CHAPTER FOUR

Renn

Shy and I leave Grant's house and head back into town to run a couple of errands. I worked all day, then went straight to Grants, and I stayed longer than I'd planned, but I don't mind. With Grant getting on in years, small tasks that need to get done around the house add up. So, in addition to clearing some fallen tree branches in his yard, I also changed a few burnt-out lights and cleaned up a little around his house.

Grant was one of the first people I met in town, and he hired me for small jobs like repairing siding, roofs, painting, pretty much anything he could think of, which helped me get a foothold here. So I do all I can to return the favor when I check in as often as I'm able to.

"We need a few things from the grocery store," I say to Shy. She has her head hanging out the window, tongue dangling out of the side of her mouth. "I promise we'll go on a walk before it gets dark." There are still a few hours until sundown.

The drive into town is something I do almost every day—either for work at the local auto repair shop, to help the townspeople with odd jobs, or to find something else to keep me busy. It makes me chuckle because, originally, I tried keeping a low profile. I stayed away from other people and only went into town when I needed something, but the completely isolated life didn't pan out. A year in deep space with only myself in the darkness and stillness had changed me, and I couldn't live like that again. When I was alone, it was easy for those deep, dark thoughts in my mind to slowly creep in—I wasn"t sure I'd be able to survive it if I had to do it again.

After a few months of working odd jobs around town, I purchased my cabin from an elderly couple who moved to be closer to the city, and things worked out better than I could have ever hoped. Solitude Ridge gives me the balance that I need. I enjoy staying busy, and even though my day-to-day is wildly different with the association, I try to fill my life with purpose, while still having time at the end of the day to remove myself from the world.

It's been years, but every time I pull up to The Peak Pantry—"The Peak" to locals—my stomach gets a nervous jolt, remembering the first time I stepped into the store and made real contact with a human here. It didn't take a lot of investigating to figure out where to get food, and I needed sustenance desperately. The added bonus was that it was the perfect place to observe the humans on this planet. The Peak is the only grocery store in town, making it a focal point for the locals, so I can always count on spending a few extra minutes talking to a neighbor or two whenever I stop in.

I hop out of my truck, keeping the window rolled down for Shy. She lazily leans her head out the window to watch me, and as soon as I enter the store, I hear, "Renn! I was hoping you would stop by today!" as a middle-aged woman with bright red hair waves me over.

"What's up, Val?"

She beams in response. Valery and her husband, Drew, have owned the store for over twenty years. I don't think she cares much about selling goods, but rather, the gossip going around town. She is the town's unofficial news source, I've learned, and if you want to know something, or need word to spread fast, just tell Valery, and she'll make it happen.

"Do you have any plans tomorrow?"

"Well, that depends," I say with a smirk, leaning on the counter she stands behind. "Who's asking?" She smiles wider—Valery is feisty, so I like giving her a hard time.

"Mina is doing some cleanup at the bookstore. She mentioned she might need some help getting rid of a few boxes of old books."

I nod. "I see." I pretend to think about it for a second or two, but she and I already know my answer. "I'll stop by tomorrow and see what I can do," I say, winking.

Val gives an amused chuckle. "That's what I thought you'd say. You're a good one, you know," she says, patting my arm. She makes this comment almost every time I speak with her, and every time I hear it, I can't help but think, If you only knew who I really was—what I really was—I doubt you would still feel that way.

I spent so much time believing I was "the good guy" and that I was accomplishing an agenda for the greater good, when it had been a lie all along. However, my life now is as much of a lie as it was six years ago, the only difference being, now, I have control of it. It's just me—my choices, my actions, and whatever consequences have yet to be revealed to me. In a way, I think that's what motivates me to help those around me in the way I do. It's not for attention or praise, but proof that my pure intentions are actually bringing about good. This way, I can see all possible outcomes of my actions before me, and I can try every day to move on from my past transgressions—try to throw away the evidence of a false life. But there will always be those memories engraved in my mind. I hate returning to that past life every day like I do, but my training taught me vital abilities that make me useful to the community here. Mending things, medical aid, problem-solving . . . to name a few of the myriad of skills I was conditioned to perfect and carry out? on command. In the end, I hope whatever I leave behind from my invasion of this planet will be something worth remembering.

"I try to be," I say, stopping my thoughts from wandering too far. Val pats my arm again. "I just need a couple of things, then I'll be on my way," I add.

As I turn toward the aisles, she calls out, "And handsome, too. Have I ever mentioned how handsome you are?" Her face turns smug, waiting for my response, because I already have a smart remark for Val.

"Well, I don't have to try in that area, but thanks for mentioning it," I say, disappearing down an aisle, but not before I give her another wink.

As promised, Shy and I went on a quick walk when we got home. On days when we have more time, we hike up to my crash site. It's about a six-mile journey from my cabin, so it takes us most of the day. Escape pods are programmed to "land" in remote areas so that they go unnoticed by unsuspecting inhabitants. And while I lived at that site for several months, there's now no evidence anything extraterrestrial happened at that spot deep in the forest. But even though all proof has been dissolved away by the liquid termite that the association stowed in my crash kit, I feel compelled to go back to that place from time to time.

Tonight, the first thing I do when we return is thoroughly wash my calloused hands of the excess grease and grime that comes with fixing vehicles. Working at the auto shop is my only steady income, but I don't need much, and I like the work. When I was at the academy, there were various programs and career opportunities I could have pursued further, and mechanics was something I seriously considered, but I was guided into other endeavors.

I climb the steps to my bedroom, kneeling to withdraw a large, metal box I store under my bed. Wildly out of place with the rest of the house, its cold, shiny exterior is truly alien compared to the green life surrounding it. I lay the box on the bed and open it with my thumbprint—the only way to unlock it. It scans the indents of my skin before the lid slowly rises. The box holds more than one function: it stores items, of course, but also acts as a console with a screen and touch pad that can be used for intergalactic communications. Housed inside are remnants of my crash kit and a few personal items. I have a tin full of a healing elixir that can cure wounds and broken bones within seconds simply by rubbing it onto the affected area. I've only had to use the ointment twice since landing here, sparing it in case there's a major emergency someday. I also have a BioXscanner, a device that can detect internal damage and ailments that may otherwise go undetected, and then a stellar atlas. I briefly opened it once, just to make an estimate of where I was in this vast galaxy, but when the map of stars appeared before me, I realized I didn't want to know. All that mattered was I was far, far away. Underneath the atlas is a small photon gun—which I've never touched—what is left of the liquid termite, and the translator, which no longer seems useful but I kept anyway.

However, the last item stored within the box is what I retrieve daily—the photon drive. The thin device is small enough to fit in my palm as I slide it into the slot on the side of the box, watching as the screen inside turns on automatically. I tap the screen a couple of times to get it set up.

I always check to see if the transmitter has detected any incoming signals, but just like every time before, there's nothing. The same four words appear on the screen:

Zero incoming transmissions received.

I usually transmit my signal for a good twenty minutes before shutting it off. Initially, I switched it on a few times a day, especially during the first year after I arrived here, but now, I get around to it once a week, give or take. Programmed into the transmitter is a homing device, and it's the last scrap of my previous life, giving me hope of making contact beyond this planet's realm . . . or with the person who gave it to me. The moment he placed the drive in my hands was also the last time I saw Nate, my best friend.

I can still hear his voice as clearly as if I were standing before him once more.

"The drive holds a signal that can only be traced by me. Turn it on as much as you can, and I will try to find you. Get far, far away from here, and don't look back."

So much more could have been said in that chaotic moment, but we were out of time. Every day, I wish I could have told Nate how grateful I was for his friendship, but at the end of it all, I think he knew, even if I never said it out loud.

I press the button to begin the transmission. The incessant beeping echoes from loud to soft, indicating the beacon is working. Then I head downstairs to get Shy her dinner. The chirp from the transmitter can be heard even as I enter the kitchen. Its eerie tone drifts through the house, but the sound is so familiar to us that Shy doesn't seem to mind as she spreads out on the couch, patiently waiting for her food.

"Do you truly like me? Or do you just use me to take you on walks and serve you food?" I say, and she lifts her head slightly. "Yeah, I thought so."

I pull out the dog food, and she trots over, tail wagging happily and huffing at me almost as if saying, "Took you long enough."

Replacing the bag in the cupboard, I take a moment to watch Shy devour her meal. I smile, grateful to have found her. Her previous owner left her in a small, cardboard box near the roadway one day, not long after I arrived here. Shy had clearly been abandoned, and it angered me that someone thought leaving a puppy at the mercy of the elements was a good idea—completely helpless to the weather and wild creatures of the forest.

Training her was easy; she's smart, but also needy, which is why I love her, to be honest.

Feeling my gaze, Shy glances at me, and I swear her eyes roll in annoyance. "Fine," I say, raising my hands in surrender. "I'll leave you to it." With that, I return to the bedroom to check the transmitter. I already know what I'll find, but I confirm the results anyway.

Signal transmitted.

No targets detected.

Every time those words appear, it only verifies time and again that my worst fears are most likely true. I set the photon drive back into the box and slide it under the bed before I plop down on top, putting my hands behind my head as I stare out the skylights above my bed. I play my day over in my mind, recalling the things I said and did—a mental checklist of sorts—making sure nothing slipped or could be seen as suspicious. For years, the only thing on my mind was the next task at hand, whether it was learning more about the people here, the planet, or finding means to live. But now, everything is settled. Finished. This is my life. No one is looking for me, or at least hopefully not my enemies. There's no one left to fool, nothing else to overcome. But what's surprising is that I still, even after all these years, can't shake the overwhelming sense that this is exactly what I was searching for all along in my travels in space.

Or maybe I was so close to death that it was the only thing left to hope for.

I feel the weight of the box sitting under my bed, and for a moment, I wonder what would happen if I never opened it again. What if I truly leave it all behind? Every day that passes, the chances of being discovered dwindle immensely.

Shy jumps onto the bed, startling me from my thoughts, and places her head on my stomach.

"I guess you do like me, and not just because of the food, huh?" She keeps her eyes closed, satisfied as I scratch her ears while I contemplate everything I think I know for what feels like the millionth time.