Instinct A Dark Sci-Fi Romance
“Will they?”
“The computer will log my descent. It knows I took the shuttle down here. It may or may not have recorded the crash location…” She’s talking more to herself than to me, muttering words I don’t fully understand. Sometimes this girl from the stars speaks another language entirely.
Then, something changes. It is as if a light goes on in her eyes.
“They might not find me,” she murmurs to herself. Something like the beginnings of a rare smile begins to spread over her face. Since her arrival she has either worried, or pouted, or cried. I have not seen this bright expression before, joy lighting her stormy eyes. “Zion. They might not find me!”
* * *
Tselia
The ship’s computer knew my trajectory, but after I went spinning out of control, the data would have been patchy at best. My ship might be able to tell the Patron’s men that I breached the atmosphere, but it might not be able to tell whether I burned up in it, crash-landed on the planet, or otherwise spun into space.
I have been so consumed with the notion of needing to get back to my ship that I never stopped to think whether that was truly the best course of action. With Zion’s suggestion, even in my sore-bottomed state, I find my spirits rising.
The idea of never being found brings with it the most profound sense of relief and freedom I have ever experienced. I thought I had to return to the ship. I thought I had to report back to the Patron, explain away the anomalies in the logs. I thought I had to spend the rest of my existence answering to a system that did not care for me at all—and suddenly it occurs to me that perhaps I do not. Maybe I can live down here. Maybe they won’t come for me. And maybe, even if they do come, they won’t find me. I am not sufficiently genetically distinct from these people to spot at a distance. If I change my hair and dress like them, I won’t be noticeable at all. And I know they won’t come down here. That is against the Patron’s precious protocol.
“I am free!” I throw my arms in the air and let out a little squeal of excitement. “Zion. I am free!”
“You are mine,” he growls, reminding me of his possession, but I don’t listen. The very notion is coursing through my veins, making me mad with excitement. Oh, all the things I could do now that I am free! I will never follow rules again. I will make my own. I will wander this world, all of it. I will find a place of my very own.
“Star girl…”
“No,” I say. “Don’t call me that. Call me Tselia.”
“Tselia,” he grunts. “Do not get excited. I am not done punishing you.”
“But…” I stare at him. “But…”
“You must learn to put your feelings aside and listen with respect. You must learn to hold your tongue, especially when you wish to yell. These are lessons our whelps learn.”
She shakes her head in what seems to be disbelief. “At least you’re talking to me now.”
“I don’t usually have to talk this much. Usually, women know their place.”
His words make my rebellion flare in spite of the pain coursing through my flesh.
“Well, I don’t. And I don’t even agree that I have a place. Maybe I’m tired of being bossed around. Maybe I don’t need another man telling me what’s right and what’s wrong. Maybe I’ll make my own damn mind up.”
“What’s wrong is what’s going to make you hurt,” he grunts.
“I already hurt.”
His treatment has left my body and my pride both aching. I am exhausted from crying and yet this new possibility for life has given me enough energy to defy him.
“You will hurt more if you do not do as I say.” Those blue eyes glint at me, and I know he means it.
“I’ve hurt enough for one day.”
“Good,” he says, pulling my naked, punished body to his. He holds me in that grasp that feels so incredibly good. I find myself sinking against him, nuzzling against his neck, drawing in the scent of him. I could stay like this for hours, relishing the skin to skin contact, the wonderful strangeness of being near another person, being able to touch the flesh of another human.
Ten thousand years separates the strains of our DNA, and yet we are still so much the same. The color of my hair and eyes is different, and no doubt there are other minor changes, but we are the same thing. In his arms, it is as if I have finally returned to the home I have been yearning for since my birth.
We live disconnected lives under the Patron. We have conquered so much illness, we have staved off death. These people down here have not. They live and die as humans used to live and die, short spans punctuated with the miseries of existence.