Chapter 9
Na’Ren
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The light of Earth’s sun has shifted to a lower angle, and it cuts across Robin and me where we lie on the floor. It is hot against my body, another reminder that I am no longer on Gamma Andromedae, or even on my ship.
As if I need another reminder with Robin bound to my side. He is warm and solid. His breath is a flutter of wings over my clavicle, and his damp hair has plastered itself to my lips. I do not wish to move.
“I’m dead,” he whispers, “my body’s turned inside out, and now I’m a puddle, and I’m going to seep through the floor, and it’s all your fault.”
I snort a laugh. The gust ruffles his hair.
“I am sorry to hear that.” I drag my fingertips over the jut of his hip bone. “It is a waste of a perfect creature.”
He grins against my skin, and perhaps I am getting the hang of this Terran concept of pleasure, because all I want to do is crawl on top of him—
“Robin.” An object on the shelf catches my eye. I reach over him and pick it up. “How have you come into possession of an Andromedan scullery instrument?”
Robin props himself up on one shoulder, his eyebrows drawn together, though his face is still dazed.
“It’s one of yours?”
I nod and hand it to him. “This style is out of date, but our people use it to emulsify a botanical nectar that children like to collect. Much like Terran honey.”
Robin turns the tool over in his hands. “I didn’t know. Dad found it.” He sounds as if he is on the verge of sleep. “He finds lots of things out in the field. I told you, we have a closet full of the rusty things.”
I sit up. “Show me.”
We dress and Robin leads me back to the farmhouse. We pass through the kitchen where he stood between my thighs and tended to my wound. Now, the gash is almost entirely healed.
I follow him through another room full of soft-looking furniture and up a creaking wooden staircase. At the end of the hall is a door. He slips a jangling ring of keys from his pocket and unlocks it.
Inside is shelf after shelf of Andromedan artifacts. Some objects I recognize from daily use. Some I have seen in books. Everything appears to be from a time before I was born.
“My dad’s obsessed,” Robin starts, and then he draws in a sudden breath. “Oh, God, Dad’s going to come home to a barn full of extraterrestrials!”
Tension thrums through my body. But Robin must sense it, because he reaches out and rests a hand on my arm.
“I can hear you worrying,” he says, a smile lifting one side of his mouth and, Shin’Ah, he is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. “You don’t have to. Dad is going to love it.”
Then he lets go of me and reaches into the closet. He comes out with a small metal object shaped like a pyramid with a squared-off top. I grin before I flip it over against his palm, turning the wide base upside-down.
A pang strikes through my chest as I look at the object in Robin’s hands.
“This,” I say, “is a children’s toy.”
I take it from him and place it carefully onto a small table. Robin watches on intently. He leans over it, waiting.
With one precise fingertip, I press the base down. It clicks into place, and a single, spindly leg unfolds from its side. The leg whirs and flails mechanically before tucking back in. Two presses to the top and a new pair of legs comes out. Three touches summon a third leg—enough to support the object—and it walks around on the table’s surface until the mechanism winds down.
A laugh leaves Robin’s mouth, and it is a light, joyful thing.
“When I was a child,” I say, “I played with one much like this. Though, I must say, the technology was much more advanced now. This one is from quite a long time ago.”
Robin reaches out to press the toy three times in rapid succession. The legs flip out, scratch lightly against the table and it walks again. The look on his face goes wistful.
“I can’t believe it,” he says, his eyes trained on the toddling toy. “It’s real. Everything my dad ever said. It’s all real.”
“Yes.” I reach out and slide my fingertips beneath Robin’s chin and cup his face. “I do not know why, but it is all real.”
Robin looks up at me, his blue eyes wide, his cheeks flushed. “Ren.”
And my heart goes liquid, molten. No one uses my nickname but Ja’Lin. No one until Robin who uses it so easily. As if the sound has lived in his mouth for the entire lifetimes of stars.
He shakes his chin free of my grip and slots his body against mine, one slim arm sliding around my hips. He holds me there. It is the steadiest I have felt since my ship landed in the field.
“Do you miss your home?” he asks. His voice is quiet in the narrow hallway.
I consider his question.
“I have missed my home for a very long time now,” I tell him finally. “My crew left Gamma Andromedae on a research mission, knowing we would never return. Our ship would sail until we perished, and it would sail on beyond that time, until its nuclear engine ceased to function.”
His fingers tighten against my skin.
“My crew made a promise to bind themselves to our research. Now, we are bound to Earth. I see little difference, and neither do they.”
Robin nods hastily, and when I look down at him, I see that his ocean eyes are rimmed with tears.
“I promise, we are fine,” I say.
But that isn’t enough. My crew will carry on their research. And I am more than fine. I can explain my state more clearly.
“Robin. What we just did...” I begin, unsure how to continue. It was...mating, yes. But it was more. It was pleasure , something that my people do not associate with such an act.
“ Yes ,” Robin says. His skin warms against mine. There is no sympathy in his voice, only desire.
I force myself to continue. “I have never been with another in that way.”
The sting of embarrassment is strong, but it does not outweigh the responsibility I feel to explain myself to him. To tell him the whole truth.
“I believe your people refer to it as making love .”
Robin blinks. “Making love,” he echoes.
I nod once. “Yes. In making love to you, I am bound to you as well, just as I am bound to your Earth.”
“ Oh .”
“But you did not agree to such bondage,” I rush ahead, my fingers tightening around Robin’s hands, and I remind myself to loosen my grip. I do not want to hurt this smaller, more fragile creature. This creature whose pheromones have danced with my own. This creature who has settled behind my chest plate as if he has always belonged in the void that existed there.
“I am unable to sever that bond now, but if you do not wish to see me again, I will honor that.”
Robin watches me for a long moment, and then he nods solemnly.
“I understand,” he says, though the gravity of his voice is undermined by the slight uptick at the corner of his mouth. I am beginning to recognize that expression. I am beginning to love it.
“Maybe,” he continues, “we should, ah, do that again so I can make a more informed decision.”
Then he sets down the relic and slides his palms slowly up my arms, up the ridge of carapace that gives way to the vulnerable flesh of my neck.
Up higher, over the sides of my face, trailing teasingly up into my hair.
I gasp against the touch—
On the main floor, the door creaks open.
“Robin?”
Healy .
I push back against the hot surge of jealousy making its way through my blood. Robin is mine. No—we belong to each other. Healy means no harm.
Still I do not like him. Not yet.
At my side, Robin releases a heavy sigh. “Come on,” he says, “we should go see what he found.”
Reluctantly, I follow my lover down the stairs.
At the base, Healy is waiting for us, but he is not alone. He is flanked by three other Terrans. Two males and one female. The female looks very much like him with dark skin and thick black hair gathered into a matching tail that is draped over her shoulder.
Robin stills. “Dad? Nita ?” Then he turns accusingly to his friend. “Healy, you called the cops ?”
“Excuse you,” Healy says, rolling his eyes, “I called my sister . Robby, there are aliens in your barn!”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Andromedans.”
He groans. “Okay, fine, whatever. Andromedans. Of course I had to let Nita know.”
Outside the still-open door, my crew waits, clustered and anxious.
The Terran woman sighs heavily, clearly unimpressed with the bickering happening around her. She takes two confident steps toward us, closing the distance with her thick-soled boots. She sticks out a hand in my direction.
“Na’Ren, is it?” she asks. “I’m Sheriff Nita Healy. Welcome to Earth.”