There’s something in his eye which makes me wonder if he really doesn’t know. I remind myself that I have to remember Zed is a liar. Well, maybe not a liar, but he certainly gets through the universe by acting in ways most would consider dishonest. I can’t really take anything he says or does at face value.
“We’re going to have to make contact with the nearest friendly locals,” he says. “Once we work out who won’t kill us on sight, we’ll be well on the way to getting somewhere.”
I notice that he’s really not concerned by the situation we find ourselves in. Zed obviously frequents worlds of chaos. Or to be fair, he creates chaos where he goes, probably. These are the waters in which he swims. I hope I don’t drown in them.
CHAPTER 3
Ava
The controls have been fixed and we are heading toward civilization. This is a good thing. Or at least, it’s supposed to be. I can’t help thinking about what’s supposed to happen to me once Zed’s plan gets underway.
We have been intimate. Deliciously, dangerously intimate. I don’t think my body will ever be the same now that I have been with him. I know sex with a man would feel deficient. If a human man comes in me, I risk nine months of aching sickness and decades of worry and obligation. When Zed comes inside me, I see worlds that never were. I transcend myself. I…
“What are you daydreaming about?” Zed’s sharp fanged smirk suggests he knows all too well. I probably had a look on my face that told him. I definitely have flushed cheeks now.
“Nothing,” I lie.
“Uh huh,” he replies. “Looks like we got a station up ahead. Tech seems compatible. That’s a good sign. Means we haven’t gone too far forward or back in time.”
“Great.”
I can’t pretend to be excited because I’m not. I’m worried about what will happen to me when Zed decides to try to fake sell me. And I’m even more worried about how that makes me feel. I’m human, and like he said, I have feelings. Right now, I’m feeling dangerously attached to this big green jerk.
* * *
“Here we are,” Zed announces, waking me up from a fitful nap.
Here is a sleepy little station. They seem surprised to see us, but not because we’re us, more because we’re anybody at all. It’s not the sort of bustling trading hub Zed probably usually takes advantage of.
There’s one main hub and an outer ring where ships can dock. It has all seen better days. The colors that were probably bright once are either chipped off or solar faded. I think the center hub was yellow, and the outer parking ring green. Now they’re kind of the same pale brown. Why does everything in the universe tend to shades of brown? That’s a mystery I’d like to solve one day.
A friendly looking purple furry alien wearing blue overalls greets us with a casual wave.
“Hello, friends,” he says in what I hear as a country drawl. I’m not really hearing, or potentially, seeing these aliens as they are. I, like all humans who have any contact with space, am fitted with a Babel chip. On a basic level, it allows me to understand alien languages, but it goes deeper than that too. It changes anything that exists outside the realm of my comprehension into a version I can understand. I doubt I’m looking at an old school country farmer dude. I’m probably talking to a multi-dimensional smoke entity. Or something even weirder than that.
“Hello,” I say. “How are you?”
“My wife Mary has pie for sale,” he says.
I wonder what wonderful and mystical thing the pie really is. The meaning of life, maybe. Could I eat that and not know it?
“What year is it?” Zed asks the question bluntly and somewhat rudely. It feels wrong to just go around demanding the year. I don’t know why, but my gut is strongly implying that it is rude.
“2199,” the station attendant says.
“Okay, so we’re a year ahead of ourselves. Okay. That’s alright. Okay. “
It sounds like Zed is really working very hard to try to convince himself that this is true. “Let’s get pie,” he says, taking me by the hand and leading me into the central hub. There is a counter with pies displayed on it. They look delicious. There’s a custard pie which catches my attention. I don’t know why. I’ve never eaten custard pie before. It just feels like it is going to be the right choice now. There’s cinnamon dusted all over the top of it, and little, pretty dollops of what I hope are whipped cream.
We both get a big slice of pie.
I take a bite. It tastes delicious, and it brings with it something like memory, though a memory I don’t remember having. So more like a thought, I guess, but one that feels very fundamental and very true.