by Megan Crewe
Protecting Earth. Getting home. A little ache forms in my chest. “Jule,” I say, but I don’t know where to go from there.
“I’m sorry,” he says, his gaze snapping up to meet mine. “I got caught up in the moment. You’re dealing with a lot, and I shouldn’t have assumed— I shouldn’t have acted— It wasn’t fair. I know there are some strange ideas on Earth about . . . guys pushing for as much as they can get, when they have the chance, but we don’t trick our way into intimacy here. There’s no point unless both people are enjoying what’s going on, completely.”
I think of Hain. Of the creepy guy with hazel eyes. “Except with pets.”
Jule winces. “That’s technically illegal. But, yes, everyone knows it goes on—there are pricks no matter what planet you’re on. But you’re not a pet. I wouldn’t have a pet. I haven’t for one second thought of you that way. All right?”
It’s uncharitable, but as the tension ebbs from my body, his concern strikes me as amusing. I thought he was upset about the way I brought a halt to . . . whatever that was . . . or uncomfortable with my brand of minor insanity, but he’s just pissed off at himself. At how he thinks he’s behaved badly, been a poor representative of Kemyate romantic conduct. Of course Jule would make this all about him.
Seeing the humor in the situation gives me a surge of confidence. “I’m not totally sure what I want,” I say, “so . . . this isn’t an invitation. But, um, I was completely enjoying what was going on there up until the last five seconds or so. I just got a little overwhelmed. It’s been a while.” A while since I kissed anyone properly. I can’t say I’ve ever rolled around on a bed with a guy. The one actual boyfriend I’ve had, a couple years ago, we weren’t seeing each other long enough to make it to the horizontal stage. But Jule doesn’t need to know that.
Jule considers me, and a hint of his usual cocky smile touches his lips. “Glad to hear it,” he says, in a way that leaves which part he’s referring to open to interpretation. Knowing him, maybe all of it. It seems like a good time to sit down and attend to my breakfast.
He settles onto the bench and sips his coffee. When he sets it down, his expression has gone serious again.
“Was it because of what happened the other day?” he asks. “That made you so upset? I assume that’s what Isis wanted to talk to you about, that someone in the group has turned traitor.”
“She told you?” I say. Isis hadn’t mentioned him being in her trusted circle.
He shakes his head. “Thlo.”
Well, presumably it’s Thlo’s judgment that matters most. I nod, feeling one small weight lifted off me. He’s included in this; I don’t have to keep it secret. “Not a pleasant thought, is it?”
“No,” he agrees. “At least we got out unscathed.”
“It’s going to be harder to get the kolzo now.”
He waves that off, in a way I think is easy for him when he’s not the one stranded a galaxy away from his home. “We’ll find another way.”
“Do you think they did it on purpose?” I say. “Isis said the information could have gotten out by accident.”
“Anything’s possible. We’d have to look over every conversation everyone’s had in the last few days to know.”
“I guess it’d be hard for someone not to realize what they were giving away,” I say. Especially when everyone’s used to being so careful. Then I pause.
There was a moment, just a few days ago, when I was sitting in almost this exact spot and Jule’s friends had a conversation in front of me that they never expected him to hear about. The thing about ship parts and Amad’s uncle. It never occurred to them that the Earthling in their midst might understand.
Most of the rebel group still doesn’t know I’ve been learning Kemyate. And no one outside the group has any reason to suspect an Earthling could follow their talk. If this person keeps leaking information, there’s a chance someone, somewhere, will mention it in a public space. I just need to figure out how to be there to hear it when they do.
12.
I’m turning that idea over in my mind when Jule’s doorbell sounds. At the name that flashes across the screen, Jule stiffens.
“Go into your room,” he says quickly, quietly. “Put on your Earth clothes. I think you’re going to have to play pet again.”
One of his friends dropping by? The urgency in his tone stops me from pausing to ask. I hurry into my bedroom and dig my jeans and sweater out of the closet. I haven’t had a chance to shower yet. The echo of Jule’s lips lingers on my jaw, of his hand on the side of my waist. A flush spreads over my skin. No one could know we were doing exactly what Hain insinuated just by looking at me. But I know.
Damn, damn, damn. I told him the truth when I said I enjoyed it. But I’m living with him—things could get serious so fast. They almost did. And before long, hopefully, I’ll be heading back to my planet, never to see him again. This isn’t a good time for getting—how did he put it?—“intimate.”
“Skylar?” Jule calls from outside. I ready myself, falling into that dazed expression, and open the door. And my previous worries seem suddenly trivial.
I know the man who’s standing behind Jule. I looked into those burgundy eyes for a second in an abandoned warehouse in my city, before Win intercepted the shot he was about to make and whisked us away. He’s one of the Enforcers who was working with Kurra.
Heart pounding, I duck my head in pretend shyness, letting my hair hide part of my face. I got a much better look at him than he did at me on Earth. Britta’s work probably wouldn’t fool Kurra, who had a whole conversation with me, but this guy—please let it be enough.
His gaze weighs on me. I don’t want to risk meeting his eyes again. Instead, I look at Jule.
“What’s happening?” I ask lethargically.
“This man wanted to take a look at you,” Jule says. “He’s like a police officer.”
He couldn’t know I’ve seen this guy before, know all too well what his job is. Isis said Kurra was investigating people who’d been off-planet. But that was only yesterday—I didn’t realize that would affect us so soon. Kurra’s obviously determined to make up for her failure on Earth as swiftly as she can.
“Hello,” I make myself say, glancing at the Enforcer through my eyelashes so I don’t have to completely raise my head. His expression appears disinterested. Am I okay then? I swallow past the dryness in my mouth, and dare to add, keeping my tone vacant, “A police officer? Is something wrong?”
The Enforcer frowns at me, but he ignores the question, turning to Jule. “When did she arrive?”
“Six days ago,” Jule says. “With the latest cargo haul.”
The Enforcer makes a humming sound and taps something into the palm-size device he’s holding.
“You should both sit down,” he says. “I’ll have a few questions for her after I’ve talked to you.”
Jule motions me to the benches as if I wouldn’t have understood. I’m glad the pretense comes to him so easily. I fold my hands on my lap when I sit, to stop them from shaking.
“This is just a necessary . . .” the Enforcer says, followed by a few words I can’t translate, and something about being off-Kemya. He stays standing, resting one hand on the tabletop. “What was the purpose of your trip on the . . . ?”
Jule gives a brief explanation laced with unfamiliar jargon, expanding on it as the Enforcer interrupts with questions. I sit there dumbly, as if it’s all just meaningless babble to me, as if my heart isn’t threatening to jump out of my chest. To distract myself, I study the man surreptitiously.
His speech stays respectfully formal; he addresses Jule with the Kemyate equivalent of “Mr. Adka,” with a slightly altered honorific the language program informed me was reserved for citizens of “superior status,” though it didn’t tell me exactly how that status is determined. Maybe Jule’s family’s wealth—or the technological developments Isis mentioned they’ve had a hand in.
Even the man’s posture is deferential, an
d he apologizes twice while continuing his questioning. But as my anxiety simmers down, seeing he seems barely interested in me, I notice subtle tics that feel like contradictions. The slant of his lips, as if he’s suppressing a sneer. The pause right after he cuts Jule off in midsentence, as if he enjoys being impolite when it’s allowed.
My attention jerks back to the Enforcer’s words when a hint of that derision creeps into his voice too. “How do your parents feel about that?” he’s inquiring.
Jule chuckles, but his jaw has tensed. “They’re pleased I’m keeping myself busy,” he says, or something to that effect.
“I’d imagine so,” the Enforcer murmurs. “I’m sure they are . . . with your grandfather’s condition.”
Jule’s eyes narrow. As if sensing he’s overstepped some boundary, the man inclines his head, his voice dropping into its more respectful tone. “Thank you for your help. The situation is as I expected. I was required to speak to everyone.” His gaze slides to me for the first time since Jule presented me. “Now it’s required that I speak to the Earthling. Alone, if you will accept that.”
My fingers tighten around each other. Maybe he did recognize me, and he’s only been pretending—
No, if he knew who I was, he wouldn’t go through this whole charade. He’d have hauled me off in an instant. If there’s one thing I appreciate about Kemyate efficiency, it’s that they’re not inclined to beat around the bush.
Still, the last thing I want is to be left on my own with this guy. But Jule can hardly refuse without raising other questions. “Certainly,” he says, standing up. “I’ll step out for a few minutes?”
“That would be ideal,” the Enforcer says.
Jule touches my arm in a gesture that would probably look proprietary to an outsider, disguising a reassuring squeeze. “You’ll talk with the policeman a little, all right?” he says. “You can answer anything he asks.”
I stare at him in mock confusion while trying to read any message he might intend to pass on. But if there’s anything in his eyes, it’s only concern. “All right,” I say.
As Jule goes out, the Enforcer slides onto the bench kitty-corner to me—the spot where Jule usually sits. “This will be quick,” he says briskly in stilted English. “I will ask a few questions, and you answer, and then we will be done.”
“All right,” I say again. My pulse has condensed into a dull rushing behind my ears.
“After you were taken from Earth,” he says, “on your way to meet Jule, do you remember anyone talking to you in your own language? Acting like a friend, perhaps?”
He thinks the rebels might have hitched a ride on a cargo ship? I form a puzzled expression. “I hardly saw anyone. I slept a lot, and they brought me food.”
“And since you’ve been here, no one other than Jule has tried to talk to you?”
I allow myself to show a hint of my discomfort. I’m not supposed to be totally emotionless. “His friends came over. They asked me questions about Earth.”
The Enforcer’s gaze sharpens. “What sort of questions?”
“Where I came from, what I did there. They seemed to think I was funny. I don’t understand why.”
“You didn’t like them.”
“I don’t know. They mostly ignored me.” He seems to be buying my act. Good. As my nerves settle, it occurs to me that there are a few questions I’d like to ask him. What exactly Kurra’s hoping to find out in these interviews. How much they already know. How they know it. “What would you want to know about, that someone could have said?”
“Anything friendly,” the Enforcer suggests. “Perhaps saying they would help you.”
I shake my head dopily. “No, nothing like that.”
He nods. “And Jule, what has he said to you about Earth?”
I think back to the explanation Jule gave me about how pets are chosen. “He said I would have died if the people here hadn’t taken me. It’s like he saved my life.” I pause, and venture, “Why are you looking for people who’d be friendly? That’s not like policemen on Earth.”
For a second, I think I’ve crossed a line. The Enforcer eyes me silently. I try to look as dim as possible, letting my gaze wander away from him and back.
“There are people who act friendly but are lying,” he says after a moment, in a patronizing tone. “We catch the people who hurt the rest of us, as all police do.”
“Someone might try to hurt me?”
“I am sure your owner will look after you,” the Enforcer says, getting up with a thin smirk that sets my nerves twitching again. “And we are close to catching these criminals. Sometimes they decide to hurt each other too.”
The Enforcer’s words are still haunting me when Thlo calls another meeting. Sometimes they decide to hurt each other too.
Jule passed on word about the interviews to the others. Amid the various industrial, commercial, and research projects that would have taken people off-Kemya during the period in question, it sounds like there’s no reason our group should stand out. But the narrow hallways of the station feel even more restrictive now. Kurra and the other Enforcers are actively looking for us. And her colleague all but confirmed that one of us is deliberately helping them do it.
So I’m not surprised to find the workroom we enter relatively empty. Isis is just following Thlo into a connecting room. And Win is sitting at one of the two consoles, watching a familiar array of transmissions.
I sit at the stool beside him. “Monitoring work?”
“Someone’s got to do it,” he replies with a crooked smile. “And with the meetings so much smaller from now on . . .”
“It’s safer that way,” I say.
“Safer and slower.”
“You’re always in such a rush,” Jule remarks mildly where he’s waiting by the inner door for Thlo to return. “We can’t run wild here like you did on Earth.”
“I just don’t want to see us—” Win cuts himself off with a jerk of his head. “It doesn’t matter.”
He falls into an uncharacteristically gloomy silence. Suddenly I wonder if the Enforcers have stopped by his apartment. How they’d talk to him and his family, if they were derisive even of Jule.
“Did something happen?” I ask. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” he says, in a way that doesn’t sound fine at all.
A couple weeks ago, I’d have prodded him, teased it out of him. Now, after our last few conversations, I’m not sure how that will be received. Then he looks at me, and his stoic expression cracks.
“It’s nothing,” he says, but this time he doesn’t sound as if even he believes it.
“Win . . .”
His gaze darts toward Jule, who’s turned to push past the door into the other room, apparently tired of waiting. Win and I are left alone. Win rakes his hand through his hair and frowns at his console, his voice dropping even though there’s no one to overhear.
“My parents—they’re part of this . . . ‘club’—they’re doing their periodic petition to have art put up in the public areas around the station. But it’s all so . . . I don’t know. Some of my younger brother’s classmates have been hassling him about it, messing with his work.” He makes a dismissive gesture. “Not that different from life as usual.”
I get the feeling there’s more to it than that. “It wouldn’t be such a bad thing, having a little more decor around this place,” I say.
“I don’t think it is,” Win says. “But the request is going to get shut down, like it has the first half a dozen times they tried it. And I’m starting to notice . . . The way they talk about it . . . I don’t know anymore if they actually respect anything about Earth, or they’re just using it for entertainment, the same way people have their stupid parties and fashion trends . . .”
The same way he talked about watching Earthling history, when we first Traveled into the past together. Before it sank in, just how real the inhabitants of the planet he covets are.
“. . . and pets.” Win meets my eyes
again. “And I’m going on about this without even asking how you are. I heard you had an Enforcer come.”
“He mostly talked to Jule,” I say. Thinking back to that morning reminds me of the other things that happened, just before, and my cheeks flush. I haven’t even talked to Jule about our . . . intimacy, since then. There’s not enough space in that apartment to fit a whole elephant, but there’s definitely been an invisible prickly porcupine in the room.
The memory niggles with Win’s deep blue eyes fixed on me. Less than a week ago I was yelling about how nothing at all had happened with Jule. It wasn’t a lie then, but it feels like one now. And as much as Win just opened up to me, I can’t turn to him for Kemyate romantic advice.
But we have more important concerns. Sometimes they decide to hurt each other too.
“How well do you know everyone in the group?” I say abruptly.
“Well, I saw Thlo and Jule regularly during Traveler training, and Pavel around, since he’s a Traveler too,” Win says. “We all talked a lot when we were getting ready for the trip to Earth, of course, but mostly about the mission.”
“And everyone seemed totally dedicated to it?”
“Yes. Why—are you having a problem with someone?”
I ought to be able to tell him this. But if Isis hasn’t let him in . . . It’s her secret, and Thlo’s. I bite my lip, torn.
“Go ahead,” Jule says, and I startle. I hadn’t heard him come back. He nods toward Win from where he’s standing by the open door. “You trust him,” he says, his gaze so inscrutable he must be taking lessons from Thlo. “From what I’ve heard, you should. Isis will understand.”
I stare at him. It’s the kindest I’ve ever heard him speak about Win. Maybe he really has rethought his opinions since our argument before.
“Understand what?” Win says, glancing between us. “What’s going on?”
I drag in a breath, and relate the suspicions Isis shared with me, the comment the Enforcer made—everything except the secret job Thlo gave me, which no one except the two of us know about. By the time I’m finished, Win’s jaw has gone tight.
