by Kelly Jensen
The cable housing banged against the base of the mast, the clang barely audible against the rising storm. Thunder cracked overhead again, and lightning arced through the ever-present clouds, throwing the problem into stark relief. Shiny divots peppered the shielding. None of the cables were loose, but the wind was doing its best to tug them free.
Bram reached in and tightened every cable and then bent the flexible housing back against the base of the turbine. He needed to fasten it back in place. What could have caused those shallow dents? Dusting hell. Peck marks. He’d collected two of the hens from the garden surrounding this turbine.
Rising to a crouch, he ran back across the terrace and ducked inside the garage, meeting Gael in the workshop.
“Aavi’s asleep,” Gael said.
“In this noise?” Thunder cracked overhead.
“It’s been a long day.”
Bram gave an absent nod. The hike to the cloud garden wasn’t an easy one, and trying to cut your arm off could be exhausting. He started searching his workbench for something to lock the cable housing down.
“What are you looking for?”
“I need to fix the base of one of the turbines.”
“Now?”
“It’s either that or watch one of my batteries explode, and they ain’t cheap.”
“I’ll help.”
“You can help by staying—”
“With you. That wind sounds fierce. I’m not letting you go out there alone.”
Bram picked up the appropriate tool, pocketed a handful of hardware, then beckoned Gael to follow him. Two had an easier time getting across the terrace—they were able to brace each other against the wind. Lightning arced overhead and the shield flashed and sizzled. Thunder rumbled underneath it all. With Gael’s help, Bram got the cover secured, and they started back toward the garage. They were halfway there when the shield lit up with a sudden eerie glow. Then the sky hissed—or the shield did, sputtering between them and the howling storm. Gael said something, probably asked a question, but the wind snatched his words away. Bram gestured toward the garage.
Bram had become so used to leaning into the wind that when the outer garage door finally sealed, he had to reach for the wall or fall down.
Gael slumped to the floor next to him. “I . . .” He lifted his hands, which were shaking. “How often do you have storms like this?”
“This is a pretty bad one. It’s the wind. If there’s this much wind, you know the storm is going to be bad.” Idly, he wondered if the wind might have knocked some of his sensors loose. Another thing to add to the to-do list.
“What was that hissing sound?” Gael asked.
“That was mist coming up out of the crevasse.”
“That’s not good, is it?”
“No.”
“Will the shield hold?”
“So long as I have enough juice in the batteries.” And he needed to check them now.
Gael pushed to his feet. “I’m coming with you.”
“I’m not going outside again.”
“Okay.” Gael moved to his side and jerked his chin up, as if to say, Let’s go.
The batteries were stored in a large cavern behind the workshop. Bram called the space Power Central as all of his pumps and power cables terminated here. Water tanks lined the inside wall, and the batteries sat behind a protective shield in an alcove on the opposite side. The middle of the cavern was filled with the primary plumbing and electrical systems that sent power and water to every corner of his farm.
Gael stood in the doorway, mouth open, eyes wide. “This wasn’t on the tour.”
“I keep the door sealed.” It was one of the few internal rooms with a proper hatch. “It’s not a safe place for Aavi to accidently wander into.”
One of his batteries was dead. Another battery was on the verge of failure, and that was the source of the fluctuating readings. A loose cable had caused a short somewhere in the converter. Bram disconnected it. The rest of the pack should be able to handle the current load. He had learned early to build redundancy into every system.
If the storm didn’t worsen, they’d survive the night.
“Are we going to be okay?” Gael asked.
“We’ll be fine. If the shield fails, I’ll lose this crop, though.” Which would put a serious dent in their future. “But we’ll be fine in here.”
“Will the shield fail?”
Bram shook his head. “Not tonight.” Was he reassuring Gael or himself?
“But your crops—”
“I’d get by, Gael. I always have.” Bram offered a quick smile that felt somewhat pasted on. “I think that’s something we have in common.”
Gael didn’t answer, but his short nod said enough.
While Gael went to check on Aavi, Bram took a moment to collect himself. After putting away his tools, he braced his hands to either side of the workshop bench and let his chin drop toward his chest.
Mining Alkirak had been stressful at times, especially in the early days—over ten years ago, when the atmosphere had been even less stable. Nearly nonexistent, really, except for a thin band in the vicinity of Landing. Bram remembered that squeeze against his lungs when he’d walked the road to the upper terrace, and how the other miners had made a game of who would reach for the rebreather first. He felt like that now, except the burn in his chest was more than prelude to starving his lungs.
What Aavi had revealed saddened him, but it also frightened him. Had him reconsidering his decision to invite a virtual stranger into his home. And yet . . . And yet. He couldn’t turn either of them out now. Not Aavi and not Gael. They both so obviously needed someone. Wanted to be a part of something like this. The easy way they had settled and their enthusiasm for whatever task he set them. Gael’s willingness to help him secure the power system in the middle of a storm. Already they fit, and Bram liked having them here. Barely two weeks and he could see where this might lead—and that made him happy, even as he stood exhausted and gasping.
He couldn’t send them away, but he could make discreet inquiries into Aavi’s story. Could he trust Orfeo not to twist any information given him, pack it into a brick, and hold it over his head?
They’d been the best of friends once, and he had no one else to ask.
A resounding boom echoed through the cliff. Bram pushed away from the bench and started down the ramp toward the living quarters. The kitchen was empty when he got there. Gael slipped out of the corridor that led to the sleeping quarters a moment later and went straight to the table, where he started clearing away the first-aid supplies.
“Aavi is still sleeping,” he said, wincing as thunder cracked over their heads.
Nodding, Bram helped, picking up the torn and bloodied remains of his shirt.
“I can clean that, use the leftovers for rags,” Gael said.
Bram found a smile for that.
“I can pay for the derm patches too. Replace them? I don’t know how much Maia—”
“Stop.”
“We owe you so much already.”
Sighing, Bram pulled out a chair and sat. He folded his arms across the table and considered letting his head sink down into the inviting nest they made. Hiding from a problem never solved it, though. Outside, thunder roared again, and Bram took comfort from the fact that a storm had never breached his home. He’d tunneled deep and built solid. This complex was his haven.
Gael sat opposite and the quiet rising between them wasn’t the comfortable variety Bram had become used to. He could hear Gael’s legs moving. Hear him breathing, fidgeting.
“I wish you hadn’t thrown that bracelet away,” he said gently.
“I panicked. Do you think they could trace her here?”
“It’s unlikely. If it was a regular Band, the signal would have disappeared somewhere inside Zhemosen Orbital. If they had someone on station, they could have followed her onto a ship, I suppose. But we aren’t expecting another outside freight run out here for months. And, honestly, foll
owing someone across the galaxy just isn’t practical.” Bram straightened in his chair, pulling his arms back from the table. “If anything, there might be a contract out for her. Some sort of find and return.”
Gael’s throat moved as he swallowed. “Like a bounty?”
“What really happened on Zhemosen, Gael?”
“It was like she said. She saw me and attached herself to my side.”
“Why did you advertise on Heart Companions?”
“To get out.”
“I figured that much from your HV. You didn’t so much seem like someone looking for a heart match as someone looking for a new life.”
“Then why’d you pick me?”
Bram shrugged. He couldn’t say it was because he thought Gael was beautiful. Or that the hesitancy of his smile was somehow special. Those were personal things. “You seemed the most genuine.”
Gael’s laugh was bitter. “I was.”
Bram pushed up from the table. “I’m going to make tea. Want some?”
“I can make it.”
“Sit. I didn’t ship you all the way out here to wait on me.”
“What did you ship me out here for?”
Bram didn’t answer, and the question burned the back of his neck as he performed the mundane task of making the tea. He selected an herbal blend, his favorite, and spooned desiccated leaves, fruit peel, and flower heads into the diffusing chamber at the center of a battered metal pot. He could program the beverage machine, but he preferred to make tea the old-fashioned way. Leaves and hot water. Sometimes the process of a thing was as important as the result.
He reached toward the shelf of mugs and stopped as a hand touched his shoulder. Warm breath ghosted across the cooling skin at the back of his neck, reigniting his blush. Bram let his fingers catch on the edge of the shelf and rest there, and tipped his head forward. Gael moved closer, the heat of his body evident now as he leaned in.
Lips met the back of his neck in a soft kiss. A small quake shifted the muscles beneath Bram’s skin, his body making ready to turn. He held still a moment longer before following another long-held urge, turning slowly—so slowly—until they were face to face. Well, until his mouth was level with Gael’s forehead. Bram pressed a kiss there, one as gentle as the touch of lips to the back of his neck.
“I didn’t bring you out here for this, either,” he murmured.
“Yes, you did.”
Bram took hold of Gael’s slim shoulders. “Not just this.” And not like this.
In answer, Gael lifted his face, offering up his mouth. Bram’s resolve lasted about a second longer than he thought it might before he bent to taste those lips. They’d been interrupted twice now. No longer.
Gael’s lips were so soft, melting beneath his, opening—though Bram didn’t take the invitation right away. He kissed both lips, together and separately. He tasted them, the scent of Gael mingling with the bitter tang of the outside air. Gael made a small sound: a whimper or a moan. Bram deepened the kiss, still resisting the temptation of Gael’s tongue. He didn’t want to fall all in, lose himself.
Then he was there, falling, his lips and hands operating independently of thought. He craved the warmth of Gael’s skin and wanted to compare it to the feel of his tongue. See if he moved the same way—gently, teasingly. Gael seemed as wrapped up in the kiss as Bram. He shifted, constantly, swaying into Bram, hooking his hands into the back pockets of Bram’s work pants.
Blood shot south to pulse in his cock, leaving Bram in that almost-forgotten state of arousal—somewhere between thought and thoughtlessness. He teetered there, reveling in the anticipation, and let his imagination roam. Oh, to touch Gael’s skin, to taste him. To hear the sounds he’d make when aroused, when brought to climax, when drifting in the aftermath. Would he be loud? Would he be shy and sweet?
A soft click sounded behind him. The tea. Blinking as though roused from a dream, Bram pulled back. Gael leaned in immediately, following him. He kissed Bram’s neck and ground his hips forward. Bram tugged Gael’s hands from his pockets, regret making his movements clumsy.
Gael tipped his head back. “What are you doing?”
“The tea is ready.”
One long, slow blink. “What?”
“The tea.” Bram was still holding Gael’s hands, and stupidly, he didn’t want to let go. But he did so he could turn and collect the mugs. Pick up the pot.
“Did I do something wrong?”
“No.”
“Then why did we stop?”
Bram had to consider his answer because he didn’t really know, not in a way he could express in words. It would have been so easy to keep going. To have had something fast and dirty in the kitchen, or to have picked Gael up and carried him to the bedroom.
Gael followed him into the HV room and sat beside him on the couch. Waited quietly while Bram poured the tea and handed over one of the mugs. Picking up the other mug, Bram thought a little more. Wrapped his fingers around the warm composite of ceramic and plastic and searched for just the right words.
“We’ve got time.” Bram raised the mug to his lips, but decided the tea was still too hot to take a sip. “Doesn’t all have to happen in one night.”
Gael’s eyebrows drew down.
“I’m not sending you away, Gael. I don’t want your money, and Aavi is welcome to stay too. So we’ve got time.”
The tentative hope in Gael’s eyes was heartbreaking. Bram almost leaned in to seal it with a kiss. But he held still, again, keeping to his side of the couch. Giving in would be too easy—and Bram couldn’t shake the notion that if he took Gael to his bed too soon he might damage something. He might lose the tenuous grasp he had on this man’s affections. And that was not what he’d brought him all the way out here for.
None of this had gone as expected, but right now, in this moment, they were moving in the right direction.
He blew across the top of his mug and watched the steam billow outward. Gael did the same. The moment stretched thin and then widened beneath the sound of the storm and the quiet scent of old flowers and leaves.
“I like the storms,” Bram murmured quietly. “They remind me of home.”
“The commune?”
“Mmm. I didn’t say much about it in my HVs because a lot of folk think it’s weird. But I’m guessing you and Aavi would rather have had two dads and three moms than none at all.”
“Two and . . . Seriously?”
For all he wanted to know about Gael’s past, Bram hadn’t shared much of his own. Setting his mug aside, he started somewhere in the middle, when he’d been about Aavi’s age, and told Gael what it had been like to be one of fifteen kids and why he’d decided life in the commune wasn’t for him—the fact he liked men, and only men, being a big factor there—and how he’d been a miner for thirty years before deciding colony life was for him.
His throat was dry by the time he got to that part, his tea a distant memory. Bram generally didn’t like the sound of his own voice. He’d rather others talked. His reward was plain, though. Gael relaxing. Gael smiling. Gael sharing his own small stories.
Thoughts of slavery and runaways a dim memory.
Even as the storm faded, leaving an echo of earlier want in Bram’s mind—the question of what Gael would feel like beneath him, over him; what he sounded like when he came—Bram knew he’d made the right choice. Sex would have changed their relationship, but by holding off, by sharing something other of himself, he’d strengthened their connection—something Bram craved just as much as sex.
No one else would get it, least of all the guys he didn’t know how to flirt with at Maia’s, but Bram was satisfied. How could he not be? Gael was smiling.
Landing seemed to spring out of the side of the crevasse, the two large terraces of the town flanked by multiple shelves above and below. After the quiet solitude of Bram’s farm, Alkirak’s only town appeared large and prosperous, and it was only with some effort that Gael managed to stretch his mind around the fact that Zhe
mosen was much larger than this. Maybe a thousand times larger. Bigger than that.
In only four weeks, his idea of space had widened or shrunk or—
“Are we there yet?” Aavi was pressing herself to the side window. Her excitement seemed to equal Gael’s. He liked being hidden away, but a part of him looked forward to seeing a color other than varying shades of umber and dust, and hearing a sound outside the wind. To being a part of the human race instead of one of three lonely survivors at the end of the universe.
“Just about, sweetheart,” Bram called over his shoulder.
Aavi bounced and Gael grinned, resisting the urge to cover his smile with a hand. He was allowed to be happy, wasn’t he?
The town itself bulged out of the cliff wall and spread across the wide plateaus of two terraces like spilled pebbles. Large, rocky pebbles all rolled together. It took a while for Gael to figure out that the buildings had been designed that way—carved out of the rock of the cliffs, shaped for their environment. As a veteran survivor of two Alkirak storms, he could imagine the fiercest wind flowing over and around the buildings as though brushing past a natural feature in the landscape.
“Why didn’t you build like this?” he asked Bram.
“Outside? I wanted to use as much of my terrace for farming as possible.”
“Ah.”
Bram directed the rover into a tunnel that bored down through the rock at a steep angle before opening out onto the lower terrace. Closer, the town seemed more chaotic, the cluster of buildings random and somewhat ghostly. No holographic signs twisted over the entrances. Most of the rounded buildings had windows, but all were darkened. Gael glanced up. The sun was just cresting the far side of the crevasse. Landing was wider than Henderson. Deeper too.
They parked behind the largest of the buildings, next to a dusty rover equipped with four trailers. “Looks like a caterpillar,” Aavi remarked.