I have no mate.

I have no house.

I have no young to guarantee my immortality.

When I die, there will no one to lay out my body or log the colors of my deeds in the ancient way. I have no colors.

Once, I thought it best that way. I saw my opportunity and took it. The life the stars gave strangled me, and so I ran. I called it by another name, but so many turns distant from the choice, I can name it what it was: cowardice. Shame finds me bare among my own kind, and they know me for what I am. Exile. Outcast. It does not matter that I chose it.

And yet…

And yet…

For a time, I was happy.

Not in the service of the legendary bounty hunter Trapper, for all he was a fair man. Without his offices, I would not have survived. That one discovered me quicker than anyone since. He had a knowing to him that I miss to this day. He could look at a thing and tell you its nature. I have never experienced the like.

He alone knew that my name, to my people, means White Wave. And so, I stayed with him because it was the closest I had to home, though I had left mine of my own free will. An artist may starve in uncertain times, so I laid aside those dreams as the price of freedom. Thus, I learned to stalk and track my prey. I learned to be ruthless. I learned never to back away from a deal once I gave my word. All that and more I learned from Trapper.

Over the turns, I became a legend. I do not say this lightly, but doubtless you have heard the stories. In colonies all over the galaxy, mothers tell their children: “You had better be good, or the Sliders will get you.”

That is not strictly accurate. Since the Axis Wars, I am the only one to break the isolation. I alone turn our native camouflage into something else, passing among humans undetected. Thus, the stories they tell?

They are all of me.

The time I spent with Trapper did not seem long, but he aged like a husk before my eyes. It almost seemed a flicker; humanity flares so bright that it cannot sustain the flame. I find the process fascinating, but alarming. So I stayed with him until the end. I was there when he passed. Only I appreciated the irony of being named his heir. He called me son toward the end, and that too was a bitter irony.

But I did learn then that credits were power, and that within the guild, it might be all that kept me safe, if my secret became known.

But that—that is another story.

Without Trapper, I was rudderless, a bounty hunter stripped of any real desire to hunt. I had spent too many turns taking orders from that old man to know what to do with myself once he was gone. And so, as is my custom, I ran.

This time, I found myself on Gehenna with no quarry in sight. I had wanted a place where one could get lost, outside laws and boundaries. I think I also wanted to be something other than what I was, a pretender in human skin, so I went away from the guild and everything I knew. There, I made myself over.

I do not know if there has ever been such a lost creature as I, standing in that bustling market. Nobody thought to offer a wa and they seemed blind to body language. If you have never been to Gehenna, then I must tell you, it is a vast carnival of a world with titian skies that never shift outside the dome, and there is life at all hours. The city never quiets, and the cacophony rendered me quite mad, even through the false skin that dulled my senses. Roasting meat and spilled blood, molten ore and silicon dust, incense and scented candles, herbal remedies and rare poisons—these scents combined to overwhelm me.

To this day, I think she took me for one who had lost his wits. But there was sweetness in her dark eyes as she touched my arm. Everyone else had passed me by, jostling in their haste. I saw everything and nothing, but the world skimmed down to her face when she touched me. I could not feel it, truly, but I understood what it meant.

“Have you lost your way?” she asked kindly.

I had long ago received an implant, making it possible for me to communicate. Otherwise I would have been a mute as well an exile. She waited for a response. I am certain if I had not been so shocked by the place, I would have offered something less candid.

“I have nowhere to go.”

“Come.” She smiled up at me, laugh lines crinkling the corners of her eyes.

It should not have been that easy. With the added benefit of turns and experience, I am angry with her now. Her faith in the decency of other sentient beings stood in the face of everything I have come to learn about the universe.

I can still see her in my mind’s eyes as she was then. She came to my shoulder, and she had a softness to her, though her hands were firm.

In the shape I had taken to best cover my true form, I was tall and thin, shaping the camouflage to what was already there. I did not like it when I had to pretend to be more compact. At length it would become painful—and since I had chosen this physical representation to suit myself, it was as close to nature as I could permit. My hair was brown, I think, and my eyes, likewise.

To my surprise, she took me to her dwelling. Only a crazy woman would do that, so I readied myself for some outburst or incipient threat. Instead she made a drink of boiling leaves, which I was afraid to touch. I had learned there were certain human foods and beverages that I must avoid on pain of death.

“I’m Adele,” she said. “And in Mary’s name, you’ll be in need of work. What can you do?”

It was a fair question. But instead of answering it, I repaid her kindness with scorn. “Is this Mary the god of fools?”

Her wit was quick. “Rather the goddess of rude and rootless men, I think.”

“It was unwise of you to take me up,” I said. “Put me back where you found me.”

“I will not. If kindness is unwise, then perhaps I do worship the goddess of fools. Answer the question.” In her smile lay pure gentleness. At that time I had not much skill in interpreting human faces, but I did not read her wrong.

So I told her I had some ability to draw and paint, and that I could repair certain machines. Of my darker skills, I did not speak, as that was the least of my secrets.

Later, when she returned to the room from which she’d brought the drinks, I quickly analyzed the contents of the cup, and found it was safe. In fact, by some odd coincidence, she’d chosen beneficial herbs. I should have realized then that something guided Adele’s steps. My people would call her Beloved of Iglogth; however great their pragmatism, Ithtorians lack nothing in the way of mysteries.

As she returned, she saw me sipping from the cup. There is a trick to it, one it took me turns to perfect, so the fluid finds its way truly through the camouflage and into my own body where it can do some good. She seemed pleased by my trust, though why she should want it I would not understand until much later.

“I have a friend who runs a shop off the market,” she told me. “He takes in broken things and makes them new again.”

As do you, I thought.

“I would like to meet him.”

In that way, I came to be apprenticed to Franco Schmidt, who bade me call him Smitty and then to get to work, shortly after I met him. Like Trapper, he cared nothing for licenses or work permits. He was akin to the acerbic old man I’d lost, and I found myself at home. Perhaps I could only find myself when I served others.

Smitty offered me a room above his shop. In his early days, he had used it himself, but now he did well enough with the repair of broken things that he could afford a better dwelling. As it offered plenty of privacy, it suited my needs, as I regularly regenerated the camouflage that safeguarded me from those who would call me monster.

In that way, I learned another trade. Days turned to weeks, weeks to months, and months to turns. It was not the place I’d wanted when I set out to start anew, but it was a place nonetheless. I was safe.

When things changed again, it had been three turns since Adele found me in the marketplace. Oh, she had checked on me from time to time, but this visit would alter my circumstances in ways I could never have imagined.

She came into the shop, smelling of hyacinths. I had altered my design slightly, so my olfactory sense was not dulled as it had been. The light perfume could not cover the faint smell of morbidity, but I have learned to overlook that. Humans cannot help it that their cells are constantly dying and flaking away; they leave bits of themselves everywhere they go. At first I found it grotesque and distracting, but it is no worse than what I must do with the camouflage to walk among them.

Of course, my tactile senses were muted, so I felt nothing but pressure when she shook my hand, but I could do nothing about that. Smitty had gone home early, as he often did by that point, leaving me to tend the latecomers and lock up before I went upstairs.

Her smile still held kindness. “Are you settling in, Vel?”

The familiarity surprised me, though I had told her it was my name, turns past. It was rare enough that anyone spoke it. Half the patrons of the repair bay called me Young Smitty, either in jest or lack of interest. I did not object; it had been so long since I spoke with anyone who cared about the truth of my naming, or who knew how to make a proper wa that I sometimes felt like a spirit forgotten by the Iglogth. It is a hard thing to cast your shadow on alien earth, far from that which sheltered your ancestors. And yet…

And yet, I chose it.

“Yes,” I said. “I am happy here.”

“Are you?” she asked.

Such a question. Even now, I ask myself why she cared. But that was her way, looking after such strays the universe brought to her. Adele thought it Mary’s will.

I regarded her, puzzled.

“You don’t seem happy. Smitty tells me you have made no friends, and you seek no new companions. All you do is work.”

“What more is there?” It was a naïve question, based on inhuman values. Even social intercourse between Ithtorians is fueled by what may be accomplished by it.

I should have said something else; I should have kept silent. But for all my turns among them, I had not lived as a human, merely passed. I had never come to understand them, nor had I tried. They seemed soft and fragile to me, bursting with irrational impulses that drove them to excess. I might as well attempt to comprehend that which spins or creeps or lairs in dark, damp places as to unravel the human condition. I could only mimic it.

“Oh, Vel,” she murmured. “What have they done to you? Were you raised in a labor crèche in the far colonies? I’ve heard they don’t let those children play at all.”

I do not remember what I said—some noncommittal response—for I had only a rudimentary idea what she meant. Human young were noisy and undisciplined, messy and full of mischief. If there was a place raising them to be more sober and industrious, I could only consider that a good thing.

But in that moment, the damage was done. She decided to save me from myself. Despite my lack of hospitality, she stayed until I finished all my work for the day. She stayed until I locked up the store, and then I did not know what to do with her. My room upstairs was small and sparse, and I had nothing to offer.

We stood gazing at each other across a counter strewn with electronic components and bits of wire. I raked them into a box and said uneasily, “I do not know what you want.”

She laughed then. “I know you don’t. Come on.”

I looked at her outstretched hand for a moment. Then I did something for which I have no explanation. I took it.

Adele led me out of the shop, waited while I set the security code, and then dragged me toward the marketplace. Despite the late hour, the sky held the same fire. Nothing changed here, nothing except the faces. At this hour, there was a man juggling flaming rods in the center of the plaza. Musicians had come out to beg their livelihood with melodies haunting-sweet. I saw a man bend and dip his credit spike into the small wireless terminal set out for that purpose.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“To eat. And talk. You’re alone too much,” she told me. “Smitty was right.”

After that night, she came for me often. I do not know why I acceded, but again and again, I let her lead me out, where she showed me what it is to be human. We ate in open-air stalls, food I never would have touched on my own. I grew adept at scanning the ingredients to make sure they would not send me into convulsions.

Once she caught me at it, and I had to lie: “I have many allergies. I must be cautious.”

Sadly, she had such an honest soul that she accepted it without question.

This became our pattern once a week, and then twice. I found myself seeing her nearly every night. I had no idea what she wanted with me. It was strange, but not unwelcome to have a companion who knew the city. Unlike most, she had been born within the dome, and she knew the hidden ways, where old men sold songbirds from gilded cages, and old women sat in doorways smoking pipes that sent blue smoke curling up toward the sky.

It was not until Smitty made an offhand remark that I realized the significance.

“Good to see you found someone,” the old man wheezed. “You don’t want to end up like me, no sir. And you can’t do better than Adele. That girl has a heart of gold.”

“Do better for what?” It was another of my blunders. I could tell by the way Smitty’s white, bristling brows shot up.

“You mean…” He peered at me over the kitchen-mate I was repairing. The circuits were scrambled so the orders placed came out wrong; it was my job to fix it, so we could sell it at a higher price than we paid for it. “I guess you believe in moving slow, don’t you, boy?”

It took me a moment to work out his implication. Humans often shared sexual contact for recreational purposes, but I knew nothing of that drive.

I tried to think of a response. “I have no reason to believe she would welcome such an overture,” I said at last.

Smitty laughed and shook his head. “Adele’s a good girl, not a saint. Grab her and kiss her, son. You’ll find out soon enough there’s a reason she spends all her free time with you.”

Pretending to heed his counsel, I went back to work. What he suggested, I would never do. Touch meant nothing to me, offered through two inches of camouflage. But I had come to enjoy her company, and I hoped she did not find mine burdensome.

Despite the old man’s interference, things continued as they were for several more months until Adele proved him right. We had eaten in the marketplace and were walking from stall to stall as she admired the various goods. She paused where a vendor had various lengths of cloth that sparkled in the light. I did not know their purpose until she wound one round her shoulders.

“Does it suit me?” she asked, smiling up at me.

“Yes,” I said, because a more detailed answer was beyond me.

Her face fell. I think I was meant to praise her appearance, but I had missed another cue. In all honesty I did not find her beautiful. Her skin was too smooth, her eyes sunken in her skull instead of proudly out-thrust. A monstrous animal lurked in the shape of her lips against her teeth, but something shifted in me that day.

“You don’t think I’m pretty.” Her gaze dropped. “You probably prefer pale women with their delicate figures. Is that why you’ve never kissed me?”

No. That certainly was not true. Dark or fair, lean or large, I wanted no human female with dying skin and spongy flesh. But it mattered more to make her happy than be truthful. So I bought the cloth with my credit spike and gave it to her. I shaped my mouth into a semblance of a smile and said, “You are lovely even without this, but I would like you to have it, if you will accept such a gift from me.”

Her dark eyes sparkled, and it was she who first kissed me. At first I thought it was an attack, and I braced myself for worse, but her mouth merely moved against mine. It was not repugnant; I felt nothing but the pressure against my mandible. Like most human customs, it was easy enough to learn, and she seemed pleased when she pulled back.

After that she touched me more, which meant I had to take care that the camouflage was fresh. I used one night every two weeks to regenerate, which she found mysterious, as I would not tell her what I was doing. In retrospect I should simply have lied.

This was my first relationship of any length. I marvel now that she did not guess my strangeness from the first, as Trapper had, but she claimed to find my differences adorable. After a time, I realized I liked making her happy enough to put up with whatever strangeness our association demanded.

Which brings me to our first mating. I knew she wanted it; such was the normal progression. It bothered me that she might one day expect me to sire her young, but I had come to rely upon her presence by that time. I no longer enjoyed being alone; I no longer enjoyed the silence. I tried to put sexual congress off, knowing it would be awkward. I watched vids to give me some idea what to expect, but it was hard to know which ones represented the median experience, and I had no one to advise me.

Regardless, the moment arrived unexpectedly, as did most events with Adele. It was nothing she planned, I am sure, but we had dined at her dwelling and were sitting close as she liked, sharing warmth. For a while we spoke of nothing in particular, but then her mood turned from words to kisses and from kisses to deeper things.

In the end, it was not as complex as I feared. I think on some level she sensed my inexperience and she talked me through it, whispering what I should do—and what she wanted most. Of that night I can say, I did not mind it. Even in this, I am an adroit mimic. Her pleasure pleased me. I also liked the human way, for it did not leave me vulnerable and fearing madness might overtake my mate. There was no release in it, but it was another sort of gratification—that of making Adele happy, which had become important to me.

We went on this way for two more turns. Smitty passed and he left to me his shop. Now I had a place of my own. I need not hunt the dregs of the galaxy if I chose otherwise. I could pretend to age and stay with Adele until she died. Then I would have to “die” myself, and start all over again. The prospect left me feeling so bleak that I withdrew from her.

At this point, you probably believe you can guess what happened next. But I think it will surprise you.

Yes, she came to me one night when I had no human skin to hide behind. She knew the codes and let herself in. On quiet feet she came up to my room, expecting to find me with someone else. The truth shocked her more.

She stepped into my room from the stairs, and I spun, exposed to her as I had never been.

To my astonishment, Adele did not flee or scream, though she could never have seen anything like me. Instead she came toward me and touched the chitin of my thorax where it met the hinged plates of my lower limbs. A gap lies there; it is sensitive and only meant for mated pairs. I cannot imagine how she knew.

“So this is your secret. I must admit, I’m relieved. It could’ve been worse.”

“It could?”

She smiled then. “It explains a lot, too.”

“I am sorry,” I said formally. “I have stolen away your chance at bearing young.”

“I’m not so old as that,” she told me. “But it’s good to understand the why of it. I’d gone to see a doctor, you know.”

“I am sorry for that too. I never meant—”

At that she shook her head. “I started this, not you. Don’t speak of regrets unless you’re sorry for the time we spent together.”

I could not read her face and did not know what she meant. But in this, I could be wholly honest. “No.”

“But it was never real, was it?” She shook her head sadly. “It was only you pretending to be what I wanted.”

Part of that was true. In some regards I did have to pretend. The camouflage made it impossible for it to be otherwise.

This is where you think you know how our story ends. She walked away from the monster, sadder and wiser. You, my friend, never knew Adele.

“It was not all false,” I said. “It gave me great contentment to make you happy.”

“Did it?” Her face lit, as it had when I bought her that length of cloth. Such simple things gave her joy. She carried the loveliest heart in her soft, ungainly body. “Then it is my turn, surely? If you trust me, I would know you, the truth of you, and then we shall see what I may do for you.”

So we lay in my bed that night and I talked. No one has ever heard my story so fully since, nor known me inside my skin as she did then. She lay beside me with sweetness and wonder, listening rapt to the chronicle that brought me to Gehenna. For the first time, I spoke of Ithiss-Tor and the life I had left behind. Her acceptance remade me into something I did not loathe.

Afterward, she touched me as only mates do, and we discovered that there was something we could share. I learned the purpose of pleasure for its own sake. I gave back to her, such as I could. It was a crossways fit, not natural design, but there was rightness in it.

After that, she did not argue my need to wear camouflage to avoid trouble on Gehenna, but on regen-nights, she seemed happiest because it was real, then.

And I was happy. Can you quantify such moments? Can you catalogue them by intensity and say, this is the best of times. I cannot. I can only say that those turns with her were good.

Whatever else may be said of me, I did not leave her by choice. I did not return to hunting because I wanted to. Given the opportunity, I would have stayed with her until she died. I altered my outward appearance appropriately, aging as she did. I was content with that life.

But as all things do, they came to an end. She saw it more clearly than I. At that point, we had been some twenty turns together by my reckoning.

One night, after sharing in our way, she lay with me, running her fingers along my mandible. She had learned the flesh was sensitive where it joined my throat. No Ithtorian mate would do so, for it offered no measure of rank or dominance. It was not done to prove her superiority, and for that reason alone I would have knelt to her where I would acknowledge no other female so. I would kneel because she did not want me to.

“It is time for you to go,” she said quietly.

At first I did not understand because we lay in my dwelling. I raised up and regarded her; many faceted images of her came back to me since I looked through my own eyes, and I relished every one.

“Go where?”

“Away.”

“Why?” It was a pointless question, but I hoped she would answer it.

“I will not see you bound to me,” Adele said. “While I grow old and weak and eventually you are my nurse, not my lover. In thirty years more, that is where we shall be. Already I find it hard to speak these words, so I need you to go and carry the memory of me. In you I will live on, always.”

“Since I cannot give you young,” I said bitterly.

That is our way, our immortality. We are long-lived, compared to humans. We breed less often, but we create a new generation at a time. And I could give her nothing of it.

“You have given me the universe,” she responded, smiling.

That she could smile while I hurt in ways I could not understand—it broke something in me. I did not understand the heart of her, then. She is made of brightness, too much for sorrow. Such a glad spirit—I am humbled now that she shared it with me.

And so, I went from Gehenna, went back to building my own legend, with a hole in me that would take longer to fill than I knew. But that, too, is another story.