Page 9

Seeker

“Do you want to make plans to meet up tomorrow?” Jen asks.

“Let’s do that.”

In the enclosed space of her personal vehicle, Jen smells good.

Her scent feels…bright, sparking on my senses like a sunrise.

I caught hints of it in the restaurant, but it was loud and overwhelming in there, with so much sensory information that I couldn’t focus on her.

Now that I can, I experience a frisson of pleasure.

That is probably not an appropriate observation, however.

When I have logged another human saying that someone smells appealing, they were usually engaged in intimate behavior.

In visual entertainment, it’s usually a prelude to exploratory mouth-to-mouth contact.

Kissing. My people have nothing similar, but it seems just as intimate as exchanging genetic material.

I don’t entirely understand the purpose, but perhaps it’s to ensure that the prospective partner’s alkaline balance is palatable?

I remain uncertain why humans would need to taste one another to determine if they’re suitable together.

“Do you have a ride to the fairgrounds?”

“I intended to walk,” I tell her.

She checks something on her personal communication device. Her phone , I remind myself. Then she turns to me while shaking her head. “Okay, that’s way too far. It’s four miles! And you’ll pay a fortune in Ubers. I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning.”

“What time?”

“Is nine okay?”

I incline my head. “I’ll see you then. Thank you for offering to provide transportation. And…” I shouldn’t say this. But I do anyway. “I’m so glad to meet you.”

“Likewise.” She’s smiling, her chin slightly lowered.

Jen waits until I let myself into the small residence, using the code that was provided to me.

It’s a level of advancement that surprises me faintly.

I paid digitally for this short-term rental and I have communicated directly with no humans.

Yesterday, I received a numeric PIN that will work for the duration of my stay.

Inside, it’s even smaller than I expected; it’s a rectangle, and it doesn’t smell pleasant.

The lights work at least, but I’m glad I won’t be staying more than a couple of nights.

Though Tad offered to let me share his accommodation, I won’t be here that long.

The two nights I’ve reserved should be long enough for me to assuage my curiosity about the humans who kept me company during this long, self-imposed exile.

That is the truly uncomfortable aspect.

I made my choices, despite multiple warnings.

But I never imagined the tour company would simply abandon me here.

I was on time for the rendezvous, but I waited and waited atop that mountain for a shuttle that never arrived.

That fresh despair washes over me, the way I felt trudging back down that desolate slope.

Being stranded in an alien land is worse than I imagined.

I can’t let down my guard or appear too strange. My life depends on blending in.

Though I had a passing familiarity with the customs, I didn’t study for what was meant to be a brief sojourn.

For the past 363 days, I have paid critical attention to their media and news coverage, trying to assimilate as best I can.

But the truth never leaves me—I am alone here.

Unwanted. Unwelcome. And if the humans knew the truth, they would destroy me.

I’ve seen the films. Secret government labs devoted to cutting up aliens and experimenting on them.

But if I’m safe anywhere on this planet, it would be Rellows, Utah during Space Con. Here, people spend the week dressing up as aliens, so I might not even attract a second glance if I went without camouflage technology. Not that I plan to risk it.

I assess my surroundings, judging what I have leased. Since I subsist on the same protein mixture for every meal, it doesn’t impact me. I’m getting low on the powder I sourced, but it should last another week if I’m careful.

I deposit my bag on the floor and close the window coverings.

This “tiny house,” as it was listed on the rental site, sits outside of town and there is plenty of privacy, as it’s apart from the main dwelling and fenced in with its own private garden.

I won’t be out there more than necessary.

Much of the local flora impedes my respiratory function, an issue I’d need to address if I planned to stay.

Then I unpack the few things I brought from off-world.

My personal tech. Hygiene items that would mystify humans who encountered them.

A musical instrument, four pipes conjoined, a gift from my gestational parent, Oona.

They wanted me to focus on creating beauty instead of endlessly seeking ephemeral, if electrifying moments.

And I planned to do that—to settle down after one last adventure, the most challenging yet.

Why didn’t I listen? The representative at the tour agency explained all the risks at length.

I just didn’t think anything disastrous could happen to me .

After all, I survived on a planet that was essentially an active volcano, running for my life the entire time.

I was exultant when I made the final shuttle off-world, and I’ve been trying to recapture that thrill ever since.

Everyone I know must fear for my safety by now, but I have no way to contact anyone beyond Planet 97-B.

For a while, I tried, using scrap parts sourced from old tech, but range?

Range is the problem. If I boosted the signal enough, it would also be scanned by the local authorities, attracting attention I neither want, nor can afford.

I’m snared in a wretched trap of my own making.

It’s a risk, but I power down the tech camo.

There’s no need for it in private, and all devices require downtime.

It’s versatile, adaptive tech; I should know.

I invented it. Well, perhaps that’s a specious claim, more accurate to say I upgraded from the older versions available and released my update after extensive testing.

It’s proven popular with scientists who blend in among more primitive life-forms to observe their behaviors up close.

Residual royalties from each use allow me to do as I like without worrying about my next invention. In the Galactic Union, we don’t hoard resources as they seem to on 97-B. Once someone hits a threshold of wealth, their assets are redistributed to those who need them. It’s a sensible system.

Right now, my biggest fear is that the technology will degrade, and I’ll have no means to repair it. Then I’ll be helpless. But I do have a plan.

Using the old phone I repaired, I skim the article again.

Billionaire Visionary Poised to Make History.

After a history of spotty launches for the last fifteen years, Owen Lusk has designed and built the most advanced ship in the world.

Due to launch for its maiden voyage in just six days, the reclusive Lusk agreed to speak to Connie Brightway regarding his mission.

“We’ll establish the first Mars colony within five years,” Lusk predicted.

“And in ten more, I’ll have a hundred thousand people in a self-sustaining colony on Mars.

I have extensive plans for aeroponics and a specially engineered microbe that will accelerate the terraforming.

It may take decades, but Mars will provide a refuge for humanity. ”

It seems to me that they should focus on fixing the planet they’ve poisoned instead of squandering resources to steal another.

But the relevant aspect of that article is the launch.

Is it possible I could find something useful on-site?

Building a shuttle from salvage would take a long time, but I might find usable components.

The idea poses an incredible challenge, one I’m not entirely sure I can surmount.

And I still need to adapt and charge the emergency beacon, or leaving won’t do me any good.

If I can access the launch site. If I can fix the beacon. There are so many variables that I don’t feel confident about my chances, especially on my own. But waiting has become untenable. I feel so guilty. I told Oona I’d be home soon, that I’d focus on creating beauty.

I swore that I would take one last trip, then stop living with such reckless abandon. To settle down and make everyone proud.

But now I’ve gotten myself in such a disastrous predicament that all numerical probability points to me perishing here.

I’ve run so many simulations, and none of them give me good odds at stowing away on that ship.

In fact, the statistics indicate the vessel will explode before it leaves the stratosphere.

I’m so tired of living without hope for the future, and I desperately want to see Jen again.

It was difficult to go inside my domicile without watching the red glow of her vehicle’s receding lights.

Seeing that brightness fade felt like the crushing weight of loneliness that only her presence amends.

It sounds melodramatic, but she’s been a constant ever since she reached out to me privately.

Because she was worried about my welfare, sensed something awry in my communications.

Not in the sense that I don’t belong, although I don’t.

But because she cares. Considering how many blessings and opportunities I’ve squandered, I don’t merit her kindness, but I’m starved for it.

Her gentleness nourishes my spirit, but I tell myself that I’ll only stay for two days.

We’ll make some memories and then I’ll be on my way, because staying here would mean my demise.

I can’t exist in this limbo any longer.