Page 54

Seeker

“Are you all right?” I ask.

She nods. “I will be. I’m glad you’re here.”

I feel as if I’m already causing problems for Jen.

It is clear that her family disapproves of her cohabitation with someone they have never met or even heard mentioned. I cannot object to their caution. Their disapproval would likely ripen into terror if they knew the truth. Doubts seep in, making me wonder if this course is advisable.

“Are you? I’m unsure—”

“Hey,” Jen cuts in. “Everything will be fine. They just need to adjust to the idea of me having a live-in partner. And they both need to be a little less invested in my decisions.”

She pauses with a quiet sigh. “I think it’s because my dad died. Mom has more time to obsess, and Glynnis is nosy.”

“I don’t want to cause conflict.”

“You aren’t. Even if you weren’t here, I’d still think it was rude for them to drop by without calling. If I wanted to see them first thing in the morning, we’d be living together.”

“Is that customary?”

“What, moving out or living with your parents as an adult?”

“Either.”

“It depends on the situation. Sometimes people move out for college and then if they can’t find a good job, they move in with their parents to save money while looking for work.

Some people never move out and stay with their parents until they get married or the parents pass on.

Culture plays a role in those decisions as well. ”

“I didn’t know that.” There’s so much I need to learn in order to fit in properly, things most humans wouldn’t even wonder about.

Jen heads to the kitchen and I hear her blending something; then she brings in my nutritional beverage. “Here. Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten my promise to research meals that you might enjoy more than this subsistence cuisine.”

“I wasn’t worried.” That isn’t entirely true. I am troubled by the interaction with her family, but perhaps I can win them over. “It’s not like this on my world.”

“Oooh.” Jen plops onto the couch, and immediately Scotty races to occupy her lap. She strokes his fur with absent fondness. “I’ve been wondering about your homeworld, but we haven’t had a chance to discuss what it was like in detail. We were running around constantly at Space Con.”

I consider for a long time, the silence stretching until Jen shifts and sips her coffee.

I’m not altogether sure, but I think she feels uncomfortable, as if she might have been prying, but that’s not the case.

I’ve simply never made this offer to anyone before, and I don’t know if it will work with a human.

But…I want to try. Jen makes me want all manner of possibly unattainable things.

“Do you remember me mentioning our ability to memory walk?” I ask.

“Of course. You distracted me with…”

“Physical pleasure.” I supply the words that she seems to find difficult to speak. “And we didn’t pursue the topic then.”

“Does that mean you want to discuss it now?” she asks.

I shift closer, hoping to bridge the distance between her world and mine.

The memory walk is often a solitary reflection, but it can also become a communion of souls, an intimacy reserved for those we trust beyond measure.

She won’t realize it yet, but it’s also a declaration of my intent.

I was uncertain at first, but the way she has chosen me above all others, even amid familial disapproval… This is the only way I can reciprocate.

“Relax. Let me show you.”

For a moment, there’s nothing—a void as empty as the space between stars. Panic prickles in my mind; the connection feels as elusive as mist. But then, a glimmer, a thread of something familiar and potent tugs at the fabric of my consciousness. I feel Jen, so far away and slipping. I don’t think—

But suddenly—she and I—are we .

We are no longer in her small, cozy living room, but standing on the vast plains of my homeworld. The sky stretches like an endless sea of deep purples and vibrant greens, auroras dancing across the firmament like spirits of light. Twin suns bathe us in a warm, red glow.

The ground beneath our feet is spongy, a living organism itself, dotted with bioluminescent flora that pulse like the planet’s heartbeat.

We walk through fields of tall, golden grasses that emit a haunting melody when swayed by the gentle breeze, a natural symphony.

This is why we are artists. My family doesn’t understand why I shied away from the gift of creation when even the wind here crafts harmonies.

I watch Jen’s face, lit by the ethereal glow, as she breathes in deeply.

The air is rich with the scent of aphracinth flowers that resemble avian life on 97-B; they exude a honey-sweet fragrance, deeply tinged with the sharpness of ozone after a storm.

They too sing with the wind as it ripples through their feathery petals and stamens.

Our buildings are natural, bio-organic, and one who wasn’t born here might not even notice them woven into the plants and rolling hills.

I have chosen to memory walk through one of my favorite rituals, and I guide her through greeting the dawn, a custom where we raise our hands to the light.

It is a moment of understanding, a sharing of worlds and hearts in the quiet awe of discovery.

Silently, I point toward the horizon where the sky blushes with color, shades of violet and vermilion dancing in a celestial ballet.

It’s the auroral equinox, a natural light phenomenon that marks the start of a new cycle.

Around us, the native creatures chime in.

The air fills with the trills and whistles of the lyricals, bird-like beings with iridescent feathers, serenading the light.

There, just beyond our field of vision, the mist dancers materialize—ethereal figures that weave through the air, their bodies made of translucent vapors, celebrating the daybreak with their silent, graceful choreography.

Slowly, carefully, I withdraw from the memory walk, reluctantly relinquishing the connection. At once, I feel cold as I register myself as a separate being once more. Jen has gone pale, her eyes wide. I study her carefully, hoping I haven’t done something that will harm her.

“How are you?” I ask quickly.

“Forever changed. Thank you isn’t enough.

I could never have imagined…any of that.

It was…” She struggles for words, lowering her gaze to her lap and the soft orange and white cat splayed across it.

“The only thing I don’t understand is why you left.

Now that I’ve seen how beautiful it is, I can’t imagine you being happy anywhere else. ”

I meant to share a precious memory with her, but instead I’ve given her reason to doubt. My heart feels heavy.

“My homeworld is beautiful. But there, I was never enough.” It’s the first time I have articulated that to anyone.

She protests so sharply that Scotty meows as well. “But you’re so smart! You’ve invented things and traveled all over the galaxy.”

“That doesn’t mean I live up to expectations.

The rest of my family are revered, even in an artistic enclave.

They have created works so lasting that in ten generations they will still be playing Oona’s music and admiring Arlan’s sculptures.

I make dead works, nothing that lives.” I pause, unhappy with the way that translated.

“I’m not sure I understand, but…it might be the difference between making a stained-glass window by hand and a program that renders stained-glass patterns?”

“Precisely,” I say, relieved that I don’t need to explain. “And I have been running from my own insufficiency for as long as I can remember.”

“But your inventions are creative! And they are art, even if you weren’t raised to see them that way.”

I cannot agree with her, but I appreciate the reassurance. “That is kind of you.”

She lets out a breathy sound. “I’m not being nice here, but let’s get back to your homeworld. You travel because you feel like you don’t belong, right? Even though it’s heartbreakingly beautiful.”

“I framed it like a preference, but Oona called it immaturity and cowardice.”

“That’s not okay. What might be right for one person isn’t right for another. I would really like to hug you, if you’d find any comfort in it.”

Human hugs seemed strange to me at first, but I’ve come to enjoy Jen’s closeness. It would be better without the tech camo—without causing her cognitive dissonance—but I shouldn’t take that risk with all the curtains open. And I still want the hug.

“Please,” I say simply.

And when she wraps her arms around me, heedless of Scotty’s indignant squeak, a lifetime of inadequacy melts away.