Touch of the Elegrian by Cheryl A. Arko

Erys stood in the hospital room’s doorway, every muscle rigid. He’d arrived early, expecting to slip in quietly to take the system readings while the child slept. But, silent and alone, the sick little girl watched him from the bed with shimmering eyes. Purple bruises mottled her face. A red line ran a jagged path from her delicate nose to her dry lips. The stark-white sheet quivered as her small body trembled.

His throat tightened. Maybe he should come back later. It’d be much better for the child to remain unaware of his presence. It’d be better for him too. Not having to deal with the staring or the questions about who he was. Or the judgment.

But no. His job here—this job—should be routine. Easy. At least as easy as anything could be that brought an Elegrian to the foundation colony of the human Alliance on Loridan. Regardless, there was nothing ordinary about the suffering before him. He straightened his uniform jacket and crossed the threshold.

“Zhaaaaa…” He crooned words of comfort in the ancient language of his own people. It didn’t matter that the child was human and he was not—the melody of solace was universal. Besides, he should look human enough to the youngster. The one protein distinguishing his physiology from human was not outwardly visible. The only alien race either Elegrians or humans had encountered was each other, and in appearance they could be next-door neighbors.

The child’s shaking calmed. Her warm response encouraged him.

Brisk steps brought him to the girl’s bedside. Hidden under the covers, the bio-bed’s myriad sensors recorded enough infinitesimal measurements to enable Loridan’s treatment system to cure nearly any affliction. Or would have, if the complex network had not been broken. Loridan’s human techs could not figure out how to regenerate the Intelligent Data which gave the system its power. That was why he was here. Convoluted data issues—living data issues—were his specialty.

He crouched, pulled a sterile wipe from the dispenser, and gently cleaned the blood from the child’s face. “There. Better?” He pronounced the words carefully. The harder he tried, the more the liquid trill of his accent became exaggerated. He hoped she understood him.

Her eyes widened at the sound of his voice. “Are you a doctor?”

She spoke in a whisper, but her plea pinged loud and clear on his psychic senses. “No, shimwa.” He searched his memory for the translation. “Little one.” Deliberately, he relaxed his expression. “I’m here to help your doctors. To repair their equipment, so they can help you get better.” He reached out a finger to dab the wetness from her cheeks.

Her eyes followed his hand, and she stared at his uniform sleeve. At the insignia displayed prominently along with those of rank and division. He recognized the shadow of understanding that darkened her expression. He’d seen it before.

She recoiled, and a sob shook her frail form.

He had no words in any language to relieve this fear.