Ark

20

Back at the Cultural Center, Harry Smith was waiting, dressed in black sweater and slacks. He was over forty now, a big man, strong and physically direct, and his expression was grave. As soon as Zane walked in Harry put his arm around him, and led him away from the others to an office.

It took a long time of working the TV, computers and phones for Harry and Zane to unravel the news coming out of Denver, and for the reality of it to sink into Zane’s bewildered consciousness. Through it all he kept remembering one glib phrase: one gram of antimatter can give you a Hiroshima…

The accident had happened at his father’s collider facility at Byers. There had been a failure of an antiproton trap, a magnetic bottle. The amount of antimatter released had been a lot less than a Hiroshima gram. But it had been enough to devastate city blocks, to wreck the collider facility, to kill a dozen workers and injure a score more. The explosion had been the flash Zane had glimpsed; he had even heard it, the sound following the light flash through the air after long seconds.

It took the rescue workers minutes to find Jerzy Glemp, who had been working in the facility at the time. Sitting with Harry in the Cultural Center, following the operation on computer screens, far away, too far, Zane watched the paramedics ship his father’s broken body to the hospital. Then they began the long wait for news of his condition.

After two hours Zane’s strength was gone, and with it his self-control. Harry put his arm around him again. Zane resisted, but Harry was firm, and it was a comfort to rest his face against the black warmth of Harry’s sweater.

Then he let Harry lead him to the infirmary the students had improvized, a small two-bed unit in another office, a place with more privacy than the big communal dormitories-a place where, just for tonight, Zane could weep, sleep, be alone. Harry offered him food, warm drinks. He ate only a little. When he took off his shoes and lay down on the cot he found his eyes closing, his thoughts scrambling. It was only around seven p.m. It made no sense for him to be sleepy, yet he was. He curled up, his legs against his chest. He was aware of Harry pulling a thin blanket over him, drawing the shade and turning out the light.

He dreamed, a dream in which he was very young, his father a figure that towered over him. He was in his room in the Academy building, the old Denver museum, where he felt as safe as he ever had anywhere in the world, safe with his books and toys and computers and his phone, waiting for that precious hour when his father came back from work and might play with him, if his mood wasn’t for punishment.

He didn’t know how long he slept. When he woke the room was dark.

There was somebody else on the bed, lying on top of the blanket, legs spooned behind his, a heavy, comforting arm across his hip. Somebody heavy. “Dad?” Of course it wasn’t Dad.

“It’s all right,” Harry whispered. “I just wanted to make sure you’re OK. I care for you, you know that.” His breath was warm on the back of Zane’s neck as he spoke.

“My father-”

“They’ll have more news in the morning.” Harry’s arm moved up over Zane’s hip, and his hand pressed Zane’s chest, so Zane’s body was pulled back against him.

Zane felt as if he couldn’t move, as if he was trapped in a dream of immobility.

Harry whispered, “You poor kid.”

“Why am I a poor kid?”

“Well, so much is up in the air now. Your father may not recover. Even if he does there is bound to be a rescoping of the project. People died, Zane.” His hand moved, rubbing over Zane’s chest and stomach through his shirt, tender but strong. “You can’t be sure there will be a place for you after this. None of us can know that, not yet.”

That black fear bubbled. “I hadn’t thought that far.”

Harry hushed him. “I know, I know.” He pulled at the blanket so they both lay beneath it. Now Zane could feel the length of his body through his clothes, as they lay in the bed. Harry shifted and he passed his left arm under Zane’s body, and worked that hand under his shirt. His fingers roamed over Zane’s chest and belly, pushing down toward his groin. “Hush. Don’t worry.”

“But my father-”

“He fights with Edward Kenzie, you know. I don’t think Edward ever forgave Jerzy for the way he helped the President sequester the project. What Edward wants is for Kelly to be on that ship. Now it’s out of his hands. Oh, he’s angry at your father for that. Angry at you. ” All this was whispered in Zane’s ear. Harry’s mouth was so close now that Zane could feel his stubble on the back of his neck, a soft scraping. Still he talked, steadily. “And then there’s this strange crew demography they’re planning, everybody the same age. As soon as I saw that I thought of you, Zane. You’re an outlier in the age distribution. There’s so much stacked against you, isn’t there?” The words were harder now, the breath hot and percussive against Zane’s neck.

With his right arm Harry reached over and grabbed Zane’s hand in his own. Zane resisted, just for a second, but Harry was so much stronger, and he pulled the hand behind Zane’s back, between their bodies.

“But I’m here.” He pushed Zane’s hand down. Zane felt a tangle of hair, and an erection, hot, the skin smooth. Harry made him close his fingers around the shaft, and Harry started thrusting, subtly. “I’ll defend you,” he said. “I’ll keep you safe. Without me-without me-the others will get rid of you. But I’m here, and I’ll always make sure..” It didn’t last long. The words broke up in gasps and a shudder.

Harry released his hand, and Zane pulled his arm back. There was semen on his palm, hot and stringy. He wiped it on the sheet.

For long minutes Harry just lay there, his left arm still under Zane’s body. Then he withdrew his arm and kissed Zane on the neck. “Sleep now.” Zane felt the weight shift as Harry got out of the bed, and then a fumbling as he adjusted his clothes before walking out through the door.

Zane felt behind himself in the dark. The sheets where Harry had lain were a sticky mess, as were the back of Zane’s own pants. Zane got out of the bed, and stripped off his pants and threw them to the floor. Then he pulled the blanket off the other bed, wrapped it around his shoulders, and huddled down in the corner of the room, facing the door. He sat there, sleepless until morning.