Page 42 of I Think I’m in Love with an Alien

“Why?” she asks.

“Problems in the past.” That’s the simplest explanation. “Those who arrive in the wider galaxy without adequate resources or preparations to be self-sufficient often end up in a servitor situation. They can’t survive or thrive on their own, so they make unequal agreements with a more advanced society. And those arrangements can last for eons.”

“That makes sense, and it’s more of an explanation than we get in the science fiction shows I watch,” Jen says thoughtfully. “All the programs assume that there wouldn’t be contact until a civilization develops the capacity for interstellar travel, but they never lay it out properly.”

“I suspect the writer who first floated that premise may have been in contact with someone from the Galactic Union.”

“Whoa. You really think so?”

“While some aspects of your early science fiction entertainments are wildly incorrect, many ideas are accurate, too much for it to be a coincidence.”

“I would think it also prevents a culture from developing properly or evolving on natural lines, depending too much on another group.” Then Jen shakes her head. “Never mind. I could discuss this for days, but I’d rather talk about your situation specifically.”

“Thank you,” I say quietly.

“That must be why you’re looping me in. So you don’t have to bullshit everyone for the rest of your life.” She pauses, a rapid flurry of emotions shifting her mobile features faster than I can read them.

I’m still new to this, though Jen’s face is more familiar to me than most. Since we met in person, I have certainly spent time attempting to learn this woman’s facial topography, so when I memory walk with her, every fraction of a moment will be accurate down to each eyelash. I don’t understand why humans have fur on their eyes. My people have a secondary membrane that protects our sensory organs from foreign matter.

“What?” I ask, when she doesn’t continue.

“Are you leaving soon? Is that why you told me? Because you won’t be able to keep in touch when you get where you’re going?” Her voice breaks a little on the word get and it sounds as if she may be wrestling with some strong emotion.

“The opposite. I was supposed to catch my shuttle off-world almost a year ago. I waited at a remote location in Tennessee—on top of a mountain. I was there for days past the rendezvous point, until I ran out of provisions and had to accept they weren’t coming.”

“Oh my God. I can’t begin to imagine how you coped. I know it’s not the same, but I’m imagining a vacation in another country. It’s a nice visit, but then my flight home never takes off. Nobody provides any help or explanations for what’s going on. I’m out of money and food. I don’t speak the language fluently…”

“It’s been…difficult,” I say.

Understatement. This woman saved me more times than she realizes. Sometimes, I’d be asking myself, What’s the point of persevering? Nothing will change. There can be no life, no future for me here. And then my device would ping.

Jen, reaching out. Jen, asking how I am. If I need to talk.

“There’s so much you’re not telling me. You don’t need to censor yourself. Say whatever you need to. I don’t mind if we miss the whole day at Space Con. This is far more important. You are.” She pats the bed, which dominates the room. “Get comfortable and talk to me. Tell me how I can help.”

“Being seen and known helps,” I say.

But I move away from the door at last, sinking onto the sleep surface with careful motions. I don’t want to frighten her. First, I deactivate the tech camo—a small device I wear on my wrist—because there’s no need for it anymore. Not with Jen.

“You’re beautiful.” The words seem to slip out beyond her volition, and she colors, a deep rosy flush that brightens her aspect.

I also know it heralds embarrassment.

“Thank you. I was considered reasonably attractive among my own people.”

She faces me, folding her legs into a position that doesn’t look remotely comfortable. My lower limbs wouldn’t turn in that configuration, but then, our joints are different.

“Tell me about them. And your home. Your family. Customs, places you’ve traveled. I’d love to learn anything you care to share.”

It’s been so long since I let myself think of everything I left behind. If I focused on it, the loss might overwhelm me and leave me unable to function. Oona and Arlan and Betau, my birth parents, and Tivani and Morv, my creche guardians. I consider what to share and then realize I don’t need to.

“I’m from a star so far away that humans haven’t named it. Once, I went to an observatory here, but I couldn’t find it even on a telescope.”

That’s how far from home I am.

“What is it like?”

“It’s a peaceful, beautiful place. The lights in the sky attract visitors from all over the Galactic Union. My people are known for their artistry. We create beautiful things, lasting sensory experiences. My birth parent, Oona, crafted my birthsong, which I shared with you.”