscope said it'd be one hell of a night, I wasn't expecting this. Now I'm solving the problems of aliens who-knows-how-far away from my house, my cat not caring, my sister completely unaware. I never thought this would be how I'd die, but hey, life is full of fucking surprises, isn't it?

  I scratch Rothren's chest, becoming quite aware of the low, rumbling, almost guttural tone of his moans. If he were a human man, I'd think he were getting aroused. Then again, my friend's Newfoundland makes the same sound when you scratch his ears and I'm certainly no expert on whatever Rothren is.

  But maybe I'm not too far off my mark. Something hard bumps my elbow and the very idea of what it may be chokes off my breath for an instant. I keep scratching his fluff since it's clear he's had a rough time as of late, but I sneak a precarious look over my shoulder and, oh.

  Wow.

  The toga-esque thing he's wearing does nothing to hide the shaft bulging against the cloth. It has to be as long as my arm. All I'm saying is, maybe there's some horse in his background too. Or elephant.

  Whale?


  "I apologize," he says, drawing my attention away from his impressive appendage.

  "Why would you apologize for that thing?" I chuckle.

  Another shiver runs through him and he bites his lower lip. His hips even bounce in the smallest possible way. He likes my laugh, of all things? I can't help but imagine these aliens cackling into each other's faces like hyenas, mid-coitus, writhing and moaning and-

  God, why does that turn me on?

  Don't get me wrong, it's humorous at the same time but having such control over Rothren, when I've lost control of everything else in my life, is a very large perk. If I don't think much of his toga, I wonder what he thinks of my little black dress? It's not as if he'd have any way to gauge if it's a normal thing for my people to wear, right?

  "It does insensible things quite frequently," he sighs, shifting so I scratch another part of his chest.

  "I suppose that's one thing common between human men and you," I smirk.

  I'm rewarded with, what I assume is, a small laugh from him. The sound is grating, but not necessarily unpleasant. I'm just not used to it.

  Having heard all about his recent woes, it's nice to get a laugh from him. I haven't made many men laugh in my day, not exactly being little Miss Popularity with the boys. Sure, I had plenty of attention when I was willing to give it, but few of them are as interested in folklore and herbs as I am. I wonder what his views on folklore are.

  As I draw back, my elbow bumps the edge of his shaft and he gives such a pure, frustrated hiss that I can't really help myself.

  "How long's it been?" I ask as I let my hand fall away from his chest, lower and lower until--ah, there we are.

  In response, he trembles beneath my touch. A long time, then, hasn't it?

  "Longer than I am accustomed to," he grits out as my fingers travel his length.

  The touch is light, teasing. I enjoy the way he squirms. Hadn't I intended to get laid tonight anyway? At least Rothren is interesting, more than just a pretty face across the street. My digits curl around his girth and give him the smallest possible squeeze. The gasp that leaves his incredibly fang-ridden mouth is music to my ears.