Love Galaxy (The Intergalactic Dating Show #1)

Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

Sorin

I keep hold of the handrails set into the overhead hatch so that I have something to do with my upper hands. My lower hands I have pressed to the cart’s inner walls in an attempt to give Briar as much room to move as possible.

She stares out the translucent hatch, turning her head left and right as if she can see through the darkness. And maybe she can. There is so much I still do not know about Briar. Or about Humans.

I wish there was a manual I could read, something that would tell me about the shaking of the hand ceremony, something that would tell me what it means when the fine lines crease her smooth brow or when the corners of her mouth lift when she looks at me.

Coupled up Chloe called us. The real question is if Briar will still want to be paired with Sorin by the end of their twenty days.

But it is not twenty days, not really. Surely we have already used up nearly two precious days.

I clear my throat but immediately can think of nothing to say. The sound of my breaths is all I can hear; they fill the small cabin, accentuating the otherwise uncomfortable silence.

I should ask her something… something about, er, her… Scudding fek!

“It feels a little like we’re hurtling into the belly of the beast,” she says, cutting through my inability to form coherent sentences. “How long is the tunnel? How did you guys build it? How fast are we travelling?” Turning, she loops an arm around my shoulders so she can more easily see me.

The control panel is backlit by a muted light that throws deep shadows over the side of her face, illuminating the hollow at her collarbone and reflecting our faces in the translucent hatch.

“I’m sorry,” she says, before I have chosen which of her questions to answer first. “You’re probably really uncomfortable. I hadn’t realized the ride would be so long when I first sat down. Maybe— If we—” Releasing me, she shifts from side to side, as if trying to move her weight from my legs but finding no other space to sit. “I bet Mr. Smith thought it would be a real laugh making us both squeeze in here together.”

Catching hold of her wrist, I return her arm to its place around my shoulders. Like this, her side is pressed to my chest, and we can speak face to face, rather than me trying to talk to the back of her head. Like this, I can almost ignore the small camera clipped to the control panel with its flashing red light indicating it is recording.

Of course John Smith could not even allow us this time to be private.

“I am comfortable,” I reassure her. She is small, delicate, so easily broken. I would keep her wrapped in my arms forever if I could, protecting her from all the harms of the world. “So long as you are comfortable, too.”

“Oh, yeah?” Do her cheeks flush, or is that the red light of the camera reflecting off her pale skin? She does not meet my gaze, looking instead at our reflections. “I’m comfortable.”

“The tunnel travels the length of our farm. Our parents cut it, when my family first settled here. They could not afford to bring much with them, but even then they understood the importance of an auger drill.”

“An auger— Oh, like a bore. We have those back on Earth, too. When you said your parents had made the tunnels, for a second I thought you meant they’d dug them using picks and shovels. I keep forgetting about spaceships and how you guys must have technology that’s so much more advanced than anything Humans have.” She rubs at the back of her neck, where her translator must be. “We’re so different.” Still examining our reflections, she continues, saying: “I don’t have any horns or scales. I don’t have four arms. Seeing you, talking to you, that’s been the catalyst for my entire world changing.”

“You look at me and are reminded of being stolen from your home planet?”

“No, I don’t. When I look at you”—her gaze finally settles on my real face—“I see someone who is kind. Someone who looked after me when I needed it most.”

I scoff. Kindness will not keep Briar and the other Females safe.

“Hey, I’m serious. I’d have liked a friend as kind as you back home,” she says, squeezing my shoulder. “I’ve been meaning to ask, what’s this planet called?”

“Officially, its name is a series of numbers which denote its location within the galaxy,” I explain. “Unofficially, my family and I call it Ril II.”

“Ril the First being the planet on which you were born?”

I nod.

“Why did you guys come here, when there’s literally nobody else around? That is, if you don’t mind me asking.”

Of course I do not mind. I would be honored to answer anything Briar wishes to ask of me. “It is— My parents—” I struggle to know where to begin. This is not something I talk about. It all happened before Roan was born, and Killan will not speak of our old life on Ril I. Being older than me, he remembers the events with more clarity. I am never sure if my memories are real or if they are old stories told to me by our parents. “When Roan was born, here on Ril II, my parents named him in remembrance of our older sister, Roa.”

“Oh.” Briar stills, as if she can guess what I am going to say next.

“Roa was nine Common years when she became ill and died.” I was four then; Killan, seven.

“I’m so sorry, Sorin.” She presses her free hand to my chest, her fingers splayed over my scales.

“Why are you sorry?” I do not understand. Roa’s death had nothing to do with Briar.

“I’m sorry that your sister died. I’m sorry that you and your family had to go through something so difficult.”

Akh, I see. “It was difficult,” I agree. “She was diagnosed with an Eoli deficiency. It should have been curable, but there was not an alternative source of Eoli readily available on Ril at that time. After her death, my parents brought Killan and I to Ril II with the hope nobody else would have to suffer as Roa did.”

“Eoli isn’t translating, I don’t think. At least it’s not something I’ve heard of before.”

“It is a vitamin responsible for increasing our intestinal absorption of other important elements. It comes from our sun, on Ril I that is, and we absorb it through microscopic pores in our scales.”

“Kind of like vitamin D for Humans.” She nods. “How do you get Eoli on Ril II, if not from the sun here?”

“That is what we farm. You did not know this?”

“No, I didn’t. Apparently, that’s another thing Mr. Smith didn’t bother telling me about.” She shifts, resettling on my thighs. Her hand is now removed from my chest, but her other arm is still resting along the length of my shoulders. “How do you farm a vitamin?”

“Eoli is also found in Nufaral.”

“Which is?”

“Aquatic algae.”

“Oh, is that what Killan handed me during our introduction? I was wondering. Wait a second.” She wrinkles her nose in an expression of… dislike? Anger? Confusion? “I think I’m still missing something here. If it’s aquatic, where do you grow the algae? I haven’t seen any lakes or rivers. The planet’s as dry as an old bone.”

“There is no surface water,” I agree. “But Ril II has many underground lakes. A few of these we have converted into nurseries for the Nufaral. For the algae. It is then collected every sixty days by a Freighter crew who transports it back to Ril I.”

“This is explaining so much. I was confused about why you and your brothers live here all by yourselves. It’s because you’re growing a vitamin that helps other people… other, ah— Sorry, what is your species called again?”

“Ril’os.”

“Ril’os. You help other Ril’os stay healthy. Like a pharmaceutical company making vitamin pills.”

“We have a company, yes. We have a charity too, which donates Nufaral to medical centers to help those who cannot afford to purchase our algae themselves.”

She blinks. “Wow, Sorin. I had no idea. Your poor sister. Your poor parents. I can’t begin to imagine what it would feel like to lose a child.”

“They are not poor.”

“No, I didn’t mean it like money.” She shakes her head. “I meant that your parents sound like they were amazing people. I wish I could’ve met them.”

“Akh.” My chest tightens. “They would have been proud, I think, of your interest in their work. My father would have enjoyed showing you the lakes.” Now, he knows almost nothing of the farm, his memory fading the older he grows. “My mother would have commandeered your attention with a long lecture on the administration. She can talk tirelessly about how each aspect of the farm and the business feed back into their charity work, about how everything my father and she had designed and established was interconnected.” It was from her that Killan learned how to give his own lectures to Roan and I about the importance of our legacy and the work that we do here on Ril II.

“Oh, so they’re still alive? I just assumed, sorry, because I haven’t seen them around.”

“They returned to Ril I when my father grew too frail to continue working. They could have stayed. We would have cared for them. But my mother wished to return. She wants to spend her last years near where Roa lived.” And died.

I shift, uneasy. Speaking about my family with Briar feels more intimate than I had expected. Mayhaps because I have not had such a conversation like this before—not with Killan or Roan, and certainly not with any of the other Ril’os we work with long distance. My species does not consider farming an honorable career. We are a society focused on the production of tech, not on the growth of food. All produce is imported into Ril I, while tech is our primary export.

Which is exactly why Roa died. Then, we knew of no other species that needed Eoli to survive, and therefore, it was not available for purchase when my sister needed an additional source. Now, there are several species across multiple galaxies who purchase our Nufaral. Although, our primary customer is still Ril I. That they must import Nufaral from a farm owned and operated by their fellow Ril’os is a point of shame. For them.

My brothers and I are proud of the work we do. Even Roan, who has no experience of life beyond our home planet.

“What about your family?” I ask.

Maybe Briar senses I am trying to change the subject, for she squeezes my shoulder before saying: “My parents aren’t nearly as amazing as yours. Mine are just hippies.”

“Hip—” I struggle with the unfamiliar word.

“Hippies. It’s the word we use to describe certain people who don’t agree with how our society is run—like with our economy and stuff. They hate big corporations and the government, but they don’t really do anything to try changing what they don’t like. At least my parents never have. They don’t even go to protests. Seriously, what hippies don’t love a protest?”

“I do not know.”

The corners of her mouth turn up. “I don’t know either. When I was eight, they both quit their jobs and moved us into a commune. But it wasn’t even out in the bush. It was in suburban Sydney.” She rolls her eyes. “They turned vegan and started growing all their own food. They gave all their money away to charity, and if they wanted something they couldn’t make themselves, they tried trading for it. You know, swapping carrots for shoelaces. I suppose in theory it sounds nice enough. Believing in peace and wanting everyone to be kind to each other and the environment. But as a kid I was the joke of my school. I didn’t have a uniform or a proper lunchbox. I used to carry everything in a brown paper bag.

“When I told them I’d gotten a uni scholarship and was going to study political science, they actually disowned me! As if I was the crazy one. Like we were living in the nineteen hundreds. All I wanted was to prove to them that it was possible to help change the world without forcing your daughter to wear clothes that had more holes than fabric.”

A spaceship for scholars? A box for lunches? I almost ask but decide these are probably not so important as what else she has said. “Your parents do not like to do things as other Humans do them,” I clarify.

“That’s about the gist of it.” At my confused look, she nods. “Yes, I mean. What shits me the most is that I think they might have been right. Politics ended up being more about secret deals and making money than it was about helping our constituents. At least that’s what it was like for the party I was stupid enough to work for. I couldn’t see the truth that was right in front of my nose.

“I still thought I was doing the right thing right up until the media found a whole lot of donations to the party hadn’t been properly declared, and everyone blamed me for the error. Sure, it was part of my job to update the database, but I can’t declare what nobody tells me about.

“Anyway, I got fired and my reputation was shot. And the guy who was actually the dickhead got away with breaking the law.” She rakes her fingers through her tangled hairs. “Sorry, ignore me. It’s been a long time since I’ve had someone I can talk to about this stuff, but it's not your job to listen to my whining.”

“I could no more ignore you than I could ignore myself.” I want to ask about her parents. I want to ask what a cock on a head is. I want to ask about every aspect of her life back on her home planet.

“You’re literally stuck with me sitting on your lap. I get it.”

“I did not mean—” I think she did not understand me, and I want there to be no misunderstandings between us. I want her to know how serious I am when it comes to convincing her to stay with me. “Briar, I wish to know everything about you.” I choose my words carefully, planning them before I speak. “I do not listen to you because it is my job but because it is my joy.”

“Oh.” Her eyes widen. “You’re not a big talker, but when you do speak, wow do you say the right thing.”

“I do?”

“Yeah. Absolutely.” And she presses her lips to my cheek.