Starfish

Three

"More anti-Dreen protests erupted in the capital today," a human announcer stated on the screen, her short blonde hair lacquered into place and her pale face made harsh under the studio lights. "Many are calling it 'existential unrest' following the tanker incident at the Port of Dreenai on the Dreen planet where several hundred died and hundreds more were injured. Experts say that these protests originate from people unnerved by the idea of extraterrestrial life, namely ideological extremists claiming 'divine humanity' from their religious figures. Dreen authorities declined to comment, and tensions on Earth remain high."

Ardus turned off the screen, irritated. Humans, what a bizarre people. He sat in the dark of his apartment, alone, unable to erase the image of a particular human from his mind. Also, he could not wipe away the sensation of her skin from his hand, the one he'd used to set her on her feet - again - hours before. Leaning his head back on the low couch, his long legs thrown out before him and his arms crossed over his stomach, Ardus listened to the sound of waves coming in through his open windows.

It was a fine night, the moon was dark and the stars shone on the waves and turned the world into an endless sea studded with chips of ice and diamonds. He heard night creatures scurrying around on the roof, their soft sounds familiar. Looking to his left he gazed out the wide glass wall that led out to the ocean, thinking about the water. He hadn't gone night-swimming in...how long had it been? But it was inadvisable to do so, so long as his bioluminescent pores remained dark. Most sea creatures avoided a Dreen's colors, their status as apex predator of Dreenai well-established millions of years before Ardus's birth. Without them he was a sitting water-runner for screamers, flashers, drybacks and the odd Dreen boatman fishing at night.

Ardus's head rolled back to stare at the ceiling. If he closed his eyes he could see her, could smell her, feel her in his hands as he set her upright. She weighed so little, her body so small and fragile compared to what Ardus was used to. He reached for the glass on the side table and took another swallow of his drink, letting the chemical burn of fermented white foam algae sear his tongue and gullet. After a few of these he felt less upset about his thoughts and more relaxed, more easily distanced than he had in the moment when her soft, bronze skin had been under his fingers. Then he had been anxious, confusedly staring at her while she gathered the things she had dropped, all the while knowing he should have stooped and helped her but instead stood watching her like a useless idiot.

He looked at his hand, at the leathery palm and claw-tipped fingers with their short webs and knuckles crisscrossed with small scars and darkened pores. He knew how it looked to be the only Dreen without light, to be the darkest face in a room, to sit alone in his apartment with nothing to do except listen to waves he couldn't touch until sunrise. Speaking of touching... Human women are so strange. Their faces, their bodies, nothing at all like a Dreen. There is just so much. Hair, eyes, curves...

He breathed deep, pulling in cool salt air and expelling it all in an explosive sigh. Those curves were what bothered him the most, the impression that no matter where he looked, there was something to look at. Her soft cheeks, her brown shoulders, the line of her neck, her impossibly round hips and thighs and... He drained his glass and flopped sideways on the couch, flat on his back. The room rocked slightly. No more white foam tonight, he thought. It would be hard enough to sleep as it was, staring up into the dark with the images burned into his brain forcing themselves to the front of his thoughts. I am too old for this, been dark too long. I should go to bed. But if he did that, morning would come sooner and he would have to go into that office and be near her. A part of him liked that, liked it very much. He could go and look and watch how her body moved in those strange human clothes she wore. There was some kind of skirt, one that encased her legs from her knees up to her waist. She'd been wearing a dark blue one in the marketplace when he'd found her and her ruined dinner on the sand.