MaryJanice Davidson - Dead Over Heels

“Hello again.” She tossed shiny things into his boat. Tiny . . . headless things. Fish. She had caught and killed three small silver fish for him.

“I am aware that bipeds can be unusually squeamish,” she said, picking a scale out of her unusually sharp teeth, “so I killed them for you.”

His gorge rose, and he fought it down. This wasn’t a meal, this was bait! “Uh, thanks, Ree.”

“Reanesta.”

“Yeah, I’m stickin’ with Ree. I, uh, it’s not that I’m not grateful, but I can’t eat these like this.”

“Like what? Shall I bite the fins off for you?”

“No!” he shouted. Then, more quietly, “I mean, no thank you. Listen, I couldn’t never even eat sushi without wanting to puke.”

She frowned at him. “But you need the moisture as well as the protein.”

“I know . But I can’t. It’s a mental block thing.”

“You require them cooked?”

“Yup.”

“But we have no fire. So you must eat them as they are.”

“Yeah, but I can’t.” Inwardly: Some survival expert! Well, what his viewers didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. “See, usually my crew has food, and I don’t have to actually do the things I tell people to do.”

“Watch me, Con. It’s easy.” And she reached into the boat, snatched up a fish, and crunched. He watched, wide-eyed, as she demolished the thing with her small, sharp teeth, wiping a dot of blood off her cheek when she was finished. “Ah! Delicious. See?”

He leaned over the boat and retched. Oh, you’re making a great impression, asshole! he thought as he barfed.

“Oh, dear.”

“Please don’t do that again,” he begged.

“I foresee problems ahead.”

“Ya think?”

“Let me do so,” she said. “I will come back.” And she was gone again.

He lay back in the boat and thought about what an idiot he was.

He must have dozed, because a gentle rapping on the lone oar woke him up. He sat up and there was Ree, holding out a fistful of what looked like puffy seaweed.

“We call this Traveler’s Grass,” she explained. “It grows in salt water, but it won’t dehydrate you and will fill your stomach.”

“Well, I never was a salad man, but you know what they say about beggars and choosers.”

“No.”

“Never mind,” he said, accepting the clump of seaweed. He put some cautiously in his mouth, chewed, then took another bite.

“Slowly,” she cautioned, “or you will vomit again.”

“Don’t wanna do that ,” he said with his mouth full. This . . . wasn’t bad. A little briny, sure, but his stomach wasn’t resisting and that was the important thing. And the more he ate, the more he wanted. He finished the fistful in less than a minute. “Wow, thanks, Ree! God, I feel better.”

“I will bring you more. I will come back.”

“Not one for long good-byes, are you?” he shouted at her disappearing tail.

In another minute she’d brought an armful and plopped it into the boat. “Perhaps once you’ve had more of this, you’ll be sensible about the fish. You must have fresh water.”

“For such a pretty gal,” he said, chewing, “you’re a pretty big nag.”

“And for such a helpless biped, you’re remarkably unwilling to save your own life.”

“Hey, I bet you’ll find people all over the world who don’t eat raw fish.”

“Stupid people. Dead people.”

“Aw, go bite the head off another fish.”

“Perhaps I will!”

“Well, who’s stopping you?” he yelled, still chewing.

“No one at all,” she snapped back, and vanished again.

Which was fine with him.

Er, right?

Reanesta guiltily swam back an hour later.

Yes, he had annoyed her with his helpless ways and silly prejudices, but he was sick and, even if he wouldn’t admit it, already dying. She had been wrong to take offense and leave.

So she swam up to the boat, which had drifted but not so far she couldn’t find it, and politely knocked on the oar again.

His stubbled face popped over the side and he smiled when he saw her, showing those odd, flat teeth common to bipeds. Maybe that’s why he couldn’t eat the fish. It was a wonder they managed to eat anything with those dull things.

“Ree! You came back!”

“Yes. I apologize for arguing. You’re ill and unaware of your irrationality.”

“Uh . . . thanks, I think.” He was looking down at her with those dark eyes, his cheekbones prominent and the stubble on his cheeks an interesting reddish brown. His hair was as dark as his eyes. Like her, he had very ordinary coloring, but she found him interesting all the same.

He was the first biped she’d had the courage to approach. And, she had to admit, she liked that he liked her. Perhaps that was part of his appeal.

“Here.” She handed up a fistful of Lallyflowers, the ones that grew in shallower waters, which she was fairly certain he could eat. “Try these.”

“Thanks,” he said gratefully, and chomped into the yellow petals without hesitation. “And thanks for coming back.”

“I was wrong to leave.”

“Naw, I was being a jerk.”

Privately she agreed, but said nothing.

“These aren’t too bad, though if I get out of this I’m never eating a salad again.”

“Do you think,” she said tentatively, “now that you have something in your stomach, you might try a fish?”

He looked guilty and said around a mouthful of petals, “I chucked ’em after you left.”

She inwardly cringed at the waste. No wonder the planet was such a mess! Perhaps her folk should take it away from the bipeds. “If I brought you more?”

He hesitated, then said, “Yeah, okay, I’ll give ’er a try. Can’t promise to keep ’em down, though.”

“Excellent! All right, I will get some. You stay here.”

“I wasn’t planning on going nowhere,” he said dryly, and she flushed, embarrassed—what a stupid thing to say!

“I will come back,” she promised, which was something she had never said to anyone in her forty-five years, but which she had said many times to this man. It was very strange.

“I’ll be waitin’.”

She vanished into the water, darting for the bottom, looking for something he might try to bite. She ignored the manta rays—too big—and the barracudas (same reason), although she knew for a fact both were delicious. She finally settled on a wrasse and two small parrot fish, snatching them and biting their heads off before they could evade her. Then she arrowed back up to the boat, watching as the silhouette got bigger and bigger until she popped out of the water.

“Oh, great, you’re back,” he said with a marked lack of enthusiasm.

“You said you’d try,” she scolded him gently. She handed him one of the parrot fish.

He sniffed it, shuddered, and nibbled on one of the fins.

“No, no. You have to bite . You’ll never get any protein that way. I know! Hold it over your mouth and squeeze and at least drink the blood.”

“You’re being,” he said, “the opposite of helpful.”

“Oh, for the king’s—” She seized the side of the boat, switched to her legs, and heaved herself into it.

He stared at her. “Silver hair, uh, all over, I see.”

“Yes, yes. Like this.” She grabbed the fish and leaned toward him, holding it over his mouth. He was still staring at her. “Open your mouth ,” she said, trying not to lose her temper, and, obediently, he did. She squeezed, and blood trickled into his mouth, over his silly flat teeth and down his throat. She squeezed the fish dry, then dropped it on the bottom of the boat. “Oh, hooray! You did it! Oh, well done!” She bounced and clapped, but quit when the boat started to rock.