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“Can you not feel the collar?” I ask the question as she climbs into bed slowly. As she does so, I note that the suit I dressed her in doesn’t seem to be appropriate anymore. I want her to wear something else. Something softer and something more comfortable.
“I can feel it,” she says with a wince.
“It should be soothing you.”
She turns around slowly and gives me a dark, pitying look. “It’s pretty hard to soothe this shit, my guy.”
“Stay there,” I tell her. “I’m going to get something to help.”
I go and I get pain relief. I go and get food. I go and get better clothing. I am not prepared for the task of taking care of a human. I have the collar, and I have the tools to contain and punish. But the pieces needed to comfort and care? They have been entirely absent from my repertoire in ways that are more than merely practical.
* * *
Stella is still in bed upon my return. She looks pale and deeply uncomfortable. It is as though the very spark has been drawn out of her. It is astonishing how much pain the human body can generate for no good reason whatsoever.
“Drink this,” I say, giving her a small cup of liquid.
She drinks it without argument, and without asking what it is.
“Gross,” she says, without any real intonation.
“It’s not pleasant, but it will work.”
“Cool,” she says, lying back on the pillows.
I am not given to feeling pity for humans, but I feel an immense amount of concern and dismay. I do wonder if my treatment of her might not have caused some of this physical fallout. Her internal organs are delicate, after all. I should have been more careful. I should have…
“Can you turn the light off?”
“Of course,” I say, immediately making the room dark.
I then stand there, not certain what else to do.
“You can go and…” her soft voice floats to me in the dark.
“I can go,” I say. “Yes. I will come back soon.”
* * *
Icome back an hour later. Or, more accurately, I stand outside the room for a human hour. I want the medicine to have time to do its job, and I don’t want to go too far in case she needs me. But she also needs time to herself.
I check in with her via the collar. It is not transmitting much in the way of data, which probably means she’s resting. Good. That’s good.
“What’s wrong? Been kicked out?”
One of the human soldiers who should not have the run of the ship walks past and throws out a disrespectful quip. I restrain the urge to crush his throat. These humans are arrogant, and Arkan is doing little to control them.
I say nothing. I lean against the wall, standing guard over my unwell mate and loathing the situation in which I find myself. Much has changed in the last twelve hours. I have learned that I am capable of bonding deeply with a human and caring about her so completely I would tolerate the indignity of being put out of my own room like a house cat. But some things have not changed. Arkan’s insistence on transporting these arrogant, dangerous, murderous humans, for instance.
“Kahn?”
The instant I hear her voice, I forget all about my other concerns. I rush into the room, where I can instantly tell she is in much less pain. She is sitting up in bed, the color has returned to her face, and her features are no longer contorted in agony.
“Thank you,” she says. “I can’t believe you made that stop. Nothing on Earth ever seemed to make that stop.”
“You need to rest. Your body is lacking sleep and several key nutrients.”
“Most people would say something like, you’re welcome.”
