Page 18

Seeker

Jen stops walking, centered in a spill of golden light from one of the con’s aerial illuminations.

“Okay, you’ve said things that sound flirty before, and I really need to…just ask. Are you doing that on purpose?”

“Doing what?” Flirty , what does that mean?

I quickly sort through what I’ve learned from watching their local entertainments.

I believe it’s when someone shows signs that they’d be receptive to a romantic overture.

Jen thinks I’m attempting to initiate courtship with intent to mate?

The idea should be laughable, but then I remember the purity of how I feel when she’s nearby, how she keeps the loneliness at bay.

And the way I thought she shone, before.

Perhaps it’s not entirely incorrect. If I lived here.

If I planned to stay. But I don’t know how to respond because I don’t intend to be here long enough for my answer to matter, even if I don’t know how to leave.

I’m still weighing the idea of infiltrating the upcoming launch to loot their tech, but the logistics are daunting.

I’m not a seasoned rebel; the rules I’ve broken never pertained to sneaking or thievery.

“I like you,” I finally reply.

Though I’m not an expert in human emotions, I note how her face changes, mouth tilting downward. “That covers a lot of ground.”

I can offer her this much reassurance; honesty costs me nothing. “I enjoy spending time with you. But I won’t be here long. If I would be, then—”

“You are flirting.” Her expression shifts again, brightening. Seeming delighted, she raises her head so the waning sunset makes her eyes sparkle. “You’re saying that you’re into me, but you’ll be traveling soon, right? And you can’t get into a long-distance relationship.”

That’s the perfect excuse. She has no notion just how long-distance that relationship would be. “Exactly.”

“But you’re open to a con fling?”

I have no inkling what that entails and I can’t open my phone to search the term. Before I can reply, she unlocks the car and gets in. I join her, feeling more confused than I’ve been since coming to maturity. But if Jen’s offering it, this “con fling” probably isn’t bad.

So I shut my door and then reply. “That is accurate.”

She laughs. “Only you would react so nonchalantly to this.” But she doesn’t sound as if that’s a bad thing. “We can see how things go. I’m enjoying our banter an awful lot, and I want to make sure we’re on the same page about it.”

To extrapolate from context, she wants to continue with the understanding that it cannot lead to a permanent association.

So long as that remains true, I can enjoy these moments with her.

And not analyze each word that we exchange.

I can continue saying true things without being alarmed over how she will receive them.

“We are,” I say then.

“Awesome! I was so afraid that I had a crush on you all by myself.”

She wasn’t certain that it was reciprocal?

I thought I had been painfully obvious in my partiality, my preference for her company.

Not that I don’t find the others agreeable enough.

But they’re not Jennette. She is the one who consistently reaches me even when my sadness has become too much to carry, when my isolation is too much for one being to bear.

She drives with casual cheer, singing along to music I do not know. I remember sharing my birthsong with her and the way she made me feel afterward. She is the best part of being stranded on 97-B and I wish—

No. There is no point in wishing for impossible things.

We arrive at the restaurant a little while later, and since we paused to chat, the others have gotten a table already.

They have two chairs reserved for us and Tad is already ordering food.

The dining establishment is spacious, but they have attempted to mitigate this but arranging odd articles around, like a stuffed mammal dressed in clothing and rectangular artifacts all over the walls.

Amber light spills from tinted coverings, perhaps an attempt to embody their bold yellow sun.

“Over here!” Poppy bounces to her feet, signaling wildly, as if we could miss her.

“I got us an appetizer platter,” Tad says. “Cheese sticks, wings, and potato skins.”

“Can we not have the whole potato?” I ask.

Jen laughs as she sits down. “You never miss a beat, do you?”

I wasn’t joking. For all I know, there’s some reason they only eat the skin. But instead of persisting with the inquiry, I pretend I’ve succeeded at witty repartee and bask in their amusement as something I intentionally achieved.

Jaz draws Ravik’s attention when she compliments them on their musical style from karaoke earlier. “I had no idea you were so gifted,” she says.

“Gifted.” Poppy snorts.

Ravik ignores her. “Mimicry is an underrated talent. I simply observed how the original performers behaved and mirrored it.”

“Being here is cool as hell,” Tad says suddenly. “But it’s so surreal. Last week, I hadn’t even seen photos of all of you. Now we’re just hanging out, about to dig into some grub.”

As he says this, a huge plate of food is deposited on the table by a woman wearing apparel that matches the colors on the walls. Fascinating. She says, “Let me know if you need anything else,” and rushes off before we could possibly ask. Is that intentional?

I have noticed humans enjoy turning odd things into challenges. Such evidence is all over their entertainment, so it wouldn’t surprise me to hear that we must also compete to receive food or liquid refreshments in a timely fashion.

“Surreal,” Jen agrees.

But she sneaks a glance at me when she says this. Is that because of our discussion?

“How do you feel about con flings?” I ask the table in general.

Poppy chokes on a sip of her icy beverage. “Excuse me?”

Her reaction concerns me. Have I said the wrong thing? Jen slowly slides down in her chair while the others try to mask their reactions.

Tad recovers first. “I mean. I don’t go looking for it, but if someone tells me they’re into me and wanting to have a bit of fun, I’m not against it.”

He steals a look at Jaz when he says this, but she’s sawing at a brown thing on her plate with complete focus, carving it into tiny bites.

I underestimated how difficult it would be to share social occasions with humans and never ingest anything.

They’re quite communal with their consumption, more than I expected.

Ravik remains silent, the least communicative member of the group, in chat or in person. Jen dips a tube of food into a pot of red and takes a bite. She’s not looking at any of us, but I can see that her color has changed, a deeper, ruddy hue on her cheeks and ears.

Now I’m certain I’ve done something wrong, but she didn’t tell me it was a secret.

Poppy makes a noise in her throat. “You’re all making me find out, I take it?

Fine, I can’t resist. There has to be a reason you asked.

So who is it? Which one of us caught your eye, huh?

” She pauses, narrowing her gaze as she skims the others.

“If it’s me, I’ll just say that’s a pass. You’re way too young for me.”

At that, Jen lifts her head and stares at Poppy. I don’t recognize a lot of expressions, but I’ve been memorizing them, and this one matches the illustration for confusion perfectly. Her mouth is pulled in and the top of her face is crinkled.

“You prefer silver foxes?” Jen asks.

Now I really don’t know what they’re talking about, and Poppy is confused. I can’t let them discuss how I look. Time for a diversion. “Could I have a cheese stick?”

I can’t eat this thing. I don’t know what I’ll do with it when I have it, but Jen is quick to put one on my plate, along with some of the red stuff.

I swirl it around and try to decide how to dispose of it when I notice.

Jaz is quietly dropping bits of food on the floor.

Once might be an accident. Twice? Definitely not.

Now she’s looking at me. Her expression doesn’t change.

“Bathroom,” she says.

I get up immediately. “Me too.”

In fact, my people can go days, in human time, without needing to eliminate. Our bodies are efficiently designed. But I’m certain Jaz wants to get me alone and I need to find out why.

I follow her through the restaurant to the back hallway and she wheels on me as soon as we reach relative privacy. “Get it together!” she snaps.

“What?”

“I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life. You’re making it so obvious that you’re not from here that I don’t know what to do. I can’t keep covering for you! Humans are simple, not stupid. They’ll notice!”

The enormity of what she’s saying washes over me. “You’re from the agency? Are you my contact? My ride?”

Jaz lets out a trill. Not human laughter, but close. “Please. I’ve been here for almost ten of their cycles. I clocked you as soon as you sat down. Your tech isn’t as good as mine.”

Well, that’s a strike squarely in the self-esteem, considering that I’m using my own upgrade. Yet hope wars with disbelief and I have to ask, “Then do you have an exit strategy?”

Her response flummoxes me. “Why would I want one? This is my home.”