Page 24

Seeker

I think this is going well.

If Jen intended to betray me, she would already be running for her life, screaming for aid from any humans nearby. Instead, she offers time for me to reactivate the tech camo, staring the entire time as if she cannot trust her senses. And well. Yes. That’s the truth.

“I still can’t get over how flawless this is,” she says, shaking her head. “To be honest, I did notice discrepancies when I touched you. But I thought I must be losing it.”

“I’m sorry I made you doubt yourself.”

“I get it. But you could walk around here like that and people would just say, ‘Your costume is amazing!’ You’d have problems anywhere else.”

“It’s not meant to withstand intimate assessment. Shall we go?”

She inclines her head, leading the way back to her vehicle.

The camper door locks behind me automatically, and I climb in, desperately hoping I’ve done the right thing.

Having one human who knows and is on my side…

My joy is indescribable. Now I no longer need to curate what I hear or parse out the truth in digestible crumbs, fashioned into a shape that will make sense by 97-B standards.

The drive is silent. Jen doesn’t say much until we reach the safety of her room. She closes the blackout shades and the window coverings, and then she perches on the edge of the bed, regarding me with a look that I think signifies great interest.

“You said you had a lot to say. I can’t wait to hear it.” Her voice lilts with excitement. Now that I examine her closer, I can see that she’s practically vibrating.

She’s wanted proof that humans are not alone in the universe for her entire life.

And while I know she’s not been waiting for me specifically, it’s difficult not to feel moved by her single-minded devotion.

Jen has been searching for a sign among the stars for more than two decades. And at last, here I am.

“I arrived almost a year ago, on a package tour.”

As she laughs quietly, her eyes crinkle. I’m accustomed to human features now, even if I once found them strange. “But something went wrong?”

“You could say that. Your planet has been interdicted from the Galactic Union because you’re on the cusp of reaching the stars on your own. And there are rules against uplifting other sentient beings.”

“Why?” she asks.

“Problems in the past.” That’s the simplest explanation.

“Those who arrive in the wider galaxy without adequate resources or preparations to be self-sufficient often end up in a servitor situation. They can’t survive or thrive on their own, so they make unequal agreements with a more advanced society.

And those arrangements can last for eons. ”

“That makes sense, and it’s more of an explanation than we get in the science fiction shows I watch,” Jen says thoughtfully. “All the programs assume that there wouldn’t be contact until a civilization develops the capacity for interstellar travel, but they never lay it out properly.”

“I suspect the writer who first floated that premise may have been in contact with someone from the Galactic Union.”

“Whoa. You really think so?”

“While some aspects of your early science fiction entertainments are wildly incorrect, many ideas are accurate, too much for it to be a coincidence.”

“I would think it also prevents a culture from developing properly or evolving on natural lines, depending too much on another group.” Then Jen shakes her head. “Never mind. I could discuss this for days, but I’d rather talk about your situation specifically.”

“Thank you,” I say quietly.

“That must be why you’re looping me in. So you don’t have to bullshit everyone for the rest of your life.” She pauses, a rapid flurry of emotions shifting her mobile features faster than I can read them.

I’m still new to this, though Jen’s face is more familiar to me than most. Since we met in person, I have certainly spent time attempting to learn this woman’s facial topography, so when I memory walk with her, every fraction of a moment will be accurate down to each eyelash.

I don’t understand why humans have fur on their eyes.

My people have a secondary membrane that protects our sensory organs from foreign matter.

“What?” I ask, when she doesn’t continue.

“Are you leaving soon? Is that why you told me? Because you won’t be able to keep in touch when you get where you’re going?” Her voice breaks a little on the word get and it sounds as if she may be wrestling with some strong emotion.

“The opposite. I was supposed to catch my shuttle off-world almost a year ago. I waited at a remote location in Tennessee—on top of a mountain. I was there for days past the rendezvous point, until I ran out of provisions and had to accept they weren’t coming.”

“Oh my God. I can’t begin to imagine how you coped.

I know it’s not the same, but I’m imagining a vacation in another country.

It’s a nice visit, but then my flight home never takes off.

Nobody provides any help or explanations for what’s going on.

I’m out of money and food. I don’t speak the language fluently… ”

“It’s been…difficult,” I say.

Understatement. This woman saved me more times than she realizes. Sometimes, I’d be asking myself, What’s the point of persevering? Nothing will change. There can be no life, no future for me here. And then my device would ping.

Jen, reaching out. Jen, asking how I am. If I need to talk.

“There’s so much you’re not telling me. You don’t need to censor yourself. Say whatever you need to. I don’t mind if we miss the whole day at Space Con. This is far more important. You are.” She pats the bed, which dominates the room. “Get comfortable and talk to me. Tell me how I can help.”

“Being seen and known helps,” I say.

But I move away from the door at last, sinking onto the sleep surface with careful motions. I don’t want to frighten her. First, I deactivate the tech camo—a small device I wear on my wrist—because there’s no need for it anymore. Not with Jen.

“You’re beautiful.” The words seem to slip out beyond her volition, and she colors, a deep rosy flush that brightens her aspect.

I also know it heralds embarrassment.

“Thank you. I was considered reasonably attractive among my own people.”

She faces me, folding her legs into a position that doesn’t look remotely comfortable. My lower limbs wouldn’t turn in that configuration, but then, our joints are different.

“Tell me about them. And your home. Your family. Customs, places you’ve traveled. I’d love to learn anything you care to share.”

It’s been so long since I let myself think of everything I left behind. If I focused on it, the loss might overwhelm me and leave me unable to function. Oona and Arlan and Betau, my birth parents, and Tivani and Morv, my creche guardians. I consider what to share and then realize I don’t need to.

“I’m from a star so far away that humans haven’t named it. Once, I went to an observatory here, but I couldn’t find it even on a telescope.”

That’s how far from home I am.

“What is it like?”

“It’s a peaceful, beautiful place. The lights in the sky attract visitors from all over the Galactic Union. My people are known for their artistry. We create beautiful things, lasting sensory experiences. My birth parent, Oona, crafted my birthsong, which I shared with you.”

“It was haunting. And I should have known then that it didn’t come from here. That sound… It wasn’t a pan flute?”

“No. I have my instrument with me.”

“I hope you’ll play for me in person sometime.”

“If you want me to.” I wonder if Jen can discern my ambivalence.

I’m nowhere near adept enough to garner acclaim or renown on my homeworld. In the local vernacular, my skills are “mid” at best. I was a difficult youngling, never wanting to cooperate or settle.

“Only if you enjoy it,” she says with uncommon perspicacity. “Why did you leave?”

She makes it easy to open up. “I found my homeworld too predictable. Too…orderly. I wanted to be somewhere more exciting, so I left—against my family’s wishes.”

“That must hurt even more now.”

Jen appears to understand. “It does. And I have no way to get word to them. Oona must be heartbroken while Arlan will be stoic, and Betau will be lighting the lamps to guide me home, never knowing it’s not possible. I can’t—”

“Can I hug you?”

I know what a hug is, but it’s a human comfort. Yet I agree with a whispered, “Yes,” just in case there is some magic that can slake this sorrowful homesickness. Back then, I couldn’t wait to leave, but now that I realize how difficult it will be to go home again, I ache.

Jen approaches with care, then bundles me close, and our bodies spark .

Light jumps between our flesh, demonstrating the brightness of our energy.

There is sweetness to her scent, notes I can’t identify, but her skin is fragrant and silken.

The reassuring thump of her life force resounds in a delightfully regular pattern, and her warmth soothes me in a way I couldn’t have expected since I take my cues from the natural world.

Why does this feel so good?