Expedition 63 Book 2: Dark

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Static filled the communication line as Saito pulled on the headphones.

It was his rotation at the console and the static sounded better directly in his ears than as a nebulous sound in the Harmony. In a few days, they’d mark the first year without contact from Earth after the devastation cut their access. The isolation made Saito jumpy. It was a problem he kept to himself.

It wasn’t all bad. He handled it better than most of them, at least. The crew had formed a habit of glancing at Earth below whenever they were in close proximity to a window, hopeful that something had changed. Six months in, with the world painted over in dismal gray-green and tantalizing flashes of blue between the cloud breaks, Saito had stopped. Every so often, he’d catch a glimpse of their planet out of the corner of his eyes, but he’d stopped actively seeking out the view. No good came of it.

The same argument could be made for this slavish habit of listening to the radio signal. There was only the snowy sound from the RCB without the faintest blip to break it up. Listening to the monotonous sound hours on end made him a little sadder every time, but John was insistent on the vigil.

If it helped the rest of them feel like they were doing something about their situation, than he reasoned he could suffer through it. What else was there to do with his time, anyway?

Besides, he saved his rotation for recreational reading. Saito split the remainder of his time between his experiments, the crops, and the crew. Otherwise, it was sleep and exercise to keep in top shape, more or less. Zero gravity played havoc with the body, even with the genetic boosters NASA had given them before the mission started. In another year, the effects would begin wear off.

Saito hoped they had a way to get off the Station by then, before weightlessness and radiation weakened their bodies into a fragile, useless state. He wasn’t in any hurry to die in space. The need to know what happened to his family also rode him hard, but he accepted the wait to find out. A lifetime of practice let him shake off his impatience.

Besides, even if he had the information, there wasn’t anything he could do to help them. Trapped on the Station at the end of the world, and that was the one problem which irked him most. He was helpless to do anything except his part to keep the crew alive. This kind of scenario was the worst one he’d only ever dreamed of in his wildest implausible fantasies when he had felt particularly morbid.

Living it though was the strangest type of surreal dream he wished he could wake up from. The crew probably felt the same way, but he didn’t ask them. It would be the height of rudeness to do so, while they were still in the middle of it. Maybe after they managed to get home he would find the courage to bring it up. Ten years after, when the constant, nagging fear had left them.

There were bright spots. For the most part, their situation was in the background and sometimes in seemed more like an extended vacation in space. They didn’t lack in the basics. Food was plentiful, if dull. Non-perishables made up the bulk of their supply thanks to NASA’s habit of sending up too much, packed in the shuttle holds until one couldn’t slip a piece of paper between the crates.

Water was recycled in a constant loop until it was purer than water planet side. Experimental nanites in both the water and air filtration system destroyed the bad foreign particles in a ruthless campaign. Saito had lived with far less at some points of his life. This was tolerable.

He picked up his tablet and unlocked it in seconds. NASA had issued the tech to him and demanded two passwords plus a print lock for the silly thing. Saito hated the over-the-top measures. All the device contained were books of various sorts, not sensitive information. When he woke in the middle of his sleep cycle and found it hard to doze back off, reading helped pass the time. Half awake, he struggled with the log in screen, which didn’t help him relax. Maybe it was a good time to change, since NASA had no say in the matter anymore.

As he switched over the preference and pulled up his current read, a fun rework of the Little Mermaid that included a transgender main character. Saito groaned with annoyance as the battery warning icon lit up the screen. He must have forgotten to charge the tablet last cycle.

“Anything new on the line?” John chirped from behind him.

Saito smacked the tablet on the shelf stuck to the wall out of habit and straightened up. It was a stupid reaction, on both counts. Tables weren’t a thing on the Station, just shallow shelves covered in Velcro and no gravity to make anything stay put. His tablet jetted toward the left side of the control module and Saito let his gaze follow it, just so he could avoid John’s smirk. And he was smirking; Saito had seen his commander do it every time one of the crew reacted in the same physical way they did on Earth.

Eyes trained on the lazy samba his tech seemed to be doing, Saito yanked the headphones off his ears and shook his head. “No. Not even the standard blip in the signal from a probe’s interference.”

John moved to his side and scrutinized the computer screen, the green line jittering like a seismograph. It had been the same for ages and Saito wished it would flat line or spike just for the shock value. Anything but the monotonous static. How the others listened to it for hours on end and did nothing else blew his mind. Turlach, especially, loved the fuzzy hiss for some weird reason.

A smile crossed John’s face as he straightened, a good indication he was satisfied with Saito’s report. “Well, it could be worse. The static tells us that we’re still online to receive, so I’ll take that as a win.”

“With the way Turlach is hardwired into this thing, we would have already heard about it,” Saito pointed out. He wasn’t quite joking about it either. “If there was a problem with the arrays and antennas, he would be out there already to fix it.”

“True.” John grinned.

Saito noticed something, someone anyway, missing. “Where’s Jason?”

“Sleeping. He’s doing that a lot lately.” John’s grin slipped away. “I wish I knew why.”

Oh no, Saito wasn’t going near that statement. He knew why Jason was often exhausted, and the reason levitated right next to him. Saito was relieved his schedule meant he was asleep when John and Jason started their morning routine. What constituted as morning, without a standard sunrise. The s*x noises weren’t loud, but the dividers between their compartments were thin. Most of John and Jason’s mornings didn’t start with s*x, either, so he heard them on rare occasions, but he also knew to stay away during their ‘sleep’ cycle.

The month after Jason’s near fatal spacewalk was a boon for them all, though. Columbus hadn’t been so quiet since their last contact with Earth. After that month, they returned to their new habit with true gusto. Saito had dug out his earplugs, which he hadn’t needed during the entire official mission.

“I’m off to inspect all of the storage areas and make sure there’s no problem.” John rolled his pale brown eyes. “The last thing we need is yet another hazardous situation.”

John nodded at him, half of a traditional bow Saito had insisted since the beginning of their acquaintance wasn’t necessary to honor his culture. It was a joke between them now. Before Saito the chance to put up his token protest, his commander moved along like a fish swimming with easy grace in a pond. John may not enjoy space, but he was very proficient getting about in zero gravity.

Something bumped into his left tricep. Surprised, Saito turned and found his tablet started to drift away again. He chuckled to himself and snatched it out of the air, ready to settle into the long slough of his morning.

He managed to retrieve the headphones before his next interruption, too. As the control center was one of the central byways of the Station, Saito took the constant stream of his crew going past with a grain of salt. Most days, before the destruction below, they were off to do what the higher ups on the ground had commanded, but now they tended to linger. It kept the loneliness at bay, since it was the six of them.

Eli bumped a shoulder into Saito’s arm with a warm, bright smile. His fellow scientist was happy almost all the time and loved to complain about the littlest things to take his mind off the big issues. That smile told him to expect the same today.

“We can’t flash freeze the chives,” Eli started off.

Saito raised an eyebrow and let go of the headphones as he turned to face Eli. “What?”

“We can’t flash freeze the chives,” Eli repeated. The non-sequitur made less sense the second time he said it.

“Why not?” Saito let go of his tablet again, careful to match up the Velcro strip on the back with the shelf this time, because he had a sinking feeling in his stomach this conversation was about to become very technical. As much as basic farming ever did, anyway.

“The stalks are too thin,” and Eli waved one of the dark green tubes in front of Saito’s face. Where had his friend hidden that? “They’ll shatter under the sudden molecular change.”

When Eli stopped, which was funny because the man had the uncanny ability to talk a subject to death, Saito was at a loss. “Maybe we can dry them?”

Eli’s expression hardened into a disapproving, narrow-eyed stare. “How can we dry them without a way to hang them up, or a dry hot box to put them in? There’s too much humidity to let them float around and get caught on something. They’d rot in place and we can’t have that.”

When he put it that way, Saito saw the problem. “Perhaps we could make a lattice out of string and tie the chives to it, harnessed in a hatchway to one of the storage areas? It gives adequate airflow and space for them to float.”

“That doesn’t solve for the humidity problem, but it’s a good starting point.” Eli put his fingers to his chin and his gray eyes slid out of focus, a definitive sign that his friend was lost in thought. The chives had just started to outpace the crew’s consumption of them. The hot sauce had run out a couple months ago and the ketchup was on its last legs, despite rationing it to a quarter teaspoon per man, per day tops. Chives and salt would soon be the only seasonings left. No one wanted to overindulge on them before there was no other choice.

“I leave that part to you.” Saito smiled and patted Eli on the shoulder. He had to get back to the signal. John would skin him if it changed and no one was paying attention to it.

Eli took the hint though and made off toward the starboard side along the spine of the Station. Saito grabbed up the headphones, which hovered like some magic trick to the right of the console, and eased them over his ears. The steady fall of static washed over him and he tracked down his tablet before it made an impromptu escape into the crew area off to the left. The Velcro was weakening. He’d have to tie a tether to it before much longer.

Saito backed out of his tablet settings and called up his library of reading material. It was a massive collection, full of digital prints spanning centuries of work. His current book sat at the top of the list, vivid blue water cut down the center by a pair of shapely legs. It was pretty, though it didn’t reveal anything close to the fantastic story hidden by the bright cover.

A tap to his shoulder made him sigh. Gently this time, Saito placed his tablet at the precise edge of the shelf next to the workstation and twirled with a laconic nudge, so that he faced his next distraction. Yakecen grinned in subdued greeting.

“You look like you could use some company,” he said. Saito frowned, but Yakecen brushed his exasperation aside with a literal nudge to his right arm.

“I was just about to spend my time reading, actually.” Saito pointed at his glowing tablet to make sure Yakecen caught his meaning. “There’s no need to entertain me if you have others things to see to.”

His friend made a pointed effort not to look at his tablet. Yakecen settled into a comfortable position on his right and floated there with a supremely placid look on his copper-toned face. “Nothing important enough to let you wallow in the funk you’re in.”

“Funk?” Saito exclaimed.

“Yes, funk,” Yakecen repeated. “You’ve been in it since the world ended and all of us agreed it was bad for your health to continue with this attitude. Stress is the mind killer, after all.”

“Fear,” Saito corrected, already mulling over his friend’s words. “Fear is the mind killer.”

What did Yakecen mean? Saito was not an extrovert, by any definition, his crew knew after years of association with him. This wasn’t new. He thought it prudent to give no real thought to the situation beyond their little temporary home, because depression was a b***h to deal with and such a state had the potential to lead to awful events Saito wanted to avoid at all costs. But ‘funk’?

“How did you figure I was in this funk?” Saito asked.

“You’re too quiet, even for you,” Yakecen answered at once. “You seem to have crawled inside your own head and only talk to the rest of us when we approach you directly. It’s bumming me out, if I’m being honest. What’s going on?”

Maybe Yakecen had a point. It was rare that he sought out the others anymore, turning to his books and solitude instead of them. He wasn’t a social person by nature, but Saito loved to spend time with the crew, even if it was to be present in the communal areas of the Station and let the conversations wash over him. Sometimes he liked to add his opinion. Had he stopped doing that?

Saito must have if Yakecen said it. The engineer didn’t sugarcoat anything. He was honest to the point of tactless, one of Saito’s favorite things about his crewmate. He was a fellow introvert as well. It took one to know one.

And maybe his reluctance to interact with the rest of the denizens of the Station had something to do with the ash-cloaked world below. Since it had happened, their situation seemed to be the only real topic of conversation in the last year. All of their actions revolved around their survival in space, more so than before they lost contact with the ground. Yes, the issue had to be dealt with, but why couldn’t he have his books, escape their delicate existence for a couple of hours at a time?

On the other hand, if his crewmates all felt that way, they must have thought he’d abandoned them. Saito winced as the problem became apparent. s**t, it was the height of rude behavior to ignore the crew, the only family he knew for an undeniable fact was left.

“I suppose I’ve found it hard to face what is happening,” Saito admitted with reluctance flattening his voice. He kept his eyes on the off-white wall past the black and green screen in front of him. There was nothing in the entire universe that would make him look at Yakecen while his eyes burned. It was a struggle to make his face stay as smooth as a lake’s surface. “We are doing everything we can to make it on the Station, and yet we still talk it to death. I just want to put it aside for a time, relax without our fate hanging like a guillotine blade over my neck.”

“That’s how you feel?” Yakecen murmured. He bumped his shoulder against Saito’s.

“Yes, and living the reality is hard enough. I want to enjoy my non-work hours on anything else.” Static burbled from the headphones looped around his neck as a quiet backdrop to his chaotic mind, thoughts as loud as chū-daiko drums and not anywhere close to their resonant beauty.

Yakecen stayed silent for a long time. It was a contemplative silence, though comfortable. He guessed his friend never thought about how fatalistic the whole crew sounded. It was a strange thing. They were scientists to some degree, except for John, and batting ideas around like a colorful yarn ball is what they did in the face of a problem or question. After this long, a year into their new mission and two and a half since they arrived in space, what more was there to discuss? The dangers didn’t change and the solutions worked until it was no longer feasible, then they came together to think up something else. Why rehash it all the time?

“I guess it gives us the illusion of control,” Yakecen said at last, uncertain in his answer from the low tone. “Without solid data in regards to the Earth, this is the best we have.”

“Yes, but even that can get tiresome.” Saito’s head dropped down of its own accord and he let the sigh of frustration fill his lungs.

“Especially for someone as pragmatic as you.” Yakecen chuckled as Saito’s head snapped up, an indignant retort already on the tip of his tongue. His friend waved him off with a flap of his left hand. “It’s not an insult, just the way you are. I like it, personally, because it keeps you from spinning out to worst case like the rest of us can.”

John’s name floated between them, unsaid but heard. Their commander was a great man, steady and strong, calm most of the time. Except with Jason. Secret relationship or not, it was clear as the peak of Mount Fuji that John had no control of himself when it came to his lover. The incident with the airlock was proof of that. Until that celebration a few years ago, they all had some harebrained scheme to bring those two together. Saito was thankful the situation didn’t come to that. Matchmaking was outside his skill set.

“Are you sure there’s nothing I can do to help you out of that dour mood you’re in?” Yakecen had a higher wheedling tone, one that annoyed him to no end.

“I’m not in any kind of mood,” Saito snapped back and started to root around the workstation for an extra power cord for his tablet. The damned things were plentiful to the point of becoming an invasive species. “I’m just tired of all the doomsday talk on board and want a break from it with a good book. Shoo.”

Yakecen’s laughter was mellow. Saito growled at him, annoyance flaring up to true ire at his friend. That growl must have been the hint Yakecen needed, apparently, because he shoved his shoulder into Saito’s and stretched up from his unsupported lounge. “I’m going. No need to get your samurai blood in a boil over little old me. Plus, I think someone you’ll be happier to see is coming this way.”

“What?” Saito glanced up, but Yakecen was already out of the module, feet kicking a lazy tempo. “Fine,” Saito grumbled.

“Talking to yourself, Tatsu?” ‘Lach popped in from the Columbus, smiling large to match his statue. There was no way Yakecen had seen ‘Lach. Damn Yakecen’s weird sixth sense anyway.

Saito’s heart picked up a faster beat at the sight of his friend. The smile bloomed across his face before he allowed it, but that was fine. Since the first time he’d seen Turlach, a smile was his first impulse.

“No, ‘Lach. Yakecen came to see if I was doing well.” Saito rolled his eyes. “You know how he worries.”

“Aye.” ‘Lach emerged from crew quarters in all his pale, freckled glory and matched Saito’s relaxed lotus posture in front of the console. “I think if Yakecen had no one to mother, he would crumble to dust and blow away. I never saw the need to deny him a target.”

“That’s very kind of you, ‘Lach, but I have a mother. She was never that way.” After a moment, he crowed and fished out a cord from the underside of the workstation, the constant ache in his heart for his stern mother already pushed aside. He held it up in triumph. Once his tablet was connected, Saito resumed his thought. “I feel it’s more like an older sibling looking out for the younger ones. Overcompensation when they believe their siblings aren’t doing well but the parents have not noticed yet.”

Those green eyes lit up in thought. “He does have a few. Three or four of them. Maybe he treats us like that because he misses them. It’s been about five years since he’s been back to Tohono O’odham.”

That was a good explanation, however Saito thought it was just Yakecen’s way. Their crewmate would’ve treated them the same no matter the number of siblings he had. There was a need to fill and the crew filled that need. Saito was fine with Yakecen’s constant mothering, when it was for everyone else.

“What made him come to you? If you don’t mind sharing,” Turlach asked like he did everything else, straight to the point.

Saito hesitated for a moment. It was one thing to be approached about his mood, but another to confide in someone when they were being curious for the sake of it. Turlach was good though, and not prone to use his information against others. None of them were. NASA chose them all for a wide variety of reasons and being able to keep a secret was one of them.

“He wanted to know why I’ve been so reticent lately. I tried to explain that I wanted some time away from the doom and gloom batted about around here, but I doubt he believed me.”

Turlach nodded along as Saito relayed the conversation between him and Yakecen. As he trailed off, ‘Lach stewed in whatever his thoughts were for long minutes. Why did he bother? There was no reason to question what, in essence, was an extrapolation of Yakecen’s imagination.

“You have been quieter of late,” Turlach said. “More inward focused. I wanted to ask, but I see our friend has beaten me to it.”

“Nothing is wrong, though,” Saito protested. “I find all this constant talk over the same thing tedious in the extreme. How is that hard to understand?”

Turlach raised his hands and ducked his head. “You’re right, of course you are. It’s just that you enjoy keeping your own thoughts and no one is ever sure if you are doing all right. It never hurts to double check.”

The ire Saito felt left him fast, like air out of a balloon. They were good friends, good people. Saito was such a person to keep his troubles to himself and the crew was looking out for him, just in case his silence became cover for a darker reason.

“That is fine,” Saito said. He brushed his fingertips over ‘Lach’s left wrist, which made his friend glance up. “Now I understand.”

The smile he received in response was wide and brilliant, which made the freckles scattered like the stars across Turlach’s nose and cheeks stretch. Saito loved those freckles. “Good. We worry and we’re allowed to worry. That’s how we keep each other stable in this mad, mad existence.”

“Point taken,” Saito murmured. “What were you up to in the Columbus, anyway?”

“A little of this, a little of that,” Turlach teased and wagged his finger. He was the sole person who got away with poking fun when it came to Saito.

Saito chuckled and nudged at his friend’s arm. They all had to be careful of how hard they pushed each other. Too much and someone would careen into a wall. “Seriously,” he asked.

Turlach lowered his finger and lifted a single, dark eyebrow. “Digging the fake dirt out from under my fingernails. Same thing I’ve done at the end of every shift with the vegetables. I have to pull up some of the carrots today.”

“Vegetable duty.” Saito groan was soft with dismay. If it were feasible, he would beg to trade his shifts with the sprawling garden for anything else. Their growth medium mimicked dirt, down to the fine flakes that clung to the beds of his finger nails, in ways that made Saito blanch. He entered the agricultural field because it was not nearly as messy as horticulture. Ick. “I have that after I’ve served my stint chained to the signal.”

“I know you hate it.” Turlach’s grin told him how much his friend loved his misery just then. “At least none of us has a latrine to deal with.”

A shudder ran across Saito’s shoulders. A real, live shudder of revulsion. “I will pay homage to my honored ancestors we don’t have to do ‘that’.”

“So happy I don’t have to either.” Turlach grinned. “Although I’ve done such duties before, as part of the service.”

That was one of the reasons Saito had never bothered with JSDF. The duties were abhorrent for more reasons than he cared to count and he had never found a situation which prompted the death of someone. A faceless enemy was all well and good, but he knew there were men and women in the uniforms of foreign adversaries, just past their age of majority. He couldn’t do it.

Saito shook off the dreadful thought. Up in the vast beautiful cosmos, such actions were unneeded. On the planet below, at that moment, there was no one left who were willing to wage such a war ever again. Nor had they the means to do so.

“It’s all the dirt I find on my skin afterward, that never quite comes off with one washing. I hate the clinginess of it.” Saito grimaced. “Such a task would be tolerable if I could slough it off at the end of my shift.”

“Wear gloves,” Turlach said. “We have some, you know.”

“I will not.” An indignant note crept into his voice at the thought. “Those are for medical emergencies and I refuse to endanger anyone because I hate dirt.”

“Then you’re stuck.” Turlach shrugged, but gripped his shoulder in a consoling fashion. An electric buzz began at the point of contact, irrespective of the fact that his uniform prevented any actual skin-to-skin touch. Saito was going to roll his eyes at himself the moment he was alone. Lovesick fool he may be, but this was ridiculous.

“I suppose I will survive,” Saito quipped as he stuffed his heart back down in his chest, where it belonged.

Turlach squeezed his shoulder. “What other choice do you have?”

“None. And I should show some appreciation. Without these plants and our efforts, we’ll starve to death. I’ll live.” Saito let a small smile take over his face. “At least you all are in the same boat as me.”

Turlach leaned in, like he was about to share some great secret. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

If Saito had the ability to blush, and he was adamant in the fact he didn’t, he would’ve been a lovely copper color. As it was, he occupied himself with the computer he was supposed to be monitoring, the green line a bouncy little break in the screen.

Some deep, courageous part of himself reared up and forced his mouth open before he had time to think about it. “It would make my rotation with the plants more bearable if I had some company.”

Saito curled his lips between his teeth in an instant, appalled. What in the f**k happened there? If a faster way to alert Turlach to his interest existed, he had never heard of it. His friend was stalwart in his companionship, but Saito had never seen Turlach show any romantic interest in him. Of all the worst possible times to cause a potential crew drama, the apocalypse was not it.

“I’m happy to lend you a hand.” Turlach held up both of his large, square hands and wiggled his fingers. “What do you know, I can lend you two.”

It was a terrible joke, but a laugh burst out of him all the same. Saito curled up on himself, stomach aching from the pressure, and tried to breathe around the giggles he couldn’t make stop. Turlach’s hand landed on the nape of his neck above the headphone band and pulled him close to his crewmate’s warm side, that same arm slung over his shoulders.

“You know, that was the worst dad joke I had in my arsenal. I can’t believe it worked.” Warm amusement infused Turlach’s voice as he said it, but Saito was helpless to answer, only able to chortle and smother his face in the powdery scent his friend carried. It was from the baby wipes they all used for quick clean up.

The reflexive spasms from his laughter slowed to a couple of random hiccups buried against Turlach’s uniform. As Saito brought himself under control, ‘Lach manhandled him back to his previous position, a mischievous grin on his face that didn’t bode well. “Now I know you’re a sucker for terrible jokes.”

Saito faked a groan and fell back, floating in place, which ruined the effect he was going for. Needed gravity for that. “Oh no, I laughed at one of your bad jokes. I fear all the nefarious deeds you can concoct with that knowledge.”

“You should,” Turlach scolded, and he sounded completely serious for on second. “I’m going to tell Eli and if he thinks you’re in a bad mood, he won’t stop until you pee yourself laughing.”

Oh, Turlach might have a devious plan after all. That was just the sort of thing Eli loved to do, find an exploitable weakness and use it to brighten your day. Around this crew, Saito had never heard a one-liner that bad, because they were astronauts and far more serious with better crafted jokes. His weakness for the bad ones were liable to spread like fire among them.

Too late now.

“Yes, well, I suppose you would have found out eventually. There are a finite numbers of highbrow jokes we are capable of making without input from cultural sources.” The panel he faced, above the console he was supposed to work at, earned an eyeroll for the offense of existing right then. His family would be scandalized if they saw his absolute disregard for proper behavior right then.

“Too right we would have.” Saito gave up his glare at the off-white panel and turned his head to Turlach.

That happy expression hadn’t left his friend’s face, but it had softened. “It’s nice to know there are still things we can learn about each other.”

Saito rolled upright and folded his legs into a lotus, levitating like an old monk in a temple. “If we had learned all there is to know about someone after five years, humanity would not have advanced as far as it has.”

“Had, anyway.” Turlach’s eyes strayed to his hands, studious in a way that suggested he was avoiding eye contact. When he cleared his throat, Saito knew it for certain. “But yes, it’s good to know there are still surprises to look forward to.”

“So, tell me something about you that I might find surprising,” Saito challenged.

“I hate whisky,” ‘Lach muttered.

Saito grinned. “I can’t imagine it. I have personally seen you gorge on a bottle of Jameson whisky a couple of times.”

“Aye,” he nodded. “You’ll recall those times were both when it was the only alcohol available and I had a pressing need to be drunk.”

Those were vague, foggy memories. Liquor was a bane to his existence, so Saito indulged on rare occasions. It made him too forthright, too bold. The particulars escaped his mind, true, but ‘Lach was also not prone to lying to spare himself embarrassment. Saito had no trouble taking his friend at his word.

“All right, tell me another.” Turlach rearranged himself to match Saito, legs crossed and hands loose in his lap.

Saito dug down for a juicy tidbit and grinned when something came to mind. “I have the first print of the Station’s Haynes manual.”

At first, ‘Lach looked at him like he had lost his mind, but understanding unfolded in an incredulous gape. “You’re fooling me.”

“I would never,” Saito gasped in an attempt to feign outrage. It didn’t work at all.

“Those books existed?” A frown took over ‘Lach’s face. “I tried to get one for the longest time when I was a lad and never found one. After a while, I gave up, thinking they were a myth.”

“Now, you tell me one.” Static rumbled soft in one ear as Saito and Turlach traded little secrets, precious jewels of knowledge. Saito loved every one and tucked them in close to his heart, for safekeeping. The rest of his shift slipped away in ‘Lach’s pleasant company.

Jason meandered up behind Turlach while he was in the middle of a fantastic tale about the apple tree in the backyard of his childhood home of Dundalk, and Saito was skeptical of his friend’s version of events. Their second in command waited until Turlach paused for a breath.

“It’s my turn,” Jason interjected. Turlach jerked sideways and almost collided with Saito, though he turned the accidental move into a happy little spin the moment Turlach was in range. Their second laughed, Saito saw the gleeful expression on his face every time he and Turlach completed a rotation, and plucked the headphones off Saito’s head.

“Thanks,” Saito chirped once the cord was out of the way, wrapped around Jason’s fist. Getting tangled in the headphones was not in any way dignified and Saito hated to think of the detangling process. On the other hand, he would’ve been stuck full front to ‘Lach, so it wasn’t all bad.

Jason waved away Saito’s gratitude. “Anything to report?” he asked instead.

“Nothing, Jason.” Saito shot out a hand and forced him and Turlach to a stop with a hand on a bare wall space, facing Jason. “I wish I had something else to report.”

A sympathetic look settled on Jason’s features. “I do too, but the silence is expected.”

‘Lach tugged at Saito’s wrist. “Come on. We’ve got eggplants to slaughter.”

Jason shooed them out and Saito’s last look at him was as he eased the headphone jack out of the speakers. It was weird to see Jason’s slumped shoulders. Everything was going well, reasonably speaking. Maybe he was morose on John’s behalf. Their commander had family on the surface, like the rest of them, except Jason. If Saito had to guess, Jason’s reaction was dependent on his lover’s.

He was guided out of the control center and herded down the center path of the Station, Turlach’s hand a firm shackle around his wrist. At first, Saito assumed they would start in Destiny, since it was closest to the crew area. The hatchways flew by instead, unheeded. Turlach was intent on the farthest module the crops were grown in, Zvezda.

“Why are we starting in here?” Saito wondered, eyes on ‘Lach’s bright expression.