I grasp one of my pens and start clicking it nervously. I have no idea what kind of a deal he could possibly have in mind, but I’m feeling confident that Kila and I hold all the cards in this equation. Pakka doesn’t want to lose Kila— that much is clear to me. I was so busy hating him for his close-mindedness and his hardheadedness that I forgot that he has emotions buried in there, just like Kila did. He’s in mourning. All of the Kar’Kali are. I know Pakka is burdened by their loss and I get the feeling that he thinks he needs to be the new leader of their whole race. I can’t imagine how hard that must be.

“Tell me what it is. If its within my power, I’d do anything to convince you to put the whole Deviant Exile thing behind us.”

“I do not know if you realize this, but you could very well hold the future of Kar’Kali in your womb—"

Wow, well, not the direction I was imagining this conversation would go… I blink at him, stunned.

“And I would beg you give us the opportunity to fertilize and freeze a number of your eggs with Kila’s seed,” he continues, gravely serious in tone. “We could conduct this each lunar cycle and store them for the event that the surviving Kar’Kali can begin a new colony. To think that we could begin anew with ten to twelve healthy young warriors in just a year’s time—”

“Hold the fuck up,” I say. My voice is like steel. I’ve never felt so angry.

Pakka watches my expression curiously. I can tell he doesn’t understand the meaning of my phrase. Furthermore, I can tell he doesn’t realize just how insane his suggestion is. He’s surprised though, surprised that I would forgo the polite, friendly tone with which I usually handle disagreements.

“You really think for one second that I would give you my eggs? My eggs? My… my… hypothetical precious fucking baby? Or should I say babies since you’re planning on extracting every possible offspring?”

“I see now that I have… not said the right thing,” he says slowly. “This is an insult to human women? Do you not rejoice over each retrieved egg? Was it not you that suggested we explore human female eggs as a resource for our prior study?”

“The only thing you’ll be retrieving,” I grit out, fingers tightening on my pen, “Is your head from your own ass, Pakka! No, I would never allow my offspring to be frozen until they’re useful and ready to be trained from birth for battle!”

He’s shaking his head at me. “Ah, this is because you don’t wish to have your children become warriors. Have you said this to Kila? Because warrior-hood is very important to all Kar’Kali.”

“You don’t get it. You don’t get what I’m trying to tell you about Kila and you don’t get what I’m saying about my eggs—babies— whatever!” I chuck my pen across the room and stand up angrily, palms down on the desktop. I take a deep breath and whip towards him. “Kila deserves to choose his own life path. And I’d like you to let him do that without all the guilt. He doesn’t deserve that guilt and you know it. As for my children? My children? You better fucking believe that they’ll have every choice in the world and be allowed to do whatever they want. They might be Kar’Kali, but they’ll be humans too. And human women don’t stand for it when their kids are jerked around like puppets… Like sacrificial lambs… Like fucking numbers on the battlefield!”

“Ella,” he starts. “I—”

“I’ve had enough. I need some fresh air,” I say, grabbing my jacket off the back of my chair.

“I see. I should have better calculated how this discussion would go,” he says.

“You might not want to think about your own feelings. And that’s your prerogative. But as long as you’re on this planet, you better start considering the feelings of others,” I sniff, trying to force the tears away until the moment when I’m alone.

I don’t wait to hear a response, hustling for the door before he can say something even more infuriating. The walls and floors blur. My vision becomes foggy with tears as I begin to run towards the stairwell. I shrug on my jacket as I go, thankful that I haven’t encountered any other workers. I pass the spot where Kila pinned me against the wall and kissed me so many times. I practically trip myself sprinting up the stairs. My chest is tightening. I begin to sob as I slam open the roof access door.

A gust of cold autumn air slaps my cheeks.

I am in love with him. Why couldn’t I admit it to myself and say it to him when he was saying it to me? Why didn’t I say it before they wheeled him away? I knew it the moment I imagined that something horrible could really happen to him when he goes under the knife. I knew it the moment I imagined our child, some hypothetical little concoction of the two of us— and what I would feel if it was taken away. The joy of my realization swirls with my tears and my anger. It bubbles out of me in a manic, blubbery laugh.

In a daze, I stumble to the railing and lean against it, sucking in the crisp air. Clarity rings through me.

Thank God I am alone out here because I must look like a madwoman, crying and smiling. None of what Pakka says matters. Kila loves me and I love him and no matter what they say, we’re going to find a way to be together. As this truth settles over me, each breath feels like new life. My eyes close and I steady my breathing. I’m going to give myself time to get collected, and then I can march right back to the lab, get my work done, and find some special way to tell Kila that I love him.

I’m not sure how much time passes as I bask in the glow of my new revelation. But while I am leaning at the railing, enjoying the October chill, a blaring horn begins to sound. My hands clap to my ears on instinct.

It startles me, and my eyes immediately go to the rooftop access door. Inside, red lights are flashing. When I go to investigate, I peer through the glass panel and find that the security lights at the next landing down are going off. I pull at the handle, but the door is locked.

“Fuck,” I whisper, and jiggle it repeatedly to be sure its locked. I can faintly hear someone speaking through the intercom system, but I can’t make out what they are saying. It must be a security breach, but there’s no way I’ll be able to find out what’s going on from up here. I didn’t even bring my cell phone with me. For all I know, it could be a regular drill. But Jen usually tells me about those in advance.

Knowing the doors won’t unlock until the security system is no longer on alert, I move to the opposite side of the building. There is another railing there, and I am hoping to glean some information from what the security guards are doing. Some sort of chaos is transpiring over at the front gate. The protesters are scattering. Most of the group is running across the lot or getting into vehicles to drive away. Signs and various trash have been dropped where they stood, abandoned on the black top. But a small percentage of them are moving forward to the gates. From up above they look like ant people, but I see two bodies rush towards a security guard who is leaned up against the fence.

Then, the guard slumps and I realize in horror that the two protesters have run forward to help the man. The other people that have stayed are also helping. They fling open the doors to the guard tower and go inside. Am I to really believe that the guards inside there are also hurt? The siren goes on blaring as I begin to panic.

I don’t know how long I stand there, watching the scene out front near the gate. I have no idea what is going on, but I can’t lift a finger to help anyone. At the very least, I feel safe up here, but that doesn’t help my worries for Kila and the others. Kila is under, and he was supposed to be starting surgery when that siren went off. Could whatever happened have interrupted the surgeon, or caused some kind of accident? I clutch my arms around me and suck in air frantically.