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I don’t know what I will want. It’s not her visit yet. But you want her to touch you, so perhaps I will, too.

I—that’s different. That’s a different kind of touch. That’s a different kind of want.

Explain, please.

I have tried to explain this topic to you before, and you do not understand.

Oh. Yes.

Yes.

You are correct, I do not understand. But I wish I could understand. This desire is intrinsic to you. It is important.

It is, but please don’t ask me about that feeling while she’s here. I don’t want her to know I feel that way.

Why?

Because it’s not the sort of relationship I am trying to build with her. That want is not relevant. I do not think it will be.

Intrigue. Searching. What is this feeling you are having now? You are nervous, you are hiding, something quickens—

Leave it be, please.

I do not understand, but I respect a boundary drawn. Very well.

You feel curious about her.

I am. Her visit will go well.

Why do you think that?

She and I share a commonality. We are curious about each other.

That’s not enough reason to trust someone.

No. But it is a good start.

Chapter 24 Signy, Fortune (Above)

It had been a long time since Signy had gone up. Perhaps one day the atmosphere would calm down enough to let the general public spend a scenic afternoon in low orbit again, but Signy had never felt she was missing much. Her younger self had not enjoyed school, and even something as ostensibly exciting as going on a spaceship ride hadn’t been enough to combat the purgatory of spending an extra-long day in the company of her classmates. To make matters worse, her chief impression of the kiddie catapult had been of throwing up. She’d made good use of the lined paper bags they’d all been handed beforehand, and her brief glimpses out the window had only taught her that Fortune was even uglier from above. All that fuss to go look at clouds the same color as your own sick.

Signy had no idea what the clouds she was passing through now looked like. The cargo transport she’d managed to book a ride on didn’t have windows, at least not in the hold. The good ship Tell Me I’m Pretty was built solely for getting supplies up and down with as little risk as possible. Passengers were an afterthought, as evidenced by the jump seat that had made Signy’s backside go slightly numb. She’d considered trying to book a flight on one of the university shuttles meant for academics and researchers, but as Cora had paid for the ticket, Signy had chosen the cheapest option. This would only take an hour.

There were three crew members aboard, all up in the cockpit. Signy sat alone among crates of cleaning supplies, shelf-stable food, and mechanical hardware of unknown purpose. She found her surroundings oddly homey, utilitarian though they were, and she wasn’t sick at all. Having learned from her prepubescent experience, she’d picked up a bottle of promethazine at a Flytown pharmacy. The dose she’d taken before liftoff had worked wonders. She could’ve whipped up a batch of the stuff herself, but given the security screening forms she’d had to fill out in order to be granted a visitor’s pass to the stables, she’d thought it unwise to head up with a bottle of her own wares in her pocket. (Also, she’d had a lot of orders to fill that week. Sometimes it was good to let somebody else do the work.)

Even through the buffer of Signy’s earplugs, the ship rattled furiously as the atmospheric engines on the wings powered down and the launch engine at the back roared to life. The ship climbed, and climbed, and climbed, punching away from the planet below with deafening force. Gravity tugged twice as hard, three times, four. Signy felt as though one of the shipping crates had been placed flat on her chest, weighing down her ribs and lungs. She tried to extend an arm out in front of herself, just to see what it would do. She couldn’t move it forward at all.

From one shaking second to the next, a threshold was crossed, and Fortune released its grasp.

Signy had forgotten this feeling. No longer a nauseous, apathetic ten-year-old, she explored the sensation with more seasoned curiosity. Her now-mobile hands floated off her knees. Her body rose up to press against the safety harness. Her stomach did lurch, but the medicine did its job admirably. She felt . . . comfortable. She hadn’t realized how heavy her body was, how much effort went into carrying herself around. It was actually quite nice, to feel the world let go of you.

She smiled, almost. Maybe there was something to being in space.

Interstitial

A hatch near the back of the cargo ship opened once the airlock had sealed. Station crew floated in, wasting no time in shuffling the crates from one vessel to another. It was surreal, somewhat cartoonish, watching boxes that had been loaded with forklifts get nudged through the air by one person each.

Signy didn’t exit through the same hatch as the crates. She reached up, fumbled for the looped fabric handholds that were now her primary means of locomotion, and guided herself toward the cockpit with what she hoped was a forgivable lack of grace. She expressed brief thanks to the people who had flown her there, then went out the door she’d entered through in Flytown.