“Naomi.” She’s awake, but she doesn’t seem to be aware of her surroundings. She’s staring blankly in front of her, not reacting to anything. “We have to take off. Can you fasten your safety gear?” I nudge her hand toward the buckle. Her fingers close around the square metal fastening. “That’s it. Now slot it in place.” I wrap my hands around hers, guiding her. “Good. Let’s do the next one.”
When she’s done, I sit in the pilot’s chair and strap myself in. “We’re headed to the Wekat Exchange,” I tell her as I ready the ship for takeoff. I don’t think she’s listening, but from experience, conversation helps. Kadir, Ruhan, Mirak, Sixth—the four of them would talk to me all the time after Koval’s execution. They never left me alone. When I was hurting, they were there for me. They cared for me. I don’t remember very much about those early days—I was drowning in my nightmares—but when I came up for air, I heard the soothing murmur of their voices, and I knew I wasn’t alone. “It’s not far. Just one short wormhole jump. We’ll be there in nine hours.”
I keep my voice relaxed, but inside, I’m not calm, not at all. I’m desperate with worry. This reaction is bad. Naomi is not doing well. The damage the scientists did might never heal.
If only I’d found her sooner…
“Wipe her memory,” I’d snarled at the team of healers when I brought Naomi back and it became apparent how deep the damage was. “The Zoraken have done mindwipes for hundreds of years. You did that for the other human. Why will you not do it for Naomi?”
“Because it didn’t work,” the chief healer had retorted. “We have hundreds of years of research on our brain chemistry, but the humans are a different species. There are many similarities, but the mind wipes don't work on them the same way as they do on us. Tanya Sinclair kept getting retraumatized every time she saw a scientist. In the end, we had to send her away to her own world. And that’s not an option anymore. The Triumvirate patrols blew up one of Kelek ab Rahni’s ships. The crew—all twenty of them—are dead. The smuggler refuses to take the risk any longer.”
“Tanya Sinclair is safe, and Naomi is on her own,” I’d snapped. And I’m the most selfish bastard in the universe, because even though it would be the best thing for her, I don’t want Naomi to go. “So, what’s the plan? You won’t wipe her. You can’t send her away. What are you going to do?”
“Might I suggest that you start with patience?” Mala had replied pertly. “Naomi Knoll will get better with time and effort.”
It’s true—she had been getting better. She went exploring on her own. She went for a run outside the rebellion compound. She kissed me.
But the kind of damage she sustained takes years to fix, not months, and now, she’s run into a setback. The sirens, Taman’s appearance in her apartment—they’ve retraumatized her, and jolted her off course. To put her once again on the road to recovery, she needs a nurturing, stable environment.
She has no business going to Noturn. She’s not well enough. She needs to see the healers; she shouldn’t be with me.
The engines flare to life, their low hum drowning out the faint background clamor of the klaxons. Mirak has already programmed the route into the nav computer, so all I have to do is sit in front of the monitors and let the autopilot do its job. I keep talking to Naomi through the takeoff. The instant we’re free of Bestea’s atmosphere and it’s safe to move, I’m out of my seat.
Naomi is still not saying anything, but her color is better, and her breathing is more even. “Our conversation was interrupted,” I tell her with a small smile. “Shall we get something to eat and continue listing out my favorite things? It’s just a food-syn on board, I’m afraid, but the programming has been updated recently, and it should include an assortment of human foods.”
She hears me this time. She replies with a small nod that leaves me weak-kneed with relief. I lead the way to the galley. “What do you feel like eating?”
“Soup?”
Caeron, yes. She answered my question. “Sure. Let me see.” I fiddle with the syn and read out the unfamiliar words. “Tomato, chicken noodle, clam chowder, or black bean.”
“Tomato, please.”
I punch the right buttons, and a bowl of soup materializes. I carry it over to her, giving the contents a dubious look. It doesn’t smell poisonous, but the dish is a very peculiar shade of red. Humans can be strange sometimes. Why would they drink something the color of their blood?
I make myself a bowl of gugni and sit down opposite her, my thoughts troubled. The woman I met in the park earlier today—that woman’s eyes had followed every drone. She’d been fascinated by the food stalls, and she’d been eager to explore. Not so now. Spice-laden steam rises off in waves from the gugni, but Naomi doesn’t even notice.
We eat in silence. She eats slowly, almost as if she’s forgotten how to swallow. When she’s finally done, I place both bowls in the recycler. “We should both get some sleep before we reach our destination.”
She nods obediently. She needs the rest and I’m glad she isn’t arguing with me, but I also don’t like her compliance. I want the real Naomi back. The woman who teased me about my favorite color and my favorite food, the woman who stood on her tiptoes and brushed her lips across mine…
Will you stop thinking about that kiss?
I lead the way to the bedroom. She’s not talking again, and so I rummage through her bag and pull out a sleep shirt. I hand it to her, and she stares at it blankly, and so I help her get changed into it.
I’ve seen Naomi naked
