I lock everything away before leaving the lab. As I step outside, I realize it's already dark. I need to go to the mess hall and grab some dinner before it closes, but I don’t stop to eat. Instead, I take it to my room and spend the rest of the evening writing up what I remember. I should have taken better notes while I was there, but I was too fascinated by Tiril.
I eat mechanically, not paying attention, as my mind is back at the lab beyond the boundary.
I want to tell someone about Tiril, but I'm not supposed to tell anyone. If I go and see anyone, even Patrick, tonight the leaders will assume I'm gossiping. That and I need to prepare a list of questions. As much as I want to see Tiril tomorrow, I will go the next day.
I don’t want to appear too keen.
I decide to write my own notes first so I can capture everything before pruning for the official record. In my personal folder, I have what I labelled the first draft of a romance novel. I've written three chapters of this one—and I made sure to make it terrible so no one would want more. I have also written an entire book, so if anybody goes poking through my folder—as I doubt it is as private as the leaders want us to believe—they will soon discover I am a boring scientist who sometimes writes smutty fiction. If they take the time to read all of my first draft, they will discover the rest of the chapters contain things that will get me in trouble.
I take a moment, trying to remember everything he told me, and everything about the way he looked. Mostly, I'm thinking about the way his large, clawed hand wrapped around his equally large cock.
It's not something I should think about, and definitely not something I'm going to put in the official report.
Nor should I be thinking of my sister and her new alien boyfriend.
Honey men mate for life.
Does that apply only to their own women or to human women as well?
What is it that causes them to be bound to their mate?
And is it real, or something psychological because they've been told that it will hurt if they're separated?
And he said he was the fourth born son, so what happens to the first three? What happens to the fifth? Is a woman supposed to keep having children until she has a girl? Do some women give birth to more than one girl?
I understand why he was so interested in how the human colony has manipulated the gender imbalance, but interfering will change his culture in ways neither of us could fathom until a generation or two later, by which time the damage would be done. I am living with the damage and if my mother was here, I'd be angry with her for selling my life so that she could escape Earth. As it is, I'm sad that she never got to see the planet, or to be a part of this new world.
I pull up the file I started in the lab, and this time I add a very sanitized version of what Tiril and I discussed. I don't want to give the colony leaders any ammunition against Tiril's kind, but I do need to give them something. The next time I see him, I want to focus on things like food and diseases. I want to show the colony leaders how useful an alliance with his people will be.
It's nearly midnight by the time I finish. However, by the time I have showered and gotten into bed, I am wide awake. As I lie there, staring at the ceiling, thinking of Tiril, I wonder if he is awake and thinking of me.
I almost laugh at the idea; he's probably planning his escape.
That's what I'd be doing.
That's not what my sister did.
She wanted to stay with the Honey warriors.
12
TIRIL
Ispend the next day alone. I'm rationing the food they gave me because I don't know when they will bring more. The same with the water. It would be very easy to forget about me. When I reach out, using the signal from my kam, there are only two humans, guards, and they are almost out of range.
I am nowhere near the human colony. And no one knows I exist except for Chloe and the guards who brought me here—I know this because it's always the same guards in rotation. I don’t need to see them to become familiar with their signals.
If no one knows, it is much easier to make me cease to exist.
I pace and run through training drills without my sword. Anything to keep my mind and body busy. I am restless. Trapped.
Annoyance flows through me as boredom takes root.
It is no wonder animals at the market are always upset. They long to do something even if they cannot be free.
I will never cage a beast again.
When Chloe returns, I must ask for something to do. I would rather be a brute and cut wood, or build a house, or shovel coal so the sword maker has a hot enough fire. I would happily till afield if it meant I could be outside instead of sitting and waiting with only my thoughts for company.
