by Ginger Booth
The boy explained to his physicist dad how to program noodles to extrude in helix and split nautilus shapes. Teke looked amused, and asked flattering questions.
“…Sorry I screwed up Frazzie’s hair.”
Cope hadn’t been paying attention. “Got a picture?”
Ben handed over his comm, with a video of their daughter modeling cotton-candy puffball hair, and silly nails. Sock tried to slip into the picture, but got upstaged. Cope snorted, and handed back the tab. He returned his attention to the galley, wondering what this printer meant by ‘spicy.’ “Teke, maybe program it for ‘mild,’ not spicy.”
“Coward,” the physicist returned. “I’m kidding, Sock. Daddy’s right, most of them don’t like strong spices.”
Ben quipped, “Am I forgiven?”
Cope glanced at him. “For…? The hair? Nathan’s too law abiding by half. If it were me, the creche could shove it.”
“I think we did OK today,” Ben shared. “Sock and me.”
What do you want, a medal? “Ben, it’s supper. This isn’t about you.” Cope pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sorry. After supper, can you stick with Sock and Teke for the evening? My lawyers need these papers by morning.” Two nonsensical idioms from Earth in that statement – sunrise was 30 hours away, but ‘morning’ arrived in 12. And nobody wasted physical paper on documents. “Teke gets distracted.”
Teke demonstrated the tendency over dinner. One minute, he seemed to hang on every word as Sock confided how he dealt with a bully in his creche cohort. The next minute, Teke rose in mid-story and turned on the big dining hall computer display. In graphite on white, with occasional color accents, the screen filled with equations and sketched diagrams. This was apparently the center of a far larger virtual scratch space. He panned across to find a bit of open whiteboard and drew in the new equations.
Cope caught Sock around the waist before he could go join in.
“But I know algebra!” Socrates claimed mournfully.
“I do, too,” Cope assured him. “And that ain’t it. That stuff is way over my head, Sock.”
Ben studied the screen. “Mine too. Tensor…something?”
“Could be,” Cope replied. “It’s OK, Sock. Daddy Teke just gets an idea and has to work it through. He’s always working like that. So tell me how you got this boy to leave you alone. You hit him?”
Sock’s face crumpled. “No. I’d get in trouble.”
“That doesn’t feel good,” Cope allowed. At this age, he taught Nico to put up his fists and give as good as he got. Sock wasn’t the type. “So what do you do?”
Sock glanced at Teke, then shook his head and clambered back to his own chair. He applied himself to eating his helix and nautilus noodles. The nautilus form came out distressingly ear-sized, with the thick bits undercooked and chewy, making Cope think of cartilage. But the boy loved them, fresh from Teke’s praise for his fractal shape programming on the printer. His other dads munched the ears without comment.
Ben took a turn trying to draw Socrates out with a monosyllabic game of twenty questions. Meanwhile Cope attempted to divine the nature of Teke’s insight. The physicist had copied a block of equations from another section of the seemingly infinite worksheet. He stood lost in thought, one hand to mouth, the other tracing his position through the forest of symbols. Comparing two possible conclusions? Cope couldn’t tell what the question was.
Socrates didn’t recognize the deep thought pose as an activity. He darted through the trees and tried to show off his algebra on a white corner.
Teke slapped his hand away sharply. “Don’t do that again!”
“Sock, come here,” Cope called. “You know better than to interrupt Dad while he’s working.” The child looked devastated. But he did know better. “If you’re finished eating, let’s clear the table.” He rose and collected both their place settings, and drew the boy into the kitchen.
Teke, his train of thought lost, jotted a note and closed the display. “Ben, a word.” He stalked out onto the catwalk above the hold.
“Teke, Sock didn’t mean anything by it,” Ben attempted, when he reached the catwalk railing beside the younger man. They stood on the far end by the ventilation fans where no one could eavesdrop. Only 17 when he stowed away on the Thrive to leave Denali behind, possibly forever, Teke was 29 now. Apparently he’d never taken the Yang-Yangs. He appeared barely younger than Cope these days, and older than Ben.
The physicist’s eyes widened in surprise. “Of course he didn’t. No, this is… You and I never talked about Sock. But now we’re living together again.” This hadn’t happened since Sock was born. Ben made sure of that. “I think you’ve got the wrong idea, about Cope and me, and the kid.”
Ben pursed his lips. “Go on.”
“Ben, you know I don’t get your whole Mahina mating thing. Most Denali don’t marry. Our family is our cohort. My cohort was polyamorous and bisexual, yes. I played around with all of them. You and Cope are my surrogate cohort, yes. So I get how you conclude that I had sex with your husband. Except I didn’t.”
“You what?”
Teke continued, soft-voiced. “Cope gave me this long… I don’t want to call it a lecture. He was very kind. But I got the idea that us having sex would be some kind of betrayal of your marriage. I thought we could at least celebrate conception day. But he said no. He couldn’t do that to you.” Teke’s expression betrayed exasperation.
“Did you tell him…?”
“That we – what do you call it?” Teke asked, arms crossed. He leaned back on the catwalk railing, oblivious to risk. He adored danger sports.
“Noodling,” Ben suggested. The two of them got drunk one night. He wouldn’t exactly call it cheating on Cope, though they were married at the time. They had an open relationship agreement, because he was away for months at a time. But he was fairly sure that didn’t extend to screwing with mutual friends. He and Teke crossed a line that night, but not the finish line.
“Noodle,” Teke echoed. He glanced to the captain’s crotch in amusement. “Harsh.”
Ben quirked a lip. “Idiom.” This was hard to take in. “Why did you ask Cope to have a child with you?”
“I didn’t. I submitted sperm to the gene crafters. I mentioned it to Cope. He decided to claim some and make Socrates.” Uncomfortable, Teke switched to face the rail, reeling himself in and out against it. “Look, this is between you two. I shouldn’t say anything, so I didn’t. But this is getting us nowhere.”
“You didn’t want Sock.”
“I didn’t not want Sock. I didn’t intend to raise a kid. Not interested. But I care about Cope. He’s family. I have nothing against the child.”
Ben’s entire worldview was turning upside down. Doggedly he repeated, “Did you tell him, about us…noodling?”
Teke shook his head, eyes hard. “No. Because from what he was saying, I figured that would hurt him. Look, that was 9 years ago. What I’m asking now, is for you to give it up. Let it go. I’d like to be friends again. If not that, at least don’t fight me over the kid. You want Sock, take him. You don’t want him, don’t push me away. He’s Cope’s son. Not mine.”
“You don’t want Cope,” Ben breathed, stunned.
“Didn’t say that,” Teke quibbled. “If I can have him, I will. Though not you. I don’t like how you hurt him. The whole thing seems hypocritical. No doubt this is another point of Mahina etiquette I missed. Because it’s foolish.”
“I – I don’t know what to say.”
“Sorry might work,” Teke suggested dryly.
“Right. Sorry.” Ben sourly recalled that there was a time when the grieving teen idolized him. Not a trace remained in the assured man before him.
Teke didn’t wait for more. He simply walked away back to the galley. Ben hung his head on his arms, braced on the steel railing.
Stupid! How could I be so stupid? He hadn’t even asked. He knew Teke didn’t see the treacherous web of social relationships the way his adopted Mahi
na family did. Yet Ben jumped to conclusions instead of asking questions.
And Cope didn’t say a word. Rego hell, Cope!
Because…? Ben feared he knew the answer to that, or at least the only answer Cope might offer. Because it didn’t matter. We were done, so why argue? Ben felt like a teddy bear with his sawdust stuffing leaking out. He thought he was in the right when he asked for the divorce years ago. He felt self-righteous. And he was ever so wrong.
Could that be fixed? He wasn’t sure what that might look like. Though he was fairly sure what his dad would advise him. Apologize because you owe it. If you expect a reward, you’re not doing it right.
Mortified, he straightened with resolve, and the intent to do the right thing right now. But as he turned toward the galley, Cope exited and hung an immediate left into officer country, with no more than an open hand for a dismissive wave.
“Daddy Ben?” Sock called across the hold. “Daddy has to work. Can you play with me?”
“Sure. I’m coming!” Ben attempted a cheerful smile, though it felt a bit warped. Now that Teke dropped out of his mental equation, there remained another unknown. If Teke didn’t initiate Socrates, then the child was wholly Cope’s idea. Ben hadn’t wanted another right then. He was in space all the time. He felt he wasn’t pulling his weight caring for baby Frazzie. And in truth, though he only ‘noodled’ with Teke, he didn’t hold back with other lovers. Their long-distance marriage was on the rocks. The upset over Teke and Sock was the last straw.
Set that aside. Be here now, he ordered himself.
“How about EVA?” Teke suggested, rejoining his boy above the hold.
“Veto!” Ben returned with quasi-cheer. “Children aren’t allowed to alter their gravity, Teke. Sock only goes off-grav in a grownup’s arms.”
“I can hold him.”
“Not the point,” Ben insisted. “Wrong game.”
After a couple hours of awkward bonding with the second-string dads, the child started to droop, and Teke bedded him down in Cope’s cabin. He stayed to work in there while Sock slept.
All in all, Ben awarded himself a subzero grade for his weekend progress at bonding with family.
52
From a deep sleep, Ben’s eyes opened on his dark cabin in the middle of the night. He stilled to listen to the noise that roused him. That was the hydraulic system for the cargo trapdoor. At 02:20?
He tarried to pull on work pants, replete with tool loops and big pockets, then headed for the cargo hold at a trot. He paused at the catwalk railing. Cope stood at the lectern-shaped engineering console below. He closed the sliding floor gates. A pallet bearing an enormous wooden crate stood within.
Thoughtfully, Ben switched his grav and hopped down to the cargo floor and strode toward the crate. His friendly wave toward Cope went unanswered. So he examined the box. Unsurprising for an off-hours delivery, the crate supplied no bill of lading. Great, the black market ops begin. No wonder his ex wasn’t happy to see Sock on board tonight.
“Open it,” Cope invited. He completed a communication with a delivery team outside, then stepped toward him.
In the meantime, Ben fetched a crowbar from his cargo-handling closet. He jammed it in under the lid and started prying.
“Hey, gently!” a man objected from within.
“Wimp,” another voice opined.
Both sounded familiar, but the second man Ben could readily identify. His was the first Denali voice he’d ever encountered, the hunter who coaxed them in for a landing on the distant planet. “Zan?”
“And Hunter Burke,” Cope agreed. He regarded Ben’s crowbar technique with a slightly pained brow. “May I?”
Ben stepped back. With a yank and a screech of splintering spruce, Cope pried the lid off the crate. They both offered a hand to haul the men within to their feet, and started pulling out the luggage stowed with them. A generous couple bottom layers appeared to be protein printer stock. The guys were cramped in there.
“Dramatic entry,” the captain noted. “Welcome aboard. Cope, it is customary for the captain to be informed.”
“Then it wouldn’t be a secret.” Cope grinned crookedly. “That’s our complement for takeoff. Probably.”
“Takeoff?” Ben echoed.
“I meet with lawyers in the morning,” Cope clarified. “As soon after noon as possible.”
“Not really what I was asking,” Ben noted. “So soon?”
“Teke and Zan had a run-in with Spaceways’ buyers a few nights ago,” Cope evaded. “Ring Ventures. And Hunter is under surveillance for opposition to the new government. Kassidy, too. Going ASAP would be good.”
“Elaborate ‘run-in,’” Ben requested.
“No one died,” Cope elaborated. “Goons heal. Hunter, you can play first mate. Your cabin is the last right before the bridge. Zan, security. You might as well take your old bunk in back. Equivalent, anyway.” Zan lived 5 months on Thrive on the return voyage from Denali.
“Awesome,” the politician acknowledged. He’d never been off-moon in his life. If politics were fair, he would be leading Mahina now. “What does a first mate do for a living?”
Ben sighed loudly. “Gets us ready for departure.” He attempted to extract his comm tab, but he hadn’t transferred it to this pair of pants.
“Top up the water,” Cope prompted, consulting his own tab. “A full recharge kit for the auto-doc. Four containers, extra strong. One of them full of printer stock, half each steel and protein. The rest empty. No, one more full of protein stock for sale. But Hunter can’t talk to suppliers. He’s in hiding. And I’ve got lawyers.” He forwarded the shopping list, presumably to Ben.
“I prefer to be consulted,” Ben reiterated.
“Duly noted. Let’s get some sleep.”
Ben grabbed one of Hunter’s backpacks to carry, then turned and glanced up. Every member of the crew, plus Teke and Sock, watched from the catwalk by now. He wasn’t the only one awakened by strange noises in the night. Sock and Teke retreated first, into Cope’s cabin. Zan was swallowed into a Thrive reunion by Eli, Kassidy, and Quire toward the back of the ship.
“This is our whole crew?” Ben inquired before Cope could escape. Key skill sets appeared to be lacking.
“We’ll pick up Wilder from the orbital. Abel and Jules aren’t invited.” He headed for officer country, Ben alongside him.
“Right. I planned to help my father move to Schuyler today, Cope.”
His ex pursed his lips in misgiving. He had no qualms about blindsiding Ben, but inconveniencing Nathan was an issue. Bastard. “Oh, I know.” He took out his tab and sent a short flurry of messages. “Handled.”
“You dispatched goons to Poldark?”
“I sent Nathan your regrets, and the guys who helped us move out of the mansion on Dusk. And our handlers here at the spaceport. They’re trustworthy and need work. I’ll take Sock to school in the morning. Good night.”
And with that the engineer slipped into his cabin. Teke and Sock were already wrapped in blankets again on the bed. Ben couldn’t help wondering if Teke’s little aside earlier amounted to fair warning that he would claim Cope if he could. The captain trusted that wasn’t an active concern with Socrates sharing the bed.
“I can carry that,” Hunter prompted, waiting a few steps farther up the corridor. He reached for his backpack, hanging forgotten in Ben’s hands.
The so-called captain quickened his steps and ushered Hunter into his new cabin. Willow left sheets on the bed, and a towel in the bath. The linens were Spaceways standard issue. “Galley’s always open. Clean up after yourself. No housekeeper. I guess you figure out how that’ll work.”
The politician smirked. “I’ll consult with you. When we’re awake.”
“Good thought. Get some sleep.”
As he closed his door to sleep alone, Ben reached the conviction that he needed to wrest back control of his ship and his destiny. His family would take longer. They liked his ex better.
Around 10:00, afte
r a tearful goodbye with Socrates, Ben was battening down the cargo hold with Kassidy when someone started banging on the ramp door.
Ben checked the door cameras. That trio looked like Security forces. The navy blue uniforms now matched moon-wide, including urb and Schuyler city police. Light armor and stun batons completed their ensemble. Prosper’s muscle was Zan, who was in hiding.
“All hands,” he announced over the ship-wide speakers. “We may be boarded by security. If you’re hiding, take cover.” He let off the ship address button, and jerked his chin for Kassidy to head upstairs. He doubted anyone would arrest her, but her presence would surely add unnecessary drama.
“This is Captain Benjamin Acosta,” he hailed the cops without opening the door. “Please state your business.”
“Captain, we’re told you intend to take off at noon. Without much in the way of cargo. What’s the hurry?”
Ben thought fast. “Personal trip. My ex-husband and I are attempting reconciliation.” Cope was off-ship meeting with his lawyers.
“You laid off your crew.”
“The company is experiencing a cash flow bottleneck.”
“Captain, open this door for inspection.”
“What exactly are you inspecting for?”
“Contraband. Fugitives.”
“I’ll have to ask for a warrant,” Ben demanded.
In a few moments, his phone beeped him. Of course they had a warrant on tap. Their favorite judge probably granted them a weekly allowance. Teke, Hunter, and Zan were listed as persons of interest. “That ought to be illegal,” he muttered, and hoped his stowaways had time to hide well.
Ben thumped the release with the back of his fist. Cops scattered below rather than get brained by the heavy ramp. He strode out onto the still-descending ramp, arms crossed. “They’re not here. And you have no reason to search my ship. I’ve done nothing wrong.” Yet. Doubtless Cope’s plans for the day would amend that oversight.
“We’ll see about that!” the lead female cop barked menacingly. Flom, her name tag supplied. She charged up the ramp before it touched ground, her male minions trailing in a V. All three gripped stun batons in their hands.