“Is he—” I started.
“He’s dead. Shot, just like Wheelau.”
I heard the drumming of an approaching Erintie and turned in time to see a young one come to a halt.
“Ianna,” it announced.
I hadn’t had time to completely figure out the differences between the Erintie sexes, but I judged this one to be female. Its coat was lighter and it seemed to be slimmer in the hindquarters.
“Do you speak English?” I asked.
“Slight, small amount,” she said.
“There is a possibility that Boyce Coleman may have killed Wheelau and Hooth. If he comes here, we need you to tell us so we can deal with him.”
“Boyce did not kill Wheelau. Boyce was Wheelau’s friend. Boyce is my friend,” she said, as though it was a law of nature.
“We hope that Boyce is your friend, but he may not be. He might try to hurt you.”
“Boyce willn’t hurt me.”
Clearly, the Erintie were not lacking in loyalty.
Pete squatted down, so as to be on a level with Ianna. “Will you tell all the other Erintie to come tell us if they see Boyce? We need to talk to him.”
“Talk to Boyce? Want to talk to Boyce? Boyce at work. He work… works until sue, tick-tock time.”
Pete patiently said, ‘We’ve been trying to find Boyce. He isn’t at work. We just came from where he works. We thought he might be with you.”
“Is Boyce hurt? Did they hurt Boyce?”
I was about to say no in an attempt to clear up the misunderstanding, but Pete was way ahead of me and saw a way to turn her confusion to our benefit. “He may be, Ianna. We want to see if Boyce’s OK. If you see Boyce, will you come tell me? We’re really worried about him.”
Ianna was tossing her head in agitation. “Boyce hurt? Boyce may be hurt? You want me to tell you if he is hurt?”
“Ianna, I want you to come get me if you see Boyce, so that I can see if he’s been hurt. And tell all the other Erintie the same thing.”
“Tell other Erintie to tell you if Boyce is hurt,” she said.
“Tell other Erintie to tell me if they see Boyce. I’ll check to see if he’s hurt,” Pete corrected.
Ianna repeated this to make certain that she understood, then trotted off to spread the word.
We settled in around Pete’s cruiser, awaiting news. It was not long in coming. The radio spat static. Pete grabbed the microphone. No one was home at the Coleman residence. Pete asked that the officer park a block away and keep the house under surveillance, perhaps from Mrs. Airlie’s place, if she would agree.
There was nothing to do but wait. Hours passed. Curious Erintie ambled over and looked at the humans and the diminutive ET who wanted to see Boyce Coleman. With the exception of Ianna, none of them seemed to know any English, so there was little we could do.
At about six, still two or three hours until sunset, Pete started talking about a hamburger joint a few miles down the road. Martin responded by reminiscing about a steak house in the opposite direction. I gave them ten minutes to talk themselves into a state of uncontrolled salivation, then suggested, “Why don’t you go somewhere cool, wring the sweat out of your shirts, and have something to eat.”
“Both of us?” Martin asked.
All I could do was hope that the cerebral damage wasn’t permanent. “Yes, both of you. It looks as though we’re likely to be standing guard tonight and you might as well charge your batteries now, while it’s still light.”
It took another ten minutes to convince them that I could handle things, but they finally gave in. I watched them drive off, then set off on a tour of the area.
One could not have asked for a more bucolic scene than that presented by the Sun setting behind a meadow full of peaceful Erintie, quietly speaking in soft organ tones. The heat and humidity, oppressive by human standards, were a balm to my skin. Short of the Amazonian rain forest, a full-blown summer heat wave is the closest thing Earth has to the climate of my home world. In the dead of winter, my skin feels like ancient parchment. A good dose of summer swelter soothes and caresses my skin like Wanne’s touch.
As I slowly walked the perimeter of the woods, I began daydreaming of Wanne, my para, left behind on my home world when I was kidnapped by Martin’s uncle. Ah, the smooth skin of her knees, the tapering shape of her head…
Ugh.
Clearly, I’d been on Earth too long. Calling the top portion of my, or Wanne’s, body a head is a human habit. Something Martin had infected me with, no doubt.
I tried to sink back into thoughts of Wanne, but, once lost, the thread was not so easily picked up. By the time I completed my circuit of the meadow, I was in an advanced state of irritation. How dare Martin corrupt my thinking that way?
I milled around the region where Pete had parked, waiting for their return. As soon as they pulled up, I calmly walked over to the car, waited until Martin put his foot on the ground, then hauled off and kicked him as hard as I could.
No harm done, of course. The action was purely symbolic. I’m not strong enough to hurt him, and my foot is too soft to scratch or cut him.
He looked down at me, frowning. “What was that for? Did you get lonely or something?”
Pete looked over the top of the car. “Seems to me he was the one who wanted us to leave. If he got lonely, then it’s his fault.”
Martin gave me a wry grin. “What is it, Victor?”
“You’ve warped my thinking, you hairless orangutan.”
“That’s a tall order coming from a short order cook like you,” he said, reaching out to pat me on my head… my top.
“My whole way of looking at the world has been warped, and it’s your fault,” I insisted. “Why, Wanne wouldn’t even know me if she were to see me today.”
He nodded wisely. “Ahhh… Wanne. I think I see the problem. You’re suffering from a bout of homesickness.”
“I am not so too, either!”
Laughing gently, Martin said, “Victor, if I could snap my fingers and let you see Wanne, I’d do it. I just don’t know how.”
That changed my perspective immediately. If I were to regain Wanne, I’d lose Martin in the process. A hard choice, indeed. Like the line from the old song, I’d grown accustomed to his face. To have Wanne and Martin would be the best of both worlds, both literally and figuratively.
As the Sun dropped lower in the sky, there was a noticeable tendency for the Erintie to cluster towards the edges of the clearing. They were still sounding musical notes to one another as they walked, but there was a quieter tone to the overall level of conversation. By the time the Sun slipped behind the hill, they were scattering into the woods, each to their private spot.
I spotted Ianna and made my way over to where she was standing. “Have you seen Boyce?”
“I have not seen Boyce. No one I have saided… talked to has seen Boyce. Boyce has not been here.”
I thanked her and wished her a good night, then hesitantly reached out and touched her pelt. It was warm and soft to the touch. Like a horse, her skin twitched when I touched it.
“Tickles. Not bad tickle… good tickle.” She rotated her head in nearly a complete circle, something I’ve seen owls do. “Looks like sleep. We will sleep now. You will wait for Boyce? You will not sleep?”
“My species never sleeps.” How could 1 explain to a creature who had never been prey that it was the only effective way to stay alert for predators? I’ve never been able to understand how any creature on Earth sleeps. They are all prey to something.
“Tell Boyce hello,” she said, then abruptly folded her legs and sat down. She was still awake, but said no more.