“We picked them out for you.”
I don’t know which of them has spoken, only that I need to leave. Now. “I’d love to see them again, but later. I’m feeling ill.”
“We’ll take you back to your dormitory. And in the future, when you are better, we will discuss details.”
“Of course.” I speak automatically.
They’re somewhat mechanical as they usher me back into the hovercraft, and none of us speak as we traverse the city to the dorm the Zandians set up for unmated humans. No human can live alone without a sponsor to ensure we integrate properly into their society. It’s humble, but twenty times nicer than what I had as a slave in Ocretia, so I love it. Our dorm mother, Octavia, is a sweet old Zandian female who was off-planet during the Finnian invasion.
“Goodbye.”
I can’t get away quickly enough, and I dart out fast enough to avoid any goodbye kisses, and run inside before they can even speak of accompanying me.
I close the door to my room behind me, relieved I didn’t run into Octavia or any friends on the way, and toss myself on the hoverdisk and wrap myself in a finely-woven blanket. I expect to cry but tears don’t come. Instead, I blank my mind out, remembering again how lucky I am to be here on this planet, in this situation.
The memory comes to me again.
I’m standing in a field, with someone who’s tall, way taller than I am. I reach barely to her waist. My arm is extended upward, and her hand keeps me safe. Around us the grass blows, tall, yellow dry grass, and the sound—a glorious rushing, like water, courses around me and through me. The field extends in every direction, and the grass is nearly as tall as my head, and I feel infinite. In this moment I’m so safe and powerful and protected.
I take a deep breath, and fall into the pattern of breathing I’ve developed just for helping pursue this memory. I make my mind empty, then focus on the bright Zandian star, letting it fill me with light. I breathe for a long time, observing the star, just existing. Then, when I’m ready—my mind knows—I allow the memory back in, and send the light from the Zandian star to illuminate it, teasing out the edges so I can remember.
It’s like a picture in my mind, a hologram. So crisp I’m there, smelling the air, feeling the wind. The woman’s hand. The memory advances, letting me see pieces of it that were hidden before.
“Run,” she tells me. I no longer know the language she speaks, but I know what she’s saying.
“Run as fast as you can. Feel the air. Feel the world. It’s part of you.”
She says my name, and it’s not the name I have now.
And I obey her. I run, and she runs too, and we laugh and laugh, racing around with the wind, while the grass bows down before us, honoring our joy.
“If you run fast enough, you can fly.” And we do. We fly together, hand in hand, our feet still on the ground, but our hearts in the blue sky overhead. We fly and fly, and my heart is full of joy.
Memory is a tricky thing. If you push too hard, you rip off the pieces that still hide in the mist, and they fall away and you lose them forever. The trick is to let the memory flow like the light of a setting sun, just watching, not directing. Allow it to caress you, and sometimes the light flows into those hidden corners, illuminating them. Telling you the new secrets that were locked away for so long.
Today nothing else new comes—not her face, not her name. Not the place we were, or why we were so free. But I love the memory nonetheless, because when I remember that feeling of pure joy, I believe I can feel that way sometime again.
I don’t know if it can ever be with Arc and Bow.
But it will never be with Mykl.
I don’t know what to do. So I toss and turn, while sleep eludes me, hour after hour.
All I know is that something about Mykl sings to me, the way the grass in the field called my name. I don’t want to give up. Not yet.
Chapter 3
Mykl
* * *
Today she’s wearing trousers that are even tighter than her previous ones. The ones she had on at the crystal festival, when we—Veck.
Are they painted on? She’s wearing them to spite me. She’s angry about the kiss, probably. Trying to taunt me. The urge to punish her long and hard has my cock lengthening along my pant leg. I have to turn away to compose myself. How does Kianna get more attractive each planet rotation?
“Hey, Mykl.” She sashays over to me, her voice full of that honey and bite that drives me mad. “Look.” She holds something in her hand, but I find it hard to pull my eyes away from her curves. The way her shirt comes down highlights the swell of her—
“Helloooo? It’s Zandia calling. Is Mykl here?” She pretends to tap on her comm unit. “Attention, looking for Mykl, last seen in the—”