I'm. Trying not to lose track of the months.
It's very important, after all. Even though we won't be the ones initiating contact. Even though it will be the aliens sending us out there all on their own, I can't help but keep track. I need to know how much time we have.
Mia, Eric, and Hestia, they're all doing their own reconnaissance, and we can't really trade notes too much about it. If our captors discover what we're doing, we'll be doomed long before the year is up.
At least I'm the one that can share my information easiest. Nobody cares where I go or what I say. I can describe the places I go to Mia and Eric without rousing suspicion, because no one would expect myself or Hestia to be part of any kind of rebellion.
At least, that's basically how it is.
We convene when we can to discuss whatever we feel like risking, and so it's mostly me talking and Eric and Mia taking mental notes.
In my defense, we can't really risk keeping a diary. I don't have a good way of keeping all my knowledge written down somewhere safe that won't get compromised from my own foolishness somehow.
So in lieu of that, just...saying it all out loud and talking with Eric and Mia about the places I've been and what I see there are better for me to actually memorize this stuff.
Plus, Eric and Mia have a chance of knowing the locations I scout out. Which means when they make contact with the rebels again, they can more effectively communicate about the locations I've found - particularly if they happen to be useful.
Which hasn't been a lot of it so far, if I'm honest.
It's not a surprise by any means, but it is a disappointment.
I huff, blowing stray golden hair from my face.
...When I arrived on this planet, I'd recently gotten a hair cut. It's all...long now.
It's almost funny how that feels the most strange to me.
Not the alien food, not the alien lessons, not the fact that I live on an alien planet now. No, it's just my hair being longer. I've had to get used to it again.
I haven't had long hair in a decade.
It's still not all that long, I guess. Just past my shoulders. But it's long compared to what I'm used to.
I sigh, shaking my head as I walk.
I don't know where the next place I'll go today will be.
I've already finished all of my assigned work. It's all the usual sort - nothing particularly exciting. My job is basically janitorial, so I can't expect too much. Even though the aliens are using me as a slave labor force, I'm basically doing nothing more than basic house cleaning for the areas that I'm allowed in, and they're not even particularly messy.
I'm not even sure why they bother to have me, given how little I need to actually do before they're happy with my work in a day.
Maybe it's because it costs nothing.
I blink as I look up.
Eric is standing in the path ahead. He seems to be lost in thought, staring into the distance, silent and not moving.
"...Eric?" I say, cautiously.
He doesn't seem to have noticed me.
"Eric." My voice raises, just a bit, and I grab his shoulder.
He startles slightly - something I feel through my hand more than I see, and he turns his head toward me. "Sarah? When did you get here?" His eyes are wide, but he relaxes once he realizes it's just me.
"...Now?"
"Ah..." He nods. "Sorry. Lost in my thoughts, I guess."
"...Is everything okay?"
His gaze flicks over to me. "Yeah. I just...have a lot on my mind." He shrugs, but the motion isn't quite natural. He looks away, then back at me again. "Don't we all, these days?"
"Yeah." I sigh. "That's fair, I guess. Is that all, though? Nothing...going wrong with anything?"
"No, no, not really." He shakes his head. "It's nothing like that. I just..."
He cuts off. His lips quirk up into a half smile and he shakes his head.
"You don't talk much about your family."
...That's a hell of a subject change.
"Should I...?" I'm a little surprised by it. He never really talks about his past. He's never really asked about mine.
I know that...the two of us probably have a similar relationship with our parents though. Or at least...ours is closer than Mia and her family. But it's all guesses and inferences from his behavior. He's never said.
"It's fine." He shrugs. "...My mother isn't great. I don't talk to her a lot."
"I got that."
"Yeah?" He glances over his shoulder. "Thought I played that pretty cool."
"...You don't even mention her."
His face flushes, just barely, and then he turns to face me again. "...Yeah, I guess that would make it obvious, compared to Mia.." He sighs, his hands in his pockets. He's looking away again, but his eyes are more focused than before.
"...My mother isn't the greatest person. She tries to control everything I do. Always has. My dad...wasn't so great at dealing with that. But he was there, you know? And she was...better, when he was around. Not so bad. Not so...much."
He pauses, swallowing. "...But then he died."
"...What happened?"
"Genetics." Eric's voice is bitter, and he kicks a stone on the road, watching it skitter. "Had a heart condition that killed him when I was young. Didn't take care of it."
He looks up. "...Damn idiot. He wasn't rich, he wasn't healthy, and his family didn't support him. But he kept pushing himself for a stupid dream until he collapsed anyway."
"...A dream?" I raise my eyebrows. "...What kind?"
He's quiet for a long moment. Then, finally, his mouth parts and he speaks, his tone soft and thoughtful.
"He was going to be in the Olympics. Or. He was trying." Eric smiles faintly. "...I remember. He was a good runner. Fast. Strong. I used to watch him when he ran. But he didn't take care of himself. Didn't eat well. I don't even remember how many times I saw him throw up on a morning run. I...I think I even saw him collapse once or twice, and just push on." He snorts. "...I tried to help. But I was too young to know how to."
He sighs. "My dad never listened anyway, not that it matters. And now he's dead. Died on the track, during practice." Eric shrugs, and it looks more natural than his previous ones.
I'm not sure if he's being sarcastic or not when he says, "...He didn't want a medal, just to be there. But people like him don't even make it through the door." His gaze flickers to me. "...He was a dreamer, I guess."
"...You want to make his dream happen." It's not really a question. I already know the answer.
I think I do, anyway. He's mentioned being good at running. I've seen his endurance before. It's not all the pieces but...it's enough for a guess.
"...Maybe. Once. Maybe. I'm not sure." Eric shakes his head and rubs the back of his neck. "...Before this. It's what I wanted the most. I wanted more than anything to do what he couldn't." His voice drops to a murmur. "...After everything...I don't think I can go back to that feeling again." His gaze is far off again, and his expression is sad. "...So. What do I want....?"
"To go home." I don't hesitate. "To get away from here and be free again."
He laughs, short and bitter. "...Well. Yeah. But what then?"
"...What?"
He's quiet for a long moment.
Finally, he turns to me and presses his hand to my shoulder, offering me a small, half-smile. "Nevermind. The heat's just getting to me a bit." His voice has returned to the even-keel that he usually keeps.
"You should go, anyway. We're going to get in trouble if they see us slacking."
"...Right."
"...I'm going to head off. Don't worry, Sarah."
He walks off before I can respond.