Static and then—thank the lords—a voice. “Back in,” Kodiak reports.
“How did it go?” I ask.
There’s no answer beyond the hum of the ship. I watch the golden net reel in the asteroid, this chunk of lifesaving darkness, far more precious than the trillion-dollar tech in which it’s wrapped.
“Report, OS,” I say.
“The outcome has been optimal,” Devon Mujaba tells me.
_-* Tasks Remaining: 336 *-_
Because of the ship’s barbell shape, the ceiling windows in my bedroom provide a view right into Kodiak’s workspace, backdropped by swirls of distant galaxies. He’s kept his shades closed before, but now he’s started to leave them open. I catch the red of his suit as he sits at a desk. It’s just a shoulder I see, and occasional flashes of skin as his fingers tap a console.
Not removing my eyes from him, I ease myself to the bed. I lie back. My fingers toy with the fabric covering my chest. I could stare at this forever: swirling stars in the background and a human being, a real live human being, lost in a task. The fringe of thick dark hair that leads to skin, to the planes of his neck. Every few seconds he waggles his head from side to side, to stretch it. Maybe he’s stiff? I can see one smooth bump of spine. I have to remember the swells of muscle that join that neck to the rest of his body—he’s too far away for me to see them.
“OS,” I call out, “if Kodiak ever asks—not that I expect he will—please don’t let him know that I find him interesting to look at. I assume he already has an inflated ego around that very fact. Much as I do, of course.”
“I would have made that same judgment call,” Devon Mujaba’s voice says. “Your secret is safe with me.”
Keeping secrets now. I guess there’s no honor among operating systems.
_-* Tasks Remaining: 336 *-_
A short while later I’m sitting on my bunk, scanning through stale headlines on my bracelet. The news isn’t updating because of the solar storm, so everything’s weeks out of date by now. But it puts me out of my yearning mood to check in on what’s happening on Earth, or at least what was happening on Earth a few weeks ago.
There are some recorded reels from classmates. Every single one lined up for their one-minute slot to say hello. I was hoping for inside jokes and shared memories, but all they say are generalities about my achievement, how inspiring I am, blah blah. How can they think I’d want to hear that? It’s like none of them actually knew me. I’m probably the most admired and least loved person in our class.
I skip back to the news. Dimokratía and Fédération might have blown themselves to smithereens by now for all I know. Kodiak and I could be all that’s left. Ha. Good luck, world. There are a good dozen reasons why there’ll be no bouncing babies coming from us. Cusk has never been willing to send out combinations of spacefarers that could procreate, to prevent any high-risk space pregnancies.
“Latest prediction for when we’ll be back in communication with mission control?” I ask OS.
“We will be through the radio interference from the solar storm in under four hours.”
I scan through the messages until I get to the one from Sri, my cutest classmate by far. “Thank you for your contribution to the future of humanity,” they say in a monotone, and spend the rest of their minute saying not much else. I close the reel in disgust. Not one mention of the carved antique necklace I gave them, or that amazing picnic I arranged after hours on the hangar floor. Granted, I had gotten busy after and stopped responding to bracelet messages. “Wonder if Sri is still a little heartbroken,” I murmur.
“I have no way of determining that,” OS says.
“That was a rhetorical question. Anyway. When mission control has been in touch, has it been a joint mission control, or separate communications from Fédération and Dimokratía?”
A micropause. “It remains a Cusk-run mission control, located in Fédération and utilizing resources from both countries of Earth.”
“Inform Kodiak that, once the solar storm is over, I insist we communicate with mission control together. From the same room.”
“I cannot tell you whether Kodiak is listening to your messages, but I will transmit this to him if he allows it.”
I think back to Sri, how thrilled they were to be seduced, how they turned all buttery under my fingers. My skinstarts to feel hot. Not horny hot, angry hot. Or maybe both. How can Kodiak continue not to see me? “Tell him this way: Let’s do this together. Manicotti at my place?”
“I have transmitted that message in your own voice. I’m not sure I could replicate all of its nuance.”
There’s a long silence. As I calm down, a surprising new feeling shows up beneath the anger and lust: shame. Kodiak makes me feelashamed. Yuck. “Tell him never mind,” I say. “We can comm mission control separately. I have my computer buddy to keep me company.”
Another silence. I drum my fingers against the polycarbonate wall, lean my forehead against the window as I stare out at the stars. Rover is already in the room, clackity arms at the ready with a wipe, to scrub off my forehead oils the moment I move away.I want out of here, I briefly think. I wrestle the thought away. There is no “out of here.” At least not one that I’d survive.
A voice pipes through. It’s not OS—it’s Kodiak. “Relying on a computer buddy for your only company. That sounds terribly pathetic.”
I can’t help it—I grin. A stupid and sloppy one. “Pathetic is the neighborhood I’m living in right now. Until I can afford someplace better.”
“I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”
