Conics Unfortunately: 43

Twenty minutes after Ellipse’s piloting shift was supposed to end, the curtain blocking off the cockpit finally swung open. A tiny click echoed from a magnet hitting the back of the pilot’s chair, and then followed the barely audible whoosh of Tejal flying across the room.

“You’re late,” Ellipse said. She wanted to sound angry, but she just felt tired. Spending eight hours at the joystick with puffy eyes and a salt-crusted face was not a fun time. Her statement came out as a drone instead of a complaint.

Tejal stopped behind her, braced himself on her chair, and ripped his magnetic grappling hook off the seat back. “Sorry,” he replied. He sounded tired too, his voice low and hesitant.

Before Ellipse could push herself out of the pilot’s seat, she noticed Tejal’s arm tense, and that was the only warning she received before he shouted over her head, voice cracking, though not jumping quite as high as it used to.

“Mouthbot translated your conversation!”

Ellipse whipped around to stare.

“I’m sorry!” Tejal shouted. He bowed his head, eyes squeezed shut like he was scared Ellipse might smack him. “Focci yelled, and that turned on Mouthbot down where I was, and I was so curious that I didn’t think to put it on mute or turn it off.”

The confession was so sudden and loud that Ellipse only sat, stunned, mouth cracking open a smidge. “Uh-

“I’m sorry,” Tejal repeated. He brought one hand up and reached for Ellipse’s face, and then her shoulder, and then let his arm hang awkwardly in the air because he could not decide where it was appropriate to touch her. “I’m sorry,” he said, somehow softer than before. “I’m really really sorry. And you specifically didn’t want me to know, and I totally just betrayed your trust, and-

“Stop,” Ellipse interrupted. She swiveled back around to focus on the blackness outside. “Just stop.”

“Do you want me to switch in?” Tejal tried. “You know, before we have this conversation.”

Ellipse took a long breath. “I get it,” she said. “You overheard my tragic backstory. It is fine, whatever.” She pushed herself out of the pilot’s seat and glided up until she reached the ceiling, where she slowed her ascent with a slight push on the acrylic panels. “I am going to bed.”

Carefully, she twisted to give her feet purchase on the wall, but before she could get both feet up, a set of fingers wrapped around her ankle. Ellipse froze; the feeling of the night tubai’s ceramic exoskeleton gripping her skin was still fresh.

“Tejal,” she said slowly, trying not to let her voice shake, “let me go.”

“We need to talk,” he argued. “Your freaky backstory or whatever it is changes things, okay?” He grabbed onto the pilot’s seat to keep himself stationary and tugged her down.

Ellipse bit back a growl and tried to reach for her feet and rip Tejal’s hand off of her, but she was already moving, and Tejal had shifted up to catch her shoulder with his other hand.

“Nothing has changed,” she hissed.

“Yes it has.” Tejal pulled her so she floated right in front of him, her face level with his, and gripped her arms. “I was starting to believe that you really weren’t Elliott Bei, you know?”

“I am not-

“I know you aren’t her anymore,” Tejal interrupted. “That’s why you told me she never existed when we first met.” His face was set in stern, flat lines, and his curly hair floated like a black cloud around his face, lending his seriousness the same serenity Focci had during Ellipse’s earlier conversation. “But before the Independent Titan attack on the citizen database, you were Elliott Bei.”

Ellipse scoffed. She could not just stop being someone. That was hardly how life worked.

“I’m not stupid, Ellipse. Ellie Tibot and Randi Abe are anagrams for Elliott and Andra Bei. I worked it out as soon as I overheard you talking with Focci.”

“Coincidence-

Tejal pulled her in closer, to the point where she could headbutt him if she so wished. His eyes narrowed, and they burned blue in the cockpit’s low lighting. “You speak at least four alien languages, including Trade Siren, which is the greatest hurdle for earthling musicians trying to get their work noticed beyond our system. Not only that, but you’re fluent enough to write original siren poetry and construct countermelodies that make actual sense in the siren language.”

“Anyone can learn-

“No,” Tejal insisted. He brought up one hand and jabbed his index finger in her face. “That’s not something just anyone can do. You’re the same age as me, and you speak more languages than most linguists and international businessmen learn in their entire lifetimes.”

“I am two year older than you,” Ellipse retorted, her frown deepening.

“Not if you were born Elliott Bei.” Tejal had the gall to act embarrassed when he spoke again. “Did you know that I share a birthday with her? I never bothered to look into the time conversion, but when I was little, it was such a fun fact to know. It was like a weird, convoluted connection to Andra, who I idolized for years.”

Rolling her eyes, Ellipse pushed Tejal’s hand out of her face. “How nice. I am not Elliott, so just let me-

“Ellipse, I understand that you aren’t Elliott Bei,” Tejal said. “If your story is anything to go by, that’s probably not a time in your life that you want to be connected to anymore. But the truth is that your past still plays a big role in your life now, both in your fear of abandonment and your fear of the bounty hunters coming after you-

“I do not have a fear of being abandoned.”

“You do though.”

Tejal paused for a moment and tried to hold eye contact with Ellipse, but she looked away. She felt the red burn of shame creep across her face, and her eyes threatened to water. If she blinked, she would start crying.

Then, without any warning, Tejal pulled her in again and hugged her. He squeezed, too, and Ellipse imagined that they looked like those people in earthling movies who hugged after high school graduation, as if they did not have the rest of the summer to see each other.

“I’m not going to turn you in,” Tejal whispered. “I’ll make sure my parents don’t take you, and I’ll help you get around all of the crazy intergalactic laws about bounty hunting.” He pulled away and gripped Ellipse’s arms again. “Whether you believe it or not, we’re friends. You’ve helped me and Focci with the generator by helping us find the Impending crew, and we’ve lived together on a ship for months.”

Ellipse brought up a hand and started to pry Tejal’s fingers off her arm. And though his face twisted in frustration, he let her.

“I’m not going to let anyone force you to go back to people who hurt you.”

When she was free of Tejal’s grasp, Ellipse huffed and reached for a surface she could use to propel herself to the door. She pushed off of the back of the pilot’s chair, arms outstretched to reach for the curtain. “I am not Elliott Bei,” she repeated. “Get to flying.”

She heard Tejal deflate with a sigh and ignored the inexplicable guilt gnawing at her stomach.