by Li Hill
Caleb was good-looking, rich, and worst of all, he seemed painfully nice. He'd helped Tom come back after being triggered, he dropped clothing off at the shelter, and even let Iilo take some. He'd always been a good guy back in the army, but Tom was his superior in rank. Somewhere along the way, Tom had turned left where Caleb turned right.
"Hey, man."
Tom turned to see none other than the man he was lamenting over.
"You good?" Caleb asked.
Tom tried to smile, but his lips betrayed him. They fell into a line, his eyes downcast. Shame pressed into his shoulders, piling higher and higher as Caleb got closer. He wanted to run away. It wasn't luck that had put Caleb where he was. He'd worked, same as Tom. Life took them to different paths, but when had life ever been fair to people? Babies died; I'na got kidnapped. Who was life ever fair to? Caleb, maybe.
"I'm just tired. We've had a long day."
"Yeah, I feel that. The FBI and all that can't help, right?"
Tom shrugged a shoulder. "It's out of my hands. I'm just here to make sure Iilo doesn't get kidnapped or sacrificed by his own people." He laughed at his own statement, but it was an empty sound. Tom did worry someone would eventually see Iilo's dedication as a nuisance. Mobs were powerful things. If the right person got pissed enough at Iilo, Tom wasn't sure how much he really could do to keep Iilo safe. Nothing short of taking Iilo away from his settlement anyway.
Iilo and the I'na kidnappings were Tom's. It was foolish, claiming a people that didn't exactly consent to the idea, but Iilo—maybe somewhat had? Tom still wasn't sure. To know that Iilo had been there at First Contact. To know that they'd seen each other out in those dark trees. Their strings ran tight around each other, knot upon knot until it was impossible for their lives to leave each other. Maybe the pull to Seward had been Iilo all along, and Tom didn't even know it.
"Hey, you sure you're okay? You—you gonna cry?"
"What?" Tom's eyes widened. He reached up and touched wetness on his face. He blinked furiously, turning from Caleb. He wanted the world to open up and swallow him. Everything was writhing inside him, and he just needed a moment alone to get it under control.
"It's okay." Caleb put a hand on his shoulder. "I've been there too. It's okay to cry. It can't be easy, working with I'na after what we saw."
Tom met Caleb's eyes, stunned. Words flowed into his mouth too quick, a rush like the ocean. He gurgled unintelligently but couldn't bring himself to piece it all together.
Caleb smiled. "Yeah, I get it. And if you need to talk to someone, I'm here. I know I'm—well, I know I can come on a little strong. My therapist tells me not to get too involved in other people's business, but truthfully? Helpin' 'em makes me forget my own shit."
"Me too." A lump lodged in Tom's throat. He blinked tears out of his eyes. Tom didn't want to dislike Caleb, and here was the reason why. There was honesty from Caleb, attentiveness and compassion. Tom felt foolish for letting his insecurities cloud his mind. "That's why I came here. Seward, I mean. Small town—lotta drama."
"I get it. I'm here 'cause of work, but it's only temporary. I'll actually be leaving in a week." Caleb scatched at the back of his neck, grimacing. "Which really sucks. I just found you all again. It's been really nice."
"Sam's here on circumstance too. Just because you aren't here doesn't mean we can't talk? Can I call you more?"
Caleb had a life outside of Seward. He didn't need Seward to pull him in too.
"Dude, hell yeah." Caleb smiled wide, mask back on. It didn't alarm Tom as much as it had before. He understood its purpose now. The smile hid the sadness. The flippant behavior hid the anger. Tom knew it all too well. "Call me whenever, okay? The worst about it is goin' through it alone. So call me."
"Thanks..." Tom let the word trail off. He stared after Caleb as he went back inside. A new world had just blossomed before Tom. One where his suffering wasn't the only one in the room. Someone else occupied it, floating around.
Chapter Sixteen
Tom's nerves pricked at his skin. He stood by his front door, hiding behind the curtain, watching Iilo get out of a cab. The driver was only for show, a metal robotic man that said pleasantries and waved goodbye. Tom wondered if the I'na had had robotics before they'd left Inaan.
The sky was darkening, a gray overcast that loomed rain on the horizon. Tom wouldn't mind another storm. He hadn't watered his pathetic excuse for a garden anyway.
His mother once said, "Tommy, humility is getting' on yer knees and coatin' yer hands with dirt. A garden always reminds you of where ya came from." At this point, he kept the garden to remember his mother by. He'd even taken her knee rest from the house after she'd died. His dad didn't need it. He didn't garden.
Iilo rapped on the door and Tom lunged behind it, yanking it open. Iilo's brows arched high.
"Oh, sorry. I just didn't want you to get caught out in a storm." Tom let Iilo inside, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans. It was a vicious habit, really, wiping his hands on his pants. He'd stained so many dress pants that way. Having Iilo in his home made this so much more real. Iilo wasn't a fanciful tale that Tom got to think about. He was real and he was standing by the stairs, slipping one shoe after the other off.
He had the cutest fucking feet.
"I appreciate it. Startled me a bit." Iilo set a bag down. The journal, with its worn pages stuffed with clippings, notes, and pictures slipped out, yearning to be touched—explored.
"You brought the journal?" Tom asked.
"If you wanted to see it again. Or if we talked about the kidnappings." Iilo shrugged. "We're not supposed to talk about the kidnappings tonight, though." He laughed out a soft chime. "Sorry. This whole 'dating' thing is hard for me. Not with you! I like you. I just mean, my brain is always on the missing I'na."
"I know. It makes sense. Can I get you anything?" Tom kissed Iilo on the lips before saying, "And it's fine. I know you're dedicated."
"Do you have any soda?" There was a nervous jitter to his shoulders. After being together almost day in and day out, it was still surprising that they got nervous around each other. With Iilo staying the night though, and the first time at that, there was a lot to be nervous about.
Tom really hoped he didn't get gas when they went to bed.
"Yeah, I've got Coke?"
"I'd like one. Inaraa doesn't like it when I drink soda. We're sensitive to your sugar."
Tom remembered the chocolate discussion and how it made them shaky. He walked into the blue kitchen, opening the refrigerator. The countertops reminded him of Iilo's skin, though he'd never thought about it until Iilo was standing right there. A swirling, sprawled-out display of stars and nebulas. He handed over a Coke.
Iilo gulped about half of it down before pausing, sucking in air to breathe. They breathed the same air. Something had led Iilo here—to Tom—and while he wasn't sure what their relationship really meant yet, he was excited to find out.
"You'll make yourself sick." Tom flicked Iilo's nose, a gesture he'd done to his little sister so many times. He hadn't thought anything of it until Iilo was staring at him, his fingers resting on where Tom's had just been. "Oh—I'm sorry."
"It's okay. What does it mean?"
"Huh?"
"When you—hit me."
"It wasn't a hit!" Tom put his hands up, eyes wide. He shook his hands, desperate to pull the situation in before it got too out of hand. "It's a flick. It's—it's affection. Humans just—we show affection in weird ways, I guess."
Iilo flicked Tom back, a smirk on his face.
"Hey now!"
"And here I thought humans were weird about touching." Iilo swayed over to the couch, spinning around before plopping down with a dramatic sigh. "I like how big your house is."
Tom scratched the back of his head. "It's really not that big." He sat on the other side of the sofa, cross-legged. He didn't want to make assumptions about where he could sit with Iilo. But I'na did like being close to each other. Whenever Letic and Inaraa sat to
gether, they always folded into each other. Tom scooted closer until their shoulders touched.
"We're not weird about touching," Tom said.
"You don't touch each other except if you're coming or going!" Iilo tossed his hands up, an adorable display of amusement and frustration.
"Show me the evidence!"
They laughed, nerves abating. They'd been together plenty of times. Just because this wasn't Iilo's snug spire didn't change anything. They were still the same people, just trying to figure out their place in this world.
Thunder shook the window pane. Its soundwaves rumbled the floor, a menacing vibration—a warning. Tom loved thunderstorms. He loved the foreboding promises of something beautifully destructive. The smell in the air, the rain-soaked trees. There was something lazy and content after a storm rolled by. He was glad he could share it with Iilo now.
"Tell me your favorite human story?" Iilo crawled into Tom's lap and pulled the blanket over them. "Is this too fast?"
"We just gonna cuddle?" Tom asked.
Iilo nodded.
"Then it's not too fast." He mulled over the question, tossing his head from side to side. There were plenty of stories he could tell. Hilariously, the one he thought of was the one he blasphemed almost every day. "Know anything about Jesus?" His mother would be proud of him. He hadn't talked about Jesus in ages.
"That he's a god to you."
"I'm not really religious. I think it's a good thing, but it's kind of way to tear people apart. I'm getting really sick of othering people."
Iilo smirked.
"Jesus befriended everyone. Told us to all love each other." Tom traced Iilo's ID marker, feeling the soft bone and the grooves. Tom wondered what made the exoskull come to be in I'na evolution. "He hung out with people who others didn't really like."
"Would he hang out with my people?"
"Absolutely. He'd be right next to you right now demanding justice for the kidnappings. Probably would've flipped some tables." Tom chortled. "He did that sometimes."
Iilo snuggled his head into Tom's sternum. "He sounds wonderful. I like Jesus."
"Yeah. He's a good story. There's a whole part of the Bible dedicated to him."
"We have a god too," Iilo said.
Tom knew he shouldn't be surprised. Throughout history, every culture had some form of deity. Jesus was no more credible than whatever Iilo believed in. Even if Tom didn't believe in a god, he believed in hope. Religion gave people hope and peace. Who was he to tell people otherwise. And Iilo? He needed all the hope he could get.
"Tell me about him?"
"Her, actually. But she takes both forms. Her name is Iibeebee. She made us from the stars to bring light to our planet. It was dark and lonely, so she gave us to it as gifts."
"That's beautiful." Humanity would never share the same sentiment. They saw themselves as the caretakers, the supreme beings. A gift implied Inaan had to take care of the I'na.
"It didn't really work out in the end. We had to leave."
Tom watched the light leave Iilo's eyes, how his soul shuddered. This had been a conversation he both dreaded and anticipated for so long. He'd wondered every day what made a group set into the stars in the hopes that they weren't alone. But Iilo looked as if he'd shatter. The door was open; Tom could enter or he could leave. But he'd wondered for so long.
"Why?" he asked.
"We lived by a blue star. Eventually, it started frying everything. We tried biodomes and living underground, but the sun would destroy most of our power sources. It'd probably blow up a nuclear reactor if we'd had that. Our seasons got more and more extreme and then the oceans started evaporating. All of this, mind you, was happening for hundreds of years, maybe even thousands. It wasn't just overnight or anything. We left Inaan with no idea where we were going until we found Voyager. By that time, I was around fifteen. I never saw my planet, Tommy. It didn't make me. I was born in a spaceship. This is the only planet I've ever known."
"Oh Iilo." Tom scooped him into a hug. If he could turn to metal around Iilo, he would. The I'na had lost so much of their art and culture along the way. A terrible diaspora that took not just their bodies but their souls. "Did you save everyone?" Tom asked, because curiosity was often morbid and he needed to know.
Iilo had tears in his eyes when he turned into Tom's chest. His face was just barely blue, only a lingering whisper too stubborn to let go.
"Iilo." Tears warmed Tom's shoulders, hands chilly and strong clutching to his back. That was all the answer Tom needed. No. How many had they left behind? Had those I'na watched the ships leave?
Iilo shook with each breath. He was brittle, far too strained. He would snap into pieces, and Tom didn't know if he'd catch each piece before they shattered on the floor. There was no gentle phrase he could whisper, no offering of kindness that could replace the anguish that berated Iilo's soul.
Tom cursed himself for what he'd asked. A hollow sadness filled him, thinking of the people they'd left behind. How many more years did they live before the sun burnt up the whole planet. What about the fauna? Flora? A whole world, extinguished by the luminosity of its own sun.
"I'm sorry," Tom whispered. He kissed the top of Iilo's head. "I'm sorry I asked."
"N-no. It's—it's fine." Iilo pulled back, wiping tears out of his eyes. "This is why it's important we find my people, Tom. We're all that's left. My—our leader was born on the spaceships too. She was—her father before her—made the decision to leave so many behind. Whole countries. Cultures now long gone. It was important to her to preserve what we have left. She promised."
No one seemed to care about the I'na the way Iilo did. They were more apt to forget and cut their losses than save a few missing I'na. They had their lives; what else did they care for now? But that's the reality they'd been reborn into. Sam had spoken about the art and how it was abandoned when fuel reserves went low. Iilo had mentioned cut-off ships that were discarded in space, with or without crews. The I'na were forged in sacrifice. It made what the Elect was doing more understandable.
"You admired your leader?" Tom asked.
Iilo pulled away. "Of course I did. She—she was my mother. She died the day we landed here. The lone rifle shooting? That was her. That's why we attacked you."
It all clicked into place in Tom's mind. The ferocity of why Iilo had needed to find out what happened. Iilo's mother was their beacon, and without her, they'd all crumbled in panic. Iilo had scrambled to pick up the pieces when the Elects went running in the opposite direction.
"I wish we could change it." Tom wished he could change a lot of things. It was always easier to look back and wish than it was to try to change the future. The future left limitless possibility. The past was set in stone. One could analyze how to have changed it, but that's as far as anyone could go. For all the creations of humanity, robots, cures for cancer and disease, no one had invented a time machine. Thus all the wishes in the world would be met with silence.
"Yeah. But then I'd have never met you," Iilo said. He twisted in Tom's arms, his eyes red-rimmed.
Tom had expected Iilo to say something else. His mouth moved, but no words came. Tom feared the future; he agonized over the past. The present was the only thing he had. Iilo was here, solid and good. His cheeks cool and his body heavy. He didn't want this quiet moment to end. When it did, the world would remind them of what went on beyond Tom's door. I'na were afraid to go back to Atlanta. Seward was losing their people one by one. Tom wasn't one for TV, but he'd noticed none of this had made national news. Either the FBI was keeping it quiet, or the world didn't care.
Tom hoped it was the first one.
"So, I have to ask. Nenen, the old lady at the Outreach Center, she's around two-hundred. Humans don't live that long." He realized that wasn't exactly a question, but he'd at least gotten his point across.
"We used to live a lot longer. Around two-hundred, maybe three. Earth's pulled that down. We get sick too easily now when we're older. So we don't really know
right now. It's rare now to find us past one hundred, unless they were already that old on the ships."
Tom knew his gaze unnerved Iilo from the way he ducked and squirmed, but he didn't move away. Eventually, he looked up and met Tom's eyes, a silent challenge.
"So what happens when you date a human who dies around one hundred, hundred and fifteen if they're lucky, and you keep going? I don't mean to, well I guess this sounds clingy no matter how I say it. Doesn't it bother you? Knowing you could outlive any human?"
"It's not likely I'll live that long anymore. But even if I did, no. It doesn't bother me. I choose the people I want in my life and I'll keep them for however long I can." He said it with such conviction that it took Tom's breath away. Iilo knew suffering and he faced it every day. His entire people were born of harsh decisions and not unfamiliar to death. He knew what he was capable of handling and what he couldn't, Tom had come to understand that. "Stop looking at me like that."
"Sorry." Tom blinked a few times, eyes averted. "You're stronger than me."
Iilo made a soft sound in the back of his throat and reached up to touch Tom's face. They kissed, Iilo small and wrapped tight in Tom's large arms. Iilo's mouth was smooth, his tongue sleeker than a human's. It slid over Tom's and Iilo laughed. They both smiled, foreheads touching, breath ghosting across each other's faces. Tom pulled back, touching his lips.
"You're tingling." Iilo said in a flat tone. "Our saliva is acidic. Shouldn't bother you though."
"I've kissed you before." Tom's hand still lingered by his mouth.
Iilo turned in Tom's embrace, his fingers scratching at the base of Tom's head. "Not like this."
Rain finally did break while they kissed, soaking the ground until it was soft and pliable like Iilo's lips.
Corrosive blood, acidic spit—I'na were delicate and brutal all at once. The little cut on Tom's thumb wasn't fully healed. He looked at it and grabbed Iilo's hand to push them together.
"Blood pact," Iilo said.
"Blood pact."
Iilo's fingers threaded into Tom's hair. He slipped out from under the blanket, legs pulling Tom in closer.