He turns, a pleasant smile on his face.
“Oh, you like it? I’m one of the first to get one. We’ll all have them soon. Nice, isn’t it? Dr. Albatur’s suggestion.”
“What is the purpose?” I say, taking a corner of the banner in my fingers. It’s fine work, the stitches neat and tight.
The man gives a good-natured shrug.
“Purpose? Ah, you greencoats. Not everything has to have a purpose. Not in the way you think. It just makes you feel good! Something for us all to identify with: face the galaxy as N’Terrans, you see? To unite us against those that might divide us.”
“But I thought Dr. Albatur hated N’Terra,” I blurt, thinking of my encounter with him outside the Beak. The man’s smile wavers.
“I don’t know what would give you that idea,” he says, his voice taking on a haughty quality. “He believes there’s a lot that is to be desired, but who doesn’t? We only have so much to work with on this planet, but he knows our history: he knows we’ve been better than we are. His goal is to give N’Terrans something to be proud of!”
“Like what exactly?” Rondo says.
“It’s a really nice banner,” I say quickly, turning my eyes back to the banner, fake-studying it. “I hope the rest of us get ours soon.”
That seems to satisfy the shopkeeper: his smile returns and he bids us good night before disappearing over the nearby bridge.
“It’s a really nice banner,” Rondo mocks when we’re alone again.
“Word travels fast lately,” I say.
Maybe it’s a neurological reaction to the intense red of the fabric, but anxiety rattles through me, a restlessness I can’t place.
“Let’s keep walking,” I say.
“Albaturean or not,” he says, jerking his head over his shoulder to indicate the shopkeeper. “I wish I could do that.”
“What? Make vague references to unity based on obscure references to the past?” I roll my eyes.
Rondo’s laugh startles me.
“What?” I frown.
“I think that might be the realest thing you’ve ever said.” Rondo chuckles. “Usually you’re trying to give the right answer. That was just . . . your answer.”
He laughs again before continuing.
“But, no, I meant I wish I could have a shop. Instead of working in the labs.” At first I think he’s joking, but one glance at his face tells me he’s serious. I shake my head.
“Seems like a waste. You’re one of the smartest people in our class. Dr. Espada always says you’re ideal for the Zoo.”
“You don’t ever want to do something that doesn’t fit?”
“Are you talking about the izinusa you still haven’t played for me?” I say.
“You look ahead at your life and all you see is whitecoats and the Zoo?” he presses.
“I look good in white.”
“Be serious, O.”
What do I see when I look ahead? I glance up at the ceiling, the light filtering in orange now as the sun sinks. I think briefly of what I’d been feeling before Rondo appeared on the bridge, imagining myself as a marov burrowing under the walls of the compound and emerging free in the jungle on the other side. I inwardly cup my hands around the thought. I hadn’t considered it as a secret until now, but suddenly it feels like one.
“I want to be a whitecoat,” I say. “I don’t think it’s limiting to be able to be part of learning more about this planet. There are possibilities.”
He snorts and I look at him sharply, still not convinced he can’t read my mind.
“There goes the real.” He laughs. “Just as it showed up, gone again.”
We’ve walked all the way through the communal ’wams and now find ourselves at the bottom of the stairs that lead up to the main dome. The flowers I like are all curling slowly shut, their color deepening from blue to violet. I should be going home but instead I find myself climbing the stairs. I get a few steps up when I realize Rondo isn’t following.
“Coming?”
“I don’t usually take the stairs.”
“You look ahead at your life and all you see is the elevator?” I mock, smiling.
He grins, shaking his head, and follows me up the steps.
At the top, we’re both slightly out of breath, he more than I.
“What happened to your grandmother?” he says without looking at me. I think about her all the time, but for years now my parents have pretended she never existed. To hear someone else mention her is almost like a burn.
“Lost in the field,” I say.
“They never found her.”
“No.”
“Man,” he says. “That’s really . . .”
I wait for him to say something generic like “sad.” But he never finishes the sentence, and the silence that follows is filled with hypothetical emotions. My grandmother’s loss hovers over my heart, and I want to get out from under it. I turn away, toward the doors that will take us out into the main dome of the Paw. Rondo doesn’t move.
“Where are you going?” he says, raising an eyebrow.
“Obvious answer,” I say, and the doors slide open in front of me.
Rondo pushes off the tree he leans on but still doesn’t follow.
I understand his hesitation. We all know we’re not supposed to leave the commune after dark. It’s not a law, but a generally accepted rule laid out by the Council that’s never broken. Ordinarily I wouldn’t break it, but it’s like some string has attached itself to me and pulls me onward. My father’s in the lab, my mother’s in her study, and my mind feels noisy. If we turn back now, the night and my time with Rondo is over. It would be like catching a glimpse of a new species only to let it wander away.
The main dome is silent. Everyone is either in their homes or, like my father, in the Zoo. The sun is gone from the sky, and the darkness of the trees is intimidating.
“So here we are,” says Rondo softly. He runs his fingers through the fronds of a large bush whose delicate leaves stretch gracefully outward like my hair when it’s freshly unbraided. “What are we doing?”
“Just looking.” I sigh. I close my eyes as we walk along the path through the dome and breathe in the smell of it. It’s not quite outdoors, but there are many more trees here than in the commune and the scent of the ogwe is comforting. With my eyes closed, I can imagine that I’m out of the compound and my brain quiets momentarily, enjoying the rich and varied smells of the plants. The claustrophobia melts away.
I open my eyes to find Rondo watching me, a faint smile on his lips.
“You’re kinda strange, aren’t you?” he says softly, and I think that, in his way, he’s calling me something precious. I reach out my hand to him and he takes it; and like a spark erupting into blaze, I’m wondering what it would be like to kiss him. There’s no logic for where it started: the thought is just here. Maybe there is science to this but it feels like . . . art. I’m about to ask him if this is what he meant when he said there was more to the world than logic when his head snaps to the left, his eyes intense.