by Ruby Ryan
I kept my speed a conservative 30 miles per hour and slowly made the twenty mile journey back to my property.
It was a lonely job, but I liked keeping to myself. Especially since Fred died. Even now, almost a decade later, I was content by myself. Maybe I would remarry someday.
Maybe. But probably not. And you know what? That was alright.
It's just the way things were.
I let myself fantasize about the book waiting in the passenger's seat. From the ten seconds scanning the back blurb, I knew it took place in America during the war. I suspected the almond-eyed officer would find a young American girl who melts his icy heart. Maybe he'll have to disobey orders from a superior in order to keep her safe. Some Romeo and Juliet themes, forbidden and desperate, and then he would defect and they would find a quiet farm to retire to.
Yeah. All of that sounded just fine to me.
I was so busy picturing their little secluded cottage that I didn't see the figure in the road until it was too late.
I swerved, much good it did me, hearing the sickening THUMP of a body crashing into the side of my truck. I swerved back to avoid going off the road, slammed on my brakes, and skidded to a stop.
I blinked at the calmness of the falling snow.
My heartbeat was everywhere, in my ears and neck and chest. What was that thing? It looked like a solid beam of light, suspended over the road. Like someone was holding a flashlight and pointing it straight down.
But that thunk wasn't just from light.
Suddenly alarmed, I ripped off my seat belt and bolted from the car. I rounded the bed of the truck and gasped.
The shape of a person lying in the middle of the road. Not moving.
Oh fuck.
I sprinted to him and slid to a stop. It was indeed a man, lying face-down. Snow was already accumulating on his body, clothes that looked faded and baggy. Darkness was pooling underneath him.
Blood, my mind realized a second later.
"Hey! Are you okay?" I knelt to him and touched him gently. His body was warm, incredibly warm, which was unusual because he wasn't wearing a coat. I pulled out my cell phone: no bars out here.
Panic rose up my spine. "Buddy? Can you hear me?"
There was a groaning sound as he rolled over. I caught a glimpse of what looked like his humorous bone sticking through the skin of his arm; I flinched and swallowed the bile crawling up my throat.
"Uhh," the man said.
"Can you stand? Are your legs or back injured?" I seemed to remember you shouldn't move someone with a back or neck injury. Too late; he was already rising into a sitting position.
"Uhh," he said again, touching his head. He looked down at himself with confusion.
"You're gunna need medical attention," I said, helping him up. I took care to avoid touching--or looking at!--the exposed bone. He wobbled as if he didn't know how to walk; I made a mental note that he probably had a concussion. "Do you understand me? My truck is right over there. If you can walk to it I can take you to a hospital..."
"No!" the man suddenly blurted. I couldn't make out his face, but he seemed alarmed. "No... hospital."
"Listen, I just hit you in my truck. I was only going 30, but that's still too--"
"No. Hospital." He grabbed my arm with his left hand, urgent and insistent. I blinked in the darkness as the snow fell all around.
I was too panicked to think about why he wanted to avoid a hospital.
"I'm a vet, sort of, so I've got medical supplies at my place." I did some mental math and convinced myself it was the right thing to do. "Only a few minutes until home, and more like half an hour back to town. We can figure everything out in the morning."
"Yes." His voice was deep with agreement.
I put an arm around him--feeling the thick body underneath, heavy with muscle--and led him back to my truck. The passenger door was indeed dented from the impact, looking more like a cannonball hit it than a person, but I was able to wedge it open and get him inside.
I came around the driver's side and hopped in. If that was bone sticking out of his arm like I thought, then I was going to have to set it myself. Maybe heading back into town was the best idea.
I flicked on the light and said, "Listen. I dunno if--"
I stopped.
There were a couple of things that made my stomach turn. First, his arm was fine. Or at least, seemed fine. I couldn't see any exposed bone, but there was an awful lot of blood staining his brown shirt. There were no wounds to his head, thank goodness, but he still blinked rapidly like he wasn't sure what was going on.
But then there was the other thing.
He had short, raven hair that sat on his head in perfect waves. His skin was nicely tanned, and a perfect amount of dark hair covered his hard jaw. And behind his blinking eyelids were almond eyes with a sharpness that almost seemed artificial.
He was a carbon-copy of the man on the cover of The King's Officer.
"Uhh," I said, grabbing the book from the seat between us. Yep. Not only did he look like the guy, but he even wore the same loose-fitting brown shirt and dark pants. The only thing missing was the aforementioned red coat. Which, again, the lack of coat was an oddity in itself in this weather.
His brown eyes locked onto mine, and his handsome face stared without emotion.
"Thank. You."
"Yeah, uhh, don't mention it," I said, turning off the light. I was the one who hit him, after all, but I sure as hell wasn't going to remind him of it right that second. "Let's get you someplace warm."
Maybe I ought to lower my limit to one beer, I thought as I drove us the rest of the way home.
3
JOANNA
The rest of the drive to my property passed in silence. The man made not a peep, and that was just fine by me. He stayed alive, which was what really mattered. It was still a concern of mine at that point--that he could have internal bleeding or something more critical, and then suddenly fall over dead without another word.
But something kept me driving home instead of to town.
It might have been the insistence in his voice, the way he'd reacted when I mentioned hospital. There was a fear there, and more than just a dislike of places full of sick folks. This was more like the fear of... getting caught.
Like a criminal.
I shook away the thought before it could take hold. Let's focus on getting him safe.
But there was another reason I took him home, one I couldn't quite understand. It was as if something were pushing me in that direction, a barrier of air I could just barely not see, requiring me to do what he wanted. Even being aware of it, I didn't stop and turn around. I continued home.
I was probably in shock. I did just hit a guy in my goddamn car.
Nevermind what he looked like.
The property appeared to the left, and I turned down the gravel and dirt road. The snow was falling harder now, drifting through the barren trees like aimless soldiers coming home from war. It was a relief when my cottage appeared in the distance, growing closer as we bumped down the path.
I parked and turned the engine off. We shared a quiet look--he still didn't seem to have anything going on behind his eyes, definitely concussed--and then I sprang into action.
I half-carried him inside, flicking on the lights as I went. Everything was wood: the walls were wood, the floors were hard wood, the furniture and kitchen counters were framed in wood. I only had the one bedroom, so I dragged the strange wounded man over to my couch and dropped him like a sack of potatoes.
Good lord. I'd assumed that in better lighting he would look less like the cover of my book, but somehow he looked more like him. The scruff on his jaw, eyes like caramel...
The eyes locked onto me with greater intensity, and I remembered what I was supposed to be doing.
"You, uhh... dude," I said. "What hurts?"
"Hurts?" he repeated in a deep voice. "Nothing. Nothing hurts."
"I hope that's a joke." I went to his right arm an
d pulled up the shirt. Blood caked his skin from the bicep down past the elbow, already dark and dry. I turned the arm over carefully, methodically, looking for a wound.
"Where are you injured?"
He didn't respond, so I ran my fingers along the skin. I was hoping to feel a gash or wound that way, but nothing stood out. Even when I went up his bicep toward his shoulder--feeling thick muscle the entire way--there was no source for the blood.
Yet when I pulled the sleeve back down I noticed a dime-sized hole in the fabric, aligned with most of the blood. The sight of him on the road, with pale bone exposed through the skin, returned to me.
I discarded the thought.
"Do you know what day it is?" I asked with calm insistence. "Who the President is?"
The man gave a slight shake of the head. He wasn't focusing on me directly; it was like he stared through me to something else only he could see.
"Do you know your name?"
"Name?" he blurted.
"Yes. Your name. The thing we call you. I'm Jo, which means you are...?" All he did was blink. This was bad. What was I doing? He was clearly concussed, and probably had worse internal bleeding. Bringing him home was stupid.
But before I could say as much, he reached up and grabbed my wrist. His fingers were long and smooth, and his touch as warm as the fireplace.
"Eric's. I am Eric's..."
"Eric's what?" Eric was the mechanic in town. "Eric's employee? Eric's cousin?"
"No." He gently tapped his chest with two extended fingers, a gesture that seemed unique and foreign. "Me."
"You're Eric. Got a last name?" He stared at me like I was speaking French, so I shook it off and said, "You claim you're not injured. You say you're not hurting. I'm not sure what to do for you." I turned to glance at the kitchen. "Are you hungry, Eric?"
He ate an entire bowl of leftover venison stew so fast I ended up reheating another one, which he ate only a fraction slower. While he worked on the second I built a fire in the fireplace, making a note to get more starter logs when I went into town tomorrow. Once the fire was roaring and he'd finished the second bowl there seemed to be more light in his eyes. Only then did I begin to relax about his condition.
"So you're sure nothing hurts?" I insisted, sitting on the coffee table across from him. God, he was gorgeous. "You don't need to hide it in a vain attempt at manliness. If something's achy I need to know."
He smiled. It was the first time he had, I realized, because I surely would have remembered such a smile before then. It pinched his eyes and flashed white teeth, and for a moment I forgot how to breathe.
"I am good," he said, sounding almost normal. "Thank you, Jo."
My name on his lips was as intoxicating as all the alcohol in Harry's bar.
I set him up with extra pillows and some blankets, and pointed him in the direction of the bathroom in case he needed it. I retired to my bedroom feeling vaguely uncomfortable about the entire thing.
It's not often you hit a man in your truck and brought him home. Like the female equivalent of a caveman hitting a woman on the head and dragging her back to his cave.
Is that what I want? I let the idea swirl around in my head for a few moments, but no longer than that. I couldn't fantasize about Eric. He would probably try to sue me when he came to his senses.
But as I crawled under my covers, I couldn't banish the image I'd seen on the road: a narrow focus of light as bright as any moon beam. It must have been some sort of optical illusion from the snow and headlights--Eric was very clearly made of warm flesh--but the image remained nonetheless.
The thought that I was doing something wrong persisted. But aside from driving him back to town myself, I didn't like my other options. Jerome, who ran the night shift at the town's small clinic, liked to drink away the boredom of his shift. Calling him out here would likely get both him and Eric killed. Leslie was always a backup, but she was off-duty and probably three beers deep at Harry's bar. I certainly didn't want to disturb her. At least not until the morning.
I resolved to talk to Leslie about it tomorrow, and sleep eventually came.
4
ARIX
I did not like this body.
Shifting allowed the Karak a significant advantage when scouting foreign star systems. A life form was sensed. The life form was scanned. The life form's biological makeup was cloned and reproduced, the photons of a Karak's body changing as fast as the speed of light. This figure, a male human figure I now knew, was distinct in the woman Jo's mind in the nanosecond before she struck me with her vehicle. It had been a natural choice for shifting.
The difficulties in shifting always arose after.
Language often came slowly. Slower still in my dazed state; these bodies were soft and brittle, as evidence by the interaction back on the road. Concussion was the word on Jo's mind. But Karak could heal faster than most, so it was only a fleeting concern, although Jo seemed worried about the remaining red residue on my skin.
Blood, the word flashed in my consciousness.
Shifting alone gave us an incredible amount of information. Sensing Jo's thoughts filled in the rest of the gaps, to use a human idiom. I could already feel myself thinking like a human.
It felt strange.
Stranger still was touching another human's thoughts. It had been easy directing Jo's impulse toward home instead of the town--town, a word implying many people all clustered in one place. Not safe. But as easy as guiding her impulses was, her mind was a jumble of thoughts and emotions and memories and desires and mating needs. It was as overwhelming as the bombardment of radio waves had been when I first exited my craft. Even then, still growing accustomed to my human form, I found my thoughts more scattered than normal. I was thinking like a human, a process which fought with my natural Karak mind.
Humans were strange indeed.
I waited until I sensed Jo had fallen asleep--humans hibernated once a day! the thought jumped into my brain, curious and excited--and rose from the couch. More alarming was the knowledge that I was not on the wrong planet. This was my original target, because these humans were clearly an advanced evolution of the species our surveys recorded 50,000 years before. How they progressed technologically in so short a time was a mystery.
And as I had thought back on the road, it meant I may be in danger.
I examined the surrounding area: living room (and fire), kitchen, hallway. Words began collecting meaning like dew on the morning grass (grass, a short vegetation.) Merely walking around was exhausting in my new body; I fought the impulse to descend back to the couch and enter sleep like Jo.
I need to get home.
The thought flashed in my head, persistent and demanding. I could not lose focus on what was important: taking greater stock of my spacecraft, finding a means of communication to one of the other Karak scouts, and getting off this planet.
But a human body had human needs.
I crawled back into the couch and pulled the blankets over my body. The warmth of the fireplace was soothing and wonderful in a way a Karak body could not experience.
Tomorrow, I would begin scouting. Learning about these humans, how to earn their trust and assistance.
Tomorrow I would begin my journey home.
5
JOANNA
"So you just... took him home," Leslie said.
"That's right."
I held my mug of coffee in both hands as I sat across from the police officer's desk. Leslie inhaled the steam from her mug and stared at a spot on the wall.
"Instead of bringing him here. Or to the clinic. Which, you know, would have been the right thing to do."
"I don't know. He was insistent I not bring him here."
"Okay," Leslie stretched the word out into five syllables. "And you didn't consider that this man may, in fact, try to harm you in your sleep?"
I gave Leslie a look. "I can take care of myself."
"You say that..."
"He seemed... harmless." I struggled fo
r the words. I almost opened my mouth to tell her that he was an exact replica of the man on the cover of the book she'd given me, but I didn't want her thinking I was crazy. I'd wait for her to see him herself.
"I dunno," I finished, waving a hand. "But those are the facts. So am I in trouble?"
Leslie chewed that over while she uncrossed and re-crossed her legs. "Whelp. You were drinking..."
"Just two!" I interjected.
"...and you said he was in the middle of the road?" She waited for me to nod. "Now, I know there was a snow last night, but I don't reckon it was falling thick enough to obscure your view of the road. And that state highway is straight as an arrow. So my question to you is: how did you not see him?"
Because he was a beam of light. Because he appeared out of nowhere. Because maybe I'm hallucinating and losing my mind.
"I don't know," was all I said.
Leslie made a show of considering what to say. "Now, it's technically not a hit-and-run since you didn't, you know, run. But the law requires you report all accidents immediately."
"You know I don't have cell service out there..."
Leslie raised a finger and said, "And at your house? It's just us, Jo, so don't get defensive. I'm not gunna throw the book at you, especially since you did the right thing by stopping. But if this fella comes to his senses, you're probably liable for damages. It'd be up to a judge, at that point. Never know who's gunna sue you these days."
"See, that's the other thing," I cut in, leaning forward on the desk. "When I first hit him, and checked on him in the road? I could've sworn his arm was wounded. That the bone was sticking out of his skin. Later I could see all the blood, and a hole in his shirt, but nothing beyond that. Not even a scratch."
Leslie shrugged. "Sometimes happens. You remember the events of a traumatic event one way, when the truth is something else. Not unusual at all."
"Okay," I sighed. "So what should I do?"
"You need to tread carefully. We'll file an official report, since you're here, but we'll still need him to sign it." She blinked. "You just left him in your cabin?"