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His smile is cautious as he approaches Wyatt for the traditional Krovatian greeting, planting a hand on the middle of his chest then bowing. “Welcome Wyatt. You are to come with us today? Have you been granted permission?”
Wyatt is about to babble an excuse, so I speak up for him. “Our invitation from the command center states that permission is granted for three humans from Earth’s delegation to visit today. Well, here we are, three humans from Earth, coming to represent our planet.”
Desimar looks doubtful, but then shrugs. “In that case, let us be on our way. We have strict instructions to arrive eighteen beats after sunrise.”
Wyatt comes to sit beside me on the drone, strapping the safety belt around him. His face has gone pale and all at once, I remember how I felt, weeks ago at the water city, when we climbed the tall tower in our flimsy rafts. I bring his head to my shoulder and encircle his larger hands in mine as best I can. “It’s ok, honey.”
“I know. I’ll be fine; don’t worry.”
“Hold on to me. I’m here with you all the way.”
He tucks his face into the crook of my neck and brings one of his arms around my waist, holding on to me tightly. I’m relieved he shows no hesitation in seeking out comfort from me. The Wyatt I knew before would never have done that. He was too imbued with the conditioning, passed down from his family and the social expectations around us, that men should show no weakness. This, however, is not weakness but strength. It takes strength to overcome your fears like Wyatt has done. I kiss the top of his head and whisper, “I’m so proud of you.”
He responds with a tightening of his hold around me, then I hear the flutter of his voice in my ear. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Over his head, Troy and Desimar watch us, the one with sympathy, the other with curious interest. The drone engine starts and soon, we’re up in the air on our way to the hilly quarter of the city, where this command center is located. Throughout our flight, Wyatt stays huddled close to me. I stroke his rumpled blond locks, my heart full. How is it possible to love two such different men so much? I want to spend the rest of my life with Kirimor, but I haven’t stopped loving Wyatt. Life is so damned complicated. I try to put such thoughts away as our drone begins its descent and lands at our destination.
The command center is a large circular building with the typical Krovatian whitewashed exterior and a rooftop loaded with solar panel tiles. There’s also something more—an arch of fluorescent blue light hovering above the building.
“What’s that?” I ask Desimar, pointing to it.
“It is a force field that secures the building so that no harm can come to it.”
“How is it powered?” wonders Troy.
Desimar’s expression is blank. “As to that, I do not know exactly. Once we are inside, you may ask our guide.”
“Definitely,” agrees Troy.
By now, Wyatt has unplastered himself from my side. A little shamefaced, he murmurs in a low undertone so only I can hear, “Thanks.”
I squeeze his hand in response, then weave my fingers through his. “Let’s go see this place.”
At the main entrance, two security guards check our credentials and search us with their scanners. After that, the entrance gate lifts to allow us inside an indoor courtyard where we go through a second round of checks. Security is tight. I feel a tingle of excitement and nerves at being allowed into this fortress. I’m sure Troy, with his ability to reproduce detailed technical drawings from memory, will be obtaining a load of valuable information today for us to relay back to Earth. I can’t resist smiling a little at the thought—another positive notch on my belt as the leader of this diplomatic mission.
A Krovatian female, dressed in uniform, comes to greet us. She steps towards me first and places her palm on my chest, and I do the same. We step back and bow. “Welcome to the command center,” she says. “I am Manolora, and I will be your guide today.”
“Good to meet you, Manolora. I am Melinda Garcia, head of the human mission to Krovatia. This is Troy Summers, our lead engineer, and Wyatt Garcia, our cultural attaché.” I make up Wyatt’s job title on the hoof. He raises an amused brow at this but says nothing.
Manolora smiles at them and extends the traditional greeting. Once that is done, she beckons us forward. “Follow me.”
She leads us up a set of stairs, then down a short corridor, explaining, “I will take you first to my quarters, where we can start with the briefing, then I will take you to the heart of the command center, where our specially trained team manages the force field above our planet.”
“Thank you,” says Troy. “I am very much looking forward to seeing this.”
“Yes, I can understand that. Our security system is one of the best in the universe.”
We arrive at a set of double doors, which Manolora opens with a scan of her palm. We enter a rectangular room, furnished simply with floor seats and a side table, along with a tall lectern with a computer console.
“Please, take a seat,” says Manolora.
As we do so, Desimar hovers uncertainly by the doorway. “Excuse me,” he says apologetically. “I think something I ate this morning has disagreed with me. Is it possible for me to go to an ablution room?”
Manolora gazes at him with sympathy. “Of course. Let me show you where to go.” She smiles at us. “I will not be long. Please help yourselves to a drink ofnari.”
She exits the room with Desimar, returning less than a minute later. Going to her console, she taps a few keys and projects on a large screen in front of us a briefing video with instructions on do’s and don’ts for our visit. We watch in polite silence and then all of us sign a declaration that we have understood the conditions under which we are allowed to tour the command center. As we are finishing up, there is a ring on the door, and Manolora opens it for Desimar.
