I nudge the polycarb pouch closer to him. “I do.”
He takes the pouch, passing it from hand to hand, testing its heat. While he begins to eat, I try to figure out what to say next. It’s all so impossible. How can I know anything is real? There’s no good answer to that.
“OS, what year is it?” I ask.
“You have been on your voyage for nine months and twenty-four days. Adding that to your departure date makes this year 2472 on Earth.”
“We have... information that seems to indicate that the year is—what is it again, Kodiak?”
“Eighty-one-zero-two,” Kodiak says around a mouthful of manicotti.
“Eighty-one-zero-two. And that few people are still alive on Earth. Maybe no one? Is that true?”
“My information sources indicate that it is not currently true, no.”
“But it might be true in the future?”
“That is possible, of course. Any arrangement of molecules is possible. Knowing that, are you still dedicated to accomplishing the mission’s directive, Spacefarer Cusk?” OS asks. My mother’s tone is studied, neutral. Ominously formal.
I pause. I have to choose my words carefully.
Unfortunately, Kodiak is the next to speak. “I’m not so sure.”
“We’re sure,” I say quickly.
“What evenisthe directive?” Kodiak asks, casting his pouch to one side.
“To rescue Minerva Cusk,” OS answers.
“Rescue her or investigate her death, you mean,” Kodiak says.
“I detect suspicion in your vocal register. That I choose to frame your mission in terms that will positively influence your morale does not mean that I’m engaging in deceit.”
“Of course it doesn’t,” I say, shooting Kodiak a harsh look.
“I don’t think you have a good explanation for what we just heard, OS,” Kodiak says.
“Doyouhave a good explanation for what you just heard?” OS asks.
Kodiak shakes his head.
“I suggest you put it out of your mind, then,” OS says.
“You’d love that, wouldn’t you?” Kodiak grumbles as he returns to his dinner.
_-* Tasks Remaining: 80 *-_
At first, it felt like I had to cajole Kodiak into spending time with me. Now, the mounting strangenesses of our voyagehave drawn him close. He finishes his morning runs in my half of the ship, watching the wheeling stars through the giant window of 06.
Then he starts dropping in when he’s not even on his morning run. Once, I’m lying in my sleeping chamber, thinking about his thighs and calves filling his jumpsuit, when I hear steps in the next room over. I scramble to cover myself in a sheet before he comes in.
“Good afternoon, shipmate,” he says.
“Hey,” I squeak. I tent my knees, so that there’s no evidence of what I was up to.
He leans against the doorway. “I was just poking through the ship, trying to see if I could figure out anything new. Did you notice the wall surface around the yellow portal?”
I sit up straight, then realize what I’ve revealed and return to my slouch. “I have!” I say. “Could you give me, um, I sort of need a sec.”
