They were scheduled to speak to the FBI today. Tom sat in his office with Carlos and Sam, filling them in about what Iilo had said and what their plans were—which wasn't much. Iilo didn't have hard evidence, but he did have big, pleading eyes and enough circumstantial evidence to raise a brow at. When Iilo came through the door, he wore a large raincoat, carried his shoebox, and his face was so pale it was almost white.
"Iilo," Tom said, standing.
"I'm Sam. It's nice to finally meet you, Iilo." Sam jutted her hand out for Iilo to shake.
"Nice to meet you." Iilo shook her hand, but he didn't even look up.
Sam furrowed her brow, looking between Tom and Iilo. "I think I'm gonna take off?"
"No, it's fine," Tom said, grabbing his coat. "You and Carlos watch the office, okay? And don't burn it down."
"Total destruction incoming, sir!" Carlos gave a lazy salute.
"Don't sir me."
"Yeah whatever, Corporal." Sam wiggled her fingers under her chin at Tom.
"Wanna talk about what's on your mind before we head out?" Tom asked. "Could stop for coffee."
"Sure." Iilo still didn't look up when he walked past Tom out onto the cobbled street. He moved like a man condemned to the noose, slow and as if each step recalled his life's story. He curled into himself, clutching that shoebox.
Tom joined his side, his mouth opening and closing, searching for something to say but coming up short.
"Do you like coffee?" Tom asked.
"It's fine."
"Did you have something like it on your planet?"
Iilo winced. His ears gave a little twitch and he looked away, staring out into the street of slow-moving cars wary of crossing pedestrians. "I spent my whole life in a spaceship, remember?"
Right. Tom was still fuzzy about the whole timeline for the I'na. He'd gathered they'd been in space long enough for a generation or so, but he'd never asked where Iilo was born. But now he knew that when Iilo said his whole life, he meant the entirety of it. There was something deeply saddening about that to Tom. Iilo had never seen the very home that gave his people life.
"Are you okay?" Tom asked when they could cross the street.
"No, I'm not." Iilo walked away toward the coffee shop, never once looking back. He entered, and Tom scurried after before the light changed.
Warmth hit Tom, stuffy and sweet. He found Iilo sitting in a corner of the room in one of the brown pleather booths. He tried his best to appear unassuming while a group of teenagers laughed loudly and snapped pictures of him from across the room.
"Hey," Tom said to them, "he's here for a cup of coffee. Quit it." Times had changed. Tom wasn't so sure he would've said anything a month before now. Knowing Iilo in the short time that he had, he'd learned so much—come so far. He hoped Iilo felt the same about him too. He could tell Iilo had a natural interest in humans, but Tom wasn't sure how deep it went. Was it purely scientific? Or was there a genuine interest, as natural as breathing?
Tom slid into the booth to the tune of the teens' laughter. He shot them a glare before turning to Iilo.
"Sorry, I didn't think about the, uh—crowds?"
Iilo looked over at the teens, eyes unfocused. It was the first time Tom had ever seen his eyes without that glow behind them. Something had stolen the life out of him, and Tom didn't know the first step in getting it back.
"Do you want me to go order?" Tom pointed his thumb over his shoulder to the barista behind the pastry display.
"Sure."
"What's going on, Iilo?" Tom asked.
Iilo pulled out a picture, clutching it to his heart. He closed his eyes, his brows pinching together. He turned his face away from the teens, a tear slipping through thick lashes. It left a shiny trail on his skin.
"I—oh." Tom slid into the booth next to Iilo. Instinctively, he put his arms around him, pulling Iilo to rest against his chest. It'd been automatic. He'd done it a million times to his friends, even terrified men crying on a battlefield. But then he'd remembered Iilo's fingers on his face.
Iilo folded against him, his chest shaking as he cried. He dropped the picture. It landed on the table, crooked and staring up at Tom. A purple face, paintbrushes out of focus to the side. A life.
"I stole this today," Iilo said. "The Elect keeps a picture of us all, but when someone dies or goes missing—they just toss it out. I took it before they could. Just like the others."
"So that's how you get the pictures." Tom looked over at the teens, glad to see they were gathering their things and leaving.
The sound of a plate crashing to the floor resounded from the kitchen. Both turned to look before settling back in the booth. Iilo pulled himself away, pushing strands of hair out of his face and offering a timid smile that only pulled more light from his eyes.
"So who is this?" Tom asked, taking the picture.
"That was Xue, and she once shoved me into an airlock for saying I didn't like her hair when we were children."
Tom snorted. No matter where in the universe, children would be children—rough and animalistic. "And were you friends?"
"Yes."
"What happened to her?" Tom knew if she was in the shoebox, she was kidnapped or had disappeared, but hearing Iilo say it brought more light into his skin. It gave him purpose, and Tom would gladly give him that if it could take an ounce of suffering out of his eyes.
"She went missing last night. I went to her home because we usually go to the farmers market together. But she wasn't there."
"Is it possible she's just out?"
"Xue has terrible fears about humans. She never leaves without me."
"Oh." Tom scratched his nose. It was the other side of Tom's story. Tom was the monster in Xue's story, in all the I'nas' stories. It sat heavy on his heart, a discomfort that mucked up his skin. Perspective was a powerful thing, and Tom's was blasted wide open.
"Who was there yesterday? With her?" Tom asked. "Did anyone see her?"
"She usually stays in her house and paints. She left her bottles all open and her brushes were dried, so—she had to be kidnapped. I went and told the Elect, and they just said to remove her from the registry. I don't know what's happening. My people won't even save ourselves. I don't—I can't do this alone." Iilo crumbled into the table. "I don't even think the police here will care—because my people don't care. How can I get them to care?"
Tom looked around the coffee shop; there were a few business people and a mom with her child. He was painfully aware how they kept sneaking looks at them, quick glances that would seem innocent if it were anyone else but an alien in the corner.
Tom cleared his throat and put his hand on Iilo's shoulder. "Because you care. And you got me to care. I—it's been a long time since I felt this passionate about something. So I'll bet you can get the police, the Feds, or whoever you want to feel the same." Tom was not a happy person. Jaded, fed up—the list went on. But Iilo and his little shoebox had come into his office and needed him.
Iilo sat up, taking Tom's hands in his. He squeezed them, a smile spreading on his features that brought back all the luminosity Iilo's face was meant to have.
Tom pulled away, embarrassed. Iilo offered himself so freely, his compassion, his fears, his gratitude. Humans had a lot to learn and so much of it could be taught from the I'na. Their emotions weren't suppressed into boxes. Their love was on their sleeve. Tom appreciated it and feared it all at once.
Tom tapped Xue's little polaroid photo, jittering his leg while anxiety fueled him. Xue's disappearance and the way she'd disappeared was beneficial to the rest of the missing I'na; the warmer the trail on her, the easier it would be for the Feds to find her. There was a chance here, and they needed to act now. Coffee be damned. They'd come back and Tom would buy something extra expensive to make up for just taking up a booth this time around.
"Please don't take this the wrong way, but Xue's disappearance puts us in a unique situation. Multijurisdictional arguments aside, Feds are allowed to investigate violent crimes. Kidnapping is a violent crime. Xue just went missing. I don't know if they can help with the others, but I know they can help with this. Federal trumps local and they could help get the I'na police to investigate this, even if the Elect says not to."
Iilo sat in the booth for a moment, his fingers pinching the table. He bit his bottom lip, looking up with renewed vigor. "Yes. Thank you for helping me."
"I like you and—I want this all to work out. And as much as I hate myself for saying it, this is our best shot."
"You do?"
"Yeah. I—I really do."
*~*~*
They arrived at 4411 South 121st Court, the J James Exon Building, also known as the Federal Bureau of Investigation's Omaha Division. It was sleek and stately with its cement walls and modest windows. Tom had never seen the inside of an FBI building before. There was a buzz in the air, one of urgency.
"Ready?" he asked.
"Not really, but yes."
When they went in, the floors echoed from the soles of their shoes. A man at a front desk looked up at them with mild interest.
"Appointment? Or are you here to report a tip?" he asked.
"We're here to report a kidnapping," Iilo said.
The man started typing on his computer, its touch screen holographic but censored so Tom or Iilo couldn't see. Tom really wished he could upgrade his own laptop to a holoPC. He looked over at the shiny name plaque on the desk: Randy Silverstein.
"Wait here," Randy said. "There's coffee over by the window. Agent Parker's been alerted and he's on his way."
Tom sat in the open space. It wasn't like a waiting room, more of an area they put people so they didn't go off to wander. Iilo stood with his box in his arms. Neither of them wanted coffee.
The room felt stuffy with the oppressive feeling of being watched. Tom wondered if there was a no jiggling-your-leg-because-of nerves law that he didn't know about. He looked to Iilo, a serene statue who stared into nothingness.
"You're gonna be great," Tom said.
Iilo tried to smile, but it looked more like a wince.
"Well, when they told me an I'na was here, I said to myself, 'Parker, you've just got to take this one and see what kind of shit's goin' down.' So right this way and tell me all your story." Parker turned around, and Tom and Iilo scurried off to catch up. He was not the type Tom expected. For one, he was younger. But Tom hadn't stopped to think that most agents didn't have time to follow up on introductory tips. Iilo got to skip a few steps because he was I'na. Parker's youth was matched by his personal curiosity.
"I—I need to report a missing person. Well, a lot of them," Iilo said, catching up to Parker's long strides. The guy moved like no one could catch up to him. With Tom panting behind them, he felt Parker probably knew this.
"A lot of them?" Parker's brows shot high to his slick-back hair. "I'na?"
Iilo nodded.
"Step into my office, kiddos."
The room was crammed with computers—old ones, not like the fancy holoPC at the front desk. Tom guessed it was for security purposes. Files crowded the desk, all with sticky notes with questions that led to more questions. Tom had no idea how Iilo's case could get through if this guy was smashed with work from the rest of Nebraska and Iowa.
"I'm Special Agent Alex Parker. And you?"
"Iilo." Iilo smiled. "We don't have last names."
"Tom Raddoc. I'm an attorney, but I'm just here to make sure he doesn't forget anything."
"Oh, bringin' out the big guns, huh?" Parker said to Iilo. "So I'm assuming since you're here and not with the I'na police, they've either ignored your claim or you didn't tell them." Sharp, this guy.
"Sir. Agent Parker." Iilo fidgeted in his seat. "We've lost twenty-one I'na in Seward, Nebraska. The Elect thinks they've gone to Outreach Centers, but I've checked Lincoln and they're not there. No one's even seen them."
"Okay." Parker crossed his arms. Tom noted he didn't take notes. "When did they go missing?"
"Not all at once." Iilo looked at Tom, clearly lost in what to say next.
"It started back in June," Tom said.
"And your police haven't investigated?" Parker turned around and brought a stack of papers over. Still using paper despite federal regulations. Tom wondered if it was just this agent or if more preferred the feeling of something tangible in their hands. Parker dropped them on the table, looked up, and shrugged. "Wanna know how many people I'm supposed to be investigating? Your twenty-one won't even put a dent in it. After the first forty-eight hours, I don't know, kid. I'm still trying to figure out where I put my sunglasses."
Tom didn't find Parker's flippant personality very funny. He leaned forward, glaring Parker's way. He knew FBI agents had attitudes, but what he didn't expect was how indifferent this guy was. "Someone just went missing today. Xue. She lives on the compound and suffers from anthrophobia." He turned to Iilo, gesturing to let him take over the story.
"Oh! Yes. Xue doesn't even really do well with her own people. We go to the farmers market every week though because she likes the crops and it's cheap. Her paints were all left out and brushes dried when I came to her trailer this morning."
"Anyone hear anything?" Parker asked. "Do you have witnesses? If she didn't like people, I assume she stayed away from people. Did you ask your police if maybe it was another I'na?"
"I—no, it's not another I'na. We'd know where they were."
"What if it wasn't an I'na you knew?"
"So you'll help?" Iilo asked, face pastel blue.
Tom almost laughed; Iilo was reading between the lines. Parker asked questions because to be confrontational was to figure out if there was something worth investigating. Iilo had figured that out, and then he'd figured Parker would help.
"I tried to report it to the I'na Elect, but they just determined her a runaway."
"Why so quick to decide that?" Parker tapped a pen against his lips. He still wasn't taking notes, but the guy's animation was more open now. Maybe there was something to his methods.
"I'm unsure. We could ask them? If you came, they may be more willing to talk to us." Iilo fiddled with his fingers. "They're getting sick of me."
"I'll bet. I'm reading 'spunky-and-diligent.' Reminds me of me when I was younger." Parker cracked a wide smile. "Give me names and dates of missing persons."
Iilo slid the shoebox over to Parker. He was doing good. Maybe circumstantial evidence was all they needed. Tom might have misjudged the beginnings of an investigation. In a courtroom, the judge cared about testimony and evidence. Cold, hard evidence. Without that, people lost credibility. Iilo had some evidence. Whether it was because Parker was curious about an I'na, just as Tom had been, or something else, Tom was satisfied for now.
"All these I'n and no one said anything? You really don't think they left on their own?" Parker sat back. "I'm gonna shoot you straight. Your story is freaky enough that I'm invested. We'll send out a team to investigate Xue. I can't promise you much more on all of these I'na. If something turns up on Xue, then we'll reassess." He stood up, ready to end this discussion.
"He hasn't said all he has to say," Tom said.
"I've got a whole buncha shit on my plate, attorney. Military's not watching I'na anymore. People come and people go. I've got a name and I've got a location. I'll do my own groundwork and send a team out. We'll look for something, and if we find nothing? S'how it is. If we find something? Great. We can have more conversations. But Iilo's not a witness; he's an informant."
"But they're all missing," Iilo said, dejected. He hunched over in his chair.
"It may be possible that some left on their own, yes." Tom pushed the pictures over to Parker, a subtle way to get his attention again. "We're going to go into Lincoln to ask around at the Outreach Center, but with this many missing, it can't just all be circumstance."
"I really don't need vigilantes out on the streets," Parker said.
Tom crossed his arms. They'd gotten Parker to send out a team. With this, they could bypass I'na police forces and at least either get some answers or tell Iilo to stop looking. Tom believed Iilo, and he wanted Parker to believe Iilo, but he had to be practical. If there wasn't evidence of foul play, no leads? Xue and the missing I'na would become just another stack of papers on Agent Parker's desk.
"I mean it," Parker said. "If you're right and there's someone taking I'na, an I'na asking around is only going to get a target on his back."
"Tom'll protect me."
Tom's breath left him in a hurry. Yes, he absolutely would protect Iilo, but hearing it from Iilo made his spine turn to goo.
Parker cocked a brow, his calculating gaze more aware than Tom felt comfortable with. There was a crocodile's smile on Parker's face. It spread wider and wider the longer they regarded each other.
"Don't go sniffing around." Parker dropped a few documents in front of Iilo. "Fill this out and hand it to Randy-Boy at the front. I'll be in touch."
Iilo and Tom took the papers and filled them out in the front room. The meeting with Parker had barely been ten minutes, and finally there'd be someone looking into the missing I'na when the I'na themselves had turned their back on them. That still sat funny with Tom. The I'na had a small population and each settlement was even smaller. For the I'na to be so dismissive of what was happening raised red flags. He wasn't ready to give up searching for answers. Somehow through the course of this whole thing, he'd crossed into making this personal. He was personally invested, and he'd see it through, Parker's warning or not.