Date Point 10y4m2w2d AV
HMS Sharman (HMNB Folctha), Folctha, Cimbrean, The Far Reaches.
Martina Kovač
“Ow, ow ow, OW!”
“And hooold…”
“Fuuuuccckk…. Aargh!”
“There ya go.” Arés released the firm pressure he’d been applying, and Martina sucked in her breath. “You okay?” He asked.
“I was right, this is fucking weird!” Martina declared over her shoulder, before adding “…And painful!” almost as an afterthought.
“Do I gotta remind you again that your job involves measuring dicks?”
“Ugh, you keep bringing that up.” She grumbled. “Yes, that’s weird too! I’ve just gotten used to it, okay?”
“Well, get used to this. Come on, I let you keep your underwear on didn’t I? Believe me, this’d go easier without.”
Martina huffed, and put her head down on her folded arms. There had been a lot of midnight fantasies since she’d first met him that involved Arés. Therapeutic massage was proving to be a painfully effective antidote to all of them, which just wasn’t fair.
She gritted her teeth as he repeated that same press-and-stretch maneuver on another deep knot of tense and damaged gluteal tissue. The deep muscular pain gave way to an intense surface stinging as he stretched the heat-tightened skin as well, working on the patch that was threatening to scar.
“Agh, aagh, aaagh… fuck!”
He cleared his throat. “Sorry… Seriously though, this ain’t all down to your injury. Your fasciae are fucked. Do you even know how to stretch properly when you exercise?”
“Oh God, you’re gonna show me, aren’t you?”
“Fitness and nutrition is my job, remember.” Arés reminded her. He started massaging her obliques. “If I was using the suit wrong, you’d correct me, right?”
“Right, right…” for whatever reason, the pressure and stretching of her obliques was easier to handle. Then again, she probably hadn’t spent most of the last week with them permanently tensed, unlike most of the other muscles in her back. “I’m using my body wrong, huh?”
“Lemme guess. You start off with your jog first and think, like, ’yeah, this’ll warm me up fine’ am I right?”
He was completely right. “…yeah.”
“Wrong. You’ve gotta stretch out.” He shifted to her lats, which drew an immediate involuntary noise of complaint out of her. “Damn, were you just tensed up the whole time?!”
“I was in a lot of pain, okay?!” Martina defended herself. He pushed the breath out of her by applying some unrelentingly firm pressure. When he stopped, she hissed her breath back in through her teeth. “…ow.”
“You’re doin’ great.” He reassured her.
“Gotta… represent for the tech team.”
“Doin’ good so far.” He repeated. “Last time I gave this to one of the Lads, he was fuckin’ crying, the big baby.”
To everyone and in honour of major Powell’s term for them, the SOR Operators were universally known as “The Lads”, even among themselves. It sounded a bit strange in any kind of an American accent, but it was just part of the SOR culture nowadays.
“Oh? Details?”
“Forget it. Bro-code says no, and so does medical confidentiality.”
“Dammit.” She sighed, grimacing as he smoothed out another deep imperfection in her musculature. “So is this bro-code written down anywhere, or…?”
“Sure. In a book of steel, twenty feet tall, hidden in a mountain temple. To even read it you gotta pass the twelve trials of manliness.”
Amused, Martina rolled her eyes. “Keep your head when all about you are losing theirs and – OW!”
“Sorry.”
“-and blaming it on you, that kinda thing?”
“I was thinking more like… y’know, punching bears, cutting down trees, stuff like that. Was that a quote?”
Martina found her laugh. With all his technical talk of fasciae and his obvious aptitude and intelligence for sports medicine, it was sometimes easy to forget that Arés was in other ways quite uneducated. “Rudyard Kipling. You really don’t know it?”
“Should I?”
“My dad said it’s–” She had to stop, as he did something agonizing to her shoulder. “…aaaaargh! FUCK!! What was that?!”
“Your intraspinatus muscle. What’d your dad say?”
“Right, uh… ow…he said, uh, he said Kipling’s popular among combat arms. I figured you’d know it.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“It’s more of an Army thing, I guess. Daddy was a Ranger.” She sighed and rode the next discomfort with little more than squeezing her eyes shut for a second. “I don’t know HOW he’s gonna react when I write him and say ’Guess what daddy? I got my butt scorched in space!’…”
“And your back.”
“Dude, the – oof! – the booty’s more important.”
“No argument here…”
She laughed, and he pushed through his final ministrations to her left shoulder.
“Okay,” he declared “That’s it for this session. Next one should be easier.”
He handed her a bathrobe and turned around as she stood up. She shimmied on the spot, feeling oddly limber and loose, and noted that her healing burn hurt noticeably less from the motion, too. It wasn’t perfect – she was still feeling sore and bruised from the firm therapy, and frankly exhausted to go with it, as if she’d just gone a round in the boxing ring – but she felt hugely improved.
“Wow!”
Arés beamed his patented goofy smile and bounced slightly in place. She’d always liked that about him, that despite everything that had happened to him and despite his sheer physicality and all the testosterone that must come with it, he was the guy on the team who smiled the most often and who came with the most inexhaustible store of puppyish energy.
“Okay, so what’s next, Doctor Arés?”
“Warm bath, plenty of fluids, and protein.” He replied promptly. “And you limber up properly last thing before going to bed and first thing in the morning.”
“Will do. Are we doing this again tomorrow? Only, I have to go stand in front of the old man tomorrow.”
“Aww, man, really? You don’t deserve that.”
She laughed. “Relax. I gave Davison my Crue knowing I was gonna get in trouble for it. I’ll take my lumps, whatever they are.”
“I hope he goes easy on you…”
“Arés, Major Powell’s the best commander I ever had. Whatever he decides I deserve, that’s what I deserve. Don’t worry so much.”
Date Point 10y4m2w2d AV
War Platform Lifebringer, Perfection System, The Core Worlds
Grand Fleetmaster Tk’vrrtnnk A’Khvnrrtk
The first thing that struck Tk’v about the human fleet’s deployment was its precision and expertise. Their fleetmaster clearly had an outstanding grasp of operations and tactics, was well-versed in three-dimensional thinking, and had a cadre of shipmasters reporting to him each of whom seemed to have similar insight and competence.
Considering how small the human fleet was, it was doing an admirable job of providing near-perfect orbital coverage, especially over the major population centers. Knowing what he did of human space combat doctrine, thanks to the records from Capitol Station, Garden and the recent skirmish in this very system, he was prepared to call it masterful.
Which was why he was determined that this was going to be a cordial and nonviolent encounter. The presumably-late former fleetmaster Xkk’ of Perfection’s system defence fleet had found himself pushed into a prestigious career dead end precisely because of his fatal tendency to focus on the problem directly in front of him and, frankly, because of his bigotry.
Tk’v prided himself on having avoided those pitfalls.
“Slow the fleet to one-quarter lightspeed and hail the humans.” he ordered. The fleet responded like the well-oiled, battle-hardened machine it was. Years of sporadic clashes along the Celzi borders had kept them tough and lean, and full of only the best officers and crew. None of the bickering political dolts who got sidelined into system defence, this was a Dominion wargroup, the very best. His orders were obeyed smoothly and precisely.
“Channel open, fleetmaster.”
Tk’v nodded to the comms officer, and spoke aloud. “This is Grand Fleetmaster Tk’vrrtnnk A’Khvnrrtk aboard the war platform Lifebringer. Our fleet wishes to approach peacefully.”
The reply was a handful of Ri’ in coming. When it did, and he laid eyes on his human opposite number, he was struck by the impression both of age and weariness that the deathworlder was giving off. Tk’v had educated himself extensively on their species, and was quite sure that the human was either unwell, or exhausted.
Most likely the latter, if this was the same ’Caruthers’ who had so badly confounded Xkk’. And he could hardly blame the deathworlder for physical and emotional fatigue. The man must be feeling a weight of responsibility for what the Hunters had done to Perfection.
“Fleetmaster William Caruthers aboard the destroyer Violent.” he replied, confirming Tk’v’s suspicions. A few of the Lifebringer’s officers exchanged nervous looks, and Tk’v could hardly blame them. ‘Destroyer’? ‘Violent’? Neither the classification nor name were calculated to inspire confidence in the peacefulness of deathworlders.
“Bellicose names, fleetmaster.” Tk’v observed. “I hope they are not a statement of intent.”
”Only toward our enemies, fleetmaster.” Caruthers replied. “I very much hope we don’t count you among them…?”
“You do not.” Tk’v assured him. “As Grand Fleetmaster of the Dominion Fifth Grand Fleet, I thank you for your defence of this our planet in its time of need, and my fleet stands ready to relieve yours of your vigil. Will you withdraw?”
”We shall.” Caruthers replied. Though he did not know the words and etiquette, his politeness and formality were obvious. He turned to somebody out of his camera’s field of view and nodded. The humans must already have planned for this eventuality, because their fleet smoothly climbed to high orbit and warped as one to the orbit of Perfection’s smallest moon. Tk’v wondered whether his own veteran commanders could have executed the maneuver so professionally.
Considering how short a time humans had been a spacefaring species, their competence was faintly disquieting. He could see why Xkk’ had panicked.
“Transports to enter low orbit and begin the aid drops.” he ordered. “Military vessels to take higher orbit and provide coverage.”
He admitted an expression of satisfaction to himself as his ships matched the humans for precision and finesse. He was determined to be peaceful and constructive, but there was no reason to show the Dominion at anything less than its best. Indeed, the Dominion’s best was exactly what these deathworlders needed to see right now.
He transferred the channel to his desk at the back of the command deck, so as to continue the conversation with a little more privacy and discretion.
“As one fleetmaster to another,” he said, once settled, “I would appreciate hearing your version of events, rather than relying purely on the sensor data. I’m given to understand that the system defence fleet was neutralized by you.”
Contextual information on the screen attempted to analyze Caruthers’ expressions and body language as he composed his reply. They settled on a decision that the human was emoting awkwardness and no small degree of remorse. “…I won’t deny as a matter of historical fact that their sensors were disabled at my order.” he ventured.
“Was that necessary?” Tk’v asked.
”I deemed it so at the time.”
“And now?”
Caruthers glanced outside his camera’s FOV again. Tk’v could only guess what he was looking at. After a few long Ri’, the human spoke again, choosing his words with care.
”I… feel a great sadness and sympathy that this attack has happened, fleetmaster,” he said at last. “But I can’t and won’t accept responsibility for it. In the circumstances I think our decisions and actions were warranted, proportionate and reasonable.”
Tk’v examined the preliminary estimates flowing in from the aid and rescue ships. “The early estimates suggest that the Hunters may have killed more than a million people, fleetmaster.” he pointed out. “And abducted who-knows-how-many.”
”I’m aware.” Caruthers replied. On Tk’v’s screen, the contextual information tentatively hazarded a cocktail of sorrow and determination, though the probabilities were low. Humans had such expressive faces that the software’s second best guess was a blend of anger and remorse. The differences, it seemed, were measured in millimeter variations in the precise tension of dozens of different muscles.
“They were able to do so because, on your orders, the system defence fleet was crippled and defenceless.” Tk’v continued.
”Yes.”
“To protect a single ship.”
“…Yes.”
“And you believe that this was ‘warranted, proportionate and reasonable’, fleetmaster?”
Caruthers sat back in his seat. The translator gave up on trying to read his expression. “In the circumstances,” he stressed, ”with the knowledge available to me at the time I made the decision – yes.”
“This event is going to harm your species, you know.” Tk’v pointed out.
”Thank you for the warning, Fleetmaster,” Caruthers replied. “But – from one commander to another, as equals who should be allies against our mutual enemies – I must ask what you would do if your species was threatened with extinction. What price would you be willing to pay?”
Tk’v did not reply. Instead, he ran a hand thoughtfully down the length of his nose, and nodded. “…If you are willing to lend your help a while longer,” he suggested, “we could use an out-system patrol. Your ships have the speed and stealth to perform admirably in that role.”
”Communicate your orders, and I will see them done to the best of our ability.” Caruthers promised.
Tk’v outlined in brief what role the humans would be performing – to loiter silently in the system’s outer icy object halo and serve as a front line of warning should the Hunters return, and to alert the fleet of incoming merchant vessels.
Caruthers listened earnestly and alertly, only speaking to first clarify, and then confirm what he was being asked to do. “We’ll see to it,” he declared once briefed.
“Thank you.” Tk’v sketched a gesture of respect and gratitude. “And… I extend an open invitation for you to inspect my ship, once the situation is controlled.”
Caruthers betrayed only a moment of calculation. “Thank you. I gratefully accept.”
“Carry out your orders.”
“Aye aye, fleetmaster.”
The human ships were already aligned and maneuvering. Tk’v had barely closed the line to Violent before they went to warp, displaying an alarming acceleration profile. Tk’v’s fastest scout ships could only barely have matched them, and he very much doubted that Caruthers had shown their full capability.
He turned his attention away from them for now, and toward the surface of Perfection. There was a lot to do.
Date Point 10y4m2w3d AV
HMS Sharman (HMNB Folctha), Folctha, Cimbrean, The Far Reaches
Major Owen Powell
“Send her in.”
Considering she was probably still enduring some lingering tenderness from both her injuries and Warhorse’s thorough rehabilitative ministrations, Kovač wasn’t showing an iota of it. She entered Powell’s office with parade-ground perfection, not a hair out of place, not a ribbon misaligned. Her left-face, attention and salute were all razor-sharp.
“Sir, Technical Sergeant Martina Kovač reports as ordered.”
Dressings-down required Powell to look for any imperfection, however tiny. Kovač stood rock-still and expressionless as he circled slowly around her, looking for the slightest blemish and finding none. That was a relief – he knew in his heart that he’d have done the exact same thing in her situation, and would have hated to make this telling-off any more severe than it had to be, especially not over a triviality.
She held the salute as he circled her, and only snapped it back down after he had returned to his seat, returned it, and slowly lowered his own hand.
“Technical sergeant Kovač, do you know the purpose of this meeting?” He asked, lightly.
“Yes, sir.”
“Normally, Kovač,” he said, “I expect NCOs to be enforcers of the rules, rather than breakers of them.” She knew better than to respond to what had not been a question, so he didn’t draw the pause out for long. “I would be interested in hearing your explanation.”
“Davison might well have died, sir. I believe that explanation suffices.”
Kovač was experienced and intelligent. Rather than playing it cagey she was appealing to an age-old reality of war, which was that the rules sometimes had to bend, especially in the face of suffering. Truth be told she was right – the explanation did suffice.
Nevertheless…
Powell nodded. “Certainly from what I gather he was looking at permanent disfigurement and disability.” He said. “In light of which your actions are entirely understandable. I might even say commendable….” He paused, then delivered the inevitable “…However. I must find that they were not acceptable.”
“As NCO in charge of suit systems one of your principal duties is to ensure that all SOR personnel, yourself included, are mission ready at all times. The use of Crue-D is restricted to SOR not only for that reason, but also because our supply of it is so limited. We simply do not have enough to administer to every wounded man and woman in all the allied services who suffers a grievous injury. I know you understand this rationale. Much as I appreciate that it’s difficult to be cold when faced with suffering like that, the restriction exists for a reason. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
He picked up a folded piece of paper. “In light of the circumstances, I have written this Letter of Counseling,” He said, handing it over, “Which shall be maintained in your Regimental records until such time as I see fit to dispose of it. This is not a punishment but it is a stern warning and it is evidence, which you should not compound with further incidents. Do you understand?”
“Yes sir.” Kovač was good at not giving anything away, but Powell was looking for the very subtlest of tells, and decided that she was receiving exactly what she had known was coming and was prepared to accept.
“Read it.”
She did so, diligently, and signed it after Powell had outlined the assorted legal necessities.
“Very well.” Powell stood, rounded the desk and leaned against it. “Just a parting comment, and this is more… informal.” He added. Kovač didn’t break posture. “The ideals of the SOR are Humility, Service and Selflessness.” He reminded her, not that he needed to. Everyone in the Regiment knew the ideals. “Calculated gambles with your career for what you think is a good and justified cause, well… If, Heaven forfend, you should ever find yourself needing to make a similar choice in future, I want you to remember that the regiment needs you, Kovač. We have a lot of talented people here, and they need both your expertise… and the example you set.”
Her composure finally showed a minor flaw – she blinked. “…Yes sir.”
Powell made a satisfied ’hmm’ and returned to his chair.
“Technical Sergeant Martina Kovač, you are dismissed.”
Martina Kovač
Warhorse was loitering a respectful but nearby distance from the major’s office. She’d protested that he needn’t: he’d insisted.
“How’d it go?” he asked, following slightly behind her, given that the base’s narrow hallways and his own bulk prohibited side-by-side perambulations.
“I got exactly what was coming to me.” Martina told him, allowing herself a satisfied smile. Powell’s veiled compliment at the end there had done much to lift her spirits. It was good to know that the old man had disciplined her out of obligation – like everybody else in the unit she was slightly in awe of him, and knowing that he was as much on her side as he could be in the circumstances was a real boost.
“That’s… good?” Adam hazarded.
She smiled and nodded. “LoC.”
“That’s still a punishment…” Arés pointed out.
“You’ve never had one?”
“Not yet.”
“You will.” Martina predicted. “Everybody gets one sooner or later and, hell, that was nothing. Believe me, it could have been a lot worse…” She stopped and turned to him. “But y’know what? I saved a guy’s face, and maybe his life. Fucking. Worth it.”
“…Feels good, don’t it?” Adam agreed.
“Yup. Just need to heal up and I can call this one a win.”
“Oh, yeah. About that.” he said. “Got a decision for ya.”
“Shoot.”
“Okay, so we can keep on with the rehab like we have been, or we could go Crue-assisted.” He said. “It’ll go twice as quick, but it’ll hurt more.”
Martina sighed. She was getting kinda sick of pain. Which in fact meant that there was no sense in prolonging it.
“Do you know what body-slamming into red hot metal feels like?” She asked. He shook his head. “I do. I can handle the Crue regime.”
He grinned. “Attagirl.”
Date Point 10y4m2w3d AV
North Clearwater County, Minnesota , USA, Earth.
Xiù Chang
Allison had a musical laugh – it started deep inside her and bubbled up like water. It was a nice compliment to Julian’s filthy throaty chuckle. Perfect for drawing out of them with campfire stories after sunset.
“Oh my God, really?” You couldn’t smell it or anything?”
Xiù shrugged with a faintly embarrassed laugh. “I didn’t know what alcohol smells like! And uh… Yeah, Talamay is, well…. Actually it’s about as strong as this beer.” she waggled the bottle for emphasis. Beer had come as a surprise, considering that the only other alcoholic drinks she had to compare it to were red wine and Talamay. She hadn’t expected cold, fizzy and bitter to translate to something she enjoyed, but in fact once she got past that and found the wheaten and even fruity flavors lurking underneath she’d converted, much to Allison’s delight.
Julian was poking at the burning wood with a stick, assessing it for when they could put the meat over it. She could see his teeth twinkling in the firelight.
“How much did you have?” Allison asked.
“Uh…” Xiù put her head back and stared at the stars, thinking. It was nice to imagine that one of them was Gaoyn, even though she knew that particular sun was much too far away to be seen by the naked eye. “We got so used to how I drank more water and had a bigger appetite than the Mothers that… well, they were drinking shot glass sized measures, and I was having it in more like a highball glass.”
“And Gaoians really don’t get drunk?” Julian asked.
“No. They just like the taste.”
“How does that work?” Julian wondered. “It’s the same solvent and they’re not that biologically different to us…it’s got to get into their bloodstream, right?”
“Maybe. I don’t know.” Xiù shrugged. “All I know is, they don’t get drunk. They were all kinds of surprised when I started giggling and stumbling around and then fell asleep.”
Allison made a snrrk sound and aborted the swig she’d been about to take of her own beer.
“You’re a lotta fun when you’re drunk, though,” she noted.
“I’m fun when I’m sober too!” Xiù objected.
“And even more fun when you’re drunk!” Allison nodded. Her grin broadcast pure teasing.
Xiù shot her a mock-bitchy pout, which Allison returned and they spent a few seconds pulling increasingly silly faces at each other before Xiù pulled out a trick she hadn’t done since she was a little girl and touched the tip of her nose with her tongue while squinting.
Whatever the subconscious rules of their completely impromptu game were, she considered it a win when Allison’s splutter and laugh ruined her next attempt.
“Penalty! Finish your drink!” Xiù ordered her.
“Awww! …Yes ma’am.”
“Good girl.” Xiù loved that little back-and-forth. Out of solidarity, she finished her bottle along with Allison.
“More?” Julian offered. He reached to his right and knocked on the cooler full of ice water and beer bottles.
Allison shuffled up next to Xiù. “I think he’s trying to ply us with drink,” she observed.
“I think he is!” Xiù agreed. “…I say we let him.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Well alright! Ply away, Etsicitty.”
“Yes ma’am!”
Xiù smiled to herself as he selected two fresh cold bottles from the cooler and accepted the ’good boy’ this earned him with a quiet smile. Apparently happy that they were ready to cook, he also grabbed the tupperware with its garlic and lemon chicken breasts and flipped them onto the metal grill where they hissed and steamed beautifully.
“…I’m going to miss this.” Xiù decided, looking around. Once upon a time, she would have thought that being in the woods after sundown surrounded by trees and animal noises would have been terrifying. Instead, the house and property that Julian had inherited from his grandfather felt cozy, in the little stain of firelight. “I love it here.”
“We’ve got another week before we have to leave, babe.” Allison told her.
“And you get to fly a spaceship.” Julian pointed out. “I love this place too, but come on, tell me you aren’t excited.”
“…A little bit.” Xiù admitted, taking refuge in massive understatement. She’d found time to call home and talk to her parents during the week, and had found it easier with some distance and with Julian and Allison there for support. Hearing the envy in her brother Wei’s voice had been delicious, which was so wrong of her, but still…
“Liar.” Allison accused fondly. “You can’t wait.”
“Okay, okay, sorry!” Xiù laughed. “You’re right.”
“What’s there left to do anyway?” Allison asked.
“Nothing.” Julian replied. “All the jobs are done. We’ve got a week to relax and be free.”
“So that’s why you suddenly decided to celebrate.” Allison snapped her fingers. “Shoulda guessed.”
“So, um… what are we going to do for that week?” Xiù asked. It was dawning on her that her life had been so driven by objectives over the last several years that suddenly having nothing to do was actually a daunting and alarming prospect.
“Uh…” Julian hesitated. “…Actually, I don’t know.”
They looked at Allison, whose expression was suddenly that of a woodland creature staring at the lights of a speeding truck. “Uh… we could…?”
They sat in mutual awkward cluelessness for about ten seconds before Julian finally laughed. “Seriously, do we-? Do none of us know how to just take a load off?”
“I… guess not.” Xiù said.
“Hey, we do!” Allison disagreed. “Movie nights?”
“Every day for a week?” Julian asked. “That much Disney might kill a man!”
“You like Disney!” Allison frowned at him.
“Ever heard of too much of a good thing?”
“Well okay mister,” Xiù challenged him, “Come up with an idea.”
Julian turned the chicken over, thoughtfully. “Actually… I always wanted to see Yosemite.”
“The national park?” Allison asked.
Julian laughed. “No, the cartoon cowboy,” he snarked. Allison rolled her eyes and flipped him the bird with a wry expression, so he leaned over and gave her a kiss. “How about it? Quick road trip, visit some places we’ve always kinda wanted to…?”
He looked at Xiù. “Whaddya think?”
Xiù blinked, desperately trying to think of somewhere she wanted to go. Her parents had always talked about visiting the “old country” despite both of them having been born in Canada, but she sensed that maybe places outside of North America weren’t an option.
She selected the first thing that came to mind. “Um… I don’t know. Vegas?”
“Okay. That’s not too far from Yosemite, either.” Julian nodded. “Al?”
Allison tugged her phone out of her pocket, and for the fiftieth time Xiù reminded herself to inquire just where the hell she found jeans with useful pockets. “Sec’.”
Julian and Xiù traded a confused frown as she Googled something.
“Al?”
“It’s Memorial Day this week, right? Which means…” Allison lowered her phone, grinning hugely. “…The Carnaval San Francisco is this weekend.”
“That sounds pretty easy. Fly to Vegas, day on the strip, rent a car and drive to Yosemite, then to San Fran, return the car there and fly to Omaha.”
“Can we afford that?” Xiù asked.
“Julian and I got paid by the abductee repatriation program for the work we did on Kirk’s ship.” Allison explained. “We can afford it.”
Julian turned the chicken over again. “Hell, if all this legal shit wasn’t threatening the house, we wouldn’t need to take the Byron contract. I mean, I’d still want to-” he added, before Allison could say anything, “but we wouldn’t need to.”
Xiù looked back at the house. “So we fixed it up and now we’re just… going away?”
“We can enjoy the fruits of our labors for a day or two.” Allison assured her. “But I like this road trip idea! We were gone for so long and we’ll be leaving again, I think we should at least try to, uh…”
“Reconnect.” Julian suggested.
“Yeah!” Allison nodded.
Xiù’s own attempts at reconnecting had been disastrous. Her old friends had all shown up with an assortment of hugs, chocolates, cards and a beautiful red leather phone case decorated with a hand-painted golden heron from her best school friend.
She’d promptly not heard from any of them again after that. Xiù Chang, living ghost – remembered fondly, but everyone had already mourned her and moved on. Having her pop up alive again, ten years later and five years too young thanks to the effects of stasis… It had been too awkward for everybody involved.
She decided not to mention her doubts that any of them could really connect any longer. Allison was far too headstrong to be gracefully talked out of something she was enthusiastic for, and in his own quiet way Julian was even more tenacious still.
Besides… Xiù was self-aware enough to know that she was a natural introvert, and she was feeling the familiar inertia of all introverts being pulled on by a more extroverted personality like Allison. It was counterbalanced by the knowledge that Al was entirely correct, and that she would enjoy herself, if only she allowed herself to be led.
“Fine, fine!” She smiled. “Let’s do it.”
Julian turned the chicken over, then clicked his tongue irritably. “Forgot the plates.”
“I’ll get them.” Allison sprang to her feet and headed back indoors.
“It’s ready?” Xiù asked. She crawled forward to get a closer look “That was fast.”
“Not yet.” Julian said. “It’s uh… gonna need a while longer yet…”
“Smells delicious.” Xiù turned toward him and suddenly became aware of just how close they’d unconsciously gotten. “Um…”
There was a long, hopeful moment where every detail became crystal clear – the way his breath was shaky in the inhale and he didn’t exhale at all: the supple play of the muscles in his throat, the way his mouth opened slightly, the way she could see, up close, that he was longingly watching her lips.
Her own expression was probably a perfect mirror image of his.
He turned his head slightly, called “…Al?” and the moment fell apart. Not for the first time, Xiù sat back and tried not to resent Allison for her ’ask first’ policy. Julian sagged, sighed out his caught breath and cleared his throat.
Allison’s voice floated out of the kitchen window. “Yeah?”
“…Never mind.”
“What?”
“Never mind!”
“…Okay!”
Julian sighed and, for something to do, he flipped the meat again. “…Dammit.”
Xiù self-consciously tidied some hair out of her face. “Um….are we…?” she began.
Julian smiled for her. “I’ll talk with her.” he promised. “I just…“ He raised his hand to gesticulate something, but whatever idea he’d been about to express, the words clearly eluded him.
Somehow, though, Xiù knew exactly what he meant. She would have replied, said something, except that Allison chose that moment to push the screen door open with her butt and emerge from the house carrying plates and cutlery in one hand and a bowl of mixed salad in the other.
“So!” she said, without preamble and apparently too eager to start planning their trip to notice Xiù’s and Julian’s awkwardness. “Vegas, huh?”
Xiù looked to Julian, who sniffed a silent laugh, smiled, shook his head and returned to tending the meat.
“…yeah.” She said. “I had this dream one time…”