CHAPTER 12 #2
“All of it,” she whispers. “The fissures. The typhoons. The mad dash onto the ark ships, unsure if we were going to be saved, enslaved, or slaughtered. And I watched it fall apart. I watched Earth turn into nothing.” Grief rings through her consciousness.
I let it resonate with mine—not dampening it, but… spreading it out.
“That must have been terrible. I can imagine how I would feel if something similar happened to Zairion Prime. I would be devastated.”
A wry smile thins her lips. “Yeah. ‘Devastated’ is a pretty good word. I was just becoming an adult when it happened. I’d gotten accepted to my dream university.
I was going to study abroad, travel the world…
and then suddenly… it was all gone. Sometimes, I wonder if I’m remembering things right.
That ice cream I used to love, was it strawberry or raspberry?
That web comic I never finished—was the main character’s name Vincent or Vayne?
Does it still exist anywhere? Supposedly, they took a copy of the entire internet. But they’ve never let us see it.”
“You speak so calmly of such painful things.” My fingers press around the back of her neck, releasing the tension there.
“It’s not like crying is going to fix it,” she says lightly.
“It might.”
She blinks. “Really?”
I nod. “It’s part of a quite complex process of physiological release. During emotion-driven crying, the tears contain excess neurotransmitters not present during eye watering due to physical irritation.”
She tilts her head back to look at me. “Do Arthropoids cry?”
“We do. Most sapients have developed some adaptation to remove excess neural waste during emotional distress. I believe Durindians are known to urinate.”
Nova laughs, as I hoped she would. “Maybe crying isn’t so bad, then. It’s better than peeing myself.”
I gently tap her nose. I love the way her cute face scrunches with confusion.
“What of your family?” I ask. “Were they unable to provide you comfort?”
“Yeah… that’s one way to put it. They didn’t like that I watched.
Didn’t want to talk about it. They were all happy to take the ICSS advice to stop thinking about Earth.
I couldn’t stand it. Eventually, I couldn’t stand talking to them.
So I just… stopped. I don’t think we knew how to relate after that.
We were assigned to the same city ship, but it’s so large, we…
still ended up losing each other. Just… drifted apart. ”
“Do you miss them?”
“As they are now? No. I only miss what we used to have.”
I trace random patterns across her chest. She’s so soft, so small. “What do you miss?”
“I miss our swing set and looking for shapes in clouds… I miss catching fireflies and toads…”
Tears well in her eyes, and I brush them away.
“Tell me about your family,” she says.
She’s been good, so I’ll indulge her with a change of subject for now.
“It’s quite large and quite happy,” I say. “Vespoids tend to be very social, with large families. I have dozens of siblings and hundreds of cousins. They live not far from Sherexis, and I visit them once a season, at least.”
“Is it common for Vespoids to move away from home?”
“Yes and no. It is quite a low percentage, but there are so many of us that Vespoids are fairly common in urban areas. I appreciate the quiet. Even Sherexis is calm compared to my family.”
Her brows raise. “Oh, wow. I can see why you left then, even if you like them.”
I nod. “I do like them. Once a season is an appropriate frequency. Vespoids are actually the minority amongst Apocritoids. Most of the Arthropoids you see that resemble your Earth wasps are quite solitary. So, in a way, those of us who seek out a home of our own are the norm, not the digression.”
Nova hesitates. “Will it… interrupt your solitude? Me being here?”
“Yes,” I say, cradling her cheek, “in the most wonderful way.”
Her soft smile is a gift. “I almost believe you.”
“You will, in time. I am difficult to defy.” My hands slide down her body, lightly tweaking her sensitive nipple.
She winces and curls tighter into me. “I noticed. I’m stubborn.”
I pinch her nipple again. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Nova yelps, then loops her arms around my neck and leans her cheek against my chest.
I pull her tight against me, sinking my fingers into her lush ass and thighs.
She makes a hum deep in her chest. “I just realized something.”
“What is it, little lamb?” Warmth flickers through her consciousness at the pet name. I smile quietly to myself, out of her sight.
Nova lets out a deep breath. “In a weird way… the pain feels like proof. Proof that Earth really existed, and now it’s really gone. Proof of what I had and what I lost. And I know you said it’s not all in my head, but… I don’t even know who I am without the pain…”
I lean down and kiss her forehead. “I know who you are. You are mine. And we can talk about Earth as much as you’d like.”
Her gaze turns up at me, reflecting ancient starlight. “I’ll bore you.”
“I’d very much like you to try.”
She tells me about her childhood. About many concepts that are strange to me, like elementary school and public swimming pools, costume contests and haunted houses, holidays about rabbits and turkeys.
I listen. I ask questions. Her consciousness settles in a way it hasn’t before.
I stroke her hair and knead her muscles. She relaxes into my touch.
My own inner anxiety calms because I am now certain I’ve found the path to help her. It will be long and slow. Over time, we’ll find ways for her to remember Earth that don’t require her to carry its grief in her bones.
Her warm fingers drift along my tattoos as she recounts a bit of drama from her youth.
“And then Kelly said… well, I don’t know if that’s important; I’m getting sidetracked…”
I brush her cheek. “I don’t mind. Tell me what Kelly said.”
Something vulnerable sparks in her eyes, and then she launches into an account of this drama with great enthusiasm.
My laughter surprises and delights her, so she feeds me yet more lurid and indulgent details.
Nova is brilliantly strong. She has held onto so much joy alongside so much grief. I don’t think I’ll ever entirely figure her out, or understand the strange effect she has on me, and that’s thrilling.
As Nova’s stories finally slow with her drowsiness, the ache is still there. It will not be so easily banished.
But there’s no rush. I dry her and carry her to bed, where I rub her muscles to ease the pain until she falls soundly asleep.
The slowness is part of the salve. I will not try to take the pain from her. She will release it in her own time.
And if she decides to keep hold of it for what it means… for the memory of that little blue planet she lost…
Then I will carry it with her for the rest of my days.