Chapter 7
SEVEN
ADESEWA
We were building a community.
We still didn't know where we were going, but we had our basic needs taken care of and were able to focus on things other than the horror of our situation.
The ship around us kept changing, but our centralized point of community space, individual bedrooms, the room that had appeared that we were furnishing as a kitchen, Sara's operating lab, and the new manufacturing facility stayed the same.
Sigidi showed himself to be a silent engine of productivity.
I watched as he hauled materials and nutrient cubes from the storage rooms with us.
New storage rooms would become available with the rest of the hallway's rearranging, and we used their contents to resupply our growing community kitchen or to deliver additional supplies to the manufacturing facility.
He was relentless, tireless, his movements a blur of precise, mechanical efficiency.
He didn't break a sweat or utter a single complaint.
He didn't have to be ordered around or told what to do.
He just did what needed to be done.
In the new manufacturing room, the hum of alien machinery filled the air. At first, it was daunting. None of the equipment was familiar. None of us knew how to use it.
But Sigidi stepped in again, asking us questions and teaching us how to use the different machines.
Sigidi stood beside Mei, his long fingers pointing at a translucent interface as he spoke in low, rhythmic tones, explaining the tool that would allow her to take drawn designs and model them into metal.
He didn't react negatively when she cut him off early when she understood his instruction and wanted him to move on, to explain another feature; he just shifted, following the flow of her mind and giving her what she needed to understand without overexplaining the parts she already grasped.
Several other women crowded around, eyes wide, absorbing the secrets of the high-tech forge, but as more gathered, he began to shift, as if he was uncomfortable with the attention.
I leaned against the cold bulkhead, arms crossed.
The technical jargon drifted past me like static.
I had no desire to learn the inner workings of a fabrication unit or how to calibrate a plasma cutter.
My gaze remained fixed on the curve of Sigidi's neck and the way he tilted his head toward Mei's voice.
I wasn't there because I wanted to learn.
I was there because I felt torn.
There was a twinge in my heart as Andrea crowded in close to his elbow, pressing her chest against his arm.
He stepped away from her again, moving to the other side of Mei, keeping his student in between him and the others, to point out another feature of the machine.
Mei noticed, shifting herself to block Andrea when the other women tried to follow him.
When he had gone over one of the pieces of equipment with her yesterday, Andrea had crowded him too many times, and he had cut the lesson short and left, vanishing where no one was able to find him, reappearing only to slip into my room when I had gone to bed for the night.
It didn't take a computer scientist for Mei to recognize that if she wanted to have all her questions answered, she would need to help create space for him.
My problem was I was starting to recognize that space wasn't what I wanted.
There were moments in my days, moments when our eyes met, and I would feel a cool rush of anticipation, like my very heart was taking in a breath and holding it, wondering if that momentary connection would turn into something more.
And it would.
If I gazed at him for too long, he would come over to me, a soft smile on his face, asking if there was anything I needed.
I needed him.
The more I watched him, the more I craved him.
It wasn't just his gorgeous, muscular body.
It was the way he stepped in to help whenever there was anything that needed doing, working to support our efforts with his knowledge of the alien materials and equipment but never getting in the way.
It was the way that he approached his newfound freedom with a joy that was equal to my own.
He didn't just want to exist; he was there to live vibrantly, to be a part of our group, and to ensure that everyone around him could do the same to the best that the situation could offer.
I needed him, but he was holding back.
Every moment he was near me, all I could think about was the way I had kissed him, the way he had kissed me, like the rising tide within him couldn't be held back.
Yet, he held back.
Even in the moments when his eyes dropped to my lips, and he knew he was thinking the same as me, he never brought that vision back into reality.
When he handed me a tablet or a tool, his fingers stopped a fraction of an inch from my skin.
The air between us crackled, heavy and thick with a tension that made the fine hairs on my arms stand up.
Every time our eyes met, I felt a physical pull, a magnetic tug that screamed for him to close the gap.
He looked at me with a hunger so raw it felt like a brand, yet he remained a statue of propriety.
I watched him from across the room, watched as he taught the other women. There was no leaning in, no accidental brushing of shoulders in the narrow corridors, no lingering touch. He was a paragon of restraint, a disciplined soldier in the face of an open invitation that Andrea presented.
Yet the way he looked at me was different.
The way he responded to me was different.
I had tested it, curious if he would react the same way to me as he did to Andrea's incursions. With me, he was different. He didn't move away from me when I brushed against him.
The few times I had done it, he had stilled, as if every molecule of his being was focused on the point where my body connected with his. He would stay there, allowing the touch, until I moved away from him.
I leaned back against the bulkhead, tracing the line of his jaw with my eyes.
I wondered what held him back. Was he suddenly fearful?
Had the novelty of my attention worn off, or was he playing a game of psychological attrition?
I knew what it meant when a man looked at me like that, but he was an alien.
Did his longing glances really mean the same thing?
Then, a memory clicked into place. A sharp, impulsive command I had barked when falling asleep: Don't touch me without permission.
The realization hit me with a jolt.
He was waiting for me to give him that permission.
A slow, predatory heat curled in my gut. The thought that he was fighting his own desires, that he was essentially starving himself at my request, sent a thrill racing down my spine. I didn't just have a liaison or a tool or an assistant.
He was an alien, a male, and my very kiss had caused him to short circuit.
Every night, after I had gone to bed and was drifting off to sleep, he slipped into my room, the place he felt the most comfortable, and every night I dreamed about what it would be like to have him in my bed.
It was time to stop dreaming and find out if that reality was even possible.