by Amie Kaufman
He looks at me. Looks away again just as quick.
He’s not like anything or anyone I’ve ever known. I mean, I’ve dated before, but there’s a world of difference—a galaxy of difference—between a movie and popcorn on a Friday night and a guy telling you he’s bonded to you for life.
But when he spoke to me in the sickbay, it was like he switched on the lights, and I found myself somewhere so completely unexpected that I had no idea what to say. After all that time he spent ignoring me, trying to keep me away from anything resembling action or responsibility, I was so sure he really did think I was a burden. That if he defended me, it was out of a sense of duty to Tyler’s orders.
Except that now I know that all the times he kept me at arm’s length, that was his duty showing. The times he defended me, they were something else entirely.
Now he walks alongside me, his gaze ahead, every line of him alert and ready. And even with all the chaos and insanity around us, it’s so much better just being beside him.
He makes me feel safe.
The three of us arrive at the spaceport, easing past the vines that cover the open gates, and my heart sinks at the sight before us. The docking bays and control tower and ships are overrun with the same plant growth that seems to have infected everything else in the colony. The skiffs, the freighters, the orbitals, everything. Their hulls crawl with long snarls of creepers and strange flowers, coated in a blanket of this sticky blue pollen that’s falling about us like rain.
This place is huge. How are we supposed to find what we need to restore the Longbow’s power in all this?
“Mothercustard,” I mutter.
“I don’t know what that is,” Finian says. “It sounds awful. But we’re not lost yet, Stowaway. The elements we’re after have a half-life of a few million years. If they’re here, a little bit of weed won’t hurt them.”
“The reactors in these ships have what we need?” Kal asks.
“Dunno,” Fin says. “These ships are older than my fourth grandpa, and I’m not sure what kind of drives they ran on. But those GIA goons are still on our tails, so we should split up. We’ll work quicker, cover more ground. If you find a ship with an active core, shoot me an image on my uni.”
“Very well.” Kal nods. “Stay on communications.”
“Don’t worry,” Fin replies. “If I see another one of those choomps, you’ll hear me screaming without my uniglass.”
Kal raises an eyebrow. “You are not much of a warrior, are you, Finian?”
“Well, you’re not …” Fin makes a face and sighs. “Ah, forget it. …”
He limps off toward the biggest freighter, struggling with the containment unit. Kal and I head toward the skiffs, him in front with his rifle raised, me close behind. He offers me his hand to help me over a tangle of vines, even as he looks back to check on Fin. I’m realizing now he’s always attuned to where I am, always looking out for me.
“Kal, I … ,” I begin softly, not sure what to say.
I’m not sure what to say. I’m just sure that I want to talk about this. He’s instantly attentive, though he doesn’t take those intense purple eyes off the buildings and ships around us.
“What is it, be’shmai?”
“I’ve been thinking a lot,” I begin. “About what you said.”
He stays silent, which I suppose is fair enough—he already bared his heart to me. I wouldn’t volunteer for a second round either if I were him.
“I’m glad you told me,” I say. “It can’t have been easy.”
He’s quiet for a little after that, but I can tell he’s considering my words, rather than refusing to answer. Fin is long out of earshot when he finally speaks.
“It was not,” he says. “But I owed you the truth.”
As we approach the first skiff slowly, carefully, I look around at the ruins of the place that would’ve been my world. Kal raises his uniglass toward the engines, taking some kind of reading. After a moment, he sighs and shakes his head—no dice. The power core on the skiff is dead. We move on to the next.
“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything straightaway,” I offer. “It was … a surprise. I mean, for you too, I’m guessing. Back when it first happened, I mean.”
“It truly was.” He pauses. “You Terrans say that home is where the heart lies. When my world died, I thought perhaps my heart had died with it. I did not think I could ever feel this way. About anyone. Let alone a human.”
“But you do.”
“… I do,” he says.
“But you’re going to leave, when this is over.”
“Yes.” He walks on, weapon raised, me beside him. “I joined the Legion because I wished to escape. The war among my people. The war in my soul. But to reject my darker side only strengthens it. To lock it in a cage, to deny it is part of me … I cannot stop being what I am. Instead, I must muster the rage to master it.”
He shrugs and sighs.
“My mother’s people have a saying: ke’tma indayōna be’trai. It means … you do not walk alone when you walk your true path. I will be able to walk mine if I know you are pursuing your own. By honoring your wishes, I honor the Pull that has called me. And my path leads back to my people. To the war tearing us apart.”
I can see what the words cost him. What the idea of going away costs him. I can see it for the excuse that it is. He’s not a very good liar, now I know what I’m looking for.
I move up beside him to look down at the disruptor in his arms. The blood on his hands.
“Are you sure that’s your true path?”
He follows my gaze, tightens his grip on the rifle.
“A warrior is all I was raised to be, Aurora.”
I look up sidelong at him for a moment, wishing he’d meet my eyes, but he’s steadfastly concentrating on our surroundings. And as the silence stretches, and I consider his words, it strikes me that he’s not the only one who needs to find a way to walk his path.
Truth is, I’m afraid of what I’m becoming. I can feel it inside me now, if I look. There’s something so much bigger going on here. And even though I know I’m a part of it, I’m afraid I’ll lose myself inside it. But if I was in control of it, if I could have called up whatever this power of mine is, I could have stopped the fight before Cat was hurt.
And isn’t protecting my new friends worth the risk?
I’m beginning to think that my choice is between surfing this wave—barely in control, but at least trying to steer—or being dumped by it. Tumbled over and over until I drown.
Watching Kal, I realize how alike we are. Both alone. Both without a home. Both of us have had our paths chosen for us by forces outside our control. He said he’s never heard of a Syldrathi who felt the Pull with a human. Being at the mercy of that, of the warrior within him—must be so hard.
“I’m sorry,” I finally say. “That you don’t get to choose for yourself.”
He glances up to the sky briefly, sunlight glinting in those violet eyes. “Do moons choose the planets they orbit? Do planets choose their stars? Who am I to deny gravity, Aurora? When you shine brighter than any constellation in the sky?”
I look at this strange boy beside me. It would be so easy to simply see him as a weapon. A beautiful one, sure. But still, a boy made of violence, with his scabbed knuckles and his arrogant grace and his cold, purple eyes. But now, here on this impossible world, I begin to see the possibilities. In him. In me.
In us.
“A warrior might be all you were raised to be, Kal,” I say. “But it’s not all you are.”
I slip my free hand into his and squeeze. He flinches a little at first, as if surprised. But then, ever so gently, squeezes it back. His gaze flicks to me, then skitters away, as if it doesn’t dare meet mine.
“What does the name you call me mean?” I ask.
“Be’shmai?” he
replies. “There … there is no adequate human word for it.”
“What about inadequate words, then?”
His answer is very soft.
“Beloved.”
There’s two biosuits and a rain of blue pollen between us, and I’m suddenly wishing we were someplace far away from here. Someplace quiet and warm. Someplace private.
“Kal,” I say, and with a gentle squeeze of my hand, I draw him to a stop.
He looks around us carefully, then up, assuring himself we have a moment’s safety before he looks down at me through his helmet’s visor.
I keep hold of my gun in one hand—this is an important conversation, but I don’t want to die in the middle of it—and I let go of his hand, so I can reach up and rest my palm on his chest. It’s where his heart would be if he were a human, and I’m sobered for a moment by the fact that I don’t even know if that’s true for a Syldrathi.
But it’s just one more thing I want to learn.
“I appreciate what you did,” I say softly. “That you tried to spare me the obligation. I can’t imagine how hard it was for you to do. It was honorable.”
He swallows, his composure lessened just for a moment. “Of course,” he whispers. “For you, I would. …”
I can feel his breathing quickening under the hand I’m resting against his ribs, but he holds himself still for me.
I could keep him in place with the weight of a fingertip, I think.
“I wonder,” I continue, still soft, “if you could do one more thing for me.”
“Anything,” he breathes.
I can’t help it. I smile, just a little.
“Would you consider letting me make up my own mind about you? I don’t want to make promises I can’t keep, but did it ever occur to you that if you let me get to know you, I might like you back?”
His eyes are locked on mine, and through his faceplate, I can see the tiniest hint of a blush creeping up his ears.
“No,” he admits quietly. “It did not.”
Very gently, very carefully, I curl the hand on his chest into the fabric of his biosuit, tugging him ever so slowly toward me. My cheeks are streaked with dried tears, and I can see every shade of violet in his eyes, the line of blood across his cheek where a shard of the exploding Trigger cut it. And as our helmets touch, we’re so close I can count his eyelashes.
And he holds still for me.
“I don’t know what comes next,” I say softly. “But why don’t we see where this path leads us? Let’s just find out together.”
“You would. …” The words fade away, laced with hope.
“I’m not a Syldrathi,” I murmur. “I can’t just fall in deep like you. But if you stopped …”
“Being a jackass?” he supplies, with a faint smile.
I can’t help it. I laugh. “Maybe,” I reply. “Then we’d have a chance to see what happens. Does that sound like something you could do?”
It’s not an easy question, and I know it. I’m asking him to leave his heart unguarded, just to see if a girl of a different species could love him back. I’m asking him to let an already-lifelong bond strengthen so that it will hurt even more if he leaves, and I don’t know what I’ll be able to offer in return.
But there’s so much in us that’s the same. And there’s something about him.
I think it might be worth the risk.
His gaze slides away as he considers the question, and this time I’m the one waiting, my own breath as quick as his now. I can count my heartbeats.
I’m at ten when he looks back to me once more, still so close, the glass of his faceplate against mine.
“Yes,” he murmurs.
“Yes,” I echo.
There’s a softness to his smile that sets off flurries of butterflies in my stomach. And then Finian’s voice crackles across Kal’s uniglass.
“Pixieboy, you there?”
We break apart. Dragged back to reality. My pulse pounding and my hands shaking as Kal touches the device at his belt.
“… I read you, Finian,” he replies, blinking as if he’s coming out from under a spell.
“Okay, don’t all ask for my autograph at once, but I think I’ve worked out our answer. I’m in that old D-class freighter on the south end of the port, come take a look.”
“We are on our way.”
Kal smiles at me, sweet and warm. I draw a deep breath and nod. He holds out his hand to me and I take it, feeling the strength in his grip. He hefts his rifle, the warrior, the soldier in him rising to the surface once more. But now, I realize he’s something else, too.
He’s mine.
And fingers entwined, we make our way through the rolling blue.
•••••
“You two want the good news or the bad news?”
Fin’s leaning against the ancient freighter’s console, which he’s miraculously managed to crank back to life with the help of his uniglass, a screwdriver jammed between two panels, and what looks like a jury-rigged power unit. A mess of sticky blue pollen covers every surface, and growths of tendrils and vines have forced their way in through the hull and crawled over almost everything. Considering the state of this place, I’m amazed Fin could even coax it into turning on, let alone giving up any information.
“The good news,” I say.
“The bad news,” Kal says simultaneously.
Fin smirks, noting the fact that we’re holding hands.
“Well, it’s nice that you lovebirds still have some stuff to work on. The bad news is none of the ships here are going to have a core compatible with ours.” He glances at me and shrugs. “Looks like you dirtchildren were still using simple plutonium drives back in the day. But the good news is, I think I can still synthesize what we need. I just need to get the colony reactor going.”
“They sssshould not be here.”
The voice comes from behind us. We all whip around, and three figures are standing there, shrouded in the gloom. The first is a man, heavyset and broad, the second a paler, younger man about my age, and the last is a woman with dark brown skin and black hair that falls to her waist in a wild tangle. Clusters of flowers bloom from their eyes, moss grows down the sides of their faces, disappearing at their necks into the swathe of vines that clothe them, twisting along their arms, coiling around their legs. Those GIA agents on the World Ship looked infected by the same … disease, but these people look totally corrupted.
“Holy cake,” I whisper.
The woman turns toward me, head tilted.
“Aurora?” she says, sounding almost affectionate now.
Kal steps forward, putting himself between us and raising his weapon.
“Come no closer.”
The younger man takes a shuffling step forward. The vines around the woman’s arms begin twisting and writhing, but it’s her voice that catches at me. Her eyes are flowers, but I somehow know she’s looking at me, seeing me as she hisses like a snake.
“She deliversss herssself to ussss?”
“Jayla,” I say slowly, trying it out. “Jayla Williams.”
Another colonist. She’s the one who got picked for Patrice’s Cartography team the year before me. She tilts her head, as if she’s trying to make sense of me. Like I’m the last person in the galaxy she expected to see. The bigger man’s bright blue eyes are fixed on Kal, the younger one rocking back and forth on his heels and hissing. All around us, the plants and vines that cover the spaceport begin to move in concert, slow and sinuous, snaking across the deck toward us.
“They will not sssstop the ssspawning,” the woman says, shaking her head and baring black teeth. “They sssshould not be here!”
“I will not warn you again,” Kal says.
The young man looks at him quizzically. Takes one step closer.
“… What issss ‘I’?”
>
Quick as lightning, they lunge forward, all at once. Their speed is blinding. Kal only gets two shots off—the first taking the big man’s head off his shoulders in a spray of blue spores, the second burning a black hole through the young man’s chest and dropping him to the floor. But Jayla is on Kal now, overgrown fingers wrapping around his disruptor.
I raise my own weapon, but she’s so quick, lashing out with her foot and sending the gun flying from my hand and me skidding to my knees. She strikes at Kal, but he manages to block, seizing her wrist and locking her up.
The pair strain against each other. Kal towers over her, but I can see his jaw clenched, the veins in his neck standing taut. I desperately try crawling for my disruptor, but the plants are clawing at my hands, snagging around my ankles, just like they did to Kal when the chimp attacked.
The vines slither up around Kal’s boots like snakes, entwined about his shins and holding him in place. His eyes widen in disbelief as the woman leans in. Twisting his rifle with a terrible strength until the long barrel is jammed under his chin. His jaw is clenched, teeth gritted as her fingers close on the trigger.
“Be’shmai,” he gasps. “Run.”
BAMF.
BAMF.
BAMF.
The woman staggers back as the disruptor blasts ring out. The first shot strikes her in the ribs, the second in her shoulder and the final one goes straight through her blooming eye and out the other side.
A greenish-blue mess spatters on the wall behind her. She makes a strange sound, wobbles on her feet. But slowly, Jayla Williams drops to the ground, and the plants around us fall perfectly still.
Kal looks over his shoulder to Finian, who’s standing there with his disruptor pistol in hand. His silver eyebrow is raised as he looks the smaller boy up and down.
“Fine shooting,” he whispers, reaching visibly for his usual calm.
Finian grins, jamming his gun back into its holster.
