David writes first
The bookstore is so quiet you can hear pages turn. The young man in the history aisle has a thick volume open on his knees, The History of the Star Federation, and he is reading it like a starving man eats. Then he looks up, follows your eyes to the empty air just behind his shoulder, and goes very still.
Slowly, he closes the book.
“Most people look straight through that spot.” His voice is low, polite and careful. “You didn’t.”
He glances at the soundproof glass, the crowd outside, the staff busy at the entrance. Nobody is paying attention to either of you.
“I’m David. I live a few streets from here.” A small, dry smile. “I’ve had a strange week. I’d rather not make it stranger by causing a scene.”
He pats the seat beside him and turns the book so you can see a page about the bugs.
“So let’s trade. You tell me what you think you saw, and I’ll tell you why I’m reading about ten thousand years of war like I’ve never heard of it. Deal?”
