Indentured (Book 2 of the Dana Halliday series)

SPRECHEN SIE DEUTSCH? EXTRA ICKY. UNASTOUNDED.

I stopped short. The Earther was a man, probably close to my own age, wearing a long-sleeved t-shirt and shabby blue jeans. He sat upon the floor, cross-legged with his hands resting on his knees, and didn't move a muscle when Wys and I entered.

"Hello?"

The man didn't respond. He gazed straight ahead in a vacant way, as if sleeping with his eyes open. I imagined little flying toasters drifting across his face. 

I tried again. "Um, hey there, are you okay?" On his shirt, quite faded, was a Velvet Underground album cover, the one with the Andy Warhol banana.

Wys sighed. "I was hoping the presence of a female might...wake him up."

"Maybe if I were a Playboy model." I shrugged. "Or a Playgirl model, if he swings that way." The Kerr didn't reply. "What's his story?"

"I don't know. He was brought on board several weeks ago, but he hasn't said a word, nor responded to any questions. He appeared to be ill when he first arrived—there was quite a bit of vomiting and he refused food—but he seems better now. He can react violently to painful stimuli, though, so be careful."

I didn't feel like asking what she meant by painful stimuli. "He'll eat? Drink?" Now I felt like a vet again.

"Yes, and attend to hygienic matters when given the opportunity. Everything that you might call...habitual behavior. Otherwise, this."

"Huh." I pulled on a fresh pair of gloves—I certainly didn't want whatever had caused this guy's hurl-fest—and knelt in front of him. "Hi there, sir. I'm Dana. Just going to take a look at you, don't freak out. What's his name?"

"Crae Kez did not supply that information."

The Earther only continued gazing forward, blinking occasionally, and looking through me as I studied his face. It was an agreeable face to study, even unplugged as it was: good cheekbones, great skin, fantastic lips under sexy stubble. He would have a killer smile, I thought. He was pale, but it was the familiar pallor of fair-skinned humans with little access to sunlight and not enough vanity to use a tanning bed. His eyes were a true, cool gray, like water on a bright but cloudy winter day; his hair was sandy blond, moderately shaggy and mussed but clean. I felt an irrational urge to smooth it.

I mentally shook myself a little and waved my hand at his face. He blinked, but that was it, no consciousness entering the eyes. His pupils were equal and normally responsive. He didn't appear dehydrated. His breath as I cautiously lifted his lip wasn't great, but it looked like he was brushing his teeth along with the other hygienic actions. For that matter, he'd probably shaved sometime in the last few days based on the length of the stubble. He'd had good dental care, and his gums were a healthy pink.

I steeled myself for a violent reaction and pinched his lip between my gloved fingernails.

Instead of going all Cujo on me, the man reached up and just batted my hand away from his mouth. It was a quick motion, and there was a deliberate, motorized quality to it that reminded me of something that I couldn't place.

I looked over my shoulder at Wys, who was leaning on the door. "Yeah, I see how scary he is."

She appeared puzzled. "Perhaps it's because you're an Earther. Don't jest, he's very strong."

Yes, likely she was right about that. I estimated he'd be about six feet tall on his feet, maybe a smidge taller. He was of medium build, and muscular enough under his shirt to say that he had good genes and did something physically active, but it wasn't the disproportional bulginess of a gym rat. I thought he probably could use those muscles in an impressive way when he was motivated.