Hope

THIRTEEN: Damaged Goods

Three days later, and no one has mentioned the near-death experience with the boons. I haven't seen Avørek since he helped fix my broken bones, and Aliston is as non-existent as ever. I did notice that the fridge had been re stocked with fresh groceries, but I'm not sure who went out and purchased them. It definitely wasn't me, and Caster was avoiding going anywhere near the front door.

Miraculously, a stack of clothes and other items had made their way into my room over the last few days. I now own a collection of books, two new pairs of shoes that are the correct size, and some paints.

The book is something I'll probably never really be able to use, but it's the thought behind the item that counts. I'm not about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"Caster, try not to flick the paint at me!" I laugh, wiping the splatter of yellow from my cheek.

The little blue-eyed alien squeals in delight, ignoring me as she somehow manages to flick both me and her with the paint. I don't think Caster's ever seen paint before, so it doesn't surprise me that she is over the moon with the art medium.

"Sorry!" She grins, showing off her crooked smile.

I gently pat her head, which has been pulled into a few pigtails to keep the paint as far away from her hair as possible.

Giving Caster something to do other than the usual chores seemed like a good idea. Besides, today has been a good day so far. Everything has gone smoothly, Lavere woke up in a good mood, and my ribs are finally starting to not ache so much.

"What're you painting?" I ask, reaching over to wipe a bit of spit from Lavere's lip.

The little baby is floating next to our spot in the kitchen in a portable crib. Caster found it yesterday so now I don't have to carry the baby alien around anymore. He just floats behind me as I go about my day helping Caster with laundry or cooking or whatever it is that needs to be done.

Caster hums, tilting her head to the side to take in her masterpiece. When I say masterpiece, I mean the scrap piece of paper he stole from Aliston's office looks more like the artwork of a six-year-old. I'm not judging, but it is a little concerning that she seems to struggle to even hold a paint brush correctly. Did no one teach her how to write?

"Well," she begins, using her paintbrush to point. "This is garden, and- and this is Emery!" She points to an oddly shaped blue splodge, a happy grin on her lips.

"It's beautiful!" I exclaim. "We can stick it to the fridge when you finish it if you'd like."

Her entire face lights up at the news, cheeks flushing dark orange as I compliment her work. I laugh, turning back to my own painting. I didn't get very many colours, but there were enough to create some sort of sunset. I'm no artist, but it is nice to let the brush glide over the paper in streaks of colour.

I hadn't realised it before, as I was too distracted by Caster's paint flicking, but my painting resembles that of the view from the old shack I used to stay in. The one with splintered floorboards that cut up my feet and a glassless window that looked out into the back alley of a pawnshop. It wasn't much, but it had the most amazing view of the sunset every night. You couldn't directly see it, but the sunlight would hit the pawnshop window at the right angle, showering the little shack in hues of gold and pink.

"Emery?"

I blink out of the memory, turning to face Caster who is now sporting a red streak across her nose.

"Sorry, uh, I was just daydreaming." I grin at her, lifting a thumb to try and rid her face from the colour.

She reciprocates my gesture with a soft bubbling hum that projects itself from her chest. I'm still a little lost when it comes to alien noises, but I think this her way of saying thanks.

"Emery."

I drop my hand from her face, shifting my body so that I can see Aliston standing by the open doorway, his face devoid of emotion.

I swallow hard. "Yes, Mr. Mirker?"

He takes a gliding step forward, stepping into the kitchen to let his eyes wander over the paints spread across the table and to Lavere who is nodding off in his crib.

"I would like to have a word with you in my office. If that is okay?"

Caster turns to face him as well this time, her eyebrows creasing in the middle.

Aliston straightens his back. "Alone."

"Uh, sure. Sure, I can come now." I drop my paintbrush in the glass of water.

Maybe he'd finally found out about the grocery shopping incident. Is that the sort of thing that will get me fired?

The walk up the stairs to Aliston's office is quiet, which doesn't help the nerves that are slowly building in my stomach.

Aliston gestures for me to entire the dimly lit room first. I nervously smile, stepping into the room and taking a reluctant seat in the blue fur chair. I clear my throat, folding my hands in my lap before shifting and deciding to tuck them under my thighs.

"What is it that you wanted to talk about with me?" The question comes out squeaky.

Aliston rounds his desk, gracefully seating himself and staring at me for a moment before sighing. "It has come to my attention that I have not informed you of Caster's condition."

Condition?

"I apologise for not informing you when you first arrived, I have no excuse." He looks uncomfortable as he says this, as if apologising isn't something he does very often.

"Uh, that's okay?" I say, not sure how to react.

He leans forward, clasping his hands on the desk. "Caster is not like other Alenorians. He suffers from what you humans call a brain injury."

"A brain injury?" I suppose that makes sense. He is rather clumsy, and he behaves nothing like Avørek or Aliston. Not to mention his struggle with his speech.

Aliston purses his lips, flicking a piece of lint from the tabletop. "Yes. Humans did not take the colonisation of this planet very well. There have been many attempts to sabotage our efforts to improve life on Earth. Unfortunately, Caster was caught in the crossfire."

"What- what happened?" My stomach twists with the thoughts of what could have happened to little Caster.

He's so sweet and kind. Who would ever want to try and hurt him? He's one of the least threatening aliens I've ever met.

"There was an explosion in one of the transportation tunnels." He says this so nonchalantly, I have to pause for a moment to let it sink in.

"What?" I squeak. "How- what do you mean an explosion?"

Aliston frowns. "The tunnel collapsed due to a planted bomb. Many humans and Alenorians were killed."

How did I not hear about this? I knew that there were people opposed to aliens coming to Earth, I was one of them, but I didn't realise they had started attacking people. It doesn't matter what species you are; violence never ends well. Have humans not learnt anything from our past?

"Caster was to be sent back to Alenour when he did not recover. I decided to keep him here, with me."

"But-but," I sputter. "You have all that technology; wouldn't it have been better if he went home? To the planet with all the fancy technology to heal him. I- I mean, Avørek fixed my broken arm with just a press of a button!"

Aliston takes a sharp breath as my voice rises, his eyes twitching in what I think is annoyance. "Caster's injuries could not be fixed, and it is Alenorian culture to rid ourselves of those who are no longer of use."

"What?" My jaw drops open in shock, face turning a pasty white as the blood drains from my face. "You mean you- you just- you—"

"We dispose of the weak and damaged. As is customary of my species."

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I hope you guys don't mind that I interchange Caster's pronouns. Primarily Caster is seen as a 'he' as his physical shifts from male to female aren't that often. If you're confused let me know and I can explain in depth.