After hydroponics, Pendt found herself drawn to the second arm of the station: the habitations.
The Brannick family lived in the “lowest” part of that branch, which is to say, closest to the colonnade and operations. Pendt was glad of this when she was summoned to the Net at all hours of the day, but she enjoyed exploring further. As the apartments got further from the colonnade, they got smaller, but there was no truly bad section to live in. It was merely assumed that those families with children would want to be closer to the schools and other amenities offered on the station proper.
Pendt loved the corridors the most. Families decorated their doors to differentiate their apartments from their neighbours’. Names and family sigils, along with flowers or legendary animals twined along the edges of each door, painted in bright colours. Some sections of the corridors were decorated completely to a single theme, and the themes changed depending on the days.
The corridors were divided by ladders and lifts for freight, and Pendt preferred to climb. It occurred to her on more than one occasion that the station’s sense of direction was outdated. It would make much more sense if down was on the wall. But she appreciated the impracticality of it even more. Like a plant in her greenhouse, Brannick Station had grown and adapted, and its inhabitants had done the same.
There were small bowls outside the doors of many of the apartments. Pendt had seen similar setups in shops on the colonnade, and one of the techs in operations always had a water bowl underneath their desk. The inhabitants of Brannick Station kept the bargain of cats, offering water to the creatures who roamed the station and hunted vermin. They must feed them too, Pendt realized, since the environmental controls took care of most of the station’s infestations. It was another sign that station life was different, and Pendt liked it. For the first time, being similar to a cat didn’t bother her. She had a bargain too.
And then there was Fisher.
Pendt didn’t spend all of her time thinking about him—that would be ridiculous—but when her thoughts drifted, more often than not, they landed on him. She had plenty to occupy her, between her plants and the Net and her changing physical form, but sometimes she had moments of quiet, and then she remembered him.
It wasn’t like the way she thought about other people. Her family stirred up feelings of resentment and anger, and a sort of sadness she didn’t enjoy. Thoughts of Ned made her worried and helpless. Thinking about the people she was meeting every day on Brannick Station made her feel welcome and at home, which she delighted in. But thinking about Fisher was something else.
First and foremost, there was the complication of being married to his brother. She and Ned had an understanding, of course, and Fisher was very well aware of it, but even leaving the legality of everything aside, Pendt knew that a wedding meant something to the Brannick boys that it didn’t mean to her. She wanted to respect that as much as possible, but sometimes the light fell on Fisher’s hair, or she caught the line of his shoulders and . . . well, she hardly knew what to call it.
Pendt knew that Fisher cared about her. Respected her. Valued her. All three of those things were new—except for value, but even that was different from the way Arkady had valued her—and Pendt was adjusting to them. She didn’t want to read anything into his treatment of her, just because he was being nice. Yet the pages of the books that Ned left behind guided her mind down new and exhilarating paths, and she worried that she was starting to develop an imagination in spite of her best efforts.
The easiest thing would have been to talk to Fisher, of course, but Pendt wasn’t quite there yet. She liked having her mind to herself. She liked the way her thoughts spilled over themselves, concocting increasingly unlikely scenario after increasingly unlikely scenario. She’d never had this sort of time to herself before, and she was hesitant to share it before she had finished wallowing in it.
So she didn’t. She spoke to Fisher all the time, of course. It was impossible not to. They lived together and worked together, and Pendt tried not to read between the lines of his everyday conversation. But he was good to her. And he didn’t have to be. And she didn’t know if that meant anything.
And it was driving her insane.
After a few days of thinking about it (and nearly ruining half an acre of sunflowers through inattention), Pendt arrived at the only conclusion she could. She was a spacer, new to staying in one place. She was still adjusting. Fisher knew that. They were getting used to each other, both at home and in terms of running the station. Fisher was learning how to live without the constant support of his family. Pendt was learning how to live without the constant fear of hers. They had a lot of things to get through, and even if Pendt had a rough idea of where she was hoping they would end up, she had to wait until Fisher was ready. She was the station, this time, and he was the long-haul ship. He’d arrive when he arrived, and she could guide him into port.
More than that, she understood that he might be slow to decide. His whole life had rerouted, and even though he was getting most of what he wanted, it was still an adjustment. And it was a permanent arrangement. They had to live with each other at least until Pendt gave birth, which she was in no hurry to do. If he was going to be cautious about how he treated her, she could respect that. There was nowhere else either of them wanted to go.
In the meantime, Pendt had a friend. Ned was her friend as well, of course, but he was gone. Dulcie was more of a mentor, and the other people Pendt had met on the station were too new for her to trust completely yet. Fisher was different. He had welcomed her and plotted with her and helped her steal herself from the Harland. That was friendship, and Pendt was happy for it, even if there were times at night when she rolled over and was sad to remember that she was alone. She did everything she could to make Fisher’s life as easy as he was making hers, from learning his favourite foods to practicing that stupid video game until she was kind of passable at it.
She’d served her family and her ship for her entire life, and it had never felt like this. This was reciprocation. This was joy. This was good work well done and effort appreciated. Pendt learned to receive as well as give and found that each of them was made better by the other. And at the centre of everything was Fisher. As her world got bigger and more complicated, he stayed unmovable and solid. And she wanted nothing more than to make sure they had each other forever.
It was the bargain of cats, and she was patient. All she had to do was wait for Fisher to put out the bowl.
19.
“WHAT’S IT LIKE, USING the Net?” Fisher asked.
Pendt considered her answer. She set her book down on the sofa and turned to face Fisher, who was sitting at the other end. She crossed her legs underneath her and leaned against the cushions along the back for support. Softness was still something she was getting used to, and the sofa cushions were particularly nice. Fisher set his datapad down and mirrored the way she sat.
“It’s different from using the æther on my own,” she said. “I don’t change anything or make anything grow. The magic is already there, locked in place. It’s strange because I have to go through the foetus, but once I do that, it’s like I have a key.”
“All Ned had to do was press a button,” Fisher said. “But I suppose that’s what happens when you are the key.”
“Yes,” Pendt said. “It’s cruel, either way. To put so much life on a single person’s chromosomes. Space is harsh and the Harland was far from pleasant, but at least my aunt never lied about the fact that all of us were needed.”
“It’s control,” Fisher said. “The Stavengers were dying, and they wanted to make sure we couldn’t flourish without them. I think that’s what made Ned so angry. He never shirked his duty, but he felt like any problem Brannick Station had was his fault. He was desperate to fight, personally.”
“You never were?” Pendt asked. Fisher had never mentioned wanting to accompany his brother, even just to know what he wa
s up to without waiting for dispatches.
“No,” Fisher said. “Don’t get me wrong, I want the Hegemony’s hold on the stations gone, but my style of fighting is different.”
“Rebellion is a new concept to me,” Pendt admitted. “I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”
“Well, someone has to make sure the fighters eat,” Fisher said. “And someone has to make sure that ships get sent where they need to be, and that ore is processed for new weapons.”
“Someone has to run the hospital,” Pendt said. “And make sure they have a place to rest when there’s a break in the fighting.”
“Exactly,” Fisher said. “There aren’t usually stories about those people, but they’re just as necessary. Ned understood that. He appreciated what I wanted to do. My rebellion is that I love myself and I want to run this station anyway. I want to be the Brannick.”
For the first time since she’d known him, Pendt wanted to ask. She shifted in her seat, moving closer to him without meaning to. It was always comfortable, being close to Fisher. That didn’t give her the right to pry.
“Everyone gets that look with me, eventually,” Fisher said. “But it’s been weeks, and you have never asked. Not once. You’ve never made me feel uncomfortable and you’ve never judged me, and you’ve never said a word.”
“I have a slight advantage,” Pendt admitted.
He smiled, and she relaxed. She put her head against the cushions, very close to where his hand was resting.
“No one ever said it, but I’ve always known I’d be more useful for the Brannicks if I was a girl,” Fisher said. “I could have made an alliance with another station, traveled and made connections for trade. Ned could never have done that. His work always had to be here.”
“But you’re not a girl,” Pendt said. “And you never have been.”
“No,” Fisher said.
“My family told me I was useless all the time,” Pendt said. “I was a waste of calories until I was old enough for them to use. My rebellion is that I left them before I could pay them back.”
“You don’t owe them anything.” Fisher took her hand in both of his and squeezed it. “A person is worth more than what they’re born as.”
Pendt looked at him.
“Right,” he said. “I guess I expected you to challenge me, somehow. To make me justify it. My parents never did, and Ned certainly didn’t. But sometimes a new person comes to the station, and I can just feel it wafting off them.”
“That’s a disgusting image,” Pendt said, wrinkling her nose. She thought for a moment, her hand still warm in Fisher’s, and then spoke again. “I’m not saying that what we’ve gone through is the same. It actually couldn’t be more different. But I think perhaps my upbringing made me sympathetic to yours, if that makes any sense. It’s not the same, but it’s similar enough that we understand each other.”
“I think you understand me more than I understand you,” Fisher said. “Just thinking about your family makes my blood boil.”
Pendt smiled at him. She didn’t really need it, but it was nice to have someone who was always ready to ride to her defense. She turned slightly and rested her head against his shoulder instead of the sofa. It was definitely not as soft, but somehow it was even more natural.
She’d become quite familiar with Ned’s body before he left, and he with hers, but there had never been this sort of comfort between them. There was always a task. Perhaps more on her part than Ned’s. He had never pushed her, but now that she had read a few books and eavesdropped on a few dinner dates at the bar, she was aware that he had been less concerned with the end goal than she was.
Pendt had never learned how to be quiet with Ned. On the Harland, all relationships were transactions, and that was how she’d interacted with him. He’d been good to her, much better than anyone else had ever been, but she still thought of it as part of their bargain, the way in which she purchased her freedom from her family. She wasn’t entirely sure she wanted the sort of relationship with Ned that she had with Fisher. Ned was brash and charming, and she liked him, but Fisher was steady and sweet, and she liked that much more.
Fisher had gone still when she put her head on his shoulder. She looked up at him to make sure that he was comfortable. She didn’t want to make him uneasy. His eyes were closed, and he was breathing slowly, like he wanted to remember what this felt like before he let himself believe that it was real enough to see. He was still holding her hand, but he shifted so that their fingers were linked.
“Do you love Ned?” Fisher asked. His voice was low, like he was afraid of the answer.
“I’ve never loved anyone,” Pendt said. “Not like you mean, anyway. I like him, obviously. He’s almost impossible to not like. But no, I don’t love him.”
“I do,” Fisher said.
“I know,” Pendt said. “I wish I did, if that makes sense. I wish I loved my brothers, and I wish I knew who my father was, and I wish my mother was more like yours. I never wished any of that before I got here. You made my heart grow, and now I have to figure out where everyone fits inside it.”
“Even me?” Fisher asked. This time he looked at her. He was very close.
“Especially you,” Pendt said.
Ned had never really kissed her. There had been mouths on skin and on other things, but never the warm press of his lips on hers, the soft searching of his tongue.
Fisher kissed her slowly, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed. He leaned down for an eternity before he touched her, and she thanked her lucky stars that she hadn’t skipped the steamy parts in the books Ned had left so that she knew to turn her face to his and wait. After that part, though, the books proved completely useless.
Fisher’s hands slid up her arms, drawing her body close to his. It was a precarious balancing act, but she trusted him to bear her weight. He held her face gently in his hands, like she was precious and good, and his mouth moved over hers. She was warm, suddenly, right down to her toes, and surged towards him. The shift in weight pushed him back against the arm of the sofa and pressed her chest against his. He laughed, breathless, and caught her in his arms, straightening his legs beneath her so that he could hold her body more comfortably. He kissed her again.
Her only point of reference for the feelings he was stirring in her was Ned, and she really didn’t want to think about Ned right now. Pendt didn’t know what to do, but Fisher didn’t seem to care. He had to know that her only experience with this type of thing was with his brother, but nothing they had ever done was this intense, this personal. She pulled back a bit from his mouth, and he didn’t stop her. He looked at her, unblinking. There was no regret in his gaze.
Pendt blushed, turning bright pink as he stared at her. It was ridiculous and she couldn’t do anything to stop it. She buried her face in his shoulder, unable to take the frankness in his eyes any longer. She started to giggle and couldn’t stop herself. Fisher laughed and tightened his arms around her. It felt like home.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Fisher said. “It’s complicated and kind of a mess, and I have no idea what the future is going to bring, but I’m glad you’re here.”
Pendt knew that he meant the sofa specifically, not the station in general. She was glad too, though she didn’t trust her voice enough to say it. Fisher didn’t seem to expect an answer anyway, which was another reason she liked him, if she was honest with herself. He understood her before she spoke, and he understood her when she couldn’t.
They sat in silence for a time. Pendt wondered if this was the first time in her life she had ever been so at ease, so content. It was an ugly question but confronting the wretchedness of her childhood helped her move further away from it. She decided that it didn’t really matter. She had Fisher and Fisher had her, and they were going to see what came of it.
She’d dozed off by the time Fisher’s communications unit chimed, in
dicating that he had a message. If it had been her unit, she would have bounced up immediately: that always meant they needed her for the Net or the Well. Fisher’s communications were important, but rarely quite so urgent, and she watched him as he slowly reached out with one long arm to snag the datapad off the table.
He sat up so abruptly that she was nearly dislodged onto the floor. Both of his hands were on the datapad, so she didn’t have anything to hold on to. She scrambled to keep her balance and stay sitting on the sofa, and by the time she’d sorted herself out, Fisher’s face was as pale as if all the blood in it had drained out.
“What is it?” she asked.
But she knew. She couldn’t have said how, could not have given a logical explanation, but she knew.
Fisher handed her the datapad, and she read the words she hadn’t allowed herself to consider long enough to fear. The Cleland had been captured and destroyed in battle, with all hands aboard.
Ned Brannick, the bright boy who did his best to save her and save everyone else, was dead.
“YOU MAKE A FOOL OF DEATH WITH YOUR BEAUTY”
Sylvie Morunt was a daughter born to a man who wanted only sons. She gave up trying to understand her father when she was quite young. Some people are bigoted, and you cannot reason with them. They have no redeeming qualities, even if they are talented in other arenas. It was not Sylvie’s job to rehabilitate him.
She became a doctor because her brothers did, and she loved them. They were all gene-mages of varying ability, and Sylvie tagged along to their classes on Katla Station until the teachers accepted her presence. She was young, but she was proficient, and good at working hard, and soon enough she and her brothers were graduating. She was seventeen, which will be important in a minute.
Aetherbound Page 13