Rivers of Orion

framed on either side by warnings to stand clear.
Orin secured his backpack straps, lifted his toolbox with box hands, and shuffled to form a line with the others as they stood behind the ocelini. “No,” muttered the tabby, “don’t do that.” He gestured for the other two humans to advance. “You were here before me.”
Awkwardly and with muttered thanks, they moved ahead of him.
A pilot with hawk-like features stared fixedly ahead as his passengers embarked. Gingerly, Orin stepped along the crowded aisle and took a seat near the back, setting his toolbox between his legs, and his backpack atop it. Staring out the viewport, he unbuttoned his work shirt and tugged at his undershirt.
The transit vessel detached from its clamps and glided up into the atmosphere. Warning lights flashed as they passed a retail tower, and for a moment, Orin’s reflection stared back at him from the glass.
With a weary sigh, he sank back and closed his eyes. For one searing moment his abdomen ached, and he traced a scar through his shirt. He winced and settled back into his chair. “That’s quite enough out of you,” he muttered to himself.
“Excuse me?” said a woman to his right.
Orin glanced her way. With alabaster skin, she tucked a wisp of platinum hair behind her ear as she met his gaze. “Sorry,” he said, “I didn’t hear you sit down.”
“No apology is required.” Her blue-gray eyes twinkled.  “Are you well?”
He nodded. “I just get these cramps sometimes.”
“I understand,” she brightly replied and studied him a moment. “I believe your destination is somewhere in New California City. I have been so curious to visit.”
He looked visibly impressed. “How’d you know that?”
“Thank you for the implied praise, but my observational skills are far from extraordinary.” With a playful wink, she leaned closer and prodded his work shirt. “The way your clothes have faded, and the slight smell of pine are clear indicators.” Orin nodded appreciatively, and she beamed. “Returning to my previous assertion, I have always wanted to visit.”
“You should go,” he suggested, “tonight. I’ll show you around.”
She smiled all the brighter. “I suddenly very much desire to do just that, but sadly I cannot.”
“Why not?”
“I have a work party to attend.” She straightened. “I sense your desire to join me, perhaps to explore casual romantic interaction, but you should know I am not human.” She whispered, “I am denshi-tengu.” A flash of silver glinted in the back of her eyes.
“Oh.” With a dry chuckle, Orin sank back into his chair. “Nice.”
“It is a costume party. I have been rehearsing this form for two weeks,” she continued, “and I feel accomplished that you took me for one of your own. I did not mean to offend, of course. I am aware that certain individuals take great offense at species imitation.” Her energy faded as he leaned away. “Have I offended you?”
“Not at all.” He took stock of her executive attire. “I’m impressed, really. Usually you denshies are easy to spot. Not you, though. You got all the details right.” He glanced sidelong at her. “Of course, you could actually be a guy.” He shook his head. “Or even a kid. I have no way of knowing for sure.”
She replied, “I suppose you do not,” and gazed upward as she considered. Cheerfully, she placed her hand in Orin’s grip, startling him. “I am Eleski,” she announced and firmly squeezed. “I assure you I am an adult female of my species.”
He returned the gesture, just as a recorded voice announced the shuttle’s arrival at the Risen Hills station. “I’m Orin.”
“Perhaps we will meet again?” she hoped.
“I’m here every day for the next couple years,” he said. “Assuming I get my scholarship back in time.”
She recoiled as she held his gaze, and her eyes widened. “Oh,” she whispered. “Your truths have changed my truth.”
“I don’t follow.”
“I must find the appropriate convergence before I am lost.” Lingering for a moment more, she withdrew her grip before making her way to the exit. Docking clamps rang through the sky bus. The door rolled aside, and Eleski vanished beyond it.
With a puzzled look, Orin asked, “What the hell?”
In time, he allowed his thoughts to wander.
An hour passed before he arrived at his destination. He thanked the pilot. In response, the hawkish fellow pointedly tapped the sign that read, “Do Not Converse with the Pilot.” With a wry smile, Orin disembarked alone, tromping down steel stairs to the sidewalk below. The shuttle pulled away.
An overhead lamp guttered. A biting wind howled as it drove against him. The sky seethed with dark, distant clouds. Orin pulled an orange utility jacket from his backpack and donned it. He zipped it up, shouldered his pack, and hefted his toolbox.
As he walked, he spotted movement in the corner of his eye. Keeping his distance, he paused to peer back toward the shuttle station. Standing before an empty poster frame, an older fellow set to bonding a lengthy sheet of digital paper to its surface. His light gray hair flowed up from a receding widow’s peak, and a luscious, patchwork cloak hung across his shoulders.
“Excuse me,” said Orin.
The stranger didn’t respond.
“Come on, man. It’ll be weeks before someone comes out here to clean that up.” Orin stepped closer and caught sight of the stranger’s post.
“Beware the shadows,” it read, “where Mesmegoria waits!” Satisfied with its placement, the older man smiled slightly and took a step back. He placed his fingers together in the shape of a circle, a triangle, and a pair of capital Ls. Light flared from his palms, adding colorful shapes to the surface of the paper.
As quietly as he could, Orin retreated.
“Young man,” said the stranger. “Before you go, can I get your opinion?”
Orin froze.
The stranger turned to regard him. “Can I get your opinion really quick?”
“Uh, sure,” he softly replied. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were a binary. I never would’ve bothered you if I’d known.”
With a friendly laugh, the stranger approached. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. Just trying to