Eyas realised, in that moment, that she didn’t want to make any more decisions. She hadn’t thought about it when she’d headed out for the Ratri, but she was tired, tired in a quiet way that had become an everyday thing for reasons she couldn’t point to. The tenday hadn’t been bad, but it had been long, and she’d grown weary of decisions. ‘Surprise me,’ she said. She paused in thought. ‘Whoever you think the nicest of them is.’
‘Ha! You’re going to get me in trouble.’ The woman tapped her lips, then made a definitive gesture at the pixels. ‘All right, you’ll be in room fourteen. Your host will be there in about twenty minutes. You’re welcome to wait in there, or you can relax in the lounge. If you feel the need to clean up, there are showers to the right of the bar. You’re welcome to go there with your host as well. If you don’t go straight to your room, we’ll call you when it’s time.’ She gave Eyas an amused smile. ‘And do not tell him how I picked him, or I will never hear the end of it.’ Eyas thanked her, and walked on through. The lounge was inviting, and the aforementioned bar was laden with colourful bottles of kick, a menu of snacks, and short, clear jars displaying varieties of redreed and smash. Another time, she would’ve treated herself to something spicy to snack on and something sweet to drink. She would’ve chatted with the bartender, contemplated the clientele (which, as always, was as varied as varied could be), maybe played a round of flash with someone else waiting their turn. But Eyas looked at the crowd, and all she wanted was to be behind a door.
She found room fourteen, waved her wristwrap over the lock, and entered. Just the sight of the room felt like she’d taken a sip of water after several hours without. Everything looked soft – the bed, the couch, even the table, somehow. There was a thumpbox for music, a chill box for drinks, a storage compartment full of other things the host could introduce if desired. All clean, all inviting. All for her.
She sat down on the couch, closed her eyes, and let twenty minutes slip by. She barely felt them.
There was a soft chime at the door before it opened. A man entered, carrying a bottle of something amber brown. He was tall, but not too tall. Fit, but not too fit. His hair was thick and his eyes were kind. ‘Hey,’ he said. ‘I’m Sunny.’
Of course you are, Eyas thought. ‘I’m Eyas.’
‘Eyas,’ he repeated, the door closing behind him. ‘I haven’t heard that one before.’
Her mouth gave a scrunch as it prepared to offer an explanation given a million times. ‘It’s an old word for a hawk.’
Sunny leaned against the bedframe. ‘What’s a hawk?’
‘Earthen bird. Bird of prey, apparently. Very striking, very fast. My mother’ – she tried to find a tactful way to explain the most incongruous person in her life – ‘she’s a romantic.’
‘Clearly. That’s a poetic name.’
‘Yes. Granted, she didn’t dig deep enough into the language files to figure out that an eyas is a baby hawk, not a hawk hawk. So, I’m a scruffy baby bird that hasn’t learned to fly. Not the best sentiment to carry around as an adult.’
Sunny laughed. ‘You’re not the only one with a name like that. I know a guy named Walrus.’
‘I don’t know what that is.’
‘You know what a wolf is?’
Eyas thought back to school trips to the Archives. ‘It’s a . . . oh, I know this.’ She frowned, rifling through neurons that hadn’t been needed in a while. ‘Some kind of carnivore, right? Or am I thinking of something else?’
‘No, you’re right. Like a wild dog. Beautiful, powerful, all that good stuff. That’s what his parents were going for. Only, they got mixed up and didn’t double-check, and went with Walrus.’
‘And what’s a walrus?’
Sunny raised a finger and pulled his scrib from his belt holster. He gestured at the screen, then turned it her way. The Archives helpfully displayed his friend’s namesake – a sack-like water beast with ludicrous tusks and unfortunate whiskers.
Eyas laughed. ‘Okay, that’s worse than mine.’
The host chuckled as he set his scrib on the table. ‘Hey, if it’s any consolation, I don’t like my given name, either.’
‘You mean it’s not Sunny?’ Eyas said with a smirk.
The host winked. ‘So, I heard you’ve had a long day.’
Eyas raised her eyebrows. ‘Did you?’
‘That was Iana’s guess, at least. Did she get that wrong?’
Assuming Iana was the blue-haired woman, Eyas mentally gave her a few points for perception. ‘No. It has been a long day.’
Sunny held up the bottle. ‘Do you like sintalin?’
‘I’ve never had it.’ She considered the name. ‘Aeluon?’
‘Laru. It’s . . . well, it’s what I pour myself on long days.’ He picked up two glasses, asking her a silent question. She nodded. He poured.
Eyas examined the glass placed in her hand. The liquid within had a caramel warmth, and the colour got darker and darker the deeper the glass went. It smelled unlike anything she’d ever had. A good smell, at least. A rich, spiced smell. She took a sip, and shut her eyes. ‘Wow.’
‘It’s something, right?’ Sunny sat next to her on the couch – close, but not too close. Close as good friends might sit, and just as easy. He took a sip from his own glass.
‘That’s . . . wow.’ She laughed.
‘I’ve got a friend who’s a cargo runner, makes a lot of stops in Laru space. She always brings me a case of this when she’s back home.’
‘This isn’t from the bar?’
‘Nah, this is my stash.’
Another point to Iana. It was entirely possible Sunny pulled this bit with everybody who came to room fourteen, but even if it was fiction, it was very nice.
Sunny looked at her seriously. ‘Eyas, I’m here to give you a good night, and that can be whatever you need it to be. If you need to just talk, have some drinks, chill out – that’s fine. I’m happy with that.’
Eyas was sure he’d said those words before, but she also got the sense that he meant them. She studied his face. His lips looked soft. His beard was perfect, almost annoyingly so. ‘No,’ she said. She put her hand on his chest. She set her glass down, ran her palm up his throat, over his neck, into his hair. Stars, it felt good in her fingers. ‘If it’s okay by you,’ she said, as his hand greeted her thigh, ‘I’d rather not talk much at all.’
Isabel
Dinner had been chaos, as per usual, and at one time in Isabel’s life, this would have aggravated her. She would’ve wanted to put on a good face for an academic guest, particularly an alien one. But Isabel loved the nightly feeding frenzy, and at this point, she wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. They hadn’t done anything special, not even shifted the cooking order. Ninth day was her cousin’s family’s night to cook, and cook they did (albeit with some quiet instruction from Isabel, who’d sent them a list of common ingredients Harmagians could not digest – heavy salt being the trickiest one). There had been kids running around everywhere, a misunderstanding about how gravy worked (namely: not as a drink), a broken dish, a few translation errors, a bombardment of questions in both directions, and three dozen people tripping over themselves to look good in front of a fancy visitor. It was real. It was honest. It was so very Exodan.
Her hex was quiet now. Ghuh’loloan had departed for her guest quarters – not for sleep, as her species did not have that need, but to take comfort in a space designed for Harmagian merchants and diplomats, rather than incompatible Human physiology. The kids, in contrast, were (mostly) sleeping, and the grown-ups had retreated to the sanctuary of their homes. It was always such a sharp change, the switch between daytime and night-time. Not that the view outside changed. But the lights did, and the clocks did, and as much as Isabel seized upon the bright energy of the bustling hours, she always cherished restful dark.