Page 15

Seeker

I have never experienced anything like this crushing fury.

The sensation blazes hot and cold by turns, a sickness I can’t purge until I act on it. However the authorities discipline the human who made Jen smell of fear and discomfort, it won’t be sufficient. I must do something .

Jen has been unfailingly kind to me. She deserves another level of restitution.

And when she excuses herself to “use the facilities,” I make my move.

Delving into my bag, I produce a small piece of tech that will do the job.

I adjust the setting swiftly; this is a risk, but Colin McFarland deserves worse.

I follow the crowd and the smell; his staff are trying to explain the sudden cancellation of his autograph sessions, claiming that he’s been taken ill and regrets being unable to meet his wonderful fans.

With my acute hearing, I detect him nearby, hidden in one of the smaller tents. He’s cursing whoever reported him, talking to someone on the phone. “Well, fucking find out . I want to know who screwed me over. They won’t get away with this! It’s ridiculous.”

I step inside silently and unleash the nanite, small enough as to be undetectable to humans.

It arrows to McFarland without hesitation and I glide away, out of sight but still within audible range.

It won’t hurt him, but it will scramble his customary filters.

I hear the thud of him dropping the phone midconversation, and then he stumbles out of the tent.

“Who do you bitches think you are?” he yells.

A few people turn. From the murmur in the crowd, they recognize him. A few have their phones out, ready to capture a scandal unfolding in real time.

“None of you deserve my time, you get that? You’re a bunch of disgusting, desperate lowlifes!

And—yeah, so what if I grab your asses? You love that shit.

You go home and get off to it. If you didn’t want me touching your tits, you wouldn’t put them in my face and constantly tell me how much you love me. ”

His team rushes him and one of the large security types focuses on shutting McFarland up, but he’s still shouting. “You’re asking for it! You all secretly want it!”

“Posted, you son of a bitch!” a young-looking human says.

“Canceled,” another adds.

As I take silent satisfaction in the outcome, Jen joins me. “What’s going on?”

Before I can reply, a human in a striped costume is eagerly replaying the video. “Check this shit out. He totally had a meltdown.”

Jen watches the clip with wide eyes. “Holy crap.”

“I know, right? I put it on social with hashtags SpaceCon and DarakSaiSayBye.”

“Okay, that’s clever.” She swaps amused looks with the other human. “Give me a sec, I’ll share it.”

“Got fifty shares already. By the end of the day, the whole world will know how trashy he is.”

Delicious satisfaction suffuses me. The tech camo can’t update my emotional state, however. That’s one of its limitations. While it makes me appear human, it can’t process subtleties or emotional nuance.

“It’s too bad,” Jen says with a sigh. “His character was so awesome, you know?”

“Totally. Enjoy the rest of your con!” the fan in the striped costume says.

As the other human departs, Jen turns to me with a conflicted expression. “Do you think I contributed to his breakdown?”

“Don’t be absurd.” I did this. “Perhaps he has some chemical dependency? I understand that famous people often struggle with addictions.”

My tension eases when she appears to accept that as a reasonable explanation. “Good point. I can’t say I’m sorry that they’re hustling him out of here. But I hope he gets the help he needs.”

“You’re a genuinely kind person,” I say.

Jen ducks her head, waving away my statement with both hands. “Don’t be silly. Anyway, it’s your turn to pick our next activity.”

She will find it strange if I have no preference. And I cannot admit that I traveled all this way primarily to meet her —to carry away some bright memories because she illuminated the darkest moments of my exile. So I scrutinize my phone and pick a session that I think will interest her .

“Alien innovations that could be real?” she says. “Nice! I had this one on my list. Let’s go check it out.”

She already seems to have memorized the map and leads the way with confidence.

Being surrounded by so many humans is a trifle disconcerting, and the smells are overwhelming.

Not just bodies but emotions too—and ambient odors as well.

I gaze up at the sky and nearly lose track of Jen in the crowd.

Rushing, I catch up just as she darts into a long building.

Our event is in one of the smaller spaces at the back.

Folding chairs have been set up, and they’re about half full when we pick our seats in the middle, but on the aisle.

“I don’t like being completely hemmed in,” Jen whispers.

The panel starts with introductions and credentials.

I don’t bother learning them, but I do listen to the earnest discussion.

There’s amusement in the debates regarding which inventions could be possible with enough time, resources, and research.

I know of no civilization that has perfected transporters.

Inorganic matter is easier, but when you add complex biological systems to the equation, the results can be… messy. To say the least.

A special guest in the panel displays photos of some perfect spheres that hit the planet as part of a meteorite dubbed 2N2 by the scientific community.

Most fragments burned up on entry, but these artifacts are unusual for their symmetric shape, unusual durability, and intriguing composition: beryllium, lanthanum, and uranium.

They’re also quite beautiful, in hues of gold and copper with a deep shimmer in their cores.

And I know what they are.

The Norelians use these as a power source. They’re also the ones who left me stranded on 97-B. So these humans are speculating with fascination over what amounts to used-up batteries, put in terms they’d understand. I keep quiet for obvious reasons while they go back and forth on the topic.

My mind returns to the launch that’s happening soon.

I wish the news covered more of what’s used in human ships, but they’re quite proprietary about their technology.

They don’t share information freely and data is kept secure.

I would need to do some major intrusion to find out, but it might be worth the effort, if I can acquire parts for a shuttle.

But how many launches would I need before I’d have enough?

A good while later, the moderator says, “That’s it for formal discussion. Let’s open to some Q it can only confuse her about what she’s experiencing. Her mind will whisper that there’s something…not right about it, but her eyes can’t help her resolve the conflict.

She’s not touching skin, at least not in the way she understands it.

My body temperature conforms to my surroundings, not a set median.

If the external temperature drops low enough, I’ll fall into a resource-conservation state similar to the reptiles on this world.

Humans call that brumation. I read a fascinating story about a human who had a turtle as a domestic companion and thought the creature had perished.

They interred it according to local customs, and three months later, the animal crawled out of the ground and came looking for food.

They must have been so startled yet so delighted, a true amalgamation of emotions.

That’s how I feel about Jen, brightness illuminating my bleak prospects.

“Incredible,” I agree.

But I’m not looking at the sunset anymore.

I care about this human woman so much more than I expected for such a short personal encounter.

This isn’t how I imagined it would be. I thought I’d satisfy my curiosity and feel certain that it’s time to move on.

Now I don’t know what to do, or how to handle these feelings.

Romantic bonds do form among my people, but seldom swiftly.

And they are forever, so I must be cautious here.

Yearning shimmers through me as I regard her silently, steadily.

Though I wondered earlier, I’m now certain I can trust her.

There is no rational explanation for why I feel so sure that she’s the last person who would betray me or allow me to come to harm.

Yet I’m positive of it as I’ve been of little else in this life. The question haunts me:

Should I tell her the truth?