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Seeker

I gaze into Jen’s eyes, seeing sparks of gold I didn’t notice until today.

The sunlight has tinted her skin. Humans don’t change their hues intentionally as my people do.

And they don’t use colors to convey purposeful meaning.

I’ve not yet been able to work out how or why they change colors.

Sometimes it’s emotional and sometimes it’s environmental.

And some humans don’t display other colors at all, for various reasons, while others paint on bright hues.

When I caul my gaze with the secondary membrane, I can see additional light spectrums, but the colors are too overwhelming to remain in that spectrum.

I blink again, trying to approximate the way she sees the world.

I wonder how my eyes look to her, if she finds me strange or engaging, or some amalgam of the two.

What’s she thinking right now?

Before I can ask, she breaks visual contact by ducking her head and moving down the table. “Oh, a replica of a Holo-Map Projector. I’d never get anywhere on time without GPS. I don’t even know how to read a paper map.”

I can’t admit that I’ve never seen one. Other humans might find that odd.

I’m not entirely sure what she’s referring to, but extrapolating from context, I suspect it’s a geographic representation of their world, imprinted on paper.

But for there to be any helpful detail, everything would need to be magnified in great detail and thus require an incredible amount of paper.

How would one even carry something so large? Humans are truly fascinating to me.

“I have gotten lost on multiple trips,” I say then. “Sometimes I have found wonders I didn’t know about. And I wouldn’t have seen them had I stayed on my planned route.”

She doesn’t know it, but I’m not just talking topographical marvels like cascading green water or the shimmer of ethereal lights in a sentient forest. I’m also talking about her. If the agency had retrieved me on time, I would never have met Jen.

“Check this out!” Poppy calls.

It’s another replica of some sort. From what I’ve gathered reading the boxes, these are all souvenirs related to human entertainments. This one says, Positronic Screwdriver . A screwdriver is a human tool used for construction and assembly. But this item looks nothing like that.

“Dang,” Tad says. “I used to be so into Doctor Y.”

I’m not familiar with that, but I know better than to mention it. Jaz doesn’t say anything either, and I have no idea where Ravik has gone.

“It’s one of my favorites,” Poppy says. “I loved the ninth doctor, but I’m in the minority. Everyone loves ten for some reason.”

Jen seems to sense my puzzlement and steps into the conversational lull. “The trivia contest is about to start. Anyone interested joining me?”

“Not me,” Jaz says. “I’m going to look for Ravik. Come with me, Seeker.”

I receive an odd look from Jen, but I don’t know what this is about either.

And at first I don’t recall enough of human silent language to reply without making the others wonder.

Then I remember the shrug. What a helpful gesture this is.

I lift and lower my upper body, hoping the approximation works with my own physiology.

“I’ll team up with you,” Tad tells Jen.

Poppy adds, “I’m in. Trivia should be fun. And maybe there will be prizes.”

Jen seems a little reluctant to part from me. I hope the impulse stems from affection and not from fear that I will do something ridiculous and endanger myself. As the humans move off, debating their trivia team name, Jaz turns to me.

“This way. Ravik is waiting for us.”

“This sounds like a purposeful secret meeting.”

But I can’t imagine what the three of us would have to discuss.

Ravik doesn’t seem to like most of us at the best of times.

I’m not entirely sure why they joined the chat or agreed to attend Space Con.

But I suppose I’ll find out. I follow Jaz as she threads through the throng, navigating with a surety that I find impressive.

She’s not new here, though, and she understands humans better.

Now that I’m not worried about the tech camo breaking down, I feel oddly at ease. Nobody is staring at us, and we’re surrounded by others who look every bit as unique. In fact, some of the costumes even appear more unusual than Jaz and me.

“Stay close,” Jaz says. “Ravik isn’t the patient type.”

I’d gleaned as much myself. Which is why I was surprised that they don a costume day after day with complete dedication.

It takes a certain amount of time and effort to replicate the same look.

For that reason, people will likely assume I’m especially committed to cosplay.

It’s a bit ironic, considering how anxious I’ve been about appearing without the tech camo.

I speak in the subharmonic inaudible to human ears. “It’s a bit sad, isn’t it? They want so desperately to meet us, but…”

“We’re at a convention that fetishizes extraterrestrial beings,” Jaz replies. “Many humans would love to do more than meet us.”

That startles me. Certainly I have strong feelings for Jen, but I didn’t realize that multiple humans might wish to experience intimacy with a nonhuman partner. Assuming they didn’t sell us out for fame, fortune, and the potential payout from the authorities.

“That is a salient point.”

I maneuver around a group taking photos with a particularly impressive cyborg costume.

This one I recognize; I have watched several Terminator movies.

Humans have a fascinating relationship with technology: they seem to both rely on it and fear it at the same time.

We pass stalls selling comics and artists sketching custom pieces for excited patrons.

But Jaz seems to know exactly where she’s going.

Ravik is at a picnic table in the food truck lot, waiting for us with ill-concealed impatience. “You took long enough,” they say to Jaz.

“This one proved difficult to wrangle.”

I could take exception to her statement, but it might delay finding out what they want. “I’m curious what’s going on. What’s so important?”

“You really don’t know?”

Ravik is blue again today. It’s the same costume they had on… An idea occurs to me belatedly. But it can’t possibly be true. Can it? But if I’m here, and Jaz is here…

“Congratulations,” Ravik says. “I believe you just had an epiphany.”

While I recognize Jaz’s natural appearance, I’ve never encountered a being like Ravik. That’s why I didn’t doubt their explanation when they said they were… What was it? An ice-world barbarian? I thought it was a human cultural reference.

“How did you both know?” I ask. “I had no idea.”

The other two exchange a look, and then Jaz says, “You’re using your own update. The upgrade isn’t configured to interact with other devices. Ours is. It pinged on your arrival that first night.”

Since I thought I improved this system—and the tech camo—I feel more than a little chagrined by that revelation.

Mine is newer, which should mean that it’s better.

Apparently, that’s not always the case. I feel humbled by their calm competence…

and how much more they seem to know about traveling the galaxy.

I feel like a youngling playing at exploration, and I have not experienced this since I came to maturity.

I cannot say I care for the sensation.

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” I address the question to Ravik since Jaz revealed herself at the restaurant earlier.

“I had to be certain you wouldn’t cause problems,” they reply.

“Does this conversation mean I’ve passed your initial assessment?”

“You’re cautious enough not to get caught.” It’s not a complete endorsement of my faculties, but Ravik tends to be brusque. “It’s enough. Unlike Jaz, I hate it here. But my contacts have been silent for far too long, so I need to ask if you have a ride off-world.”

Now I understand the reason for this clandestine rendezvous. Ravik wants to catch a shuttle with me. Unfortunately, I have no good tidings to impart. “The agency failed to arrive at the appointed day and time. I’ve been stranded for over a human year.”

“Twenty for me,” Ravik says in a flat, hopeless tone.

I’m speechless. I had no idea that such things happened with any regularity.

But the reputable tourism agencies don’t stop at 97-B.

And if the enforcement office in the Galactic Union closes a company that has violated the terms of interdiction, they won’t collect lawbreakers who went on world against regulations.

In human verbiage, too bad, so sad, tough luck for us.

“I’m sorry I can’t assist.”

“It was too much to expect,” Ravik says. “I’ll never escape this polluted mudball.”

Jaz taps the table once. “I’m not interested in an exit strategy. That’s why Ravik wanted to meet. It’s not my agenda.”

“Not this again,” Ravik mutters. “If you tell me to make the best of things one more—”

“What’s this about?” I cut in to keep the peace.

Jaz perches on top of the table, getting comfortable. “You already told Jen. We should tell Tad and Poppy too. They might be able to help, and I believe they’re trustworthy. I’m tired of pretending all the time.”

“This is a human colloquialism,” Ravik says, “but it’s apt: over my dead body.”

“I need to time to consider,” I say.

Jen is someone I trust, no question. But I’m uncertain about Tad and Poppy. I haven’t spoken to them privately or at length.

“Then I’ll wait for your decision,” Jaz says.

“How did you end up here?” I ask Ravik. It’s doubtful they will reveal much, but I’m too curious not to inquire.

“Entirely by accident,” they reply. “And that’s all I plan to say for now.”

“Do you have any ideas how we could leave?” I ask.

“If I did, would I risk trusting you to see if you had a ride off-world?” When Ravik puts it that way, I feel more than a little abashed.

Their brusqueness makes me feel quite young. “You might have a ship we could repair together. I’m good with technology.”

“Acquaint yourself with disappointment if you’re trying to exit this place,” Ravik says. “And forget about seeing your family again.”

That hurts. I should have said so many things before I left, but no.

I was in a rush, hastily dismissing Oona’s concerns and making promises I can no longer keep.

I study the ground, watching minute insects march across the dry earth.

That is how I feel, tiny and insignificant in the grander scheme of things.

Jaz gets up, seeming dissatisfied with the private conference. “Well. If that’s it, we ought to find the others.”

I have much to contemplate—and a major decision to make.