Page 116 of Invasive Species
“Rip it down,” Ilia orders, but El-len waves her hands at him, still hiccupping and crying, with a big smile on her face.
“It's okay, guys, she's happy,” Arra-bellah says, handing her friend a tissue and giving her a hug.
“Yuh-Yuh-Yes,” El-len sobs, wiping her face. “I'm so-so-happy.”
“Humans cry when they're happy too,” Arra-bellah explains.
Ilia surges to his feet. “Good,” he says, voice faint with relief, but I'm wary. What if the next surprise makes my Arra-bellah cry? I'd rather die than see her face twisted with the semblance of sorrow.
Ellen dabs her eyes. “It's so amazing. And thanks to Arabella, the first few months are booked out with bachelorette parties.”
“Yeah, well. What can I say, marketing is easy when you have the right hook,” Arra-bellah says with a sly look at me.
I grin back. We leaned into marketing efforts recently, Arra-bellah posting her art as well as carefully edited pictures obscuring my face and image. I’m hers as she is mine, but we agreed between us that if we’re going to settle here and work around the farm, we need to be good at camouflage. All of the exiles have practiced and posed for her, and Arra-bellah gives them tips on hiding in plain sight. There's still work to do, but we're on the right path.
“I love it,” El-len says with a sob, wiping her eyes and beaming at Ilia. “And you.”
Our leader makes a rumble in his chest, pleased, and Arra-bellah nods toward the exit. She and I leave them to their inspection together.
We go downstairs, my mate running her hands along the carved beam one of the trio scraped into shape with traditional Earth tools, but before she can go out of the front door, I take her hand. “This way.”
“Ooh, more surprises.” She lets me lead her to the back of the barn and into the garden, where the tent had been set up for a movie night that never happened. The All-Mother’s private craft floats above this place in stealth mode, and the kitchen garden is recovering thanks to Arture’s efforts, as he’s a surprisingly good gardener. Our crashed rocket has been dragged to the side of the house, repaired, and I lead her to the doorway.
“What's this?” she asks as I press her hand to the entry plate.
A smooth beep sounds and the door slides open to reveal her canvases set up in rows all down the sleek lines of the ship.
“Your personal gallery,” I say, taking her hand and leading her through the corridor.
She stares at the pictures I’ve hung on the wall, cranes her head back to see the ceiling. I’ve increased the height of it, adding Arra-bellah’s ideas for a smoother finish from the barn into the weld, and of course she notices.
“That’s not all.” I motion her to place her palm on the security plate for what was the cockpit. She does so and the door opens, perhaps not as smoothly as I’d like, but I can fix that later.
Right now, I want to bask in my mate’s surprise.
The cockpit has undergone a transformation. I’ve covered all the computers with sleek sheets of the metal she admired somuch, adding some wooden cupboards underneath to blend Earth and Oloria.
Sunlight illuminates the spherical space. I’ve positioned her easels loaded with blank canvases in the center, ready and waiting to receive her ideas, and the sideboards groan underneath her collection of paint pots.
But most beautiful of all is Arra-bellah’s face. For the first time, my mate is rendered mute. Her happiness pulses at me, growing with each passing human second as she touches a finger to the console.
“What is this?” she whispers at last.
“This is your studio,” I say.
She whirls to face me. “But it’s your ship.”
“This craft isn’t going anywhere anymore, and neither are we.” I wrap my arms around her shoulders. “You’re stuck with me.”
I expect her to joke back. Instead, her eyes shining, she says, “I love you,” stripping me back to my core.
My nerves fall away and I cradle her close, my little firecracker bursting with ideas and beauty.
“So.” She tips her head up to meet my eyes. There’s that sparkle I love so much, the one that gets me into trouble. “I’m feeling like I need another dose of vitamin D.”
Brushing my lips on hers, a spark of heat flashes through me, but I’m also analyzing critical information, her taste touching off sensors that are now wholly attuned to her. She’s invaded me, broken through my defenses, left me utterly helpless to her—and I love it.
I ease back from the kiss. “You aren’t deficient in any vitamins.”
