Page 84 of I Think I’m in Love with an Alien

“Your costume is sick, dude! What are you supposed to be?”

Seeker opts not to reply as he glances at me. Good call. I don’t want to tell the story about Tad’s game to everyone who stops us.

I turn to see a dude inching closer to Seeker. The man in question is wearing tan cargo shorts, a loose tropical print shirt, and he’s wearing a heavy-duty camera on a strap around his neck. Only serious photographers bother with those these days; most people just snap memories with their phone. I’d estimate the guy is in his early sixties, with weathered skin and a more-salt-than-pepper goatee. He also has long, scraggly gray hair caught back in a failing ponytail.

“Man, the detail on this thing is insane! You look like you stepped off a movie set.” The fan circles Seeker, acting like he’s about to start taking pictures.

“No photos without consent,” I remind him.

“What’s this made out of? It looks so real. Come on, you gotta tell me where you got this made!” The fan’s insistence grows, his admiration tipping into intrusion.

The guy reaches out toward Seeker’s arm, and I get between them, ready to remind him that boundaries exist. He manages a graze of contact as Seeker steps back. I sense Seeker’s tension, his deepening unease. Dammit, I should never have suggested this. If not for me, he’d be dressed as an average con-goer and nobody would be paying attention.

“Cut it out. People aren’t props.” My words are a shield, raised to protect him, and I hope they’re enough.

Seeker gives me a grateful glance, his eyes—a blend of colors no human could claim—flickering with a silent thank-you.

But the fan seems undeterred, his fascination morphing into something more fervent, more obsessive. “Seriously, this is next level! You gotta be from a top-tier special effects studio.” He sidles closer again, and Seeker shifts backward. “You’re advertising how good they are, right? Why won’t you tell me? You should be giving out business cards.”

“Thanks for your interest, but we’re leaving. He’s not promoting anything.”

“Wait,” the dude insists, following as we edge away. “Just let me take one pic?”

“Nope. We’re in a hurry,” I snap.

Seeker manages to be polite even while he’s being harassed. “Enjoy the convention,” he adds with firm finality.

“Right on.” The guy remains locked on Seeker, hungry and unblinking. He even follows us for a few steps, until I cut through a big group and he gets wedged in a tangle of props.

Despite the heat of the day, icy fingers sent a shiver down my spine. This isn’t right. Seeker may be able to hide his true nature here, but that doesn’t make him invulnerable. Especially not to obsession masked as admiration. We need to put some distance between us and this guy, fast.

I’m not waiting to find out what happens if this jerk uncovers the truth.

30

Seeker

I am uneasy.

That last encounter makes me want to leave. Not just Space Con but the town of Rellows entirely. But that may be an overreaction, an emotional response to feeling threatened. I watch warily as we proceed through various stalls until it’s time to make our way to the small red-and-white-striped pavilion tent, where rows of folding chairs have been set up in front of a lectern.

Jen leads us to seats near the back, offering us plenty of space from everyone else. It doesn’t look as if it will be a full house with so many other entertainments on offer. The scientist is dressed simply and wears thick-framed lenses for viewing assistance. Jen smiles at me, seeming happy to be here, though I don’t know how interested she is in this topic. I’m frankly curious how close humans are to working all of these premises out.

“Quantum entanglement,” the lecturer says. “The phenomenon where particles become so deeply linked that the state of one instantly influences the state of another, no matter the distance.”

Among my people, this principle is not just understood, but harnessed, interwoven into the fabric of our daily lives. It’s even used by artists to perform collaborations on the same piece. That is how my gestational parent, Oona, met the rest of their bond partners. Ironically, science on my homeworld is mostly used to improve and extend artistic endeavors. Those who lean in that direction are considered technicians who lack a certain creative impetus, born for drudgery, not inspiration. Unfortunately, I am one of those souls.

I would have tried for Oona’s sake. If I could return. But it would never have given me fulfillment or joy. When I create something new, when I invent something unique or improve technology that already exists, that’s when I feel most myself. I imagine that my happiness approaches that of the most creative soul. Surely, there is no right and wrong in these matters, only matters of personal satisfaction.

I listen as the scientist expounds on her ideas. The talk is interesting, but she doesn’t have the details right. It would take a hundred years for 97-B to remedy the misapprehensions, correct their errors, and reconfigure a few faulty theories. I consider speaking up, then swiftly discard the notion. I won’t meddle. I also don’t wish to draw attention to myself, not after what happened earlier. If a person in a “costume” like this one reveals detailed and specific information about quantum entanglement, it will cause complications.

We attend a few more panels and survey the goods available for purchase. Jen’s phone beeps and she moves away to take a call. I hear her say Mom in a tone that sounds distressed, though I’m not trying to eavesdrop. When I turn, I realize that the human who wanted to take my photo earlier is standing nearby, watching me. Then he’s joined by the one from the museum. They speak too softly for me to hear, and then the museum human shows the other one his phone.

That cannot portend anything good.

When Jen returns, she seems annoyed. I decide not to mention that moment. If something more occurs, I will discuss it with her then. But I remain uneasy for the rest of our time, constantly on alert for undue attention. For the first time, I don’t feel entirely safe.

“Should we head out?” she asks eventually.