No. This was not his home. It couldn’t be. I stood in the doorway and inspected both spaces in turn.
The large room—I assumed it was meant to be some kind of family room for gathering or relaxing—was empty. Walls. Floor. Ceiling. Not one chair to sit on or cushion beckoned. Not a rug on the floor or single piece of art on the wall. No color at all. Metallic black.Nothing.
His bedroom was nearly as bad. One bed, clearly meant to hold him and no one else. Sure, it was a bit larger than a super-XL twin bed one could find in most college dorms, there wasn’t much to look at. The bed had one pillow, a sheet to lay on and a thin blanket that had been shoved into a disorganized lump near the bottom.
My mate didn’t make his bed.
Slowly, I turned and looked at everything again. Other than the mess of technical drawings on the table, and the single chair I assumed he sat in while he looked them over, the entire living area was empty. He didn’t even have an extra pair of boots on the floor, or an extra blanket. His bedding was the only item in the entire space that had any softness at all. Sheet, pillow and blanket were black.
Black.
I thought about switching them to white, but compared to the metallic, boxlike room surrounding them, they would be a candle trying to hold back an underground cave’s worth of darkness.
“Your sheets are black.”
“Tactical advantage in the event the ship is boarded.”
I tried to imagine him hiding beneath the covers like a frightened four-year-old and just couldn’t do it.
“This is where you live?” I tried not to sound as shocked as I felt. Not just shocked, chilled to the bone. That bed wasnotfor the kind ofplayingI wanted to do. I doubted it would hold two of us, let alone three. Was this how he chose to live? Or was this place a temporary housing assignment? Or maybe a brand new space and he hadn’t had time to settle in? Maybe he was out on a mission, and this was a temporary sleeping arrangement.
“Yes.”
There should have been fluffy rugs scattered around the room, and pillows, and comfy sofas to curl up in and read a book. He should have a big, soft bed, big enough for three. The place was bleak. Downright depressing.
I turned to find Zarren watching me, his eyes empty, giving nothing away.
6
Willow
“How long have you lived here?”Judging by the state of things, and the lack of, well, everything, I expected him to tell me he’d been here a few weeks at most.
“Seven years.”
“Here, in these two rooms?”
“Yes.”
Oh. My. God.
“Why?” Good job. Voice neutral. No shouting. I was very proud of that. Perhaps I should have been more specific. However, the question was multi-layered. Why had he lived here for so long? Why hadn’t he made this space into a home? Why was he living like this when he had a functional S-Gen unit, with virtually no limit to what it could create? Why?
“Because this is my ship. This is where I am, most of the time.”
“I see.” If ever a man—or alien—needed a woman’s touch, this was it.
You think he’s going to take care of you? He can’t even take care of himself.
Yeah? Well, he’s not the only one.
“Are you going to introduce me to your second?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t have a second.”
