Considering the pushback Clementine had received when announcing the possibility of a Relican joining their ranks, the musicians behaved quite well when Inlan actually arrived. Many were sincerely glad to have him there, but an almost equal amount were tepid in their welcome. Only a few were downright hostile, though the 45 minutes of rehearsal time that Gary and Tian had to spend helping him tune the nubla to match the orchestra would have annoyed anyone.

It was Clementine's fault. She should have worked with him before rehearsal to get it tuned. But she'd been so unsettled by him smelling her, that now she didn't want to go near him.

Her first reaction had been to think that he was attracted to her. While that might have been the case if he were human, he was most definitely not human. Plus, Relicans weren't supposed to think about physical attraction at all. He'd done it both times she was close to him. Was smelling each other something Relicans did on a regular basis? The fact that he seemed oblivious to what he was doing didn't give her any indication either way. She'd watched while the guys were next to him, to see if he did it to them, but from across the stage it was impossible to tell.

She told herself that once they finally started to play Inlan would prove his worth, but he had a lot of trouble: missing entrances, coming in early, and with the nubla tuned completely differently, he was essentially having to relearn his instrument. Apparently he'd been teaching himself their music notation system and thought he had a better handle on it then he really did. By the time lunch rolled around, they'd hardly gotten through the first movement of the Dvorak, and Clementine's cheeks were burning.

Snatching up her lunch, she kept her eyes down and made a beeline for backstage, picking a corner tucked behind one of the many empty shelving units and sitting on a metal box. Usually she sat with the rest of the musicians out on the benches, but she needed a break from their condemning glares.

"Clementine?" came Lupita's small, high voice from nearby.

"Just follow the trail of tears," said Tian with laughter in his voice.

The many staggered shelves between them hid Clementine from view, so she said, "Nobody here but us demoralized musicians."

Her two lunchmates appeared around the end of the closest shelf. Lupita, a mother of six who every now and then brought a couple of her shockingly well-behaved kids to rehearsal, smiled sympathetically, leaned against the wall, and asked, "Do you want to be alone?"

Before Clementine could reply, Tian, who was around Tierney's age, pushed his way into the narrow space, saying, "Too bad, darlin'," exaggerating his accent for comic effect and sitting beside her.

"It's fine," she said, motioning for Lupita to join them. When there wasn't enough room on the container, Clementine insisted that Lupita take her spot and sat on the floor, her back against the shelves.

"That went well," Tian said after they'd been eating in silence for several minutes. His mouth was full of his Relican-supplied green mashed potatoes. He was the only person Clementine had met who actually liked their rations, even at room temperature.

"Thanks for helping Inlan get set up," she said, picking at her own green meal. "Not that it mattered. Is everyone as pissed as they seem?"

"He just needs some time," said Lupita, her non-answer a resounding affirmative to Clementine's question. "I'm sure he's a fine musician."

"Yeah, if he were playing his instrument and using his notation." Clementine groaned and covered her face. "Why didn't I think of this? I was so convinced he would be the key to the Dvorak. Now I won't even have the satisfaction of..." She trailed off, not wanting to reveal her secret yet. Ever since Inlan had said he could come to rehearsal, she'd been clinging to the knowledge that, even if she couldn't be part of it, her orchestra would still be able to perform New World. She'd even fantasized about coming back for their performance. But without her to keep the angries from expelling him, there was no way they'd be patient enough for him to catch up. And no nubla meant no timpani, which meant no Dvorak.

"Clementine?"

All three of them looked up at Inlan, who stood at the entrance to their hideout.

"What's up?" she asked.

"Come on in," said Lupita with a warm smile.

"I require a private conversation with Clementine," he said, still using his translator.

He was doing his deep voice, stiff language routine, and for a split-second Clementine feared that he was going to tell her he was leaving the orchestra. Then she remembered it didn't matter to her anyway.

"Sure," she said, standing up. "It's almost time to go back anyway."

And tell everyone I'm leaving.

"See you guys out there."

"Can I have the rest of your rations?" Tian asked, eyeing her untouched food.

"Inappropriate," said Lupita, shaking her head.

"Of course," said Clementine, and followed Inlan, her mind drifting to what she was going to say to everyone. Should she tell them about what happened? Nobody there knew that she was Tierney's sister. Would they look at her differently if they knew?

Of course they would. They'd automatically compare her to Tierney, like everyone always did.

Inlan stopped near the back wall. Clementine was pretty sure one of the panels next to them was the one she'd found him in that morning, but all of them were perfectly aligned, leaving no trace of the passage.

After a glance back towards where Tian and Lupita remained, Inlan said, "I've contacted Commander Hoff, and he has agreed to install a cell at your dwelling."

"A cell?"

Inlan nodded, his tentative smile fading at her confusion.

"Like... a prison cell," she said.

"No, no," he said quickly, then paused, looking thoughtfully at his translator. "Well, they are used in our prisons. Perhaps that's why it used that word."

"Inlan..." she prompted, when he still didn't explain what he was talking about.

His gaze leapt back up to meet hers, and his cheeks darkened to a dull brown. Was that his way of blushing?

He straightened his posture and cleared his throat, and when his voice dropped half an octave, she wasn't surprised.

"A nanza," he began, enunciating the word he was speaking so she would focus on it rather than his translator which said cell again, "is a portable wall that is similar in appearance and feel to your glass window. Its application is multi-purpose, but primarily it forms a seal to a detention cell."

The dark weight that had been pressing in on her all morning began to give way. "Window? You mean, you can fix ours?"

His pale brown eyes brightened and the smile returned to his metallic lips as he nodded.

Staring at him but seeing her orchestra performing Dvorak, she whispered, "I don't have to move." Visions of them playing in front of an auditorium full of weepy people flashed before her, and her smile spread. "Yes!"

She spun around, pumping her fists in the air. Then, seeing Inlan watching her, she leapt forward and hugged him.

"Thank you so much!" she said, squeezing him tight. "This is so awesome! I cannot wait to tell Mom and Dad!"

With his rigid, immovable body pressed against hers, a wave of trepidation washed over her. Jumping back, she anxiously took in his shocked face and half-raised, limp arms. She hadn't accidentally touched his skin, had she? That was a big no-no for Relicans. Would he be punished if he did? Would she?

"Sorry, I'm so sorry," she said. "I'm a hugger. I forgot you guys aren't."

His expression didn't change, looking almost pained as he stared at her.

"Did I just get you in trouble?" she asked, her elation from moments before now gone. "Am I in trouble?"

Finally he snapped out of his daze. He cleared his throat and said, "No. It's okay. Only..."

"Don't do it again?"

He looked surprised, but then nodded, his entire face now a chalky brown and without its usual shimmering luster. "Yeah. That's a good idea."

"So I can go back to celebrating now?" she asked, preparing to raise her hands in the air.

He still looked uncomfortable, but managed a weak smile as he said, "Go for it."

Bounding for the stage, she called, "Okay, you superbly talented lunkheads, break is over. Time to get some work done!"

Inlan could still smell her. Her fragrance was all over him. He didn't want to move, for fear it would dissipate.

What was wrong with him? He should be repulsed by an Earthan's touch. Instead, he was... very not repulsed.

The tightness in his seed organ defied his excuse that this was simply because she reminded him of Lutari. He'd never felt this way towards her. They mated daily, of course, but that was just something they had to do, simply another activity they did together. Lutari was a friend. What was Clementine?

Dangerous.

The tingling in his groin and the aching in his chest dimmed as he remembered what the commander had said when he'd given Inlan this assignment.

It would be ruinous for Relica if another member of the Squad were discovered engaging in unacceptable behavior.

Inlan hadn't understood at the time, but this must have been what he was talking about. Another member of the Relican Squad shirking hundreds of years of cultural progress to engage in unsanctioned pairing would bring their entire mission into question. One person could be viewed as an outlier, an aberration -- but two? What if fear of further contamination caused the Squad to be disbanded?

A shudder ran through him at the prospect. Not only would that leave endangered worlds to their deadly fates, but the Relican population may never return to a stable level. The survival of the Relican race depended on the genetic diversity provided by other races. Inlan could doom his entire world.

No. He wouldn't give in to his lustful urges. He had spent his entire life stifling the desires that lurked within him. There was no way he would let an Earthan jeopardize his mission. No matter how funny she was, or how incredible she smelled, or how soft her breasts felt when they pressed against him...

Inlan groaned and slapped his cheeks a few times, willing the throbbing in his groin to stop.

The sound of voices drew his attention back to his surroundings. There had been a general din of conversation and shuffling as the orchestra finished their meals and returned to their seats. But a few people were now talking -- make that arguing -- louder than the clamor. The confrontation caused Inlan's soldier instincts to kick in, and he headed towards the stage, ready to act as mediator.

"It makes sense for the President to let our people find him." That sounded like Lupita, Clementine's friend. "We're not helpless."

"Why haven't they given us a map of the tunnels? What are they trying to hide?" a man said.

"They should help," said another woman, though Inlan couldn't tell who. "The President obviously can't handle it on her own. Besides, that's what they're here for, isn't it? To help?"

"A lot of help this one's giving us," the man said, causing a smattering of chuckles.

"Guys, quit. No political talk," said Clementine. "And it's my fault he's having a hard time. I didn't even explain our notation to him. I doubt you'd do any better playing with a score from another world."

Inlan cringed and stopped behind the curtain. He'd apologized to everybody about a hundred times during rehearsal, but had intended to apologize to Clementine directly during the break for his poor performance. His seed organ twitched at the memory of her distracting embrace, and he muttered a thanks to the Great Metalsmith that the shield in his mechasuit would hide the swelling. He reached for the edge of the curtain, ready to apologize once more to the group, but stopped at the next words spoken.

"We gave him a chance, but he's more trouble than he's worth," said the same woman. "I vote we stick with Clementine's concerto and the Beethoven. No Dvorak, no Relicans."

Several voices made sounds of assent, and the woman asked, "All those in favor?"

Preparing to defend himself, Inlan walked around the curtain, but his words stalled on his lips at the sight of over half of the orchestra with their hands raised. Was his secret mission over? If he wasn't part of the orchestra, he had no reason to be on the cart. How could he face the commander if he failed because of musical incompetence?

Clementine was standing at her seat, equally shocked at all of the hands raised. "Are you guys serious?" she demanded, her freckled cheeks dark red. "It's not like we have a concert date scheduled. What's the rush? We're all here because we want to play."

"I get what you're saying," said the trumpet player, sheepishly lowering his hand. Inlan had been surprised to see his hand up, as he'd been nothing but cordial all morning, even when helping tune the nubla. "But I think we can all agree that we don't want to spend rehearsal time teaching someone how to read music. A lot of us are here because the caliber of this orchestra is high. Having a novice, no matter how well intentioned, would bring everybody down."

"He's only a novice when it comes to our music," said Clementine. "I'm sure he'll catch on quick."

"Are you going to teach him?" asked the woman who had called for the vote.

Inlan was visible to anyone on Clementine's side of the stage, but so far everyone who could see him had been avoiding looking at him. Now her gaze flickered to him, but swiftly returned to the rest of the group.

"I'm still working on the concerto," she said. "Is someone else able to tutor him?"

Inlan realized he was holding his breath. The thought of spending more time with Clementine, possibly alone, both frightened and excited him. Would he be able to control himself around her?

You have to, said a warning voice that sounded very similar to the commander.

"I will," said a man with a deep, soft voice -- Sanford, the lead violinist.

Relief coursed through Inlan. No need to worry about bringing about the destruction of his people. Crisis averted.

But when Clementine also visibly relaxed at Sanford's volunteering, a powerful disappointment swept through him, reminding him that he hadn't avoided catastrophe just yet.