Dust plumed behind the solar truck as Golden Fields slipped over the horizon. Luke reached across the truckbed and checked the straps holding down Morel's dozens of paintings yet again. He had checked them a dozen times already, far past the point of sanity.

  These paintings were more than paint and canvas; they were Morel’s will, talent, and soul given form. They were Morel’s will, talent, and soul given life. He knew that anyone who saw one at the festival would be more than happy to own one, but she still did not believe in her capabilities.

  Her heart was still held down by her not receiving her diploma for artistic applications.

  That particular form of self-loathing wasn’t a shock to Luke. Much of his self-worth was tied to his former status at Olympus Mons. His certifications, degrees, and accolades were tangible ways to define himself. That she never received that must feel like a kick in the teeth.

  Morel’s sultry voice flowed out of the cab as she drove. Keyil was riding shotgun and was doing her utmost to be the best disk jockey this side of Pluto.

  Luke looked up at the sky, watching as birds passed overhead, their dark plumage easy to see against the massive solar kites floating high above. As the sun refracted off the shimmering golden panels, Luke's mind wandered to what had happened the other day.

  Every time he thought about the stormy night and the morning after, a knot tightened in his stomach; it was like some restless woodland spirit tapping its fingers against his ribs.

  That inner fae, his nagging conscience, berated him, called him spineless and a man who could not act on what his heart desired. He wanted that; he knew he wanted to be with Morel in that physical sense, not just in the emotional support they had been offering one another day in and day out.

  Having something so domestic was something Luke had never expected to have, but now he wants nothing more than to, in a way, solidify what they were. The only thing still holding him back from accepting all that both he and Morel want is his admission of the sins of his past.

  But he still had to tell Morel the whole, unabridged truth. He knew that remaining silent about such a pivotal moment in his life would eventually lead to strife. Luke had seriously been considering just sitting down and letting himself be truly seen. Now that the farm was all set up and could not fail, save for some freak infection, the risk to Morel if she chose to have nothing to do with him afterwards would be minimal.

  The worst that would happen to her at this point was that she would have to hire another farmhand to replace him.

  The way the festival started only made his need to speak candidly with Morel all the more pressing.

  Once they had passed through Greyrock, its brickwork buildings capped by beautiful hydroponic plants were the quintessential example of how the coalition wanted its more rural settlements to work.

  Agrarian locations like this could not afford to waste their tithe on sustaining themselves. The coalition's warmachine, spacers, and overbuilt cities needed that food to survive; as such, places like Greyrock were self-sustaining locations.

  Luke had not seen it when he first arrived, nor the few times he dared to leave Golden Fields since his arrival. He had far too much on the mind at those times to notice the delicate balance of life these industrious people sustained.

  That ability to self-regulate was only made all the more apparent when Morel reached the festival. It was adjacent to the local lake, and the collaboration and efficiency created a warm, homey feel.

  Spread out along the shoreline were hundreds of pastel colored tents and stalls. Hundreds of people flowed around one another, traveling from food vendors to games and even to small attractions such as eating and animal contests. All that one would expect at a small town fair.

  Morel carefully worked the truck through the locals and toward the vendor parking, a privilege they were granted because of what they were going to sell. The citizens of Grey Rock smiled, waved, and made way for the passing truck, staring at the enigma that Luke was already beginning.

  "Look, who's Mister Popular?" Keyil teased through the window.

  "Yeah, just what I want, all the attention," Luke sarcastically replied.

  "I figured you wanted this. You never show your face in town, but everyone knows about you. It's like you fertilized a bed of rumors." Keyil laughed.

  "I don't mind you not wanting to go galavanting about, sug," Morel added.

  "Oh, please. He stays home so you can stare at him all day." Keyil replied.

  "I don't stare at him."

  "Oh, really? Should I tell Luke about what you were doing yesterday while he was weeding the garden without a shirt on"? Keyil leaned over and whispered to Morel.

  Morel shot a judgmental glare at Keyil. "I would prefer you don't."

  Keyil kicked back, chuckling lightly to herself, looking out the window at the crowds of people. She resisted mentioning how she’d caught Morel yesterday, gazing at Luke shirtless in the garden, hugging a pillow like a lovesick teenager.

  Once parked, Morel got out of the truck and went off to check in, confirm their booth, and sign the last of the paperwork, leaving Keyil and Luke to unload.

  Luke unloaded the hover-dolly while Keyil started unstrapping the paintings.

  “So you going to tell her?” Keyil asked while handing the first painting over to Luke.

  “Man, you don’t split hairs, do you?” Luke asked, gently loading the painting.

  “What can I say, not having a filter is one of my best qualities,” Keyil smiled, grabbing the next one.

  Luke rolled his eyes and did not comment on that matter, focusing instead on getting the paintings unloaded from the truck and on how he could help her sell them.

  “Come on, don’t just ignore me,” Keyil whined after another few we safely on the dolly.

  “I’m not.”

  “Then answer the question,” Keyil replied.

  “Fine, yes, I plan on telling her. But it’s easier said than done.”

  “Pffft, please. All you do is walk up, hold her hand, make some puppy eyes, and say it. That woman has more maternal instincts than anyone I know. I can pretty much assure you once she learns what happened, the waterworks will begin.” Keyil replied, mimicking wiping tears from her eyes and pouting.

  “I can believe that,” a familiar voice said from behind Luke.

  Turning around, Luke found Brukus and Hank sauntering up to them. The old farmer smiled at seeing Luke and Keyil, while Brukus maintained his perpetual scowl.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “Believe what?” Luke asked, shooting a glare at Keyil, having assumed the woman had kept her promise not to tell anyone about his past.

  “That Morel would start crying for you if something was the matter,” Brukus replied, raising a brow, catching a glimpse of Luke's defensive posturing.

  “True, that little lass? Always cried at the drop of a hat,’ Hank added fondly

  "Oh," Luke replied, resuming unloading.

  Without anyone asking, Brukus and Hank helped them unload the last of the paintings onto the hover-dolly. Hank took a moment to inspect each piece as they went, eyeing it as if it were made of gold.

  “Her paintings have gotten much better. I still remember when she was finger painting my old truck,” Hank reminisced with the type of smile only those remembering the old days could.

  "Yeah. I remember when she painted the side of my shop." Brukus added.

  "So painting has been something she has always loved?" Luke asked.

  "Yeah, she has always painted," Keyil confirmed. "Since we were both in elementary school at least. Earlier than that, I'm not sure. Hank?"

  "She has. I gave her finger paints as a kid, and she just took to it," Hank added.

  Luke had known Morel had enjoyed painting, but did not know how deep those roots had gone. Knowing this now, he was glad he had decided to support her endeavors to sell her works here today.

  It did not take long for Morel to return or for all the few dozen paintings and stands to be unloaded. With the additional aid of Brukus and Hank, they had the dolly loaded long before the lady of the hour had returned.

  “Thank you for lending a hand, Brukus, and Uncle Hank,” Morel said, approaching and giving each of them a hug; the one for Hank was held notably longer.

  The two quietly spoke to one another, out of earshot of the rest of the group. Luke was a little curious about what they were talking about, especially once Morel's tail started to wag and she began to act like a bashful babe; flushed cheeks, long smiles, and stolen glances over toward Luke.

  While Luke would never know exactly what their conversation was, some of it became evident as soon as they broke apart.

  “Brukus, give Morel a hand setting up her stand. Luke, come on, the wife wants to finally meet you.” Hank said, without waiting for a response from either Brukus or Luke.

  The two younger men shrugged and moved. Brukus went to Keyil’s side and waited to start pressing the dolly forward. In the meantime, Luke walked up to Morel and asked which stall number they would use.

  “We are in stall 12 on the shoreline. Right beside the Ferris wheel.” Morel replied, pointing toward the cherry red wheel a few miles away.

  “Alright, I will see you later,” Luke said, holding Morel's hand.

  “Yeah,” Morel replied longingly, pulling his hand against her chest and cradling it in both of hers.

  They stared into one another’s eyes for a long moment, holding each other’s connection close to their heart, somehow visible within the presence they found so comforting.

  “Luke, hurry up, we will be back,” Hank barked, before the couple entirely forgot that there was more than just them in the world.

  “Alright, I’m coming,” Luke replied, looking back at him, then saying goodbye to Morel.

  Following Hank and leaving her was an odd feeling, save for a few times when he had to run errands. Over the last four months, they were always together. Not having her within arm’s reach left him unsteady; as unsteady as a spacecraft attempting refuel within Saturn's atmo.

  It was as if, once again, Luke was all alone in the world. It hit him with the same cold shock as his first night on Earth, that hollow fear of being alone again. The thought crawled up and bit at his mind. It was not until Hank thanked him for coming to meet Holly that Luke was reminded that his past was not his present or future.

  Luke was not alone. He had many friends in Grey Rock. While yes, most of the town did not know him, the few who did were good people. The type of people who would pick you up at the starport at 2 am without question.

  The reminder that he was still a stranger stung like spit in the face. Following Hank through the crowds of grey-rock residents, they stared, whispered, and muttered under their breath when he looked away. A few smiled and offered a friendly face, but those were few and far between.

  Despite knowing he had friends, he could not help but feel like an interloper. Both here and on Mars, he was a stranger in a strange land.

  Luke followed the surprisingly spry old man through the crowds. He waved a few people off, nodded to others, controlling the crowd of curious residents as if it were no effort at all. Even a few Urinyal cubs and their massive mother were dissuaded from prying and prodding at Luke.

  Keeping them at bay was a feat of not only strength, because he could heft the nearly hundred-pound children, but one of stalwart will. The ursine cubs respected Hank’s word like gospel. He calmly told them not to bother Luke, and the little cubs ran back to their mother.

  She scooped up the cubs, licked their heads, and cradled them close. The cubs waved to Luke, and the mother smiled at him. Her large fangs glistened in the sunlight while she apologized for her cubs trying to bother Luke and Hank.

  The rest of his travels with Hank went very much the same way. Hank kept people from gawking at him until, at long last, they reached a stand at the far end of the festival.

  It was nothing flashy, only a folding table covered in baskets. Each wicker apparatus was filled to the brim with cookies, breads, and other baked goods. When compared to the flashier stalls beside it, the little booth looked humble, but based on the woman behind the counter, it was precisely as she wanted it.

  Seated behind the table was an older woman. She was clad in a simple dress and apron, looking like a quintessential grandmother plucked from old children's tales.

  Deep canyons of wrinkles ran across her face, with a salt and pepper cascade pulled high into a bun. She held a smile that could melt tungsten, and her voice was as warm and sweet as the apple pie she was bagging.

  She was speaking to an Urinyal woman, handing out sage advice on how to ensure the baby swaddled in the ursine-like alien's arms would sleep more soundly through the night.

  Apparently, the Urinyal was a young mother, struggling with her first litter of three cubs and had not been sleeping soundly while juggling three babes, and trying to run one of the shops in town.

  The Urinyal thanked the woman, took her child and a bag of pastries, and left, heading toward the beach while whispering softly to her baby. Her bright almond fur shimmered in the sunlight, and despite clearly being tired, she held the silent confidence only a mama bear could hold. May god bless whoever was so bold to threaten the thousand-pound alien babies; she would undoubtedly rip their arms off.

  “Hello, dear,” Hank said, walking up to the front of the stand and pushing Luke along with him. “This here is Luke.”

  “Hello, sweetie,” Holly smiled, extending a hand for Luke.

  “Hello, Missus Johnson. It’s nice to finally meet you.” Luke replied, shaking her hand; it was bony and showed her age, but despite that, it was as warm as the sun and as inviting as the cookies sitting in a basket.

  “It’s wonderful to finally meet the young man Hank and Morel keep praising,” Holly said, giving him an approving once-over. “I can see what they have been talking about. You certainly look like a good lad---a bit on the skinny side though.”

  Hank laughed and slapped Luke’s back, almost sending the young man flying forward into the table. “Don’t worry about that. He is eating good and working hard. By this time next year, Luke will be as large as an ox.”

  Luke doubted he would get much larger, but even he could admit that putting on some muscle couldn't hurt. He was from Mars. Humans from there tended to be a bit skinnier and weaker than Earth-born humans.

  Because of the coalition's strict diet and training requirements for sapients living outside their natural environment, atrophy was minimal. Still, compared to a normal human, you could easily tell Luke was not born and raised on Earth.

  “So, is there something I can do for you, Ma’am?” Luke asked, recovering from the near stumble.

  “Oh, no dearie. There is nothing you can do for me. I am just glad you were willing to go out of your way to visit an old biddy like me,” Holly smiled. “You have been locked under key at Golden Fields for months. If not for Morel and Hank both describing you, I would have thought you were imaginary.”

  “Yeah. I’m sorry about that. There has been a lot to do at the farm,” Luke replied awkwardly, scratching his head, feeling as if he was being told that she was not upset, but disappointed in him.

  “Please, just make sure you come around sometime. I would love to have you and Morel over for supper. And I’m certain Hank would not mind having a beer with you.” Holly said.

  “You can say that again,” Hank replied.

  “But I don’t want to keep you for too long,” Holly said, picking up a covered basket from the ground and handing it over to Luke. “You have a lady waiting for you.”

  “What’s this?” Luke asked.

  “Oh, it’s just some treats for you and little Morel. Since you haven’t come over to visit, I brought them from you,” Holly teased.

  “Thank you,” Luke replied, lifting the cover and seeing that the basket was stuffed to the brim with pastries, jams, and other snacks. “I will try to come over as soon as possible.”

  “I can’t wait,” Holley replied, before Luke turned away and went back into the crowd, heading off to meet up with Morel and Keyil.

  The process of returning to them was far more arduous than Luke had ever thought it would be. Not only because many of the citizens of Greyrock were eager to meet with him now that Hank was not keeping them at bay, but also something far, far worse.

  But something worse waited in the crowd. A face from his parents’ world—a predator he’d hoped never to see again.