Page 57

Seeker

A week later, after the pressure of meeting Jen’s family, I wonder if I can do as I wish.

I want to be with her, but deceiving those closest to her in perpetuity burdens me in ways I cannot easily articulate. It feels like there’s a wedge between Jen and her family. Before, she did text them now and then or talk on the phone.

Now there’s only silence.

Work, at least, is easy. I have generated automated scripts that perform tasks assigned to me, and I check the output when it’s finished.

It’s late in the evening, and I am analyzing how my programs have performed today. I have no gauge of whether I’m being compensated fairly, but I always paid for lodgings and it feels correct to offer. “How much should I contribute to pay for my share of expenses?”

She turns from arranging dirty dishes in the machine, which will clean them for us using water. “You don’t have to chip in. You can’t have much if you’ve been stuck in Airbnb rentals for the last year. Those are so pricey.”

In answer, I show Jen the balance on my phone screen. “It is adequate, I believe.”

She stares, eyes widening. “Holy shit. How did you save that much in a year? Is it because you don’t eat the way humans do?

” She doesn’t give me a chance to answer.

“Then again, you’ve been hiding out, not socializing in person, subsisting on soy beverages, and you don’t have a car loan, credit cards. or student loans to pay off.”

“Do you wish for me to reply?” I ask.

She pauses. “Are you being snarky right now?”

“No. If I request information, it is because I require it.”

“That’s true. I haven’t noticed that you’re sarcastic, unlike Ravik. And yes, I do want an answer. Sorry I didn’t give you a chance.”

“It’s understandable. You’re a curious and enthusiastic person.”

That is one of my favorite things about Jen. That, and the fact that she never finds me strange or disappointing. She’s always fascinated even by my most mundane details. The human concept of currency is a game of numbers and predictions. And I’m wired to see patterns where humans see chaos.

“Tell me already,” she says, setting down the glass she was about to rinse.

“I study the stock market, and rhythms in the data speak to me. I can predict volatility with…some degree of accuracy.”

“Really? That’s so cool! Is that…” She pauses. “Oh. I bet your affinity with numbers isn’t the usual talent where you’re from.”

“Correct.” It’s comforting that she already knows and understands me so well.

Oona and the rest of my family would not admire me for being able to accrue local currency instead of crafting a work that might allow another to glimpse the beauty of my being.

Yet despite Jen’s understanding, unease gnaws at me.

I’m still living a lie with most of the humans on this world, including her family.

How long can I maintain this illusion? How many nights can I remain beside her, knowing that if her family ever learned the truth, their suspicion would curdle into fear?

I don’t want to lose this. Or her. But I am deeply troubled.

On my world, our families would share memory walks, building a rapport that connects our lives in ways that simply cannot be replicated on 97-B.

And I have been silent for too long.

“Everything okay?” Jen asks.

Perhaps I should confide in her. If I trusted her enough to share my secret, it follows that she will safeguard my emotions as well. Oona always said I tend to take on too much, keeping my concerns too private.

“Nothing is actively wrong, but…”

She turns to face me fully, reaching across the kitchen counter to touch my extensor. “I’m always willing to listen.”

“I feel guilty. About hiding the truth from your family.”

Jen rounds the counter, offering me a hug. I take it, savoring the softness of her form and the delicious heat of her skin. Then she steps back and gestures at the living room. She seems to think the conversation should occur in comfort.

“Everyone has things they keep to themselves. Nobody tells their family everything .”

“This isn’t a small omission,” I counter.

“I get that. But it’s a matter of safety. My mom and sister would panic. They’d inform someone who shouldn’t know, and it wouldn’t be good for either of us.”

“This deception means that every interaction occurs on false pretenses. They wouldn’t invite me to their home if they knew my true nature. And that feels wrong.”

“I understand where you’re coming from, but there are always secrets, even among humans.

Like, if my family was super religious, I wouldn’t tell my mom that my partner is agnostic.

And she might refuse to associate with someone who doesn’t share her faith, but in my view, that’s prejudicial behavior.

So, by not telling them, I’m saving them from wronging you. ”

Her comparison offers comfort, and it almost assuages the guilt. By her logic, it’s immoral to judge someone for unfair reasons. I’m not dangerous, so no harm can come to Jen’s family through hiding my nature. Yet it doesn’t ameliorate every complication.

“You don’t even communicate with them anymore. It’s difficult not to feel like an…obstacle. I don’t want you to have to lie to be with me.”

Jen lets out a breath that I suspect means she’s getting frustrated. “Why do I feel like you’re looking for problems?”

I don’t intend to do that. But she’s never been in this situation.

When she gets up, I surmise that she’s done discussing the issue, so I murmur an excuse and take my gear to the guest room, where I sometimes work.

This time, however, I close the door between us, a decision that feels faintly ominous.

Instead of working on the human coding tasks I’ve been assigned, I extract a small device from my pack.

This emergency beacon ran out of power three months ago in local time.

Tinkering with it is a futile endeavor since the agency knows I’m still stranded here, even without a distress signal, but I don’t like being unable to fix things once I start tinkering.

That feels like an admission of failure.

I haven’t been able to get the device to accept an alternative power source, much to my chagrin.

For the tenth time, I crack it open and examine its innards.

To a human, this might look more like the insides of an organism since our components tend to seem more natural, less wires and cables and metal casings.

That means hooking it up to a battery manufactured on 97-B would require real ingenuity. But what if...

Inspiration strikes then, and I attempt a new configuration, routing the current through an adaptor I assemble from spare parts. Jubilation cascades through me when the beacon powers up. I can charge this thing now. Perhaps—

“Tam?”

Jen stands behind me in the doorway, and I’m startled enough to drop the beacon. It tumbles forward and settles on the floor between us. She picks it up and offers it to me with a questioning look.

“Thank you,” I say, hoping she won’t ask.

Of course she does—with her boundless curiosity. “What are you working on?”

I can’t lie to her. It would be so much easier to live here with her if I could. But then, I wouldn’t be me, either. “The emergency beacon.”

“Oh.” There’s a wealth of meaning in that single syllable, doubt and hurt foremost. “But you said…”

That I plan to stay with her. This doesn’t mean I’m leaving or even that I want to. I’ll try to explain, but I’m afraid she won’t believe me.

“I just hate failing,” I say. “And projects like this quiet my mind. I enjoy the challenge.”

“So you’re not trying to use the beacon? To leave.”

“That’s not my goal in working on it.” I could add that the agency records should still list me as being present on 97-B, unrelated to functional beacons.

That is, unless something catastrophic occurred within the interstellar travel industry.

I suppose it’s possible that the Galactic Union has imprisoned those involved with violating planetary interdictions.

Her tone is sad. “You say that, but…I wonder. If you had a choice, would you pick me, or would you opt to go home?”