Death in Winter - Michael Jan Friedman [7]
“We’ve found a number of them,” Zippor announced, “on what appears to be their command bridge. Stand by.”
Beverly’s heart began to race, her curiosity about the aliens’ ship giving way to an even deeper curiosity about the aliens themselves. Sensor data could go only so far in describing a life-form. It couldn’t say much about the life-form’s appearance, and it certainly couldn’t say how it was likely to behave.
Abruptly, the ruined hatch door swung open. As Beverly moved closer to get a better look, Zippor began lowering a survivor to Xarota and the other colonists.
The alien was covered with a hide of beautiful white fur. It was evident on all the exposed parts of her body, even her face. Still, there was something about her that gave Beverly the impression that she was a female.
If the alien had any injuries, they weren’t easy to spot. However, she seemed to be in great pain-unable to move, speak, or even breathe without grimacing.
The colonists placed their charge on a stretcher. Then they left the web of light and carried her to one of the suborbital vehicles, Doctor Baroja-a tall, gray-haired man who was the colony’s only trained physician-walking alongside them and running a tricorder scan of the victim. Beverly could barely make out the expression on Baroja’s face in the darkness, but it seemed to contain as much surprise as concern.
“What is it?” asked Tan, the colony’s senior geologist.
Baroja frowned. “She’s got a virus-nothing we haven’t seen before. But her species must be vulnerable to it, because it’s eating her alive.”
Then the alien was tucked into the suborbital craft, where Beverly could no longer see her. By then, Zippor had begun lowering another survivor to his colleagues.
The girl felt a familiar hand on her shoulder-that of her grandmother. “Why don’t you see what you can do to comfort the injured?” Felisa Howard asked. “They’re bound to be a little scared.”
Part of Beverly wanted to stay and see the rescue effort. However, she had come to help, not to gawk.
“I’m on it,” she told her grandmother, and made her way to the suborbital vehicle into which the first survivor had been deposited.
Doctor Baroja was making the alien comfortable in a seat that had been tilted all the way back. Up close, in the even blue light of the cabin, Beverly could see that she had been wrong about that pure white coat. It actually had a couple of black streaks in it.
“Can you look after this one?” Baroja asked, his blue eyes as intense as the girl had ever seen them.
“That’s what I’m here for,” she said.
The doctor smiled and said, “There you go.” Then he went to help with the other victims.
Beverly hunkered down beside the alien. There was something about the look in her startling multicolored eyes, something that connected with the girl.
“What’s your name?” Beverly asked.
“Jojael,” came the reedy, barely audible response. The alien extended her hand. “Help us…”
Beverly accepted the heavily furred appendage. It felt both softer and warmer than she had expected. “You’ll be all right,” she told the alien as convincingly as she could.
But she had no idea if her assurance would hold water.
Beverly stood in the soft illumination of the medical dome, among a handful of other colonists, and watched Zippor fold himself into the chair beside Jojael’s bed.
Up until then, it had been Beverly’s place to sit there, keeping the alien company as she had in the suborbital craft. But when Zippor said he had some questions for Jojael-the first of the crash victims to be treated, and therefore the one in the best shape to provide answers-the girl had been happy to move aside.
“How are you feeling?” the colony administrator inquired of their guest.
Jojael shifted her weight in her bed. “Better than before,” she said, her voice a good deal stronger since the painkillers took effect. It sounded like rocks rubbing together. “Your Doctor Baroja has been most generous.”
Zippor smiled.