by T M Roy
~~
“Povre!” Kent let out a breath of exasperation. “Damn it, don’t go getting stuck up there! Not like I can call the fire department to come and get you down,” he added to himself. Shaking his head, he moved a little farther into greening brambles to relieve himself. The sound of a car swishing past on the damp road brought anxiety until it faded away. He felt safe here. He’d always enjoyed spending some time here on his trips between Eugene and points east. This early in the season, with the Mackenzie Pass closed off, only locals passed the campground and even on holiday weekends it never drew the traffic of other areas in the vicinity.
“And you were worth the stop again,” Kent told the woodland. He tried to look at the familiar forest with new eyes. Sure, it was magnificent, but what did she see? What did she feel? She’d appeared almost to have spoken or otherwise communicated with whatever she touched, plant, rock, or soil.
“What are they telling you?” he wondered, and then shook his head at such whimsy.
But all whimsy aside, to see the beautiful reaction of Povre to this lush, fertile forest brought a sensation of deep satisfaction. Lord, how would she react to some real Pacific Northwest rainforest? To California redwoods and sequoias? He imagined taking her farther north along the coast, into Washington State, to the Olympic peninsula. How would she react to seeing the Pacific Ocean? he wondered. Smiling, he crouched to examine a cluster of mushrooms.
He jumped to his feet at the touch on his arm. “I didn’t hear you come down,” he said, turning, catching his breath at the shine in her purple eyes, the staggering smile on her face.
She flung her arms around him, stood on her toes, and glued her lips to his. Surprised at the blaze of passion flaring from her body, he automatically folded her into the protection of his arms. For a moment Kent knew what it was to be an empath. Her feelings were so strong, so clear, she could’ve shouted them aloud. He found time to think this way was much more pleasant before the full impact of her gratitude, her emotion, and her awe became his. That no matter what happened, she would carry the memory of this place—and him—forever.
* * * * *
FULL NIGHT HAD SETTLED OVER the Willamette Valley when Kent swung the van into his tiny driveway on Agate Street. He frowned at the lights burning inside his house. No cars he recognized, other than those of his neighbors, were parked nearby, and no bicycles leaned in the usual spots except for his mountain bike, which a chain tethered to the side porch. Then again, his house was never locked. Students and faculty he worked with had a standing invitation to come and go. In all the years he lived here, he never had anything stolen or disturbed. He and Lynn never felt the slightest hesitation leaving things wide open. But as he’d found out so harshly from Lynn, things changed.
“Damn it, she’d better have cleared out,” snarled Kent under his breath.
The motion-activated driveway light flared on as the van rolled forward.
Povre, in a tight little ball on the passenger side, stirred and groaned softly. Her earlier spurt of energy had faded quickly once they got underway again, and Kent’s concern over her physical state remained strong. She’d yet to speak more than single words at a time since they started traveling this morning. The total until now averaged out to one word an hour. Yes, No, Kent, okay, out, and Heaven.
On the one hand, her weakness didn’t surprise him. After that episode this morning, and running like panicked deer through the forest, the lightning trip to Bend, the harrowing hazards of the whiteout conditions and slippery roads of the Santiam Pass, even Kent felt rubbery. Despite their hour-long stopover, they hadn’t even taken the time to eat. Maybe some food would help—food and sleep. The thought of his bed brought an answering jolt of exhaustion that made his head reel.
Kent took deep, measured breaths until the feeling passed. Then he unfastened his seat belt and leaned over. “Povre, we’re home, but stay here. I’ll make sure no one’s inside.”
No one was. And the door was locked. Ken fumbled for the key he carried but never had to use since the day he moved in. There was a note on the side table just inside the door. A note in Lynn’s big, carefully scripted handwriting. It was propped up against the lamp and secured with a piece of tape.
He almost hated to touch the paper. Jeez, that’s a mature outlook for you. He shook his head. Get over it, Kent. She’s history, she can’t bother you any more. And you need to know what’s going on around here for sure.
Honey,
Kent cringed.
A few nights ago the neighborhood watch reported strangers in the area, checking houses.
“Yeah, like I’ll believe that. Since when was there a neighborhood watch?”
Since you were gone and I moved in with Jim, I thought it best to lock up and leave the lights hooked into that timer system you had in the loft. Jim helped me set it so lights go on and off at random throughout the house. I’ve been stopping by at different times, too, night and day, to water the plants and make people think the place is inhabited.
“If I find out you were doing more than that…”
Call me when you get in.
Love, Lynn
Kent crumpled the note in his fist. Fine, good, it was nice of her to do what she did to secure the house if she had to—but to call him “honey”, and sign off with “love” really churned the bile in his empty belly. What did she think? That he’d come back with flowers and a six pack of microbrew and be ready to beg her to move back in as if nothing at all happened? They’d stay buddy-buddy-good-friends after what she did to him?
“Probably. Jim doesn’t make as much as I do. He’ll make her pay her full half of rent and utilities. He’s not as big a sucker as I am.” Quickly he went to the phone. He didn’t need her stopping by with Povre here. “Jim? Kent.” He spoke tersely. “Just got in man, and I’m beat.”
“Want to talk to Lynn?”
“No!” He barely kept it from being a shout. “Tell Lynn thanks for playing security guard, that was…nice, and she doesn’t need to stop in any more.”
“Where were you, man?” asked Jim. “People were looking for you this evening. Stopped in at the lab.”
“I left notes on campus,” Kent returned. “Look, I’m—”
“Suits.” Jim sounded more interested in telling Kent about what had happened rather than listening. “Something about you getting lost in the Deschutes and they couldn’t find you where you said you’d be. You okay?”
“Suits?” Kent felt goose bumps on his body, and knew it wasn’t from the balmy fifty degrees Eugene enjoyed as opposed to the near-blizzard they’d left behind in the High Cascades.
“Suits. You know. Guys in black suits, and they weren’t Mormon missionaries. Professional security looking types. Feds. Cops. Dunno, but the types who wear suits, sunglasses, keep one hand close to their chests, and wear little plugs in their ears? You in trouble, Kent?”
Kent cleared his throat. “Look, I have to go. Thanks. Just tell Lynn not to come.”
After grabbing all the clean clothes he could carry and re-locking his house, Kent climbed into the van.
* * * * *
POVRE SAT UP. THE LOOK on his face alarmed her. She thought carefully for the words. “Kent, what is happening?”
“I don’t know what to do, Povre. Where we can go. There’s people already looking for me, us, I guess, even here.”
She gulped, searched for words, put them in correct order. “I didn’t mean to make problems.”
The bright light of the driveway floodlamp added to the sudden flash of his beautiful brown eyes. His voice, low and fierce, stirred a deep warmth in her. Oh, it was wrong, but she felt more for this human than she should. She knew to give in to her feelings was dangerous. They would lead to nothing but grief and pain. She couldn’t help it. She didn’t think she wanted to help it.
“Povre, if you say I should have left you behind, or anything dumb like that, I’ll…I’ll…”
Instead of describing his intention, he sta
rted the vehicle, whose engine sounds were just marginally less annoying than those of the helicopter.
“I’m glad to hear you had some success after that fiasco this morning,” she heard him say next. It took her a moment to fully translate the words and form another response.
“Information takes long time to assimilate.” Her head started to pound again. “My fault, this is not right for you. Running, hiding. Not right.”
“It’s not damned right for anyone to come and take you away, either, damn it, unless it’s your own people.”
“But—” Povre encouraged her exhausted brain to function.
“We’re going to get something to eat,” Kent said as if that would solve all their troubles. “You’re a vegetarian, so burgers are out…how would you like to try a veggie burrito?”
“Know many words now, Kent, but not all definitions. Understand veg-et-arian.” Her tongue stumbled. “Not burr-ito.”
A wash of vertigo nearly swallowed her as the vehicle went backwards.
“You’ll like it.”
“Trust you,” Povre heard herself say as if from a great distance. She wished again that she hadn’t been so impulsive, disobeying H’renzek’s order. She’d never been treated with the supplements her body needed during her visit. Exhaustion and hunger had a great deal to do with her current condition, but no amount of food or rest would help her for much more than a few days.
I wish we could go back to heaven, she thought wistfully.
* * * * *
SHE CAME TO IN HIS arms, wrapped in warmth. With bleary eyes she looked at more unfamiliar surroundings. A dwelling place, inside four walls. They both lay on a wide, flat, cushiony sleeping platform. It had to be one, even though it was so big and soft. Crisp material felt good and clean under her skin. The press of his body and hug of his arms was comforting.
“Kent?”
Behind her back, his chest rose and fell in a deep breath. It wasn’t hard to guess he’d dozed off.
“You fainted,” he said, his breath warm on the side of her face. “You have to eat something. We’ve both been drinking water all day, and I ate my food on the way here. You need to get up and eat now, too, then take a shower or something, and we’ll sleep.”
“Shower? Bathe? In water?” The very thought horrified her. It didn’t help to add the thought-feelings she absorbed from being in contact with him, that if she felt too tired or weak, he would carry her into the bathing room and do the job himself. Sirgels preferred somewhat of a humidified atmosphere, rich in oxygen—like she experienced in the lush forest just before—but never got soaked to the skin. Never. She never questioned why, which of course was rare for her. It just happened to be a fact of life, and her race never afforded the luxury of having water to waste in such pursuits. In space, fresh water was a carefully regulated, rationed treasure and any fresh and unrecycled was used for drinking purposes only.
A good brushing out with some lerz powder was all she needed. She didn’t have any of that aromatic cleansing substance, or a brush, but maybe she could find a substitute. Povre had no idea what getting soaking wet was like, or what might happen, and she wasn’t anxious to find out. The very thought filled her with dread.
“How else?” He chuckled, a warm sound that gave Povre energy.
“I can’t,” she said.
“You’ll feel better. But eat first. I’ll warm up your food.”
“Where we are, Kent? This is your home?”
“No, this is a motel, Povre. I got us a unit with a microwave.” He paused when she closed her eyes, wrinkled her nose, and tried to identify the new words. “I’ll define it later, I’m sure you’ll know what it is. Anyway, I didn’t think it was safe for us at my house. No more talking right now. Eat first.”
But now all the words are wanting to come out! she wanted to protest. But, he was right. Her body was protesting the lack of food over all. Over the exhaustion, the fear, and her longing for this human male to take her in his arms and…
Povre shivered as he helped her up and seated her at a little round table. She realized she wore nothing but one of his shirts.
“You took good notes before, Kent?” she asked, pulling the material between herself and the seat.
“What?” Kent raised an eyebrow.
“You took of my clothes.”
“Off,” he corrected.
“Removed my clothes,” she countered. She folded her legs before her on the chair, tucking her bare feet beneath her thighs.
“I guess did.” He placed a steaming something in front of her.
It smelled divine. He started talking to her. She had no interest in how he figured out the material of her jumpsuit and how it opened or closed itself. For the first time Povre paid no attention to him. Her entire focus centered on the alien food in front of her. Her hunger became so acute her stomach ached, but despite that she forced herself to study what she was about to devour.
The burrito, whatever it was, certainly appeared colorful: white, yellow, blue, purple. She wondered what sort of vegetable it was, if they all grew to such size—nearly two of her narrow handwidths long. How did the plant that bore it look? What did it require to grow properly? Could he get her some seeds to take back…if she went back? She picked it up. It felt strange, hot and dry. She closed her eyes as the warmth sank into her cold hands and the appealing odor assaulted her nose. It brought another painful response of hunger.
“No, stop!” Kent intevened right before Povre closed her teeth on the tantalizing morsel. “You have to take the paper off first,” he explained, slipping off the covering. “We don’t eat this part. It’s just a wrapper. Well, maybe you can eat paper, but trust me, the inside is much better without it.”
“Oh.” She had to hold back her hunger long enough to examine the burrito all over again. It had looked prettier before, but it still smelled as good. Better. She poked at the pale tough substance with dark spots that appeared to be between her and what was stuffed inside. “And this is also not to eat?”
“You can eat that. It’s like a sandwich, Povre. The tortilla is made from flour—ground up wheat berries—and water. Inside are all sorts of other vegetables: tomatoes, beans, onions, rice…all good stuff. I hope. I wasn’t sure if you could handle dairy products so I told them to leave out the sour cream and cheese, although I think those are the best parts.”
“Dairy…?” The word conjured others she had absorbed though her link with him. Milk, butter, yogurt. She had no images to match with them. She thought harder, pulling more terms into the front of her mind, searching for one to which she could connect.
Milk…lactose…mammals…babies…
“Oh!” She looked at him, hunger forgotten as the connections were made. “Human females provide…”
His mouth opened, then closed, his face darkened with a blush, and he shook his head, his lips quivering as if she upset him greatly.
“Cows,” he gasped, tears forming in his eyes. “The milk comes from cows, domesticated animals, mammalian, ruminants, grazers. There are big farms where we raise cows and they produce more milk than their babies need. It’s an important food source for many humans.”
~~
Kent kicked back in his chair and let his howls loose. He couldn’t help it. Her words, her look, brought an instant mental image of rows of placid women hooked up to milking machines, reading magazines, chatting easily, or smiling with benign expressions. Then a woman pouring her husband a cup of coffee. “Cream, dear?” she’d ask him, and when he nodded, gave him some fresh on tap.
He doubled over, clutching his belly. Exhaustion made him silly. Experienced as Kent was after years and years of all-nighters, whether cramming for exams or lost in research, or just laughing with friends, the more tired he became, the raunchier and more punchy he got. He had to stop. It wasn’t right and had he voiced his thoughts in other company he was sure he’d be getting looks of outraged resentment from any females and ones of revolted amusement from males.
“Sirgel females?” Ken wiped at his eyes and hooted again.
Povre’s deep, husky chuckle warmed the room. “No, Kent. Obtained milk from animals. When mother’s milk failed.”
“Oh.” He cleared his vision in time to see her take a healthy bite. As she chewed, a look of bliss came over her delicate face and a purely sensual sound formed in her throat. Not as strongly as her experience in the Willamette forests, but pretty close, enough for Kent to feel a surge of response. He mentally cataloged watching an alien eat a burrito alongside watching an alien hugging a tree.
“You like it then? Good. I got three of them, so there’s more if you’re still hungry.”
Her reply was lost in her next bite.
He groaned. He kept telling himself to resist his increasing urges, but her unconscious sensuality, her raw, almost erotic pleasure in such simple things, was going to be the death of him if he watched any longer. “I’m going to take a shower while you eat or I’m going to lose any control I have. Then it’s your turn.”
Either she ignored him or was so engrossed in her food she didn’t hear. Kent smiled, picked up some clean clothes, and went into the bathroom, while thinking of buying stock in the taco place if the word got out their seven-layer burrito, minus a few layers, was the rage among visitors from outer space.
“Well, if she ends up staying, she’d be guaranteed a career in advertising,” he muttered. “All they need is a fifteen second shot of Povre, and they’d be fixed well into the next millennium.”
Inserting himself in the blissfully hot spray, he sighed in pleasure. “Thank you, Lord.” As much as he loved the outdoor life, he loved coming home to hot showers just as much. The needling heat of the spray tempted him to linger, but the thought of leaving Povre out of his sight or reach for too long brought premonitions of disaster. So he grabbed the tiny bar of motel soap and started scrubbing.