by Ava Jae
The ache is getting pretty bad, though, so I wet my palm, reach under the covers and grip myself.
And the door whips open.
I gasp and slam the glass face-down on the bed, but that doesn’t turn it off and the moans are impossible to miss as Deimos blinks at me from the open doorway. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Why is he back already? Wait—how long have I been watching this stuff?
Deimos’s gaze slowly goes from me to the glass still groaning on the bed.
I thought the room was hot before but my face is absolutely blazing now.
“Is … that what I think it is?” Deimos smiles slightly and steps toward the bed, reaching for the glass before I snatch it up and try to turn it off—but I suddenly can’t remember how to do anything and instead the volume goes up and the panting and cries get louder. If dying of embarrassment is a thing that can happen, it’s definitely about to happen to me.
He kneels on the bed and plucks the glass out of my hands and I swear everything is happening in slow motion and I can’t move a muscle. He wasn’t supposed to—I didn’t think—I just—
Deimos’s lips quirk as he looks at the glass. “Ah, shae, I’ve seen this one.”
I blink. Wait. “What?”
Deimos smirks and looks at me. “What, you think I’ve never watched sex videos before?”
My face is so hot it’s tingling. “I … I don’t know. Not like I … thought about you watching …” Suns and stars alive. Now I’m picturing him watching these. I shift uncomfortably to try to hide the fucken phaser barrel sticking up under the sheets but of course that only brings Deimos’s gaze to exactly where I didn’t want it to go and this actually couldn’t get more humiliating.
When Deimos looks at me again, I swear it’s like he wants to eat me.
“You know, I’m a little wounded you didn’t invite me to watch with you.”
My mouth opens and closes and opens and closes. “I … it’s not like I planned—I mean, I wanted to do some research but—”
“Research, hm?” Deimos turns off the glass, tosses it off to the side, then fucken crawls up to me until his hands are on my shoulders, gently pushing me down. “You know, I’m more than happy to do that kind of research with you any time.”
I can’t breathe. “Deimos …”
Deimos’s face softens. “We don’t have to do what they were doing until you’re ready—there’s no rush. But if it’s okay with you …” He trails his hand down my chest to the edge of the sheet. “I’d like to help you with this.”
I gulp. He’s so close I can practically taste the salty scent of his sweaty skin and his fingers are so fucken close and, I’m not gonna lie. I want him to.
“Okay,” I croak.
“Wonderful.” Deimos spits on his hand, then kisses and grips me in one smooth motion.
Look. I’m eighteen, so, yeah, I’ve jerked myself off before. And at this point, I’ve got it down pretty well exactly how to get off, not that it was ever all that hard to figure out to begin with. And in the end Deimos is pretty much doing the same exact thing I’d do to myself but this—
This is better.
And now that we’ve crossed this line, I don’t think we can go back. And I don’t want to.
After Deimos has reduced me to a sweating, panting, blushing mess and we’ve cleaned up, I can’t help but wonder how many times he’s done this before. How many guys—and have there been not-guys? The truth is I don’t really know because we’ve never talked about it, and I want to stop thinking about it but how can I when he seems so at ease with everything? When every heart-stuttering new step for me is just another knowing smile for him?
I’m not jealous of the people who’ve been with him before—well, maybe I am, just a little. I just mostly wish … I don’t know. That I didn’t have to wonder, I guess.
“Hmm.” Deimos turns off the water and dries his hands with a cloth. “You don’t look nearly pleased enough, given the excellent service I just provided.”
I laugh and my face prickles hot again. “It wasn’t—it’s not that. You were blazing amazing.”
Deimos snorts. “I know I was.” His smile fades and he touches my shoulder. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t joke when you look so … concerned.”
I shake my head. “I like your jokes, I just …” I take a deep breath. I should just say it. I can’t know if I don’t ask. And I can’t be irritated that I don’t know if I don’t try to find out. “I know the … constant flirting with you is part of your personality, and it’s fine, I just … was wondering …”
Deimos waits, watching. Fully serious. Waiting patiently for me to blurt it out.
“I mean, for one, are you … just into guys or …?”
“Ah. Shae.” Deimos smiles. “It’s just men for me, always has been. I did experiment some a few cycles back, just to see, but it only confirmed what I already knew.”
I nod. It’s not like knowing changes anything, but I don’t know. It’s … reassuring, to know, somehow.
“How about you? I have to admit I’ve been rather curious about it myself.”
I blink. Deimos was wondering about me? Actually, I guess that makes sense given the whole thing with Kora. “I’m still working it out but I’m obviously lijara, as you well know. I’ve been into guys and girls so far. Haven’t met enough other genders to be able to speak from experience but … I’m into more than one gender, shae.”
“Okay.” Deimos tosses me the cloth to dry my own hands. And just like that, I’m a little lighter, having said it. Establishing that so casually, so neither of us has to wonder, is a relief. And when Deimos grins at me, smiling back is easy.
33
Kora
Uljen, Lira, and I settle at the table with our morning meals placed before us, as the glasses in the room broadcast the feed from Asheron. Eros will be giving some kind of speech from the city square, and I don’t know what it’ll be about, but Eros publicly affirming his role as Sira isn’t something I’ll ever miss.
I sip my tea and stir dried fruit into my thick cream while watching the murmuring crowd on the glass. Fresh foods—especially fruits and vegetables—are rationed and much harder to come by now, but our stock of dried fruit is relatively extensive, at least. It’s not the same as what I’m accustomed to, but it’s a small price to pay to help keep Eljans fed.
Eros steps onto the podium, accompanied by guards. As he stands in front of the people and the crowd quiets, he looks—confident. At ease. And I’m sure he isn’t, I’m certain he’s terrified and hating the attention, but that doesn’t matter because he’s learned to hide it. He’s learned to look like a ruler. And he does it so well.
“He looks good,” Lira says softly.
I smile. “He’s come a long way. He looks much more comfortable as Sira now, don’t you think?”
Lira nods. “He looks like he knows what he’s doing.”
“Thank you, everyone, for coming out to listen to me this morning. It’s truly an honor to serve the people.” Eros inhales deeply and pulls his shoulders back, looking directly at the crowd and the orb guides hovering over everyone. “I want to start by addressing the recent admission from the Remnant that they are responsible for the plague affecting so many in Asheron—these attacks on our people are unacceptable and will not be tolerated. While what the Remnant are fighting for—equal rights for humans—is admirable and something I want to advocate for, as well, their methods are wrong and ultimately ineffective. We should be working together to make the world a better, more equal and accepting place, but if the Remnant continue to use violence and death to make their wishes known, then we’ll only be taking steps backward, to the war-torn society our ancestors tried to spare us from.”
Eros pauses to glance around, looking over the silent crowd. Then he nods, as if deciding something. “I also want to talk about a related topic many Sepharon seem reluctant to discuss—our human peers sharing this planet with us. Humans have been here for generations upon generations, but des
pite being here for more than long enough than it should take to integrate, they still find themselves persecuted. Enslaved. Treated as lesser. And it’s long past time for that to end.
“In my short time as Sira, we’ve taken an important step toward ending that inequality with the abolishment of slavery. But I’m well aware that one move doesn’t so easily wipe away generations of hate, and for that reason and more, I’ve been in talks with humans … on Earth.”
Lira gasps beside me as my mouth drops open. Eros has been talking to Earthers?
The crowd murmurs and Eros raises his hand, effectively quieting everyone again. “I’ve negotiated a place for twelve thousand humans to return to their planet of origin should they want to. I want to emphasize this is an optional program—a way for humans to begin a new life somewhere else, because for so many humans, Safara has taken everything from them. However, I want to recognize that’s not the case for all humans—for many, Safara is and always will be their home, and those humans are absolutely welcome to stay as we try to improve life together here. But for those who would be interested in learning more about potentially going to Earth, information will be sent to all public and private glasses at the end of this address.”
I glance at Lira, who has her hand over her mouth, gaze caught on the glass. This is enormous—not only because Eros re-established communications with other peoples, but because people haven’t come or gone to or from Safara since the arrival of humans ages ago.
But Eros is changing all of that. And I couldn’t be prouder.
“Wow,” Lira says. “I never imagined … back to Earth?” Lira laughs and looks at me. “Kora, this is amazing.”
“It is,” I agree, and when Eros ends his speech and steps away from the podium, it seems the people agree, too.
They cheer.
34
Eros
After successfully broadcasting plans for twelve thousand humans to return to Earth, should they choose to do so, Deimos says the People Speak network flooded with comments, especially from humans. A lot of it is good—people interested, or even excited to leave—and some of it is understandably hesitant, or even outright disapproving, which is fair. But it’s encouraging, at least, to see some humans are happy about the suggestion.
With that going so well, though, I guess I shouldn’t really be surprised the second important thing I need to do doesn’t go half as well.
The large blank screen in the meeting room, for the fourth time, tells me what I already know.
“Inara’s ignoring our summons, too,” I say flatly. “Just like Kel’al, Invino, and Sekka’l.”
Deimos and the rest of the Council grimace. “It would appear so.”
“So what now?” I turn away from the screen and face everyone. They all look equally grim, and the way they glance at each other with pursed lips and uncertain expressions tells me something else, too. “This doesn’t usually happen, does it?”
“Not to a Sira.” Tol sighs and leans back. “It’s highly disrespectful to ignore a summons, and to do so to a Sira …”
“It means they don’t accept you as Sira, in essence,” Deimos finishes.
“That’s hardly new information though. I’m pretty sure I got that with the whole we’re leaving the fucken union that’s been around for hundreds of cycles thing. Seeing how secession only interested them after I became Sira.”
“Well, shae.” Deimos sighs. “That’s unfortunately true. But this confirms it.”
“So again, what now?” I point the glass. “Apparently I can’t even get them to consider hearing me out. If I can’t talk to them to try to convince them not to leave, what am I supposed to do? Let them go?”
“You could consider sending a military envoy to retrieve them,” Rion says. “But that would mean risking war, particularly if they refused to cooperate, which I suspect at least some of them would.”
“I thought the whole point of trying to convince them to stay was to avoid war.”
Rion grimaces. “It is.”
“Then that sounds like exactly what we shouldn’t do.” I shake my head and glance at Deimos. “Do you have any ideas?”
Deimos drums his fingers and chews on his lip as he looks at me. “This doesn’t solve everything, but with Sekka’l’s secession we could frame it in terms of their displeasure with the slavery abolishment—say it’s Sekka’l holding on to a terrible practice, rather than because you’re a poor leader.”
“That would work,” Rion says, “except Kel’al, Invino, and Inara are evidently considering the same, even though they haven’t argued against the abolishment.”
“And either way doesn’t answer how to convince them to stay.” I hook my finger under Aren’s bracelet and take a deep breath. “Okay. So what happens if I let them leave?”
Deimos’s eyes widen and Rion sits forward, pressing his palms against the table. “El Sira, surely you can’t—”
“Just—tell me what would happen. Walk me through it.”
“Well, you’d lose the confidence of the people, to start with,” Tol says. “If one leaves, so will the other three—so that will leave you with other nations who will consider leaving as well. The union will fracture, territories will become independent, and you risk wars like the old sets as territories focus on only their own interests and damn everyone else.”
“Not to mention the ramifications of losing the people’s confidence,” Rion says. “If the people see you can’t keep the union together, they won’t support you. And they’d likely call for you to step down. You’d be viewed as a failure and any progress you’ve made would be erased.”
“Including any laws you made,” Deimos says softly.
Rion nods. “A Sira’s first cycle is … probationary, in a sense. The laws you make become law, but if you don’t last a full cycle, the next Sira could wipe out your changes.”
Which means all the people I managed to free would lose their freedom again. Just like that.
I run my thumb over Aren’s bracelet and bite my lip. “This is impossible. How am I supposed to convince people who don’t want to be here not to leave if they refuse to even speak to me?”
No one has an answer for me. And the silence is damning.
Deimos and I take a walk—with Fejn, Lijdo, and six other guards because no one wants to risk what happened last time happening again. And this time, despite Fejn and Lijdo’s protests, we leave the complex.
After all, we got attacked in the complex last time, so the way I see it, we’re not really safe anywhere we go anyway.
So with filter masks on, extra immune boosters given to us all, and a contingent of eight guards surrounding us, we take a totally casual, normal, not-at-all noticeable walk through the city streets. Right.
I shouldn’t complain. I know the danger—obviously—especially after what happen with Kosim, and my shoulder still blazing hurts from that fucken bite. But staying in the palace, in the complex all the time, is suffocating. I grew up with a people who were always moving, making our homes in new places two or three times a term. Staying in one place is hard enough without the extra restriction of being trapped behind walls.
We visited Kosim before we left. He looks miserable—feverish and barely eating, eyes slowly darkening, but Zarana says his body is fighting it, because his progression isn’t as quick as some other patients she’s had. He still recognized us. Still knows what’s going on.
Still knows he might die if we don’t figure out a cure quickly.
I wish I could do more than wait for someone else to figure out a cure. I wish I could tell Kosim—or Fejn, even, who’s constantly worried about him—that he’s going to be fine, that a cure will be ready on time.
But I can’t. Sira or not, I’m powerless to do anything but make sure he’s comfortable and has the best medical care available.
People glance at us and bow as we walk by, their expressions mostly covered by filter masks. It’s almost eerie seeing person after person—adults and kids al
ike—all wearing the same identical masks, all watching us with impossible to interpret gazes. Do they consider it an invasion for us to walk through like this? Or is it like what Deimos told me back when I was trying to get chosen as Sira, where the people see it as a way for us to say we don’t think we’re better than them?
I assume the worst but hope for the best.
While some shops are closed and the streets are a little emptier than usual, it’s a relief to see people still going about their lives. At least the city hasn’t come to a complete standstill—at least there’s still an echo of normal, even with an unprecedented disease setting people against each other.
Of course, the increased guard presence stationed at every corner can’t feel especially normal to anyone.
Eventually we reach the main square, which is still as full of people as always. But instead of the regular steady flow of people moving in and out, there’s a gathering in the center in front of a golden statue of enormous stacked letters I can’t be bothered to try to parse out right now, because shouting and all-too-familiar grunts turns my blood cold as I stop in my tracks.
My heart races. Prickles crawl down my back, sharp and radiating.
“Eros, what’s wrong?” Deimos frowns at me, and he doesn’t hear the dull thump of impact, the coughs and ragged breaths, the sounds through the cheers that I know too well.
“We’re going through the crowd,” I say stiffly. “Now.”
Our guards push through the people, clearing a path to the break in the center where two human men are passed out on the glistening, blood-splattered stone and a third is held by two Sepharon men while another Sepharon guy punches him in the jaw, the ribs, his stomach—
I don’t have to tell the guards what to do. They yank the Sepharon guy throwing punches back and wrestle him to the ground as Fejn frees the beat-up human from the two holding him up and more guards arrest them, too.
“You said you wanted them to leave, el Sira.” The Sepharon man on the ground laughs as guards twist his arms behind his back and activate magnetized cuffs on his wrists. “We’ll help them leave, ej? One kafran redblood at a time.”