During the night, I sleep on the floor next to her bed. Well, not really sleeping—just trying to. It had taken tremendous effort to drag her to the bathroom, then hoist her into bed, and I don’t even want to comment on the ordeal of cleaning her. Steve said that if I handled the intervals right, her body would start to recognize the pattern, and she’d be able to relieve herself in time. So now I stay close during the night, and whenever I notice her stirring at dawn, I need to get her to the toilet. Oh dear. I’m already dreading it. She’s heavier than me, you know.
From my biology lessons at the library, I’ve learned that Manides aren’t much different from humans, though they’re remarkably stronger. Genetically, there’s nothing extraordinary about their physiognomy, but their strength builds over time, thanks to their slightly longer legs and that one extra freely swaying joint. When they move their paws, the moment of force is much greater than with human feet, and their entire body—neck, arms, everything—has to compensate for that movement. As a result, their muscles learn early how to counterbalance the force, and Manide children grow up far more physically trained. Over time, this builds an impressive amount of muscle mass. It’s like humans growing up with heavy weights strapped to their legs; we’d adapt eventually, and our bodies would become stronger for it. But more muscle means more weight—and that’s what I’m dealing with here: a woman who’s much sturdier and heavier than me.
For the first time, I’m in her room. I’ve only seen glimpses of it before when I’d peeked through the door. There’s a wooden shelf stacked with large, thick books, a desk with a chair, some kind of computing device, and writing supplies neatly arranged. Next to the table is a small cabinet with papers stacked on top. Everything is orderly and neat, but there’s also clear evidence that she works on something daily. It’s remarkable that she owns books. As far as I can tell, that’s not very common. Maybe I should sneak a peek inside one? I can’t read the language, but there might be pictures.
At dawn, I realize I must have finally dozed off. The night was short—maybe four hours? I sense her stirring and jump to my feet. I don’t want to clean her again. Apart from the awkwardness of it, I’m not sure she wouldn’t kill me if she woke up and found out I’d cleaned her bottom.
I can’t lift her fully, so I have to drag her, her legs trailing on the floor. The toilet task works out, and, honestly, I’m a little proud of myself. Maybe I’ll tell her later. Then again, I’m not sure whether my success would impress her or horrify her. Best to keep it to myself. I give her some water, brush her teeth, and manage to feed her a protein-rich pap for breakfast. It all works out. Her body’s basic functions are holding up, just as Steve said they would.
Some might think this is all an act of hers, but it’s not. I can feel her muscles slack under my hands, her head tilting dangerously at times. No human—and no Manide—could fake this condition for so long. By midday, I’m already exhausted. After lunch and another trip to the toilet, I lay her back in bed and collapse onto the floor, aiming to catch an hour of rest. But I can’t sleep.
My mind starts to wander, and suddenly, I remember how she carried me through the jungle after I’d been poisoned by that little critter. She’d been so worried about me, and I hadn’t really noticed it at the time. Now, when I rewind the situation, I see it in a completely different light.
Another thought hits me—today I couldn’t keep up her eating ritual. I was so overwhelmed, so focused on preparing the right pap for her, that I’d just piled everything onto one single dish. I’m so sorry for that. I wasn’t as reliable as she would have been. She did not notice, of course, not in that state. But she had once told me what the ritual was about: training yourself to be reliable, even when no one is watching.
And she always lived by that. Who knows what she could have done to me when I was alone with her in the house? I’m her property, after all, and no one was watching. Okay, there’s Steve, and there are the villagers, but I only know them because she never hid me away. She treated me with the same care and decency when we were alone as she did when others were around. She was proper—always proper—no matter who was watching.
Slowly, I’m beginning to understand how the *discussion of the unseen* has a practical impact on quality of life. Sure, it’s still an atrocity that I’m a slave, no doubt about that. But do I even know how and why it’s this way? Steve once said that you need to look closely at things, even when you despise them. Like that damn clause certificate. And Kehan—right, her name is Kehan—she’s tried several times to convince me to translate that paper. But I ignored her. I didn’t want to acknowledge something that manifests my slavery. Though… what if there’s something written on it that I need to know? *What if?*
Well, the hour is over, and I need to get up. My brooding has spoiled my sleep again. Another round to the toilet awaits, then I’ll get her some water and a small snack, and after that, I need to massage her paws. Steve said the best way to wake her up is kneading the paws—it activates the cardiovascular system and stimulates the nerves.
So, after hoisting, dragging, heaving, stumbling, and pulling, I manage to get her onto the couch in the living area of the kitchen. I lay her down, unwind her paws, and peel back the tightly wrapped cloth. Until now, I still haven’t been able to figure out which animal Manides’ paws resemble most. They’re furry like a cat’s paws, but without claws. Then, suddenly, it hits me: rats. They’re quite close to rat paws.
I sit on a stool beside her, my back turned to her, and carefully lift her lower leg onto my lap. Her huge paw fits conveniently into my hands as I wiggle and stretch each of her toes. It works surprisingly well. After all the hoisting and heaving, this job feels like a vacation. It’s ironic, really—how the most specific task, something you’d only ever need to do for a Manide in this condition, is the easiest. I could do this for hours. But at best, I only have half an hour before I move on to the next task in the daily schedule.
While I rub her toes and the soft surface of the paw, my mind starts to wander again, and I can’t stop the tears. Somehow, in every situation here, there’s a constant reminder that she’s broken now. Not a word from her. Soon, dinner will come, and there will be no talks, no conversations. And I suddenly realize how much I miss watching her walk through the house. She’s so elegant, so powerful, with her wide, confident strides that always baffle me. And she’s always so focused, so intent on what she’s doing. It’s grace. *What she’s got—that’s grace.*
Now, there’s no grace at all. Just her body. Just Kehan—locked away somewhere distant, trapped in whatever world her mind has wandered to. How do I get her back?
Then, suddenly, an idea strikes me. On Earth, people often read to patients in her condition, don’t they? Maybe I can do the same for her this evening.
The evening procedures pass quickly. I’m so busy the whole time that the effort for each step barely registers anymore. Finally, I get her to bed properly. Exhausted, I stand in front of her bed while she lies there with her eyes wide open. They’ll close on their own eventually—I know. Well, so this is the moment when I can start reading to her. But what? Her language? I can’t read the complicated stuff in her tiny library. So instead, I grab my Manide language exercise book. With a stool, I sit down next to her bed and search through the pages.
“Okay, uhm, I’ll read to you now. And, uhm, maybe my bad Manidian will wake you up. I’m sorry—it’s going to be dull because I’m still a beginner. So, uhm, listen closely... Raza-hem, raza-hen, raza-he, raza-his, raza-ses, raza-ten...”
Well, that’s not very creative—I’m just working through the conjugations of “to be sleeping” in the present tense. What’s next? Oh right.
“I guess you’ll like this one: Io ese mereti. Dan lo eset mereti. Steve lo es mereti...”
It’s not the most elegant Manidian she’s ever heard, but going through the forms—I’m an idiot, you’re not an idiot, Steve’s not an idiot—might still qualify as interesting literature to her after everything that happened. After a few more attempts at stringing together sentences without major grammar errors, I conclude my little lecture with, “Good night, Kehan.”
Suddenly, I hear a quiet snicker behind me. Startled, I turn around. Standing in the doorway is Steve!
“Oh dear, how long have you been standing there?”
He grins. “Long enough to hear the interesting part. You need to work on your prose, though, buddy.”
Groaning, I return his ironic grin and get up. “Do you want something to drink?”
“No, no thanks. Actually, I thought I might drag you away from here for an hour. You need a change of scenery. Apparently, you did a marvelous job today—as far as I can see. Care to go to the pub and grab a beer?”
“A beer!? You guys have beer?”
“Why yes, it’s not exactly a secret.”
Oh dear, why hadn’t I noticed that? Probably because I can’t read the bottles at the market, and I just buy whatever Kehan tells me to. So, of course, I don’t decline Steve’s offer. Kehan’s safe now; she’ll be sleeping for a while. If I’m only gone an hour, I’ll still have a few hours of sleep left for myself.
Steve and I stride down to the village. The villagers look surprised to see me out at this hour, and their jaws drop even more when they see us walk into the tiny pub. Steve guides me to a table where two other Manides are sitting. One of them is particularly large and broad-shouldered, the other thin and wiry. Both appear friendly. Steve introduces us to each other, and they order beers. The bigger one grins as he asks me,
“Where’d you leave Kehan? If you’re allowed out now, you should’ve brought her along. She’s been a little too busy with you, lad.” He grabs his glass.
“Uh, she’s ill, I must confess.”
Surprised, he sets his glass down. “Ill?”
Slightly nervous, I admit, “Uh, yes, it’s my fault.”
At that moment, Steve jumps in. “No, it’s not. She’s got discrepancy stasis.”
“Good grief, I didn’t know she was prone to that,” the thin one remarks.
“Yeah,” the big one adds, “some of us still get it. It’ll take another thousand years to lose that, I guess.”
“Another thousand years?” I echo, puzzled.
“You’re studying our biology, aren’t you? You’ll hear about it sooner or later. The aliens who brought us here experimented on us. They altered our DNA and included a sequence that makes us instantly inactive when we face a discrepancy. Fortunately, that sequence has mostly disappeared over the generations, but some of us still carry it.”
The thin one pipes up. “I’m surprised she took the risk of dealing with you when she has that condition. It’s tricky for a Manide to handle humans. After thousands of years, we’ve got a very different culture, you know?”
“Thousands of years!?” I repeat, louder this time.
The big one tries to help. “Yes, about five thousand years ago, we got here. Then, we killed our keepers—those aliens—and since then, we’ve been our own people. Over time, equipped with their technology and developing it further, we also invited various humans to join our world. Nearly nobody noticed...”
“Except for some religious guys who decided we were the devils,” the thin one adds.
Enthusiastically, I listen to their explanations. A whole new dimension of information opens up to me. It also explains why some animals here look so similar to those on Earth. They must have been brought here too.
Despite the lively conversation, Steve makes sure we leave just before our hour of extra time away from Kehan is over. On time, we head back. As we walk through the jungle, I seize the chance to ask,
“How long have you known Kehan?”
“About four years. We met on a mission, and we’ve been quite the team ever since. We always try to apply for projects together. This current one worked out as well.”
“So, you were on that ship too, when she knocked me down?”
“No, that was a special mission she was assigned to. They asked her to escort the wounded from the moon because all the soldiers had been redeployed elsewhere.”
“She wasn’t a soldier?”
“No, she’s a scout, specialized in dangerous animals. Same as me. But they figured she was capable of handling humans.”
“Was she the only escort on that ship?”
“Yes, she was.”
“How many soldiers did she take down?”
“I think it was about nine, until they shot your ship. A fighter vessel came to help and finished off your division.”
“Uh!”
“Yeah, I’m sorry. But your terrestrial government was pretty determined to wipe us Manides out, so we couldn’t afford to hold back.”
“I understand.”
We walk the rest of the path in silence. At the house, we part, and I’m relieved to find Kehan still fast asleep in her room. Exhausted, I lie down on the floor again. It’s strange how she remains so unconscious while, for me, everything about our situation has changed completely. Tired, and calmed by the beer, I quickly drift into a deep sleep.
The next day feels like a repeat of the last, except my strength is deteriorating. All the hoisting and heaving are wearing me down, and I’m getting far too little sleep. I want to take a look at her books, but I can’t even manage that. What I can manage is feeding, cleaning, massaging—everything else she needs—until the evening.
Steve drops by briefly but soon leaves again, satisfied that I’m still on task. He’s exhausted too, needing to catch up on sleep after his relentless double shifts. Another night arrives, and my fears grow stronger—fears that she won’t wake up the next day, that Steve will collapse, that she’ll have to go to the hospital. And me? I’d get sent back to prison. It shouldn’t end like this. It never should end like this.