"After Roswell" by A.H. Roberts (top 100 books to read txt) 📕

to test the limits of this machine to see the power these humans have. Even by these humans standard I doubt this machine is from this present time. Its more primitive as the combusion slows down from my exertion on the machine. Labor efforts begin as my physical strength is put into action. Now I have to push the machine back to its original spot. Some of my people are born with strength or mental attributes, I'm rare I have both. I push the two tonnellates, or tons, of machine back to were it was at before. I will secretly assist the masculone with repairs the following day. I return back to the confines of my quarters. Tired from the walk and pushing the machine. I fall back into my straw bed cover, staring at the ceiling. I'm able to see some light peeking through the cracks in the roof. Wondering if that star is the one I call home? I have only been on the home world for about hundred years of my thousand year life cycle. Always feeling empty space, not knowing the ones around you. When I return from an exploration my arrivals are not long visits. Just delivering reports from my missions is the only reason on my world. Most of the time I would always be reporting to a new higher command above me. I never questioned about what happen to my previous superior. Usually promotion, death, and exile had the most part to do with a new face of command. I only had one superior who lasting in the position for some of my missions. He would always brief me about the lastest stories circulating around when I was gone. Sometimes he gave me information about my son, informing me on his status. My son join the Colonial Army when I was on a exploration some time back. Since the departure to travel here it's been years since I've talked to my former commander, retiring after a previous mission. So remarkable how the memories that fizzle inside your mind could induce sleep. Dreaming about those times I tried to forget.
New day rising as I'm learning much about these humans since arriving, or crashing on their planet. I became inept to look more suitable to their image. I start to wear their attire that I snatch from Koiras's quarters. Even extracting useful DNA to bind with my code. If my body accepts the code. I'll molt into human form within considerable amount of time. Helps with diplomatic affairs and research if we blend in with the population. A evolve technique only explorers like me inherit. This transformation is temporary. So I can molt back once I meet with the scientific personel back home. At this time the procedure is on stand-by. I have taken the DNA for data and plan to summit the strand to my superiors. They'll clone some kind of representative for future contact when the time is right. I don't have much intent to become human right now. It seems at the thought of being human is waiting for downfall. How many cultures were eliminated to perserve just one idea and purpose? Bloodshed and war have intregated their socities into becoming dominate over another. Stealing resources or ebolishing another culture from existence. When stretching to limber up for a new day I view Koiras enter the machine, trying to engage the combusion inside. My playful amusement for learning just interrupted this masculones way of life. Like promise I will repair the machine, because I need it as much as he does. His resources become my resources. Feeling of symbolic relationship as merge our species together exchanging information mentally between. He has no idea. But I feel his emotions and the pain he endures. Lately signs of the disease is slowly decreasing his lifespan. With no medical advice or attention I doubt he knows his condition. Even on his home world he is isolated and alone. How can you live like that? Rare occassions I slipped him some meds in his meals. To get data about him he has become my patient without his knowing. I've overlapped are concepts of math, time, and dimensions to calculate his expiration........three months to live.


Chapter 3
"Making Contact"

Much information has been gather over the past two months on my neighbor. His movements, routines, and different contacts he has met in town. Because of my knowledge on their language, I overheard his contact, or friend refer to him as Hank. Hank sounds more human. Better name I gave him earlier and its better to refer to him as Hank instead of masculone. Every day draws closer to the point of exposing myself to him. He can learn new knowledge from me, at least gain a education so we can approve are diplomatic relation. With little time to spare it's possible that he might get some answers before he dies. That he could die knowing he had someone looking out for him. These so-call "friends" don't know Hank like I know him. His history and complications for the life he lives has been detailed to me. Still there is something that bothers him? A tramactic experience that he buries deep inside. Hasn't occured to me that its been weeks since I've seen Hank walking about the property. No trips to the town and his animals have shown signs of being neglected. Clothes and accessories will disguise my features so I can tend to his duties he has ignored. Feed the livestock, pick up waste, and tending to the landscape. With the duties finished I approach the steps toward the hatch or so I've learned to call a "door". I enter the house not knowing what to expect but in desperate need to see if he is alright. Entering the living room I hold breath to the rotten smell of food left in the open. Next I enter the kitchen to find it more of mess then usual. Dust and dirt are visible which indicates its been awhile since he has been down here. I have been curious to check up on him but afraid earlier to enter. Some distance has been put between us because of my research, not even realizing if he had came out of his house. It rises a feeling when something isn't right, our minds have been disconnected which gave me the feeling. With more investigating it doesn't reveal Hank is down here. I turn my head facing straight up to his room. There is a heedful moment to go any further. I remember his primitive weapon I discovered during my investigation. Start to second guess my decision to leave his weapon. My hand wraps around the grip of my blaster preparing for a stand-off if necessary. Not knowing these humans well enough it points a different perspective about Hank at this moment. He might be waiting for me to walk up the stairs? Putting an end to the mission and my life.
I head upstairs viewing the corrider. I realize the waste room were Hank does his personal business is left adjourn. That room is never left open? I begin to compute a different image. Maybe there is an intruder? Hank could be hurt? I enter the waste room to find blood covering the sink, like Hank had succumb to a nasty cough that produce vomitting. Not a good sign. Recent research has indicated he is suffering from a deadly type of cancer. Possible inhalation of cigarettes have produce this disease? Still not sure why one would engage in a activity of pleasure to only suffer future medical complications? No intel on dangers of "smoking" available to them? As I turn around, making my way to Hank's room. I feel the sudden discomfort to the knowledge of my only friend on this rock might be dead as I enter. The door isn't shut all the way as I push open to view Hank lying on the bed. Blood stained pillow underneath his head. Sheets covered with blood lay over his body. A horrific scene resembling one of there stories I've read. He shows life as his chest cavity rises with breath. My cloths masked my appearance in his weaken state as I examine him up close. My first face to face encounter with my friend Hank. I pull some meds from my pack and inject Hank to lessen his pain and discomfort. He shows minimal improvement and I move the stained sheets and pillow from around him. His face is pale with signs of a fever, as sweat is visible peering from his pores. Shakes in his body gives rise to the medical knowledge of infection running through his body. Prognosis of the situation looks grim. I doubt Hank can even live another night in this condition. If I hadn't showed up at this moment he surely be dead within the next hour or so. My arrival has spared him for now. I take a temperature reading spiking over the normal range with the possibility of causing him to seizure. With the foreign medicine I gave him earlier my meds might not work well enough for his human body. I'm taking a sample of his blood to accurately count his T-cells production. It could give me direction of medical treatment on the aliment. Got to be something in my pack that might work? (Blood test completed). Not a good count in his blood, meaning the T-cells are not fighting the infection to the point of stability. Going through my utility pack I find a dose of anti-viral meds that could do the trick. After he takes the meds I will clean his face and the area around him so the environment is decontaminated from germs. A contaminated area could cause further complications at his weaken state.
Returning to the waste room I find a towel to wipe clean his face and return his dignity. I enter back into the room. I unbutton his shirt, putting a clean one on that was hung over the chair. As I'm cleaning him up his eyes flutter, trying to focus on the figure that is treating him. Soon shock reveals in his eyes as my appearance surfaces from the disguise I wear. He is too weak to escape or hurt me at his frighten level. I cover Hank with a warming/cooling gel to eradicate the virus. I pull my blaster from the holster. Setting it to the lowest level. I can't guarantee it will work, but a small dose of radiated protons could minimize the cancerous tumor. Aiming at his chest area, I place the laser-sight on the spot where the tumor is located. I pull the trigger, zapping him with a stream of protons. X-ray scan of his insides shows some improvement. After treating him. I notice his deameanor becomes relaxed to the point his feeling of me is non-hostile. I think he had some knowing of my existence? Because of extreme intoxication he could of thought I was a illusion when he spotted me and discover things missing. But that was the best way to approach him. During his intoxication from the liquid consumption. I was able to move more freely around him. On many occassions he had the feeling I was watching him. Since the time he barged into the barn he hasn't been back to investigate. They say the mind can play tricks on you. I'm sure Hank was thinking the same. He begins to fall asleep. So to gain strength for our first conversation. Treatments I gave him has extended his life for the time being. Right now I'll let him rest until next day. Hopefully he survives from the blood lost that occur earlier in the waste room? I pull a chair along side his bed, watching him struggle for every breath. Coughing and slight tremors will persist