by Ginger Booth
“Our daughter has terrifying taste in clothes,” Ben confided. “I called Clay to come save me. He found an emergency tailor to salvage this jacket from my closet. Didn’t fit me any more. I lost weight this summer. The jeans and T are new.”
Cope reached to finger the fabric, and peered closer. Ben wore subtle eyeliner, and his complexion was a tad too clear to be true. His lips looked sexier somehow, though not lipstick.
Apparently his gaze lingered too long. Ben traced his lower lip with a finger self-consciously. “Lip pencil. Frazzie worked hard on the makeup. I thought it looked kinda good.”
“You look fantastic!” Cope encouraged. “Can’t tell you how relieved I am.”
They both chuckled. “You look great, too,” Ben assured him.
Cope gave a self-mocking turn of his own. He wore a casual suit over his usual steel-toed cowboy boots. He dressed it down with a maroon T-shirt. His waistband too offered a few spare centimeters after the grueling Denali summer. Maybe I should check out that tailor.
He reached to pull out a chair for his husband.
“No.” Ben knocked Cope’s hand off the chair back and sat for himself. “Thank you, that was illuminating. I have examined my frill question, and find it foolish. I’m a guy. I like being a guy. And the way your face lit up!”
“Hell yeah. Because I fell in love with a guy. But I mean, I love you, whoever you are.” His ex-wife had turned into someone else, one he couldn’t love. Don’t bring up Delilah.
Ben smiled. “This is elegant. For take-out. Oh, my prince! Aloha three-world ramen! And water. Good choice.”
“There’s wine if we need it to relax. And don’t mind falling asleep on the couch.”
“Water is smart.”
They dug in. Ben started to say something, then thought better of it. Cope beseeched himself to think of something romantic. Their love was born while reading technical manuals in their bunks on Thrive One, or shooting the breeze in the testosterone-hued crew bathroom. Romantic wasn’t their strong suit.
“Had a flashback today,” Ben offered. Cope tensed. “Toga Day. Cortez needed an auto-doc refill. I went EVA to get it.”
Toga Day would long live in infamy. But Cope’s only memory of the EVA event featured Wilder poking him awake on the bridge until the baby officer returned aboard. They chose not to disturb Sass while she mourned Clay, temporarily dead. “Was I conscious?”
“Not very. You were sweet, though. Worried I was too terrified. You offered to go instead. If only you could stand.” He flashed a teasing smile.
“Flashback?”
“Oh, I tried on a sari. Took one look in the mirror and said, ‘Toga Day!’ Heart pounding, hands sweating. The feelings are so vivid.” He rubbed his fingers thoughtfully against his palm.
Cope took a puzzled sip of water. “Saying ‘Toga Day’ is enough to set me off.”
“But do you feel it again? Like you did then? Heart racing?”
“Bit of a thump.” He frowned in question. “Twenty years. The trauma’s worn down. Mostly. Necrotic bakkra can still get me going.”
Ben recoiled. “Urk. My point was, I could really feel it. You know?”
“Not really.”
“I enjoy being nanite-free. I never realized how Yang-Yangs changed me. Hell, that knee-jerk ‘frill’ thing, was that a nanite side effect? Who am I really without these microcopic –”
“Nanoscopic.”
“Small robots teeming through my veins. Maybe I’m not a hot-shot. Maybe I’d have gone for a master’s in business. Quit space because it was scary out there.”
“You regret Spaceways?”
Ben slapped the table. “Of course not! But if I was really this scared all along, what does that mean?”
“OK. What does that mean?”
“I don’t know! That’s my point!”
“Hunh.” Cope decided the better part of valor was to focus on his wiener schnitzel and fries. His space captain husband wondering whether he belonged in space invited comparison to his final days with Delilah before she nearly killed the baby. Don’t mention Del! He swallowed uneasily. Two spouses in a row going mental worried him. Did he drive them crazy? No, tonight he wanted to ask Ben to let him in.
“Ben –”
“Cope –”
“You first.”
Ben breathed in deep and launched into it. “I’ve been dishonest with you.”
The engineer tensed.
“We have five children. That I know of. Surprise!”
Cope felt the heat of anger begin to rise in his gut. He hadn’t consulted Ben before creating Sock. Revenge? “The more the merrier,” he gritted out. “Who did you collaborate with, dear?”
“I had nothing to do with it. You know how we joke that Sock’s friend Aristotle could be his twin?”
“Yeah.” Cope didn’t get it.
“You know when the kids were little, and they asked about sex? You don’t tell them more than they want to know.”
“Yeah?”
Ben sighed. “Ari is Sock’s twin. And there’s another, a cross between Teke and me. A boy named Texan. He’s twelve. Frazzie should be insulted.”
Cope eagerly seized the thread that didn’t leave him reeling. “Why would Frazzie be insulted? I’m outraged!”
“They’re all boys! Like our daughter isn’t good enough? She’s developing a complex about how brilliant her brothers are. While she’s got a great job at Sin City Hardware.”
“She’s less focused than the boys. Except on boys.”
“She takes after me,” Ben corrected him. “Curious about everything.”
“Delilah worked at Sin City. Custom kitchen cabinets.”
“You mentioned. Let’s neither of us tell Frazzie. While you’re helping her make cabinets this week. Romantic dinner, Cope. Nobody invited your ex-wife.”
“Fine. I’ll wring Teke’s neck.”
“Happy thought,” Ben agreed. “Sorry, it just…came up.”
They both scowled at their delicious dinners.
Ben asked, “What were you gonna say?”
Cope knew he probably ought to cool off. But he spoke anyway. “You keep pushing me away! I’m trying to help, be with you, vacation, relax. Support you. But you bounce off the walls like a ping pong ball.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sorry. Two more kids. Really?”
“You always wanted more. We could wring Teke’s neck together. Pounding those Denali together was cathartic. The auto-doc after kinda broke the mood.”
“And the bank. Two hundred credits for your auto-doc. Do you have an appointment to fix your nanites yet?”
“My body. My choice. Back off.”
“Back off? You nearly died, Ben. I care. But that’s all you tell me. To back off!”
Ben crossed one leg over the other. He drummed a riff on the table with his fingers. “Is it? I seem to recall something about a son I haven’t met. Yours too!”
Cope scrubbed his forehead. “Right. Damn. I’ll call Teke tomorrow.”
“Rule of thumb. When you’re mad, wait three days. Don’t talk to anybody. Least of all Sock and Ari.” Ben toyed with his glass. “I am keeping something else from you. And that makes me squirrelly. But we’re doing a romantic evening.”
“That agenda’s shot to hell,” Cope observed. “We could talk shop. It’s safer.”
“Not entirely.”
“Out with it, Ben! Something to distract me from tearing Teke limb from limb.”
“I wish you’d get back to work.”
Cope stared at him. “You know all these months while you had no days off? Were you the only one working? No.”
“We need to fix Spaceways.”
“And two weeks vacation is too much to ask? Ben, you keep crying!”
“I’m ready for you to stop babying me!” Ben hollered, furious tears standing in his eyes. “And I haven’t cried all day. Until now.”
Cope blew out between pursed lips. “I need to walk it off. Punch a bag.” H
e rose and tried to walk away, then whirled. “I’m not babying you! With the shrink, what you said. Humiliated, scared. Ben, I’m on your team. When you’re humiliated in front of the world. If a crowd throws rotten tomatoes at you – I stand beside you!”
“Vivid image. Dripping tomato guts.”
“I give up.” This time he stalked toward the open French doors.
“I’m meeting Sass here tomorrow. Thursday I’m in Poldark with my father. He never sold our house.”
Cope stopped and dropped his chin. “Is that smart? Seeing Nathan?”
“My daddy loves me.”
Cope shot him a glower. “So do I! Damn you.”
7
“How are you feeling?” Sass gratefully accepted a tall glass of tea and the ice wand as Ben joined her in the Thrive mansion living room. Its French door wall stood open to a garden breeze, rich in the shade of adolescent fruit trees and the sweet smell of freshly mown green hay grass.
She searched his eyes kindly, no longer raccoon-like with dark rings of exhaustion. In fact, freshly edged hair framed polished skin with tight pores. She peered closer. “Is that makeup?”
He tipped his head to the back yard. “Daughter. I try to play mom with her when I’m home. Girl stuff, facials, whatever. I suck at it, but Cope’s even worse. He’s in the garage with her now, building cabinets for her flop.”
“That’s so sweet!” Sass encouraged. “And he doesn’t mind? Makeup?”
“He’d rather I didn’t.” Ben’s demeanor abruptly switched to captain mode. “Not really a social call. I’m trying to get back to business.”
“Are you sure?” He looked light years better, but Sass suspected a recovered Ben would have changed out of his slinky olive T-shirt and tight knee-length shorts for business. And he’d wash off the makeup.
He nodded tightly. “First, I need to apologize. I –”
“No apologies! I care about you. I’m kicking myself that I didn’t realize, didn’t take more of the load.”
“Thank you,” he mouthed, clearly moved. “Business. I’d like to ease in gently. So what are your dreams and visions, Sass? For the next few years. I know I promised I’d take you to Earth.” He licked his lip.
“Not before Denali is safe,” Sass hastened to assure him. “You can get right off that hook. No, I’m sticking with you.”
“I’m deeply grateful for that. Cope is, too.”
Sass and Clay weren’t Thrive Spaceways, neither employees nor investors. They owned their ship Thrive One. “We’re family, Ben. We won’t leave you in the lurch.”
“Thank you.” This time the words found voice. “What I’m trying to ask you so poorly, is what else you might be willing to help with, and when you see yourselves moving on. Or, might you be willing to join us – you’re certainly welcome! Spaceways needs to stop doing charity all the time. Abel, find profitable trade. Jules, I have no idea, but she always turns a profit somehow. We have one more transport from Sanctuary waiting, and then Loki. I promised the AI we’d bring him to the rings, too. And if we do that, we can probably get him to make fuel for us. And there’s Denali. Would you… I can’t face Denali again yet, Sass. And I have so much else to do. Would you be willing to direct the Denali evacuation?”
“Me! Oh.” Sass sat back and considered that. “I can’t do what you were doing.”
“Absolutely not,” Ben agreed. “Maximum half speed for the Denali winter months. The time pressure is off. They need a harvest this year. Fuel, and the Mahina reception, those aren’t your problem. You’d coordinate the schedule, ships, crews, maintenance, coach the other captains. Let the Denali handle their own ground game – their government is competent. Unlike ours.”
“Amen. And the gateway?” The BECT warp gateway, Teke and Cope’s brilliant invention, was a closely held Spaceways proprietary technology. Only Ben and Abel’s ships had it.
“We could either escort you at transit – warp as a service. Or we give Thrive One a gateway, and I train you. I favor the latter. But. You can’t bring it to Earth, Sass. And Cope and Abel would have to agree.”
Sass’s eyes widened. “That’s quite a payment.”
“With strings attached. I mean it. I won’t allow Earth to get their hands on that technology.”
She understood. He’d warped them into the Sol system on the way home from Sylvan, and gated them right back out again. That was low risk. The denizens of the home system couldn’t follow them back to Pono’s rings. Earth didn’t know where the colonists had gone. He meant to keep it that way until the colonies were a great deal stronger.
Sass shared, “I spoke to Zelda last week.” She was their atmosphere specialist, analyzing the data they’d collected on that brief stopover coming home from Sylvan.
“Oh, yeah?” He leaned forward in enthusiasm. “Is the air breathable? On Earth.”
“It’s not recovered,” Sass admitted. “Radiation’s still high.”
Ben spread a casual hand toward the back yard. Mahina’s radiation levels were toxic, too.
Sass conceded the point. “Exactly. We have the technology. Who knows, maybe Earth does too, by now.”
Ben cocked his head. “Earth had a population problem. Hard to do research when someone bashes your head in to steal your food.”
“Zelda couldn’t tell us the population. Still a few billion when I left. Surely hundreds of million left. I hope.”
“Fat lot we could do about it,” Ben murmured. “Three worlds in Aloha, half a million combined. Mahina’s groaning under thirty thousand new immigrants. I wouldn’t put it past Earth to send more. Remember how well that worked when a quarter million settlers swamped the urbs.”
He was idealistic once. She smiled at him sadly. “Not today’s problem. I’m glad to see you on the mend. What can we do to get you happy again?”
He gazed at her thoughtfully. “You know, I think I can do that the instant I choose.” He snapped his fingers. “Right now, what I want is Spaceways on a rational footing.”
“I’ll do it. Lead the Denali evacuation. Half the job you did.”
He half-rose to offer his hand to shake on it. She stood and pulled him to her for a bear hug. “Always, Ben. I’ve got your back. Like you’ve got mine.”
“Love you, Sass. Keep thinking about where you see yourself down the road, would you? After Denali. Let me know.”
After he showed her out, Sass wondered if she knew the answer. The notion of tackling Earth without the whole gang by her side was daunting, Ben most of all. If only she could find a way to reconcile his priorities with her heart’s desire.
8
“Thought you sold this place years ago, Dad!” Ben complained over the roar of the vacuum he used to dust the dentist’s old treatment room.
Ben hated his hometown. The longer he was gone, the more pathetic Poldark looked.
His father’s belongings were long gone, victim of the economic debacle six years back that bankrupted Thrive Spaceways last time, and propelled them to develop the warp gateway. Dad left to keep an eye on the grandkids while Cope and Ben were away in space for months. No dentist chair remained. Ben ruefully recalled wrangling it single-handedly into the truck for the old man. Heavy sucker.
“Best offer was five hundred credits,” Nathan Acosta replied, scratching his jaw. “Decided to wait, maybe demand would look up.”
Demand certainly delivered this year. By Ben’s calculations, a quarter of the moon’s residents were no longer Mahinan, but rather Denali, Saggies, paddies, and Sanks.
His dad was apparently thinking along the same lines. “By the time you’re done with Denali, will we be a minority? Settlers?”
Ben toed off the roaring vacuum and pulled his comm to run the numbers. “No. Settlers will be half the population. Plus the urbs, native Mahinans will be two thirds.”
“Sure don’t feel like it sometimes,” Nathan grumped. He automatically corrected his grammar. “Doesn’t.”
Ben laughed softly.
“Wh
at.”
“Just, I never told you how much I appreciate that, Dad. Growing up here, surrounded by imbeciles. You made sure my grammar was flawless.” He brandished his comm. “And I know my numbers. Not many parents – Hello. That them?”
“‘Is that them?’ and hell if I know.” Nathan waved and called out to a quartet of Denali peering in the storefront windows, hands against the glass to block the Thursday glare. “You the ones looking to buy my place?”
Hairless and gravity-shortened, skin golden-tan compared to Mahina’s cooler palette, the Denali filed through the door, ringing the cowbell Ben and Nathan left behind. The sound of home carried negative sentimental value. Ben wondered idly why his dad never thought to lock the door at suppertime.
Not that anyone used locks in Poldark. The sign by the market field claimed population 3,000. Maybe now it was true. But it sure wasn’t when Ben lived here. One time he carried out a census, and came up with 1900. Later people fled these small towns to seek better jobs in the city, to earn their nanites or pay for creche care for their kids.
He steepled his fingers Denali-fashion to nod at the newcomers, one woman and three men, somewhere near his own age of forty. Unlike him, they looked their age. His dad compressed his lips and stuck out a hand to shake with the man closest.
The guy, sunburnt to a crisp, eyed the hand and retreated. Another, wearing an unbuttoned shirt, returned Ben’s gesture and spoke to him, not Nathan. “We hope to claim this building.”
Ben pointed helpfully. “My dad’s place. Dr. Nathan Acosta. I’m Ben.”
“What do you mean, claim?” Nathan drew himself up to his full stretch height, well north of two meters, and folded his arms aggressively. “The house is for sale.”
“We cannot buy it. We can pay rent.”
“Aw, for pity’s sake! No! Hell, I wouldn’t have come out here if I knew that!”
“But every house in Poldark is full! Except this one, standing empty!”
Ben stuck a hand between his dad and the irate Denali ringleader. “I’m Ben. He’s Nathan. You are?”
“Tovik.” He identified his companions. “We have little money. We live in a tent. We have jobs on the farms. This is the last housing in Poldark. If you had a sane government, they would assign it to us. But no! We’re on Mahina! Where nothing makes sense!”