I SPEND THE next day trying to avoid him. It's not easy, since we share a room, but I manage. I wake up early and slip out before he does. I spend most of my time in the casino, but I don't drink too much. I'm not a complete idiot. I just... gamble a bit. Play some games. Watch other people. It's not very fun, but it's better than staying in the room with him.
I know I'm being stupid. I know I'm overreacting. I know he was just tired and in pain and he didn't mean to hurt me.
But I can't help it. I feel...
Rejected.
Embarrassed.
Confused.
Angry.
Mostly angry. I'm angry at him for pushing me away, for making me feel like I'm nothing to him. For not wanting me.
I'm also angry at myself for wanting him. For ruining my chance at going home, my life, my happiness. For being so selfish and foolish.
I don't know what to do with these feelings. I don't know how to deal with them.
So I ignore them.
I make a pretty good streak of about a week with barely a glimpse of his blue face. It's not easy. He's a hard person to ignore. He's loud and annoying and somehow ends up most of the places I want to be if it's not the casino. But I've been able to spot him and avoid him each time.
It's...
It's not like I want to be away from him, exactly.
That's absurd. We've been... I guess, friends, for a year now. I can't imagine... I don't want to live a life without him around, and if I were going to, I could have done it on Earth.
It's just. Awkward. And I feel like I'll say something stupid. Like I'll mess things up further than they already are.
I have a lot of time to think about it while I'm playing slot machines and losing money. It's surprisingly soothing, even when I lose. Something about watching the lights and the symbols spin and align or not align calms my mind. And when I do win, it's satisfying to see the credits increase.
I'm still trying to make enough to have my own funds to buy things each time we make a stop. The first stop is still a ways off. But I'm not broke. Which is a miracle, because I'm terrible at this.
I wonder if Llywelyn is doing okay. If he's getting better. If he's still angry at me. If he misses me at all.
If he's suffering. If he needs...
No, he's gotten well enough he doesn't need a babysitter.
I wonder if he's found someone else to spend time with. Someone who doesn't have feelings for him. Someone who won't make things weird.
The thought makes me feel sick, but I try to push it away. It's none of my business who he spends his time with. I don't own him. I don't have any claim on him. I just...
This. This is why I'm avoiding him. Because I don't want to face the reality of the situation. The reality that we're just friends, that he doesn't feel the same way I do, that he doesn't want me.
I know he said he loves me. He said it before the explosion, and he meant it. I know he did. He wouldn't lie about that. But...
But I don't know what that means for him. I don't know what he wants from me, from us. I don't know if he expects something from me, or if he's content with just being friends. I don't know if he's even thought about it at all.
I don't even understand how I feel.
It wasn't complicated with—
With the man that I abandoned. The one I betrayed by trying to kiss Llywelyn. Alistair...
I miss him. I miss him so much. I wonder how he's doing, if he's okay, if he's found someone else.
I hope he has.
I hope he's happy.
I don't deserve him, anyway.
I sigh and rub my eyes.
On second thought, I don't feel like gambling today. I feel like doing something else.
Maybe I'll go to the library.
Maybe I'll read some books.
Maybe I'll find something interesting to learn about.
That sounds nice. I could use some distraction.
I stand up from the slot machine I've been playing and cash out my credits. I put them in my pocket and walk out of the casino. I head to the library, which is not too far from the casino. It's a quiet and cozy place, filled with shelves and shelves of books and data pads. There are some comfy chairs and tables, and a few other people browsing around.
I walk to the section where I usually find books that interest me. I scan the titles, looking for something that catches my eye.
I stop when I see one that makes my heart skip a beat.
It's a book about Earth.
It's written in Constant, and it has a picture of the planet on the cover. It looks old and worn, but it's there. It's real.
Llywelyn mentioned before that any books about humans would be inaccurate and probably offensive. But maybe... that's good. I can be angry about something instead.
Anger is something I'm better at.
I reach up and grab the book, pulling it from the shelf. I open it and flip through the pages. There are pictures and diagrams and text. So, at least I'll have a lot to look at. I don't know how much I'll be able to read and understand yet. Most things seem to be translated to Constant now, but it's not a perfect translation yet.
Still, I imagine something like this would probably be pretty simple, right?
I decide to take it with me. I close it and hold it to my chest. I walk to one of the chairs and sit down. I lean back and open the book again.
I start reading.
I don't expect to learn anything new or useful. I expect to be annoyed and bored and maybe a little sad.
But I'm wrong.
The book is fascinating.
It's not just about Earth as a planet, but about humans as a species. It talks about our biology, our history, our culture, our psychology, our society. It compares us to other species, especially the other sub-sapient ones. It tries to explain why we're different, why we're considered inferior, why we're suitable for slavery.
It's... eye-opening.
And infuriating.
And depressing.
And hilarious.
The author clearly has a very low opinion of humans. And also clearly doesn't know much about us, despite claiming to be an expert. Some of the things he says are so wrong and ridiculous that I can't help but laugh.
For example, he claims that humans have no sense of self-preservation, and that's why we're so reckless and violent. He says we don't value our own lives or the lives of others, and that's why we wage wars and kill each other for no reason.
He also says that humans are incapable of love, that we only mate for reproduction and pleasure, and that we have no concept of loyalty or commitment. That our 'families' are not real bonds, but merely temporary associations for convenience.
He also says that humans are physically weak, fragile, and ugly, and that we have no special abilities or talents, other than being good at manual labor and following orders.
He says all this with such confidence and authority, as if he's stating facts and not opinions. As if he's studied us thoroughly and knows us better than we know ourselves.
I want to throw the book across the room and set it on fire.
But I also want to keep reading.
Because... being angry is invigorating. Hating aliens is... easy. I like it a hell of a lot more than loving an alien. So maybe this book is good for something. It's good for reminding me why I hate them so much. And that's... it's kind of comforting, in a twisted way.
I read on. Apparently most of us... are used in mining? I swallow and suppress a small shiver. The description of the bulk harvesting process is... close to what I experienced. Which makes me think that the question of what happens to those who don't wake up in that first ship is...
Mining.
I don't imagine the people in those positions get to live long. Or comfortable lives.
It then moves on, as if it didn't describe something so horrible, to talk about the process that I experienced, and that those who are eligible for Advanced Conditioning—a term I've never heard before—are usually used as soldiers, guards, maids, and... pets. It doesn't elaborate on any of these.
I turn the page and see a picture of a young human woman. She's smiling and posing, wearing a skimpy outfit that leaves little to the imagination. The caption underneath says "A rare example of an attractive human slave. Most humans are deformed and unappealing, and are therefore not commonly seen in front-facing work."
I stare at the picture. She doesn't look like me. She's much taller and thinner than me. Her hair is darker and longer. Her eyes are bigger and rounder. She looks like a model or an actress.
Or she could have been.
But that smile is completely empty. Just like...
I close the book, fighting off a wave of nausea.
I don't want to read anymore.
I stand up and walk back to the shelf. Truthfully I'd like to throw it out an airlock. Or into a sun. Or force feed it to the author. But I...
It's Xilukulkas' property, and he doesn't deserve to have his books destroyed just because I have a problem with them. I look over the shelf and find a spot where the book fits. I push it in, feeling a sense of finality.
I'm done with this.
I'm done with aliens and their lies and their prejudices.
I don't need to read about myself from their perspective. I don't need to see how they see us, how they treat us, how they justify their actions.
I don't need to be reminded of how much they hate us. How much they hurt us. How much they've taken from us.
I know enough.
I've lived it.
I turn around and walk away from the shelf and two arms cage me in from both sides.
I gasp and look up.
I stare right into the golden eyes of a handsome, frowning Akutwas. Llywelyn.
"Hello, Sarah." He says, his voice low and rough.
My breath catches in my throat.
He's so close to me.
Too close.
Why is he here?
What does he want?
I try to step back, but there's no space. He's blocking my way.
"Llywelyn..." I say, and my voice comes out too high. "What—What are you doing?"
He narrows his eyes at me. "Looking. For you."