Chapter Seven
Ines
The walk out of the mine feels different today.
I spent my final morning on Timbur shadowing Leah and the mine techs, watching some of them map new caves and others maintain the massive equipment that keeps this operation running. Good material for my article. Leah was patient with my endless questions, showing me control panels, data feeds and the engineering marvels that most visitors never get to see.
But my mind wasn’t fully on the work.
Tomorrow morning I take the transporter back to my apartment, my editor and regular life back on New Earth. My visit to this fantastical planet, Timbur, is over.
Texon walks beside me through the familiar tunnels toward the lift. We’ve made this walk together so many times now. I’ve memorized the way the crystals glow in certain sections, the spots where the tunnel widens, the distant echo of drilling from other levels.
Neither of us talks about tomorrow.
The lift arrives and we step inside. The doors clang shut. I watch the numbers climb as we rise toward the surface, hyperaware of his massive frame beside me, the warmth radiating from his body, the fresh mineral scent that I’ve come to associate with him.
I’m going to miss this all of it.
Not compatible, I remind myself. He scented me and the answer was clear. There’s no reason for me to ever return to Timbur. I’ll write my articles, maybe we’ll exchange a few messages, and eventually we’ll become strangers again.
I was hoping to learn something new during my “investigation” but I haven’t moved any further in breaking this case than they have, which makes me sad. I really thought I’d be able to do more here, like I was able to with my other cases back home, but no such luck. Maybe I was able to do so well in those instances because they were all on New Earth, amongst humans. Here on Timbur I’m wearing a universal translator chip in my brain to be able to understand and speak the Xylan language, and their customs are so new to me, as well as the climate and topography of this planet.
Investigating off planet is turning out much hard than I’d first assumed.
We exit the lift and walk through the busy admin level. Miners and techs bustle past us, finishing shifts, starting shifts, the organized chaos of a working mine. A few of them glance at us. I’m certain they’ve chuckled at the sight of the massive Fever Brother and the small human journalist who’s been trailing him for days.
Outside, the jungle air hits me, warm, humid and fragrant with those strange purple flowers I’ve grown to love. We walk to the public transport station in silence.
“Your article,” Texon finally says. “When will it be published?”
“A few weeks, probably. My editor will want revisions. There’s always revisions.”
He nods.
I want to say something about how much this trip has meant to me, how much his family has come to matter, how muchhehas come to matter. And how sorry I am that I haven’t been able to help in any way in their investigation. But the words stick in my throat.
What’s the point? I’m leaving tomorrow.
The compound isquiet when we arrive.
Late afternoon light slants through the windows. The other brothers are still at the mine because their shift runs later than ours did today. From somewhere in the back, I hear children’s laughter. Lila must have them in the backyard play area.
“I should pack,” I say. “Get organized for tomorrow.”
Texon nods. He looks like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t.
I walk down the hallway toward my room, my bag over my shoulder, already mentally cataloging what needs to go where. Clothes. Toiletries. The small gifts the brides gave me, a sketch from Naomi, a recipe card from Jana, a tiny crystal shard from Roxy that she promised was safe to take off-planet.
My door is ajar.
I stop walking. What the heck? I didn’t leave it that way. I’m certain I didn’t. I always close doors behind me. It’s habit, drilled into me from years of living in a crowded Singapore apartment with roommates, where privacy was precious.
I push the door open slowly and freeze. My room is destroyed. Drawers are yanked out, the contents scatteredacross the floor. My clothes are thrown everywhere, shirts and pants and underwear strewn like someone went through everything in a hurry. My bag has been upended, everything inside dumped onto the bed. The mattress is half off the frame, like someone checked beneath it. Even the small potted plant that Lila gave me when I arrived has been knocked over, dirt spilled across the desk in a dark streak.
Someone searched my room. And they didn’t care if I knew.
My heart slams against my ribs. I back out of the doorway, my mind racing, and nearly collide with something solid.
