I have no idea how it happened, but I think I might actually be attracted to a Troo.
He said all the right things. He made all the right moves. His looks are strange, but I have admired men who were significantly less attractive than a Troo with bright blue feathers and a slender build. His arms are so similar to my own, and while his shoulders are not broad they are sturdy. I wonder what he looks like without the uniform.
The idle lustful consideration leaves me feeling frustrated and desperate. And who could I even talk to about this sudden turn of events? This inexplicable attraction to the enemy isn’t something I can discuss with anyone without implying that I am defecting.
I’m not defecting. I am most definitely not willing to be forcibly relocated or killed in this war. But I am not now and will never be comfortable with the idea of killing literally every Troo to remove them from our planet. Our shared planet? Whether they really are dinosaurs from out of space seems like it could not possibly matter. But maybe it does.
The mental gears in my brain churn with great difficulty while we ride in the jeep. I find myself composing poetry to the man who happens to be a momentary obsession.
> Wherefore art thou, Tromeo
>
> Deny thy family and refuse thy clade
>
> Or if thou wilt not, be but my sworn love
>
> And I'll no longer be Homo Sapiens
>
> Tis not thy species that is my enemy
>
> Thou art thyself, though also a dinosaur
>
> What's a dinosaur? It is not snake nor lizard
>
> Nor mammal nor frog nor any other non-bird
>
> Belonging to animalia.
>
> Oh be some other species
>
> What is a dinosaur?
>
> That which we call a bird
>
> By any other name would still sing a tweet
>
> So Tromeo would, were he not Tromeo call'd
>
> Retain that dear perfection which he owes
>
> Without questions about human-dino relationships.
>
> Tromeo, doff thy name
>
> And for that name, which is no part of thee
>
> Take all myself, you stud.
The party ran significantly later into the evening than any of us had prepared for. As the only one still sober and not driving, I am the designated person in control of the music for Dirk on the ride back. It is a long drive, and a good amount of it is through very unnerving tunnel.
Dirk, for his part, waits until everyone else is snoring before asking me to turn down the tunes.
“Who was that in the dino costume?” Dirk asks, eyes steadfastly on the road ahead. At this speed, he could most certainly kill us all if he loses control of the vehicle.
If I lie, then I’ll have to try to remember it because I’ll for sure be called out on it again later. If I tell the truth, then I could be outed as a traitor. But the truth is so much simpler.
“He said his name was Tromeo.”
“Tromeo?”
“Yep. Tromeo.”
“Huh.” Dirk continues driving, and I get the distinct impression that he is being very careful in his word choice.
Several minutes pass.
“Did you see who he arrived with?”
“I did not,” I admit. Maybe if I had I would not have been so surprised. And then I would never have given him a chance. And we would never have gotten the opportunity to achieve the strange catharsis of whatever that was. “Should I have?”
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Maybe it would be better for Dirk to think I didn’t notice.
“I thought everyone noticed the bright red and gold Troos that showed up.”
“Huh,” it’s my turn to mumble. “I didn’t see a gold Troo.”
“Apparently that’s their king? Or prince? Something along those lines.” He rubs his palms across the steering wheel. “Trooaris, I think I remember his name was. But you did see the red one?”
“In the little vest?” I strive for innocence. I dare not mention the blue Troo.
He nods. The conversation dies as I successfully dodge saying anything too suspicious.
We arrive back inside the base and I am able to get out of the altogether far too small vehicle and onto firm ground again. It helps greatly to have some kind of stability instead of constantly feeling like I might be hurled into the wall and die in a horrible crush as this vehicle does not appear to have any safety measures more advanced than removable doors.
Elmer and my mother are both there to meet us. I want to speak to both of them. I definitely do not want to speak to both of them at the same time.
Mom corners me first, and though my duty is to my superior officer, she outranks him and thus has a better claim on my time than even he does. I give Elmer a helpless shrug as I follow Mom back to her own private cavern.
“How was it?” she asks, feigning casual interest in my life as though this were only a school dance and I were still in high school.
“Mom, I met someone.” I might as well be honest with her, even if no one else at all right now.
She gestures for me to continue, and turns to fix some instant tea.
“His name is Tromeo. He’s a Troo.”
She drops the tea.
“Mom I know that sounds horrible, and I know you’re not going to approve. But Mom, I think he could be a useful contact. I think I want to stay in touch with him and” I desperately search for Mom-approved activities that do not involve touching, “pull information out of him.”
“Honey,” she says, sitting into one of the little metal chairs as it scrapes loudly against the stone floor. “Honey I can’t approve this. You’re not a spy. You’re not equipped to handle trying to work with them without giving away anything that might hurt us.”
“I think he likes me.” I carefully take the other seat. “I think we could use an asset like him.”
“Where did you get the idea that a Troo could be interested in a human like that at all?”
“He danced with me, Mom.” I try to give her a smile, but I can feel myself blushing the brightest shade of red trying to avoid any of the other things we nearly did in conversation with my very own mother. “And there were other Troo there dancing with humans too. Even their royalty.”
Mom gets an odd spark in her eye. It reminds me very much of what Elmer looks like when he has one of those ideas.
“Fine.” She folds her arms across her chest. “But I want you to take Terry with you at all times. Elmer has been looking for you and I don’t want to think that you’re putting yourself in danger. So, tell me what you’ve learned about the enemy through this strange pervert.”
And I give her the rundown on their strange government that I’d learned from him. And how this could be manipulated if we had a way to work with the higher status individuals. And how he’s most definitely one of those higher status individuals. And how it could be possible to find a way to integrate them with us instead of wiping them out completely.
She takes an interest in the idea of manipulating the Troos through their royalty. And a greater interest when I let her know that one of them was even in attendance, though I did not speak with Trooaris.
After much deliberation and several mugs of her instant tea, she finally lets me off the hook to go seek out Elmer. Exhausted as I am, it cannot wait any longer.
I find Elmer locked in single combat with a plate of spaghetti in the spacious mess hall. He chases a meatball around the dish with his fork and struggles to capture it despite many valiant attempts.
I take the seat across from him and watch until he finally spears the thing and wolfs it down in two very quick bites.
“Mom says I can talk to the Troos.” That’s the shortest I can put it.
“Good,” Elmer mumbles through his mouthful, “because I need you to figure out how Dirk Jade is getting information from them even though he’s just a driver.”
“Dirk?” I think back to the discussion in the jeep. I was so busy trying to avoid giving away anything that might damn me in his eyes that I entirely missed so much that his questions revealed. “Are you sure it’s Dirk?”
Elmer nods and twists his fork to collect additional pasta.
“He must have been testing me.” I clench my fists furiously. “He asked some strange questions and I totally missed it. He must have known something about…” I stop and think before running my mouth too much more.
Dirk knows that I was speaking with Tromeo. Dirk knows that Tromeo is a Troo. Dirk knew the name of the Troo royalty. Dirk specifically avoided mentioning anything else about him except to point out that he’d arrived with the other Troos. I’m exhausted, and I really need to sleep right now. But I know that if he was trying to feel me out to see if I was also a collaborator, my evasiveness probably confirmed it to him.
“Something about what?” Elmer asks, still chewing.
“Elmer, I think I’m going to ge-have to date a Troo. And I think Dirk might be a collaborator.”
“July,” Elmer reaches out and pats my hand, “I know Dirk’s a spy. This is the best thing you could have said to me this morning. You can hold your nose and sleep with the enemy if it will help us figure out how long we’ve had spy problems and whether Dirk is the only one or if he has more help on our side.”
“And if he thinks I might be inappropriately interested in the enemy, then maybe he’ll be willing to tell me more?”
I don’t want to tell Elmer that I’m very much looking forward to figuring out those logistics. Instead I agree. I will try to root out our spy.
And maybe that has solved the logistics problem of how to get letters from me to Tromeo.