The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet

Day 121, GC Standard 307 HERESY

“Hello, boss,” Kizzy said, walking into Ashby’s office. Her grubby sleeves were rolled up, and her gloves were tucked into a front pocket. She held a dusty piece of tech in her hands.

“You only call me ‘boss’ when you need a thing,” Ashby said.

“I need a thing.” Kizzy held out the part. “This is a thermal regulator. It’s what helps a stasie maintain temperature.”

“I assume that since it’s not currently attached to the stasie, it’s broken.”

Kizzy gave a sad nod. “The bell tolled for this poor lil’ guy.”

“Do we have another on hand?”

Kizzy shook her head apologetically. “It’s not the sort of thing I keep in stock. My brain’s usually busy with making sure we’ve got spares for life support and the engine. Sorry. I didn’t think of it.”

Ashby waved her comment aside. “I’d be more worried if you prioritized the stasie over the engine. I don’t expect you to keep spares of every piece of tech we use.” He rubbed his chin. His beard needed a trim. “So what does this mean for the stasie?”

“The stasis field can hold without this. It’s got a failsafe system to make sure your food doesn’t go bad while you’re buying a replacement. But without the regulator, it’s gonna go bleh after a while, no matter what.”

“How long a while?”

“Four days, maybe five. We won’t starve or anything if it goes, but I think we’d all do better with some fresh food between here and Hedra Ka.”

Ashby nodded. Three tendays of bug flour patties and dry-packed rations did not sound appealing, and there was no guarantee that there’d be somewhere for them to resupply at Hedra Ka. What did the Toremi even eat? “Four days isn’t enough time to get a delivery drone out here.”

“I know. We may be kinda screwed on this one. However.” She brushed her hand over the backs of her thighs, checking for machine gunk. When her hand came back clean, she sat down in the chair opposite Ashby. “Sissix says there’s a colony rock not far from here. Popped up on the scanner yesterday. Dunno what it is, it’s not on any of her maps. But it’s only half a day out. We could park the ship here, hop in the shuttle, and give ’em a visit, lickety split.”

“We’re on the bleeding edge of the GC. That’s a fringe colony for sure.” Knocking on the doors of unidentified fringe colonies was not something Ashby was eager to do.

“Mmm-hmm. But they might have tech I can use.”

“That’s an awfully big might. They might not have anything.”

“Yeah, except that this planet is also a rogue planet. It’s got no star to keep it warm. That’s how Sissix noticed it in the first place, it’s got these satellites providing artificial sunlight. They’re powering it by sucking ambi right out of a nearby nebula.”

Ashby raised his eyebrows. “That’s pretty serious tech.”

“The tech itself isn’t that fancy, but what I want to know is how they calibrated their harvesters to work within a nebula. There’s a reason that ambi’s harvested around black holes. It’s concentrated there. GC techs haven’t found a way to harvest smaller pockets without going broke.” She scrunched her lips in thought. “In any case, if they can harvest ambi in a nebula, I’ll bet my boots they’ve got simpler tech on hand, too.” She gestured with the regulator.

Ashby gave a quiet nod. “Any indication of who this colony belongs to?”

“No. But not Human.”

“Why not?”

Kizzy gave him a wry look. “Fringe colony or not, if Humans had their hands on that kind of tech, there’s no way we wouldn’t have heard about it by now. They’d be so rich, it’d be gross.”

Ashby drummed his fingers on the table. “Any ships around? Any weapon arrays?”

“No. No weapons. We checked. No ships, no orbiters, no docking ports. Other than the satellites, it’s a dead sky out there.”

Ashby thought for a moment. “Okay. Let’s be smart about it, though. I don’t want to head that way until I know who’s there.” He gestured at the pixel screen to wake it up. “Hey, Lovey,” he said, “I need an open sib signal to go out to that rogue planet. Just let me know if somebody picks up.”

“Will do,” Lovey said.

Kizzy dragged her chair over next to Ashby’s and watched the screen intently. “Kizzy, nothing’s happening,” Ashby said. “They might not pick up for a while. They might not pick up at all.”

“It’s exciting! It’s like going fishing or something, waiting for someone to bite.”

Ashby looked askance at Kizzy. “When have you ever gone fishing?”

“I do it in Battle Wizards all the time.” The sib indicator on the screen lit up. Kizzy leaned across the desk, pointing. “Look! See! A bite! They bit!”

Ashby put his hand over Kizzy’s shoulder and pulled her back into her chair. “Let me do the talking, okay?” The last thing he needed was for Kizzy to rub some twitchy fringe colonist the wrong way.

He gestured to pick up the call. An alien appeared on screen. Ashby’s jaw dropped. It was a Sianat. But not a Sianat like Ohan. This Sianat had let their fur grow out. No fractals or holy patterns had been shaved in. There was something more alert about the way they held theirself, not at all like Ohan’s perpetually relaxed slump. There was a slackness in the face, a thinness to the fur, and though Ashby knew he couldn’t make any presumptions about a species he knew little about, he couldn’t shake the obvious conclusion.

This Sianat was old.

“Hello,” Ashby said, shaking himself out of his surprise. “Do you speak Klip?”

The Sianat spoke, the same bird-like coo that Ashby had heard Ohan make at times. As the Sianat opened their mouth, Ashby could see that their teeth were unfiled. It was like looking into a cave full of sharp stalagmites. The Sianat gestured something toward Ashby, still cooing as they looked around the room behind them. Unfamiliar with other Sianats as Ashby was, he could read this behavior well enough: Hang on. Let me find someone who can talk to you.

“Ashby,” Kizzy whispered.

“I know,” he whispered back.

“I’m so glad I’m here for this,” she said, resting her chin against her fists.

There was movement on screen. The first Sianat made room for another. This one’s body was about the same size, but differently shaped. There was a stockiness around the hips and shoulders, a sharp definition to the eyes and jaw. Their build varied enough from the first Sianat—and from Ohan as well—that Ashby concluded this Pair was of a different sex. As the two Sianats switched places, the first touched the second on the shoulder. They touched. Ashby thought of how Ohan slunk away from the crew when they passed in the hallway, how they barely tolerated Dr. Chef laying his handfeet on them during medical exams. Who were these people?

“Good day,” the new Sianat said. Their accent was thick as fuel. Ashby noticed that this one did have filed teeth. “My name is Mas. Forgive my words, my Klip is old.”

Ashby smiled, taking care to speak slowly. “My name is Ashby. I captain a tunneling ship. This is Kizzy, our mech tech.”

Mas cocked their head. “Tunneling? Yes, yes, I know about tunneling.” They gave a yawping laugh. “I know much about tunneling.”

I. Not us. Ashby stared. “Excuse me, Mas, I don’t mean to be rude, but… are you not a Pair?”

“No,” said Mas. There was pride in their—in her voice, unmistakable, even through the accent. “No one is here. We are a colony of Solitary.”

“Heretics,” Kizzy gasped.

Ashby glared at her, but Mas did not seem to take offense. “Heretics, yes,” Mas said. “Do you have a Pair on your ship?”

“Yes,” Ashby said. “Our Navigator.”

“I was a Navigator once, for Harmagians,” said Mas. “Before here. Before I was here. Old words. Sorry.”

“No need to apologize, I can understand you.” Ashby considered what Mas had said. He hoped he wasn’t offending Ohan just by talking to this person. “Our Navigator doesn’t know we’re talking to you. We didn’t even know who was down there when we sent out the sib.”

“Oh! I thought—no, nothing.” Mas made a trilling sound. “What is your need?”

Ashby nudged Kizzy. “I’m looking for some tech,” she said, holding up the broken regulator. “Nothing fancy, just something to fix our stasie.”

“Ah, your food! You need to fix your food.” The Sianat seemed to find this funny.

At the mention of food, Ashby thought of Ohan’s tubes of nutrient paste. “You probably don’t have stasie tech, do you?”

“We eat,” Mas said. “We do not suck down paste like Pairs. Come to us, we’ll find tech. Might have to bang it around to make it work, but techs like to bang things, yes?”

Kizzy laughed. “Yes, we do.”

“Do you have a shuttle?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Our ships are old as words.” She gestured at the screen. A set of landing coordinates popped up. “And we must talk on your Pair. Are they Waning?”

“They are,” Ashby said.

“Not for long,” Mas said. “Come down, come down, we will talk. But do not tell your Pair you come. They will… not like it.”

The screen went dark.

Rosemary had seen such little variation in Ohan’s moods—much less seeing them burst into her office—that it took her a second to realize the Pair was furious. Their eyes were wide, their breath shallow. “Where did they go?” Ohan said, their voice shrill.

Rosemary, who had been in the middle of clearing invoices, found herself tongue-tied. “Who?” she said stupidly, even though she knew who Ohan meant. Ashby had come to her two hours before, told her that he and Kizzy were flying out somewhere Ohan could not know about. Rosemary had found it odd that he’d asked for her discretion. When did Ohan ever talk to anyone? Yet here they were, standing at her desk, looking uncomfortably carnivorous. Rosemary had always thought Ohan looked cuddly, like a stuffed toy. Not now. Ohan’s shoulders were back, their neck curled, their eyes wild. Rosemary didn’t like Ohan like this.

Ohan made an irritated sound. “We awoke to find the engine stopped. Then we found the shuttle gone. We know what region of space this is, and you will tell us now if Ashby has gone to see the Heretics.”

Rosemary swallowed hard. Following Ashby’s instructions was one thing, but there was no use in lying now. “Yes,” she said.

A growl rose from Ohan’s throat. “Why?” they cried, panicked.

“Kizzy needed some tech,” Rosemary said, keeping her voice steady. She thought that maybe, if she could stay calm enough, she could bring Ohan back down. “Something for the stasie broke. They went to get a replacement part.”

Puzzlement drove some of the fire out of Ohan’s eyes. “Tech?” they said. “They went to get tech?”

“Yes.”

Ohan threw their head back. “It does not matter! They will fill their heads full of lies!”

“Who will?”

“The Heretics!” A look of horror crossed their face. “Our crewmates. They’ll be contaminated when they return.”

“They’ll get flashed on their way back in, just like always.”

“Yes, but…” Ohan shook their head and paced. “I must speak to Lovelace, she will need to update her contaminant database.” Without warning, Ohan’s legs went limp. They crumpled down, grabbing the edge of Rosemary’s desk as they went, gasping for breath.

“Ohan!” Rosemary dashed to their side. She instinctively reached out, but stopped as she remembered who she was dealing with. No physical contact without permission. “Can I help you up?”

“No,” Ohan wheezed. “We’re fine.”

The vox switched on. “I’ll get Dr. Chef,” Lovey said.

“Please, don’t,” Ohan said. They pulled theirself to their feet with shaking hands. “It is just the Wane. This is how it must be.” They drew in a shuddering gulp of air. “Call Ashby. Tell him—tell him to get his tech and leave. Tell him to not listen to the Heretics’ lies. They are poison. The Heretics—the Heretics will wish to end me.”

Rosemary could hear Dr. Chef’s heavy footsteps hurrying down the hall. From the noise, it sounded as if he were running on six. “Ohan, no matter what those people say, no one on this ship is going to hurt you.”

Ohan swung their big, dark eyes to Rosemary. “You might not mean to. But you could.”

“I don’t like this place,” Kizzy said, her mouth full of fire shrimp. “It feels sad.”

Ashby worked the navigation controls, adjusting their approach toward the rogue planet. It was frozen over, cased in a cracking lattice of ice. The warming light of the satellites was concentrated on one large, circular patch of bare rock, too perfectly shaped to be natural. From their vantage point up above, Ashby could see one cluster of opaque bubble-like buildings, built where the light was strongest. There were no other settlements, not that he could see. “I dunno,” he said. “They’ve got those sun satellites, and they’re clearly doing well enough to have a space elevator. Space elevators aren’t a high priority if you’re hungry or without shelter.”

“Sure,” Kizzy said. “But they’re still all alone out here. No star or moon to keep ’em company. They’ve got an empty sky.” She shaped the edges of the fire shrimp bag into a spout, tipped her head back, and poured the bag’s contents into her mouth.

“You’re getting crumbs all over the place.”

“Who’s responsible for cleaning out the shuttle?” She jabbed a thumb at her chest. “This girl.”

“That’s not the point.” Ashby looked back at her. “Remember that time you had to clean fire shrimp out of an air filter?”

Kizzy’s face fell in grave remembrance. She solemnly rolled the bag shut. “Until later, my delicious friends.”

The vox crackled on. An AI began speaking in Ciretou, the soft, haunting language of the Sianats. “Sorry,” Ashby said. “We don’t understand.”

The AI paused, and switched to Klip. “Greetings, travelers. Please bring your shuttle to docking port 4. Once you have docked, proceed to the elevator entryway. If you are unable to walk on your own, or if you require medical attention, please let me know at this time. If you are unable to speak, please activate your shuttle’s emergency—”

“We’re all fine here, thank you,” Ashby said.

“Please dock safely,” the AI said. “Your journey has come to an end.” The vox switched off.

Kizzy pulled her feet off of the dash and stared at the vox. “That was weird. Why wouldn’t we be able to—” She nodded. “Right. Some of the Pairs who wind up here must be pretty sick.”

“I think you were right, Kiz,” Ashby said, as he eased the shuttle into the docking hatch.

“About what?”

“This is a sad place.”

Once the shuttle came to a full stop, they put on their exosuits and stepped into the airlock. After a short scan, they were allowed through. They walked down an empty corridor, and into one of the elevator cars.

“I can’t get over this,” Kizzy said, her voice tinny through the exosuit vox.

“What? How close it is?” The length of the elevator cables were the shortest Ashby had ever seen, by a long shot. He doubted it would take them more than an hour to reach the surface.

“Yeah. It’s just… I mean, holy shit, how did they do this? This thing shouldn’t work at all. I’m not even talking about tech, I’m talking about gravity.” She pressed her nose against the window. “I want to take this thing apart and see what’s in it.”

“Please wait until we’ve reached the surface, at least,” he said, settling back onto one of the benches. He fidgeted, trying to get comfortable. The curve of the hard cushions was not designed for Human spines.

With a jarring rush, the elevator shot downward. An hour passed, uneventfully. As the elevator got closer to the surface, a violent swirl of snow hit the window. The sight made him shiver, despite the warmth of his exosuit.

“Damn,” Kizzy said. “Good thing we didn’t bring Sissix.”

“She would’ve had a suit, too.”

“Yeah, but I think she finds the very idea of snow offensive,” she said. “Look at this place.” Ashby saw it. All around them, great swaths of ancient ice sat sharp and uninviting. The air was so thick with snow that it almost obscured the settlement below. There were no roads, and if there were doors, Ashby could not see them. The elevator was descending straight into the settlement itself—a cluster of armored shells, set into black rock. He had a feeling that the sun satellites were less about providing visible light than they were about keeping the settlement thawed out.

“Why here?” Kizzy said. “Why live here?”

Heretics. Exile. “I don’t think they have a choice.” The light changed as the elevator entered the settlement, transitioning into something more inviting. Through the window, Ashby could see a round corridor, made of smooth, silvery metal. It felt very clean. A light inside his helmet indicated that the air surrounding them was breathable, but they left their suits on all the same. A fringe planet meant there was no handy GC data on local diseases. No telling what kind of bugs these folks might pass on to them, or vice versa.

The elevator doors opened. Kizzy and Ashby stepped out. Mas was there, waiting. Ashby noticed right away how much her body differed from Ohan’s, and not just in terms of sexual dimorphism. Despite the hollows of age, there was no doubt that this was a healthy individual. Ohan looked waifish by comparison.

“Welcome to Arun,” Mas said, bobbing her head. “You must forgive, I do not know Human greetings.”

“We shake hands,” Ashby said.

“Show me,” Mas said. Ashby took Kizzy’s hand in demonstration. Mas laughed. “Here,” she said, extending her long fingers. Ashby wrapped his hand around them and shook. Mas laughed again. “These are short hands, soft hands,” she said, pressing Ashby’s palm through the thin exosuit glove.

“Didn’t you meet any Humans while you were a Navigator?” Kizzy asked.

“You were still wandering when I was with Harmagians,” Mas said. “No Human worlds beyond your Fleet. I became Solitary before you became GC.”

Ashby did some quick math. If Mas was Navigating before Humans had joined the GC, then…

Kizzy beat him to it. “How old are you?”

Mas thought. “One hundred and thirty three standards,” she said. “Sorry, had to think. Our time measures are different.”

Kizzy’s nose was nearly pressing against her faceplate, she was so intent. “I had no idea you could live that long.”

Mas laughed again. “Not just this long,” she said. “Even longer!” She began to walk down the hall. They followed.

“What can you tell us about this place?” Ashby said.

“This is Arun,” Mas said. “Your Pair has not said of it, hmm?”

“No.”

“No, no. Pairs do not say this place. It is for heretics.” There was a smirk in her voice, almost mocking. “But all Sianat know it. If we escape before infection, or if we want to break, we try to find it. Not all do. Some get lost. Some are Waning and cannot fly the long way. But we take all who come. None are turned away.”

“I see,” Ashby said. They came into a huge open area, filled with curved benches and hydroponic planters holding strange, curling trees and puffy flowers (Ashby could only imagine how excited Dr. Chef would have been). A warm yellow sky was projected above. Compared to the frozen wastes outside, it was a paradise. There were Sianats everywhere, of all ages and sizes, walking, thinking, speaking to one another. Touching. “Sorry,” he said, dragging his eyes away from the plaza and back to Mas. “What did you mean by ‘break’? You come here if you want to break?”

“Break the pair,” Mas said. “Destroy the virus.”

Ashby and Kizzy looked at each other. “There’s a cure?” Ashby asked.

“Of course,” Mas said. “All diseases have cures. You just have to find it.”

“But,” Kizzy said, her brow furrowed. “Sorry, I don’t really get how this whole thing works, but if… if you’re a Pair, would you even think about being cured? Doesn’t the Whisperer make you want to stay together?”

“You ask good questions. Like a good heretic.” Mas gestured towards a bench. They sat beside her as best they could. “The Whisperer makes the host resist breaking. But some Sianat can resist the Whisperer. Like me.”

“You’re… immune?” Ashby said.

“No, no,” Mas said. “I had the disease. Had to, to Navigate. But I resist. The Whisperer had my low mind, not my high mind.” Her face folded in thought. “Do you know low mind?”

Ashby thought he had heard Ohan use the term once or twice, but as with most things, Ohan had not explained further. “No.”

“Low mind is easy things. Animal things. Things like walking, counting, not putting your hand on hot things. High mind is things like who my friends are. What I believe. Who I am.” Mas tapped her head for emphasis.

“I think I understand,” Ashby said. “So, the virus… the virus affected the way you understand space and numbers, but it didn’t affect the way you think about yourself?”

“I resist,” Mas said again. She paused. “Resistant?”

“You are resistant,” Ashby said. “Yes.”

“Yes, yes. Very dangerous to be resistant. I learned to pretend. To mimic the words of the Pairs. To stare out windows.” She made a gruff sound. “So boring.”

Kizzy laughed. “I’ve always thought it looks boring,” she said.

“It is! But if you are resistant, you must stare. You must not let others know that you pretend. The ones who rule know,” she said, leaning close. “They know resistant Hosts exist. But it would ruin everything for many to know. Sianat believe that the Whisperer chose us. Makes us special. Makes us better than you.” She poked Ashby’s chest. “But if we are resistant, one of two things is true. Either Sianats are not special, only diseased, and can evolve to resist. Or, second thing, stupid thing, but easier conclusion for many—resistants are unholy. We reject the sacred. Heretics. You understand?”

“Yes,” Ashby said. He knew now why Ohan had always balked at the mere mention of the Solitary. This was the sort of thing that could bring a whole culture down.

“I always wanted to break,” Mas said. “The Whisperer made me see the in-between, but it was killing my body. My high mind, it wanted to live. My captain, she was good. Good friend. I trusted her, told her that I am resistant. As I Waned, she found a map.”

“To here?” Kizzy said.

“Yes, yes. Nearly dead when I arrived.” She lifted her front hands and made her muscles twitch. Ashby’s stomach sank. It was a perfect imitation of the tremors Ohan had developed. “I lay in hospital for”—she counted to herself—“two tendays after the cure. Painful, painful.” She smiled and showed off her forelegs. “But I got strong.”

“So, after the virus is cured, the Wane goes away?” Kizzy asked. Ashby shot her a quick glance. No, Kizzy.

“Yes. But the changes to the low mind do not. The… words, words… the… the folds in the brain remain. I could still Navigate if I wanted. But I am Solitary. I must stay here.”

“Why?” Ashby asked.

The Sianat cocked her head. “I am Solitary,” she said. “We are heretics, not revolutionaries. This is our way.”

“Wait,” Kizzy said. “You can still Navigate? Curing the virus doesn’t take that away?”

“Correct.”

“The ambi,” she said. “That’s how you figured out how to harvest ambi from the nebula, and build a pintsize space elevator. Because you’ve still got your super brains.”

Mas laughed. “Pairs are not inventors. They are too unfocused, too short-lived. Good for Navigating and discussing theories, but bad at building. Building takes many, many mistakes. Pairs do not like mistakes. They like staring out windows. But Solitary like mistakes. Mistakes mean progress. We make good things. Great things.”

“Wow,” Kizzy said. Her eyes went far away, the way they did when she was thinking about a broken circuit or the inside of the engine. “So, this cure. Is it, like, dangerous?”

“Kizzy,” Ashby warned. They were not going down this path. No matter how much he wanted to, they were not.

“But Ashby, Ohan could—”

“No. We’re not—”

Mas made a sound deep in her chest. “Ohan is your Pair.”

“Yes,” Ashby sighed.

“Poet-like name,” Mas said. “Poetic.” She studied them both. “I am resistant. I do not know how the disease feels to a mind that does not resist. But I have friends, broken Pairs, who were not resistant. Sometimes even good Pairs fear death enough to come to Arun.” She leaned in close, too close. “Broken Pairs are different, after. They are not the child they were before infection. They are not the Pair, either. They are new.” She looked hard at Ashby with her large eyes. “They are free. Believe me, it is better.”

“No,” Ohan said. There was no anger in their voice, but they had recoiled, pulling as far away from the table as the chair would allow. They sat stiffly, fighting hard to hide their twitching legs. Ashby and Dr. Chef sat on the other side of the lab table. A small, sealed box lay between them. An object was visible through the transparent lid—a syringe, filled with green fluid. The grip was designed for a Sianat hand.

Ashby took care to keep his voice low. The door to the med bay was shut, but he wouldn’t put eavesdropping past any of his crew. He knew that Kizzy, at least, was busy. He could hear her banging away in the kitchen. He had a feeling that a few of the bangs had nothing to do with repairing the stasie, and everything to do with her letting him know that she was upset.

“Nobody’s forcing you, Ohan,” Ashby said. “I just want you to consider the option.”

“I’ve examined it thoroughly,” Dr. Chef said. “It’s safe. I can guarantee that.”

Ohan shrunk away even more. “Safe,” they whispered. “Safe. This is murder, and you call it safe.”

Ashby ran his hand through his hair. As much as he felt that the virus itself was the murderer here, he knew this was a point he could not argue. “The person I spoke to said she had friends who had been cured. They can still navigate, Ohan, and they live long, healthy lives.”

“They take the Whisperer’s gifts, then kill it,” Ohan said. “You should not have spoken to them, Ashby. You should have taken their tech and left with your ears blocked. You should have left your food to rot before setting foot in that place.”

“I was doing what I thought was best for my crew,” Ashby said. “Just as I’m trying to do now.”

Ohan succumbed to a coughing fit. Ashby sat back and watched, knowing there was nothing he could do, not even lay a comforting hand on his crewmate’s back. His eyes met Dr. Chef’s. The doctor looked miserable. Here was a patient that he could easily treat, but the patient wouldn’t allow it. Ashby knew Dr. Chef wouldn’t push it, but he also was sure that this was going to gnaw away at his friend for a long time.

“Ohan,” Dr. Chef said, once Ohan could breathe again. “As someone who left his world behind, I understand how frightening this idea is for you. It was scary for me, too. But we’re your friends, Ohan. You could live a long time, here with us. We’d take care of you.”

Ohan was unconvinced. “Your friendship means much to us. As does your concern, though misguided. We know this must be difficult for you to understand. You kill microbes all the time, in your kitchens, on your cargo, without a second thought. But consider the bacteria living in your skins, your mouths, your guts, creatures you could not survive without. You, too, are a synthesis between organisms large and small. Ashby, would you destroy your mitochondria simply because they are not Human in origin? Because they do not belong?”

“We can’t live without mitochondria,” Ashby said. “But you could live without the Whisperer.”

Ohan shut his eyes tight. “No,” they said. “We could not. We would be someone else.”

Some time later, Ashby sat alone in his quarters, unlacing his boots. He was halfway through the left when the door spun open without warning. Sissix stood in the doorway, feathers on end. “Are you out of your fucking mind?”

Ashby sighed and went back to his laces. “Come in and shut the door.”

Sissix stood before him, hands on her hips. “Kizzy tells me there is a cure. A cure for what’s killing Ohan. One that would leave him able to navigate, and that would extend his life by a good century or so. She tells me you just came back from a planet full of happy, healthy people who all can attest to that. And apparently, that cure is in our med bay right now, and you’re just going to let it gather dust while Ohan lies shaking himself to death in a pool of his own sick.”

Ashby swung his eyes up to her. “You keep saying ‘his.’ ”

“Yes, because it finally occurred to me that Ohan is an individual, a sick man who needs our help.”

“Sissix, this is not my call. What do you want me to do? Tie them down and force it on them?”

“If that’s what it takes.”

“You’re being ridiculous. I’m their employer, not their… their arbiter.”

“You’re his friend, and you’re letting him die.”

“I gave them the option, Sissix! They know it’s there! What the hell else am I supposed to do?” He threw the boot aside. “Sissix, this is not a matter of someone refusing medical treatment. This is their entire culture we’re talking about. This is their religion.”

“This is so fucking Human of you. Lie back and let the galaxy do whatever it wants, because you’re too guilty about how badly you fucked up your own species to ever take initiative.”

Ashby got to his feet. “What is it you people say? Isk seth iks kith? Let each follow xyr own path?”

Sissix’s eyes flashed. “That’s different.”

“How so?”

“That means don’t interfere with others if there’s no harm being done. There is harm being done here, Ashby. Ohan is dying.”

“If I told you to go back to Hashkath and bring your kids here to live with you, would you?”

“What are you even talking about?”

“If I told you that treating your children like strangers offends every bone in my milk-fed mammalian body, and that as your Human captain, I expect you to follow my moral code—”

“That’s different, Ashby, you know that’s—”

He lowered his voice. “Or if I wanted to be really old fashioned, I could tell you that it’s inappropriate for two of my crew to be coupling. Some Human captains still fire people for that, you know. They say it’s a bad idea on a long haul.”

Sissix froze. “How do…” She shook her head. “That’s none of your business.”

Ashby gave an incredulous laugh. “It’s none of my business? I’m your feather brother, Sissix. Since when is it not my business to know such things? Since when does an Aandrisk keep something like that to herself? Unless, of course, you’re making personal concessions for Human customs—”

“Shut up, Ashby.” She walked to the window, put her hands on the sill, and fell quiet. “I don’t even know Ohan. And I don’t just mean because he doesn’t talk to any of us. I mean that when he opens his mouth, I don’t know if he’s the one saying that he doesn’t want to be cured, or if the virus is making him do it. I don’t know if it’s him speaking, or the thing infecting his brain.”

“To Ohan, it’s both. And that’s probably closer to the truth. It’s not like the virus is sentient. It just… changes him. Them.”

Sissix gave him a look. “See. You do it, too.” The anger was bleeding out of her voice. Her feathers were beginning to lay flat. She sat on his bed. “I’m not okay with this, Ashby. I don’t care if I know him well or not. I’m not okay with losing family.”

Ashby sat beside her and took her hand. “I know you think I’m the bad guy in this,” he said. “But I’m not okay with it either.”

“I know,” she said. “But I still don’t see how you could sit there and not get angry with him.”

“It wasn’t my place.”

“Spoken like a true Exodan.” Her eyes searched his face. “How do you know about me and Rosemary?”

Ashby laughed. “The way she looks at you.”

“Oh, stars,” Sissix said. “Is it that obvious?”

“To me, at least.”

“To everyone?”

“Maybe. Nobody’s said anything to me about it.”

Sissix sighed. “It was her idea, you know. After Hashkath. She said she wanted to make things feel more like family for me. She was so damn sweet about it. She’s sweet about everything.” She fell back against the mattress. “Ashby, I have no frame of reference of what it’s like for Humans to couple. I’m so scared I’m going to mess her up. You know how differently our species go about these things. I’m not… am I being selfish?”

“Sex is always a little selfish, Sis,” he said. “But I highly doubt she’s sleeping with you out of charity. I bet she wanted to way before Hashkath.” He smiled at her. “But I know you. You wouldn’t have said yes if you didn’t care about her, too. Rosemary’s an adult. She can handle herself. And I think in a way, you two might be good for each other.” He paused. “Although…”

“I knew there was going to be a caveat.”

“You need to be careful. Humans can be okay with having multiple partners, but we can be jealous as hell, too. I don’t know how you two have things worked out, but if, say, you want to go to a tet, or if you just need to move on in your casual Aandrisk way—”

“I know,” Sissix said. “I’ll be careful.”

They fell into a comfortable silence. “This is going to sound weird,” he said after a while.

“Mmm?”

“I’m sorry that it couldn’t be me.”

Sissix sat up. “How so? You don’t—you don’t think of me as—”

“No.” He smirked. “No offense, but no. I don’t think of you that way.”

“Good. I was about to be really confused.” She laughed. “Then what?”

“There has always been a part of me that feels guilty that I can’t be the kind of family you need.”

Sissix nuzzled his cheek. “You are the family I need, Ashby. I wouldn’t have chosen you otherwise.”

“But Rosemary made it more—more whole, didn’t she?”

Sissix smiled. “Yeah. She did.” She put her forehead against Ashby’s. “Doesn’t change the fact that you’re the best friend I’ve ever had.” She paused. “But I’m still mad at you.”

“I know.”

“And thinking about Ohan makes me hurt.”

“Me too.”

“Good,” she said. “At least you’re suffering for it.” They both laughed. It was a empty sound.

——