Page 47 of Love Galaxy

“Tell me.” She pokes a finger at the screen. The image is so crisp I flinch; it’s almost like she’s in Sorin’s kitchen with me.

“It’s nothing serious. Nothing to worry about.”

“But?”

“But maybe I’ve got a bit of a crush on Sorin. A really tiny one.” I hold up my hand and pinch my forefinger and thumb close together, leaving a crack of space between them.

“Oh gods.” Lydia slumps down in her chair, staring up at the ceiling like she’s imploring the gods to grant her sanity. “Not you, too.”

Yes, me too. “I couldn’t help it.” This time, I hear the whining note in my voice. “And trust me, I tried really,reallyhard to help it. It happened despite my better judgement. Sorin’s really?—”

“Spare me the details.” Crossing her arms, she slouches even lower. “Look. I don’t care if you and Harlee decide to stay or whatever. That’s completely up to you, but as soon as our twenty days are up, I’m demanding Smith take me back to Earth. I want to get the fuck away from here.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Sorin

“Again?” Killan sounds surprised to be receiving communication from me twice in one day. With the bedroom door closed, I can hear Briar’s muffled conversation but not clearly enough to identify any individual words.

I slump against my headboard. “I want to talk.”

“Talk?” Killan sounds even more surprised. “Talk about what? Is your work progressing on schedule?”

“Yes.” I wave away his concern, not wishing to start a conversation about algae when I have other, more important matters on my mind. “I was set a task, by John Smith.”

“Akh.” Killan’s shoulders drop. Behind him I can see a whitewashed wall of the main house, and I can hear his footsteps. I think he is heading downstairs. A door opens, then closes, and he sits on his bed, mirroring my position. From his reaction, it is clear he knows about these tasks and mayhaps has been set some himself. “What does the task demand?”

Shrinking my view of him until it fills only half the screen, I pull up the message from LOVE GALAXY. It takes my olddatapad effort to run the two tasks simultaneously, and the video quality drops, turning Killan blurry.

“Your second task,” I read aloud, “is to instruct your partner in the ways of Ril’os mating rituals.”

Silence follows my words. Killan shifts on his bed, resettling himself. Then he asks, “What did you do?”

“Nothing.” I shrug. “I contacted Roan’s datapad?—”

“Which I answered,” he concludes. “You distracted Briar with Lydia.”

“Not exactly… ” Except, that is exactly what I did. “She was anxious to know how the other Females are faring,” I say, trying to justify myself. “What would you have done?” I demand, resenting the note of accusation I hear in my own voice.

This time the silence stretches on. I sink lower, until I am practically lying horizontal, holding my datapad up with one arm in an attempt to keep the camera focused on my face.

I wish I had not called. I wish Killan would hurry up and say something. I wish I already knew the answer.

“We could research,” he eventually suggests.

“Why did our parents never tell us any of this? They would have known.”

“They were busy,” he says. “We could call them now.” But he is shaking his head even as he makes the suggestion.

“No,” I agree. Our father barely remembers who we are these days. And our mother spends much of her time caring for him. Or grieving Roa. She put so much of her energy into the farm after Roa’s passing that sometimes it felt as if she was trying to forget about her eldest child. Now, her thoughts are always on Roa, and she deserves to be left in peace.

“Ril’os. Mating. Rituals,” Killan says as he taps his screen. “Enter.” Another pause follows, presumably as the search results load.

I would copy him to see them for myself, except that my datapad could not remain in communication with Killan’s and run a simple search function concurrently. I glance at the closed door, beyond which I can still hear Briar speaking with Lydia on my newer datapad.

“There is a lot of information on the procreation act.”

“You do not need to read that aloud!” The datapad slips from my grasp and hits the floor. I dive after it and straighten to see a new crack across the glass and Killan staring straight at me. My hand holding the datapad has a distinct blue tinge, but I refuse to examine the rest of my scales, not needing further confirmation of my embarrassment. It was difficult enough calling about mating rituals. These are not topics we generally discuss.

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