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“What's this?” Trance asks. Her eyes are narrow, her smile lopsided. She studies the new addition to his room with open interest as if it’s a specimen in her lab. Her tail twitches behind her the way it does when she’s intrigued.
Harper sidles up beside her. “Like it?”
“I don’t know what it is. It’s cute, though. I like the big eyes.” She reaches out and runs a finger along the plush toy’s bulbous green head, then taps one of its tiny hands with a slender purple finger. “Is it some sort of animal, like a monkey?”
“Bzzz, wrong,” he says with a smile. “It’s a Martian. I picked him up while I was on Roswell Drift last week.”
She catches his eyes. “That’s silly. Martians are just humans that live on Mars.” She’s cute when she thinks she’s right. He loves the lines that form on her forehead when she’s schooling him. “They aren’t fat-headed monkey people.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” He wraps an arm around her shoulder, fingers brushing the soft black fabric her sleeve, and catches a whiff of flowers and soil. There’s a twinkle in her eyes as she crosses her arms in front of her. She's the only woman in the Universe actually interested in the ancient pop culture trivia crammed between the cracks of his brain. “It’s definitely a Martian, just an imaginary Martian from Earth in the 1950s.” He plucks it from its cradle of mechanical bits and bobs on the table and hands it over for a closer inspection.
“Did humans see these ‘Little Green Men’ somewhere?” she asks, reading off the tag. “I’ve seen green Than, but giant bugs are hardly little.”
“Nope. However, we did find a singular sparkly purple babe, so we have that going for us.” With a squeeze, he releases her and moves towards the bed. “It’s all science fiction.”
A tilt of the head acknowledges the flirt. A finger pops up in front of her face and her eyes and smile grow wider as she follows him back to the bed. “I know science fiction! It’s like that Death Moon thing you showed me once.”
Why does he love her so much? The bed bounces as he flops down onto it with a heavy sigh. “Death Star, Trance. Death Star.”
“No, that can’t be right. It looks nothing like a star.” The Little Green Man bounces with every word like it emphatically agrees with her. “Besides, stars give life, not death.”
“Tell that to a ship that gets too close to the corona while fueling up.” He purses his lips at the stacks of board games in beaten-up, colorfully-labeled boxes on top of his comforter. They’ll have to go. Need to order snacks too. Warm, salty, and crunchy snacks since popcorn doesn’t exist on Andromeda. Puffed karaseed covered in synthesized butter should be a close enough approximation. Find candy, too. Definitely candy. “You need an education. Game night’s canceled Mon Cherie—it’s movie night now.”