“It’s because I complained about the long hours,” he says.
I lean close to him and whisper, “Can I tell you a secret?”
Instantly wary—he knows me too well—he nods.
“You are not the center of the universe.” I pat his hand. “I know it’s a blow to your ego, but, despite being coddled by your father all your life—”
“Yeah, he’s such a cuddle bunny,” Niall says dryly.
“Exactly.” I hold onto my fake condescension until I imagine Radcliff as a cuddle bunny. Laughter ruins my act.
Except Niall is not amused. “Mouse.”
“All right, all right. First, you really didn’t complain. Just stating a fact. Second, what I said about the archeology techs and them feeling like a part of the team is a concept I’ve been thinking over these last couple days. I’m a security officer, but I don’t feel like part of the team. It’s time for me to do my share of the work.”
He exhales and the tightness drains from him. “You’re right, but I’m going to miss our evenings together.”
“Wait, why do you think that will stop?”
Tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear, he says, “You’re going to need to sleep before your shift.”
“I don’t need that much time. We can still hang out a few hours, then I’ll nap until my shift. Plus this way you’ll get more sleep.”
“I’d rather fall asleep here with you on the couch than in my bed.”
“Okay, then we’ll nap on the couch together. It’s only six hundred and thirty-nine more days.”
He groans. “I’d rather think about the one hundred and twenty-two days until you’re eighteen.”
“How about during our couple hours together, we don’t think about work at all?”
He straightens. “Do you have something else in mind?”
Once again, I whisper in his ear, “Yes. Come to my room so you can…” I run my fingers through his hair.
Sucking in a breath, he closes his eyes.
“…tell me about your mother’s paintings and why you choose those for my walls.”
Now he’s glaring at me. “You’re evil, Mouse. And you can’t do that without paying a price.”
“What price?”
“A kiss.”
I oblige. A chaste kiss turns into…more. When we break for air, I tug him into my room. My hormones spike, sending heat to a number of unexpected places, but I leave the door wide open and avoid skin contact to allow my pulse return to normal.
Niall explains the various paintings. The Cat’s Eye Nebula, the jungle on Planet Jieshou, the capital city on Planet Omega, an Earth leopard, Planet Anqing—
“I didn’t know Anqing has so many rings,” I say, marveling over the red spirals.
“It’s beautiful.”
But I don’t think he’s referring to the painting. “You’ve seen it?” I ask. It’s over a hundred E-years from Yulin.
“Yes.”
That surprises me. “When?”
“I think it was around twenty-one ninety. When they closed Anqing, we transported the scientists to another Warrior planet…Heshan, I think.”
Once the assessment of a Warrior planet is finished and the statues have all been cataloged, there’s nothing more to do. Not until DES decides if they want to colonize the planet or leave it as a historical site. In the meantime, there’s no reason to stay. Except…
“What about the looters?” I ask. “Those closed planets are just ripe for the picking.”
“The Protectorate deployed a bunch of military satellites in orbit around the planet. If a ship doesn’t have the right clearance codes, they won’t allow it to get close.”
Oh. “Why don’t they do that to the active Warrior planets?”
“They are, it just takes time.”
Of course. Stupid time dilation.
Now I’m curious about how many Warrior planets are empty. Anqing was the second exoplanet discovered with the Warriors. Xi’an was the first, then DES named the rest after cities in China in alphabetical order. Heshan was the eighth and Yulin is the twenty-second, unless you consider Earth as a Warrior planet, then it’s the twenty-third—my parents are still debating over that even though DES didn’t give another Warrior planet a name starting with the letter E.
I study the paintings and am struck by how many different places are represented. Plus these are just a fraction of what Niall’s mother created. And then the significance of the date he mentioned—twenty-one ninety—finally hits me.
“How old are you in E-years?” I ask.
He avoids my gaze. Instead he moves to the next painting. That’s concerning. I do the math…he has to be at least over three hundred and thirty some E-years. The first Explorer Class ships went out in twenty-eighty-two and he said he was born on a