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was right for us to carve up

other moons. Whether it was

right to do what we did to

Colibri. What I did. She’s not

a fucking spaceship. None of

them are.

You were her family. She loved

you. She probably still does.

Rorquals don’t have families.

Would she have any interest in

that, if she’d been able to find

me on her own? Or did

she just love me because I

shaped her to?

Don’t do that. Don’t twist

what you two had.

Tell me I’m wrong.

You’re wrong.

* * *

The saddle was small inside, narrower than Signy’s bed, but the jump seat at the back was less cramped than she’d expected. It wasn’t a glamorous situation, just a fold-down seat with safety harnesses set near various supplies strapped neatly to the wall—a first aid kit, a box of emergency rations, a pair of oxygen masks, a set of tools she didn’t recognize, and an unglamorous contraption of funnels and suction tubes that was the entire reason she’d been drinking as little water as possible that day. She didn’t feel trapped, though, and she didn’t feel stuck.

Without a word, Cora reached her hand back behind her own seat, inviting Signy to give it a squeeze.

* * *

Is she here now? Cora, Cora, is Signy here?

She is. Can you feel her taking her seat?

No. I felt a warmth in you. A belly full of helium. A sail full of sunlight. I feel you, and I feel what it is to be you when she is here, and—oh, Cora, this is a shape of love I cannot mold within myself, but yes. Yes. I understand why this is paramount to you.

* * *

“Hey,” Cora said, sounding drunk and dreamy. “Stomp your foot on the floor a few times.”

“Why?”

“So she can feel.”

Signy obliged—one, two, three.