37

The loft felt crowded with them all standing around. But Sean didn’t ask anyone to sit down. John and his daughter looked truly spooked. Which was only going to get worse. Sean had intended to ask Dillon for the first demonstration, but his brother looked so scared he decided to ask Elenya instead. “Will you show them?”

Carey demanded, “Show us what?”

Elenya held to her poise, which was amazing. And despite all the fear in the room, and all the eyes on them both, she lifted up on tiptoes and kissed him.

Then she vanished.

Carey did not squeal and she did not cry out and she did not gasp. She did all three. John made no sound at all.

Elenya returned. Took hold of Sean’s hand. And waited as Sean said to Dillon, “Now you.”

“Sean . . .”

“Go.”

Dillon sighed and went. And returned.

Sean then explained from the beginning. He was terrified of getting it wrong. Not for himself. For Dillon. And at the same time, he held on to Elenya’s suggestion like an anchor. Doing so stabilized him against all the unseen turbulence that gripped their loft. Sean did his best to share with people he cared for and who cared for them. People who were ready to understand and accept before he opened his mouth. He hoped. Desperately.

Sean described the childhood design that he and Dillon had made of the train station. The one where people came and went without regard to outside gravity. The crystal tubes and the glass trains. Then Carver’s arrival. And the challenge. And the Examiner. And the test. And the argument and the Charger assault and the Counselor and the attack and the school. He talked until his throat went dry, and Elenya poured him a glass of water. He drank that and went on.

Then he reached out his hand for John’s. “There’s only one way you’ll really understand this.”

“No,” Dillon said. “Wait. You’re sure?”

Sean kept his gaze on the professor. “If you want to come and see, I want to take you.”

John demanded softly, “You can do this?”

“Yes.”

“No, I mean, it’s permitted?”

“We asked. They said the rules governing contact with . . .”

“Loved ones and their families,” Elenya supplied. “The rules are . . .”

“Vague,” Sean said. “Intentionally so.”

“But it is vital you understand that you cannot ever speak of this,” Elenya added.

“Why is that?”

“Because your Earth is, well . . .”

Dillon said, “An outpost world.”

“Our leaders are contacted every decade or so,” Sean said. “One of them, at least. And so far they’ve always said no to joining.”

The professor reddened. He wiped his mouth, stifling whatever flamed there in his eyes. Then he turned to his daughter and asked, “Do you want to do this?”

“More than anything.”

Dillon made a sound then. It was as close to a sob as he could come without actually breaking down. And it was enough to erase the room’s tension. Like it had never actually existed at all.

Carey moved like water, just flowing across the impossible distance and enveloping him in an embrace. “Oh, Dillon.”

He spoke to her hair, lost so that his face could not be seen, and the words were so muffled and soft as to be indistinct. But Sean was certain his brother said, “Thank you.”

Elenya smiled at them, wiped her eyes, and reached around Sean’s waist. Happy and sad at the same time. Just like he felt.

Carey asked, “Does it hurt?”

“Not at all.” Sean offered John his hand a second time. “Ready?”

As they left the transit station and passed down the long hall, Josef came out of his office and observed them. Carey squeaked at the sight of the grey-blond giant, but that was all. No one else spoke or made any sound. Until they arrived upstairs.

When they emerged in the grand windowed chamber, father and daughter both plopped to the floor. And stayed there for a good half hour. They probably would have remained longer, but Elenya finally announced, “I must go.”

“No.” John clambered to his feet. “Don’t.”

“I am already very late. My mother will be upset.”

Sean explained, “This was her first time on Earth.”

Carey laughed without humor.

John pleaded, “A few questions.”

Elenya looked back and forth between them, then said, “One moment.”

When she stepped and departed, Dillon asked, “She doesn’t need the transit room?”

“Experience, maybe,” Sean said. Then to the others, he explained, “She’s been doing this all her life.”

“Her parents can . . . transit?”

“Her father only. He was the Assembly’s Ambassador to this planet.”

“Splendid,” John replied.

Carey stared at her father. “Did you really just say that?”

“Imagine the discussions!”

Carey sniffed, but her response was cut off by Elenya’s return. “I am very sorry, but I must go. My mother . . . I do not want to give her a reason to say I cannot return.” She then turned to Sean and continued in Serenese, “My mother is livid.”

He slapped his forehead. “Your clothes.”

“I forgot as well. She wants to know who this outpost boy is who forces me to dress like a . . .” She stifled the comments. Tried for a smile. “Until very soon, I hope.”

“Tell your father thanks.”

Dillon added, “From us both. And from the heart.”

Elenya kissed Sean and smiled to the others and vanished.

“Astonishing,” John murmured.

Carey asked Dillon, “How do you speak her language?”

“It’s the language of the Assembly. And the Academy.”

“Well, of course it is.”

“Carey,” her father gently chided.

She colored and eased back. “How did you learn it so fast?”

“They teach us in our sleep.”

Josef emerged from the stairway and stared over at where they clustered. His silence was more than enough for Sean to suggest, “Maybe we should continue this discussion back home.”

John made a long, slow circle of the room, sighed once, and declared, “A hundred questions. A thousand debates. All answered with one glimpse of our tomorrow.”