《After The Storm》


 Chapter One: The Reliant

    It''s a beautiful summer morning out on Lake Michigan: the sun is bright, the sky and the water are two matching sheets of perfect blue, and Rich feels like he''s drowning. His reassignment to the industrial repair boat Reliant should feel like freedom, a fresh start. He should be grateful. Instead, he can¡¯t shake the sense that he¡¯s been swept overboard in a storm. The cold shock of hitting the water is past, the chaotic howl of the wind and waves replaced by a deadly stillness, and now he''s just sinking slowly, watching the surface get farther and farther away.


    Reassessment is sending Rich back to the same boat he started out on, and he keeps wondering why. He spent a couple years interning in the Reliant¡¯s Intelligent Systems Department, learning the basics, before he jumped at the chance to be reassigned to the much smaller engine repair boat Sympatico. He¡¯d wanted a head start on adulthood, and he¡¯d gotten it: a kid had to grow up fast, on the Sympatico, or his next assignment was a permanent posting to the lake bed. Maybe that¡¯s the reason, though. Maybe Reassessment hoped that dumping Rich right back where he¡¯d started would rewind him back to who he used to be, now that the Sympatico''s crew of toxic screw-ups has been disbanded and scattered across the whole Fleet.


    That disbanding is no secret, either, since the Sympatico is the unfortunate flagship of the new Admiral Clearwater¡¯s latest prosocial reform project. Ever since she got her balance, young Beatrice Clearwater¡¯s been dredging up a lot of issues that tired old Admiral Harriet Clearwater let slide, like starting to break up the worst crews from the shittiest boats, for instance. It¡¯ll give all the poor underperforming delinquents a new chance at being healthy, wholesome citizens who can finally live up to their full potential...and give everyone else a huge fucking headache.


    Rich''s new crewmates on the Reliant will know where he''s from as soon as they access his work history, if they haven¡¯t already been warned in advance. They¡¯ll know what he was part of. Even if he was some fresh-faced know-nothing intern on the Reliant once, Rich seriously doubts he¡¯s going to get a kid¡¯s leeway now that he¡¯s coming back a full-grown man with a record so full of black marks they¡¯re basically just one dark, shameful blur.


    The gulls wheeling and shrieking overhead are the same, at least. They¡¯re a passing note of familiarity as Rich pulls his deck-hopper up from its steady flight above the lake¡¯s ruffled surface, guiding it up to the top of the Reliant. The deck-hopper is standard Fleet issue, a clunky yellow-and-rust brick of a machine rather than any sleeker hoverbike, but it''s fine because Rich can barely operate the thing as is. Anything fancier would be wasted on him.


    With an embarrassingly loud thud, he lands in one of the little docks around the top deck of the refitted cruise ship. As the engine cuts off, the Reliant''s softly genderless voice murmurs to his implants¡¯ comms, ¡°Welcome to your new residency, Technician Merrill. Please enjoy your stay.¡±


    ¡°We''ll see,¡± Rich mutters under his breath, and steps out, duffle bag in hand.


    He hits the deck okay, and then he takes a few steps forward and has to stop, grabbing for the nearest railing reflexively. He doesn¡¯t feel unsteady enough to actually stumble, just...the deck isn¡¯t moving under his feet the same way he¡¯s used to, and he needs to stand still and fight down a swell of formless anxiety as he gets his balance back.


    It¡¯s the same way he felt when he woke up in Reassessment, on a boat that wasn¡¯t the Sympatico for the first time in years: off-balance and disoriented by the subtle changes of pitch and yaw that came with an unfamiliar ship, trying and failing to reconcile himself to his circumstances.


    The Reliant is more than four times the size of the Sympatico in both crew size and relative tonnage, and Rich is going to have to recalibrate to her in more ways than just keeping his head down and filling out his parole coursework. It¡¯s an unwelcome surprise, even though it shouldn¡¯t be. He should have been able to prepare himself for it ahead of time. But he didn¡¯t, and now it¡¯s one more thing Rich will have to knuckle down and deal with until things finally settle in.


    As if it wasn¡¯t embarrassing enough how Rich is clinging to the railing like a toddler, there¡¯s a guy waiting for him, watching with an expression that looks faintly amused and not-so-faintly unimpressed. He¡¯s only a head shorter than Rich, which makes him decently tall by Fleet standards; comfortably thick in the middle, with cool brown skin and an explosively curly black ponytail, streaked here and there with silver. His standard-issue black jeans and t-shirt are a lot nicer than Rich''s, fresh and well-fitted, and his crisply pressed overshirt is technician¡¯s grey, with a department head¡¯s gold rank stripe on the sleeve.


    With a surge of intense embarrassment, Rich remembers standing here in the same place, but five or six years younger and dumber. He¡¯d just scraped through the placement testing required for an intelligent systems technician¡¯s internship, transferring out of equipment repair, and was desperate to prove he belonged with the crowd of much sharper, brighter, fresher intern techs around him¡­while being acutely, miserably aware that the only way he would lead any rankings was if someone felt like sorting by mass.


    And in front of all of them had been the same guy standing in front of Rich now, giving a stern, deadpan speech about what would happen to the first intern who got cocky about their fresh new grown-up communication implants. No, you don¡¯t have to use data rings anymore, seemed to be the general message, but if you put so much as a finger near the Reliant¡¯s source functions she¡¯ll chew up your brain and I¡¯ll boot the rest of you over the railing.


    From day one, Ben had been the stereotype of an intelligent systems technician; grumpy and fussy and fiercely practical¡ªbut surprisingly patient with clueless interns. Now that Rich is old enough to be embarrassed of his own teenage self, he can appreciate how much it might test the guy¡¯s patience, being the head of department on a 200-residency fix-it boat, with not only an extra-large complement of techies, but an equally large complement of arrogant baby nerds. And the worst thing Ben had ever threatened to do was lock an intern¡¯s implants, stuff him into a shipping crate, and have him mailed to the nearest daycare.


    Well, Rich is too big to fit in a crate anymore. So at least there¡¯s that.


    Here and now, Ben gives him a short nod, reaching out to clasp his hand in a brief, professional handshake.


    ¡°Been a while, kid,¡± he says, apparently ignoring how Rich is twenty-one now and also big enough to pick him up without breaking a sweat. ¡°You still go by Rich?¡±


    ¡°Uh. Yeah,¡± Rich says, startled by the courtesy of the question, and the comparatively genial greeting as a whole. None of his crewmates have called him Rich in four years; the Sympatico wasn¡¯t the kind of place you were on first-name terms with anyone. Even Trimmer, the closest thing he¡¯d had to a friend there, still called him Merrill.


    Ben nods again and turns away. ¡°Come on then, Rich, let''s get you situated.¡±


    Rich stares for a second before pulling it together to follow him. He was expecting more than that. Any crew should have questions about what happened, and how much of it Rich was responsible for. Rich has been waiting for some unofficial interrogation by techies wondering what kind of antisocial criminal is getting shoved in with them. Non-violent questions, if he''s lucky, but maybe a quick and unpleasant round of more hands-on interrogation in the nearest empty berth or washroom, if everyone''s freaked out enough about getting stuck with him. Most of the Reliant¡¯s crew is mechanics, and even if the entire techie department is too soft to administer any of their own discipline, that leaves a lot of heavy-duty personnel available to make Rich¡¯s near future rough.


    But Ben just strolls off, then looks over his shoulder and raises a pointed eyebrow until Rich hurries after him. Maybe he¡¯s gotten lucky, maybe he looks that goddamn sad, or maybe Ben¡¯s leading him into an ambush somewhere lower down the decks. Rich can work with the first two options, and probably survive the third. So he follows Ben as meekly as he can, a few steps behind, and tries to look polite and non-offensive when Ben glances back at him from time to time. Polite is not a look Rich has had much practice with, but maybe he gets points for trying, because they get all the way to the passageway set aside for the IST crew quarters with no detours for getting ambushed anywhere.


    ¡°Here¡¯s your berth,¡± Ben says, stopping at one of the blank, undecorated doors in the passageway, and gestures for Rich to sync up his palmprint with the door plate over the handle.


    The berth is really nice, when Rich cautiously eases into the room. Bigger than anything short of manager-class on a 50, that¡¯s for damn sure. It¡¯s something like three by four meters, with a thick, wide, new foam mattress unrolled across the deck instead of a built-in standard-sized wall bunk. There are even fresh white sheets and pillows stacked up at the head. Rich can¡¯t help but brighten up at that, glancing back at Ben to see if it¡¯s supposed to be that big.


    ¡°Yeah, we actually fit in the beds around here,¡± Ben says, a bit wry, and pats his own heavy stomach. Rich actually laughs before he can catch himself, and Ben doesn¡¯t even look offended.


    The rest of the room has a workstation desk and chair, a personal locker with a mechanical combination lock, a dresser, and several sets of wall shelves. There¡¯s even a window over the desk, its shutter pushed back to let in sunlight and a view of the endless blue sheet of the lake. The whole room¡¯s fresh and bright and clean, and not in the pathetic scrubbed-through-the-paint way that Rich had accomplished with his prior cramped little hole of a berth after four years of stress-cleaning. It¡¯s nice. It¡¯s really goddamn nice. Rich had forgotten that his life had ever been nice, and it would be great if Ben could leave him alone now to actually process that.


    ¡°This was your internship assignment before,¡± Ben goes on, half to himself, ¡°so¡­well, guess you should still get a tour, though. Drop your bag, I''ll show you around.¡±


    Right. Of course. Setting his jaw, Rich does as he¡¯s told.


    Ben continues not to take him anywhere for any interrogations. Instead, he shows him the group-work meeting room for their end of the deck, as well as the equipment supply room for the sort of out-of-berth work that technicians are called for, as opposed to the mechanics¡¯ equipment supply rooms, which are scattered around the garage bays on all the other decks. Then Ben takes him around and points out all the first-aid stations and the mandatory evacuation routes and the emergency float-rings and the washrooms, and that there¡¯s actually space on this boat for a sundeck with some potted trees and lounge chairs, and a little room with cooking appliances at the end of their deck for residents with the time and credit and personal inclination to make their own food.


    Ben doesn''t show him the potted plants everywhere, but Rich notices them anyway, because living green things are a luxury he''s almost forgotten about. The Sympatico never had any, because even if anyone had managed to get any, they''d only be used as weapons or kicked into a bulkhead sooner or later. Here, though, there''s a plant or two in every room with a window, and a few just standing in out of the way corners in the passages.


    Rich makes mental note of the ones whose pots have popped up their little yellow holoscreens to request water or more sunlight. He''ll come back with water or move pots as necessary. Maybe someone else would get to it if he didn''t, but he''s not going to stand for there being unhappy or dying plants on his watch when it feels like such a luxury to have them around.


    Ben continues the tour, reminding him of the protocols for taking out a deck-hopper on a 200 as opposed to a 50, then pointing out the stairs down to the manufacture and repair decks without making a single crack about Rich''s going back to the mechanics¡¯ garages where he started out. Which is really nice of him, considering that Rich still remembers getting heckled for ages after he finally scored his reassignment. He was too big, too strong, too slow¡­Then again, it was never Ben doing the taunting. Ben¡¯s solid, professional. Not friendly, but steady and uncruel in a way that has Rich starting to relax despite himself.


    It''s weird, though, walking the decks of the Reliant after four years away, four years where he grew up from a resentful smartass teenage intern into, hopefully, an adult, someone older and wiser, someone who won¡¯t be repeating the worst of his mistakes. But so much of the Reliant is still the same: Rich finds the layout of the ship is coming back to him, even while he himself feels dislocated and bizarre. It all used to be familiar, and now it''s not, even though he recognizes it all. This place used to be his home and then it wasn¡¯t and now it''s supposed to be again, but isn¡¯t yet.


    ¡°¡ªAnd you¡¯ll get job assignments from the queue, or you can go in and select them manually, it probably worked the same on your last ship,¡± Ben is saying. Rich keeps his mouth shut, because no, not really, because Schwartz was a sloppy useless drunk who caused more problems than he fixed when he showed up at all, and Hendricks was the asshole in charge, who dumped all of the scutwork and most of the important shit on Rich. He remembers how the queue works, though, so he just nods.


    ¡°That ought to be about it,¡± Ben says as they walk down the corridor to Rich''s berth. ¡°So¡ªhey, kid. You still awake?¡±


    The young man poking his head out the door of the berth opposite Rich''s waves cautiously and says, ¡°Oh, Ben¡ªuh, yeah, hi,¡± in a light tenor voice that''s not nearly as high and squeaky as Rich remembers. Rich''s gut ties itself in a knot.


    Fuck. That''s Basil.


    Basil Wright was still a gangly, greasy, fifteen-year-old mess when Rich last saw him, but since then he¡¯s grown into a tall, slim guy with wide dark eyes, his springy black curls pulled back in a short puff of a ponytail. He''s close to Rich¡¯s height now, even if he probably only weighs a fraction as much, and his shoulders are surprisingly broad and nice. He¡¯s lost most of the zits that Rich remembers but he¡¯s got probably even more freckles scattered across his warm brown skin, and on the whole has turned out way cuter than Rich would''ve thought was possible. Especially dressed down in casual off-shift clothes, a worn green Family Fleet t-shirt with Ivanna Inchworm printed on it and a simple black sarong that shows off a good long stretch of brown, freckled legs...and Rich was an absolute jackass to him when they were both interns.


    ¡°You remember Rich, right? You can catch up. Take him to the mess before you crash for the day,¡± Ben says, nodding to Basil, and strolls off with Basil looking uncertainly after him.


    ¡°¡­Uh, cool,¡± says Basil. ¡°Uh. Hey, Rich. Welcome back?¡± He eases reluctantly out of his berth and gives Rich a wary look that says he hasn¡¯t forgotten about the way Rich treated him when he was the precious little jumped-up genius boy that landed himself an internship at an age most kids were still doing deckhand chores for their parents. And also that he¡¯s completely aware of why Rich is back now, and that he doesn¡¯t hold out much hope that Rich will be treating him any better the second time around.


    ¡°Hey,¡± Rich says, as calmly and steadily as he can, ¡°Thanks, kid. Glad to be back.¡± He tries to stand in such a way as to convey that he¡¯s not actually a violently deranged psychopath, but isn¡¯t actually sure how, or where he should be looking.


    Basil¡¯s got a single leather work glove on his left hand, with a black wrist brace strapped underneath that stretches halfway up his forearm, like he¡¯s gotten hurt somehow, and the last thing Rich wants is to maybe draw any attention to how he¡¯s cataloguing a guy¡¯s weak spots. His stomach curls tighter, because if he¡¯d thought about it he¡¯d have assumed Basil would snag an assignment somewhere else just like Rich was, and that there might not be all that many people left on the Reliant who remember what Rich was like when he was seventeen.


    But Basil is still here, and hasn''t forgotten anything, and is probably certain that Rich did everything and more than whatever the rumors might suggest. And it''s not like he''s going to keep any of his thoughts about Rich to himself. Not here on the boat he¡¯s crewed since he was thirteen, surrounded by techies who practically raised him.


    If Rich thought there was a chance of a fresh start here, he''s just gotten a very clear memo otherwise.


    Anything Basil is thinking right this instant, though, he¡¯s cautious enough to keep to himself. ¡°Sorry about the, your ship, y¡¯know, what happened,¡± he says, obviously trying hard to be nice, and then he stands there staring wide-eyed and worried like he¡¯s waiting for an explosion. When Rich just looks back at him, blankly startled at the courtesy, Basil nods once and then takes a couple of hopeful steps down the passageway.


    ¡°You hungry?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, sure,¡± Rich says, much more casually than he feels, because when is he not hungry? He follows Basil, careful again to stay a step behind and to one side, not getting above himself or stepping on anyone''s heels, literally or metaphorically. Of course then it''s tricky to keep his eyes off Basil''s ass under the drape of the sarong, and the occasional flash of leg, but Rich does his best.


    The mess is much bigger and louder and fuller than anywhere Rich is used to, there¡¯s gotta be something like forty people in here all at once: more than could even be assembled in one place back on the 50-crew Sympatico. Basil waves or nods at a whole bunch of people as they walk in, and pretends badly that he doesn¡¯t notice the stares being aimed at him and Rich. He steps up to one of the dispensers and palms the reader plate, gets his food blocks and steps back, waiting expectantly for Rich.


    Rich follows suit and barely keeps from snarling in frustration when it''s one block less than he¡¯d managed to get cleared for on the Sympatico, even. It figures, though: he''s been reassigned to a new boat, so he¡¯s back to the default ration, with no allowances for the fact his stupid body is three hundred pounds of genetically-modified supersoldier. His metabolic processing rate is frankly insane and he packs on muscle whether he likes it or not, which he doesn¡¯t. His mom and grandparents probably didn¡¯t either, but it¡¯s not like they asked to be born that way any more than he did.


    Really, the only person Rich can totally blame is whoever the first dipshit was a century or so back that got the bright idea to produce a bunch of big, brawny supersoldiers with inconveniently high caloric requirements, then let them loose to go around making kids. Nobody cared if the kids had no desire whatsoever to rampage across battlefields tearing people¡¯s heads off, they still needed platoon-sized lunches anyway. If Rich feels like being generous, he could also blame all the other subsequent dipshits who pitched in and made their own brands of supersoldier, too, and left fourth-generation crossbreeds like Rich scratching their heads over their own damn biology. Sometimes Rich feels like being really generous, and blames the whole entire world and everyone in it, especially when he¡¯s so hungry his bones hurt.


    After pitching an extended campaign on the Sympatico to not literally starve to death, Rich had eventually gotten clearance for an extra portion, enough to keep him functional if not actually happy, but he¡¯s clearly going to have to start all over again here. At least he''ll be less hungry after lunch.


    And at least the Reliant¡¯s drink dispenser serves as much tea as Rich would like. He gets a big paper cup of sweet mint, since he doesn¡¯t need caffeine jitters on top of today¡¯s anxiety, and then sniffs appreciatively at the steam. It smells fresh and strong, not scorched or overpressed, so there¡¯s that. This boat¡¯s got no problems keeping rations fresh and clean and ready to eat, so Rich is just going to have to figure out how to get enough of it to himself.


    Basil leads the way back to the middle of the mess, considers the tables with people at them, and then heads toward one of the empty ones instead, settles down and smiles gamely at Rich. Rich, for his part, smiles gamely back, and tries not to eye the careful way he¡¯s holding his gloved hand, like he¡¯s trying to hide it. The kid¡¯s got a sprained wrist, maybe, or some snapped bones. He¡¯s built light enough that it wouldn¡¯t take much for someone to really mess him up. From the way Basil¡¯s jaw clenches and his eyes slide nervously away from Rich¡¯s when he sees Rich looking, it¡¯s clear he expects Rich to be a dick about whatever vulnerability is going on there. So, Rich doesn¡¯t ask, lets his gaze slide right over the issue, and after a minute Basil¡¯s shoulders relax.


    They eat quietly, for the most part. Every so often, Basil glances up and tries to make conversation for a minute or two, gives Rich an update on somebody who Rich doesn¡¯t remember or makes a comment about some leisure activity Rich hasn¡¯t had the time to care about in years, then nervously goes back to nibbling at his block. He still tears the wax-paper wrapping off his blocks a bit at a time as he eats them right out of the packaging, not even bothering with a plate or a spoon or anything, and leaving a scattering of crumbs and paper strips on the tabletop as he eats. It¡¯s still messy enough that it genuinely bugs Rich, but he¡¯s sure as hell not going to say anything about it now.


    Rich eats his portion slowly, carving slices off with a disposable spoon and eating one careful bite at a time, even though he¡¯s hungry. He¡¯s on edge here, can''t help it. There are so many people here, so many of them behind him, and it''s not that he thinks anybody''s going to knife him or anything, but getting slapped or punched in the back of the head is still a likely enough event if anyone doesn''t like the look of him. His reflexes are under good control, but if he gets startled like that it won''t matter whether he keeps from breaking bones or not; no one''s going to include their own minor provocation in the report, he''ll have started the fight.


    It''s a constant distraction, a running calculation every time someone passes behind him or raises their voice, and it makes it harder to focus on Basil''s occasional comments. Rich is doing his best to listen attentively and be polite, but he has to be grateful that Basil keeps falling quiet again.


    ...There are so many people in here, but somehow it still feels weirdly quiet. Rich frowns at the table, the scrubbed-clean surface, and listens for whatever he¡¯s missing. Something that¡¯s not there.


    It takes him a few long minutes, nodding and smiling absently to whatever Basil is saying, before he realizes what it is. It¡¯s the Reliant¡ªor rather, it isn¡¯t. Back on the Sympatico, Rich could hardly run to the washroom without her pinging him for something, the only tech who ever worked with her to manage the implant-heavy tasks on her endless work queue. But the Reliant hasn¡¯t made a peep since she welcomed him onboard.


    He reaches out, cautiously, and pings his new ship.


    Richard Merrill, IST: query


    Reliant: Define query, Technician Merrill.


    The immediacy of the response and the crisp formality of the command line is disconcerting. Technically correct, but startling anyway. Rich blinks at the tabletop, nods and laughs a little at whatever Basil just said, and pings back.


    Richard Merrill, IST: technician support needed?


    Reliant: All essential tasks are being addressed by senior technicians. Please refer to the task queue for further task options.


    It¡¯s a firm, clean, clinical denial. AI don¡¯t have personalities, Rich knows that, they¡¯re not people, not conscious, but it still reads as politely dismissive. Like he just stopped Admiral Clearwater to ask her how her day was going and she humored him with a ¡°Fine, thank you,¡± and kept walking.


    ¡°¡­Can show you around the rec rooms, or¡­if there¡¯s anybody you wanna say hi to,¡± Basil is saying, has been saying, while Rich ate his meal blocks and stared at nothing. ¡°Any, uh, any friends from last time you were here?¡±


    Rich blinks, quirks a small, sardonic smile at him, realizes that might be offensive and hastily wipes it away again, slicing another bite off his last piece of block, trying to make it last a bit longer.


    ¡°I don''t think so,¡± he says carefully, instead of ''I don''t think I know how to make friends now, I sure didn''t back then.¡¯


    Basil actually laughs¡ªnot in a mean way, it doesn¡¯t sound like, but more in a ¡®Yeah, right?¡¯ way. Catches himself a second later and bites his lip, carefully considering the tabletop.


    ¡°Okay, well,¡± he says, eventually. ¡°You should probably meet, like, the rest of the department. How many people did you have in your old one? You were on a 50, right?¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Rich says, ¡°and, uh, there were¡­sort of three of us. It was mostly me, though, and Hendricks when he bothered. You guys are still a big department, right?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, probably the biggest outside the Washington, except for we¡¯re crazy understaffed right now,¡± Basil says, and shovels the last of the food block he¡¯s eating into his mouth. ¡°There¡¯s eight of us. It¡¯ll be nine with you here now, I guess, which is great because we¡¯re supposed to be at twelve, like mathematically, since a fix-it boat rates three techies per fifty crew which, um, sorry, which you know already, duh. Sorry. I know we¡¯ve been trying to order in some more guys for awhile now, get some new interns in, fill out the whole rating and spread the workload out a bit further, but, y¡¯know, it¡¯s been a weird couple seasons¡­um.If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    ¡°Ben¡¯s still department head, and Raoul got promoted to captain, I dunno if you heard! There¡¯s a couple people we interned with here, though, that stuck around like me or¡­or came back, like you. I mean, not just like you, but came back. Also. Uh.¡± He glances across at Rich¡¯s neatly stacked food wrappers, lingers for a second like he¡¯s about to say something. Doesn¡¯t. Just sits awkwardly and then taps a gloved finger to his bare palm to pop up a pale blue personal holoscreen with a game Rich doesn¡¯t recognize, which stays at Basil¡¯s eye level as he sinks down in his chair to mess with it.


    ¡°Are you going to eat that?¡± Rich asks, more abruptly than he¡¯d meant to, but Basil¡¯s left his second block just lying there between them, like maybe it¡¯s an offer, and Rich physically can¡¯t make himself not try and see if he can take it.


    ¡°What?¡± Basil asks, and looks at the block. ¡°Oh, nah, I¡¯m fine actually, go for it.¡±


    Rich finishes the last of his own portion in two bites and then grabs Basil¡¯s offering, still chewing. The block fits neatly in his hand, and he doesn''t bother with the spoon this time. He¡¯s halfway through it, eating quick and efficient now to get it down before Basil names any terms or tries to qualify how much of it Rich can have, before he realizes Basil is looking at him weird. Startled, confused. Not like he¡¯d even thought of naming a price.


    ¡°So, uh,¡± Basil says, and runs his bare hand over his hair. ¡°Skipped breakfast, huh?¡±


    Rich shrugs, still chewing. ¡°It¡¯s been a busy day,¡± he says defensively. ¡°I get hungry when I got a lot to do.¡±


    ¡°Oh, right,¡± Basil says, nodding. ¡°Yeah, I¡ªme too. I get it.¡±


    Like fuck does Basil get it, he¡¯s baseline human and always has been, obnoxious baby genius shtick aside. But the sympathy feels as nice as the extra block. Rich suddenly misses Trimmer so hard it hurts, drives spikes of an awful panicky lostness up his throat and into the backs of his eyes. Trimmer and his lunch ration and his foul mouth and his sharpened straightedge. Rich was supposed to protect him, it¡¯s dumb to feel lost and sick and unsafe without him there, but¡­fuck.


    No one from the Sympatico is allowed to know where anyone else has been sent off to, let alone contact them, not until they¡¯re off probation, and the last time Rich saw Trimmer he was already bleeding and the last time Rich heard him he was screaming and swearing like he was terrified, and¡ªRich hasn¡¯t seen Trimmer in a week. He might not see Trimmer ever again.


    Rich puts his head down, breathing carefully through all the stuff he doesn¡¯t want to keep thinking about, and finishes his extra block in a few more bites. Maybe eating slowly makes it feel like he''s had more, but he¡¯s got new crew to be introduced to, and right now he''s done with drawing out the wait for what happens next.


    He''s not looking forward to meeting his new crewmates, whether or not there''s been time for Basil to tell them all about what a dick Rich was before. Either way they''ll have heard the rumors. Either way they''ll notice Rich''s build and the blood-red hair and realize he''s gene-tweaked, recognize a soldier mod when they see one coming at them, figure out real fast that he''s basically the most dangerous new crewmate they could get from a toxic ship. Obviously they''ll be thrilled to see him.


    Basil is a lot less sulky than he used to be about cleaning up after the meal, although not much more careful; he misses a strip of wax paper and doesn''t even seem to notice the crumbs. Rich gathers his own packaging up and sweeps Basil''s crumbs onto his tray before following the guy to put everything into the recycling chute.


    There¡¯s a department chat board, with brief employee profiles for every member; on their way out of the mess, Basil pulls it up and flicks it in Rich¡¯s direction, and the invite pops up a second later.


    ¡°In case you, y¡¯know, need anything?¡± Basil says, with an uncomfortable little shrug. He glances over and winces at whatever flash of expression he catches on Rich¡¯s face. ¡°I mean, it can be hard. On a new ship and everything. You¡¯d figure it¡¯s just another boat, but it¡¯s¡­I¡¯ve heard it can be really different. And we¡¯re your department now.¡± He ducks his head, reaches up to fidget with a curl that''s worked its way free from his ponytail. ¡°There are some good guys here, y¡¯know, they¡¯re¡­they¡¯re nice. They¡¯re cool.¡±


    Rich doesn''t even know where to start with this. There''s a tiny, stupid part of him that''s going ¡®It is hard, he knows! He''s being nice!¡¯ wanting to drop his guard completely at the first sign of sympathy. The rest of him is bewildered and suspicious. Basil has to want something, or this is some kind of trap, or something, it''s just¡­He''s so awkward. It''s not smooth, polished kindness, a gift on a platter with a neatly hidden snare. If this is supposed to be a trap, it''s clumsy as hell.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± he says, a bit late, and accepts the invite with an uncertain smile.


    ¡°Yeah!¡± says Basil, brightening, and flashes Rich a brief, nervous little grin in return. Tucks that curl behind one ear and slows down, falling in next to Rich instead of in front of him. They walk in silence together for a minute before Basil says, ¡°It¡¯s cool you¡¯re back. Maybe we can¡­¡± he shrugs jerkily, eyes sliding away¡ªthere are still freckles on the sides of his neck, on his freaking ears, and it¡¯s weirdly reassuring to focus on those instead of on why he¡¯s saying what he¡¯s saying, what he¡¯s thinking about that Rich can¡¯t guess. ¡°¡­Maybe we can hang out, this time. More, I mean. Have you ever played Spellcraft?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Rich says numbly, brain going into overdrive. Why would Basil want to hang out with him? Rich can''t think of that many reasons, but there¡¯s always protection. Basil''s grown up a lot, but he''s still a skinny nerd, still a tech who probably isn''t much good at defending himself. And then there¡¯s that wrapped-up arm of his...If someone''s been giving him a hard time around here, it¡¯d just be common sense to try and get on Rich¡¯s good side, give him some reasons to maybe get involved next time things heat up.


    ¡°Sounds like fun,¡± he adds, with no idea what kind of game Spellcraft even is. He can do protection for Basil, that''s fine. Way simpler than other possibilities.


    ¡°Cool!¡± says Basil, brightening even more, hopeful. ¡°It¡ªit is, I mean, I like it, and there¡¯s a couple of other guys in our department who like it, and some mechanics too, and my friend Mitch comes by to play with me sometimes, so that¡¯s cool. O-only if you wanted to, obviously.¡± He pauses, steps slowing. ¡°So this is our department¡¯s rec room. A lot of the guys like hanging around in their own berths to get sit-down work done, but if you¡¯re getting sick of your berth and wanna socialize you can always head down here, or like, out onto the sundeck, and sometimes there are guys hanging out. I did kinda¡­send out a message I¡¯d bring you down here if you wanted to come?¡± He fidgets, maybe reading Rich¡¯s expression as irritation¡ªglances down the passage at the door to the rec room again. ¡°I guess, maybe you didn¡¯t want to make a big deal out of it, but¡­we¡¯re all gonna be working together tomorrow, so I thought you should get to meet everybody? You don¡¯t have to.¡±


    ¡°I¡ªwait, what?¡± Rich says, which is absolutely not the right response, not acceptable. He should be worrying about making the right meek, cooperative impression on everyone he''s about to meet, but he''s preoccupied with, ¡°Seriously? You can go onto the sundeck to work, just¡ªwhenever? I mean, is that legal, or do you have to choose the right shift, or bribe someone, or what?¡±


    ¡°Y¡­yeah?¡± Basil says, blinking. ¡°I mean, no? I mean, no! No, it¡¯s just, I mean there¡¯s not a lot to look at when it¡¯s dark out, and y¡¯know you get a sun-headache if you¡¯re using screens in full glare for too long, and we can¡¯t fit a bunch of people out there all at the same time anyway without it getting kinda rowdy, so usually people just hang out for an hour or two? And then move on?¡± He considers. ¡°And the gulls know people eat out there, so like, you gotta watch your food. But¡ªno, man, if you tried to bribe Ben about anything I think he¡¯d probably just give you that look, y¡¯know, until you apologized and walked away or like¡­combusted, whichever.¡±


    Rich snorts a laugh and then bites it off, hoping Basil isn''t offended, but he brightens and gives Rich a pleased smile, so he meant it to be funny, that''s okay.


    ¡°I remember that look,¡± Rich admits, shaking his head. ¡°Okay, cool, that''s cool.¡± He''s going to spend so much time on the sundeck he''s going to fry, it''ll be great. ¡°Alright, let''s¡­meet people.¡±


    After all, they can''t throw him overboard on the first day, probably. Just make him wish they would.


    Ben has not come to the rec room to be introduced, but the other six of Rich¡¯s new crewmates have, which is a lot more than he was prepared to see when he came around the corner. Six people¡ªseven, when Basil settles down on the arm of one of the couches¡ªisn¡¯t a lot of people, objectively, but Rich is used to a department of three guys who all hate each other and this is a small room and just¡ªit¡¯s a lot of people, okay. Some of whom have to have specifically woken up from their sleep shifts to come have a look at the new guy. Rich tries not to let his nerves show on his face, but isn¡¯t at all sure he¡¯s managed.


    ¡°So, this is Rich,¡± says Basil, and throws a look around. ¡°Anton, you''ve been here since me and Rich were interning, you probably remember him. He¡¯s the new guy from the Sympatico.¡±


    ¡°We heard,¡± says one of the guys, with a meaningful smirk, and oh, okay, there it is. ¡°And we¡¯re all so excited to hear more, I bet. Got any juicy war stories, big guy?¡± The other guys all stop looking at Rich and look at¡ªJames? Average height, pale coloration, brown hair, blue eyes, still in dark work clothes¡ªRich flipped through the profiles for about a split second, but he thinks that¡¯s James. None of the others look all that happy, but they wouldn¡¯t, if they were hoping on being able to gossip behind Rich¡¯s back for a while before he caught on.


    ¡°James,¡± says Basil. ¡°Be cool, like, for once.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m the coolest guy here, kid,¡± says James sniffily, and grins at Rich. ¡°Look at him, big tough motherfucker like that, he¡¯s not gonna run off crying because someone asked some questions. Behavioral Adjustment doesn¡¯t turn you back into a baby that fast.¡±


    Rich cocks his head to the side, feeling everything sharpen around him as he focuses, settles his weight and prepares for whatever it''s gonna be. ¡°You know,¡± he says conversationally, ¡°on a 50 like the Sympatico, there''s nowhere to run to. You get used to solving your own problems, with,¡± he spreads his hands, shrugging, making everyone here aware of how thick his arms are, how broad his shoulders, ¡°whatever comes to hand.¡±


    He clenches his hands into fists the size of most people¡¯s faces and stares at James fixedly, leaning forward, tense like he''s ready to lunge, and watches the badly-hidden unnerved look grow. Then he straightens again and deliberately relaxes, hooks his thumbs in his belt loops, glancing around as casually as he can manage to make sure no one else feels like throwing in on James¡¯ behalf. They don''t seem to. Looks like everyone¡¯s cool with letting the resident jackass stick his neck out for them all on his own.


    ¡°But I¡¯ve been told this is a different kind of ship,¡± Rich goes on. ¡°I''m sure there aren''t any problems here that we have to solve one-on-one.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, it is,¡± says Basil, and something pulls abruptly, unpleasantly tight in Rich''s chest at Basil¡¯s tone: harsh and disappointed. When Rich glances at the couch, though, Basil is frowning at James, eyes narrowed. The kid goes on, ¡°And no, there¡¯s not. James, go get some sleep or a snack. Fix your shit.¡±


    ¡°Go back to Family Fleet, Wright, before they miss you,¡± James says, with a not-very-convincing laugh, and throws one more slightly unnerved look at Rich before pushing himself up with exaggerated carelessness and sauntering in the direction of the door.


    The others all watch him go, with varying degrees of concern ranging to annoyance, and then, as one, look back at Rich, who¡¯s stunned at how easy that was. The guy didn''t even try anything, that taunt was it. Not that this is over yet, but. Huh.


    ¡°So, uh,¡± says Basil, tentative again.


    ¡°Sorry James is a dick,¡± says Anton bluntly. Rich remembers him vaguely from interning, though he was already an adult tech at the time. He¡¯s older than Rich by something like five years, and hasn¡¯t changed that much while Rich was gone: he¡¯s still a short, soft guy with tanned skin, jaw-length sun-streaked brown hair, and thoughtful pale blue eyes. He''s watching Rich with definite wariness, but he sounds completely sincere.


    Rich blinks at him for much too long before managing, ¡°Yeah, uh. Me too. I mean, sorry that he''s a¡ªnot that I''m a¡ªyeah.¡± Anton gives him a sweet smile and a dutiful-sounding laugh, pushing his hair away from his face, and Rich is thrown even further off balance by it. Anton¡¯s a tiny scrap of a guy who comes up to Rich''s elbows, probably, and he''s probably as vulnerable to pushy jackasses as Basil is. It only makes sense for him to mind his manners around someone Rich¡¯s size, but it¡¯s still awkward to think Anton might be...sucking up, or something. It makes him feel like he really is a dick.


    ¡°I¡¯ll try to talk to him,¡± volunteers one of the guys Rich doesn¡¯t remember from before. He''s handsome, with brown skin and glossy waves of black hair, and he scoots off the table he was sitting on, heading towards the door. He pauses on the way past and reaches out, moving slow and cautious, to pat Rich on the arm. ¡°He just thinks it¡¯s funny to poke people¡¯s buttons, he¡¯s not that bad.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s a little bit that bad, Miguel,¡± Basil says, and the guy shrugs at him, rolling his eyes, and then ducks out the door.


    Okay, Rich decides. This is weird. It''s officially weird, and the only guy who made sense has been chased off, and no one seems to mind, although there was a certain frozen stillness during Rich''s little threat display. Maybe James is the bully around here, and that''s why they''re happy to have him leave? Except that he''s not that big a guy, definitely not that built of a guy, and he didn''t hold himself like he was planning to get physical, now that Rich is thinking back on it. So, no, nothing makes sense.


    And¡ªshit. He completely forgot, he''s supposed to be meek, and here he was just posturing in front of all these guys. They know for sure he''s dangerous and antisocial now. Which explains the way most of them are still looking wide-eyed and white-knuckled.


    He''d better be polite as hell now and hope they forget it somehow.


    ¡°So you met James,¡± Basil says, in determined tones, like he¡¯s going to get this introduction thing done come hell or high water. ¡°Miguel seems to think he just needs a buddy, so he¡¯s gonna go try to talk him around for the hundredth time, I guess. You know Anton, uh¡­so. Introductions.¡±


    He goes around the room, and Rich nods and does his best to keep up. Vince is a tall, fat guy with dark skin and a shaved head and the sleepy eyes of a man used to night shifts; Nate¡¯s an average-sized guy with light gold skin, black hair and a warm smile; Phil¡¯s old and a little stooped, with a cascade of greying dreadlocks and dark weather-worn skin and a complete indifference to making eye-contact. They¡¯re all getting introduced by what he¡¯d assume is their first names: Basil rattles them off fast enough that Rich knows he¡¯s going to have to do some homework if he wants any hope of remembering who¡¯s who. Presumably he¡¯s supposed to call them by first name too, Vince and Nate instead of Dawson and Chau, as bizarrely intimate as that feels with people he doesn¡¯t even know. Basil is one thing, Rich knew the kid as a squeaky-voiced teen, but with guys Rich doesn¡¯t know it feels like disrespect, like an excuse to take offense and start a fight.


    ¡°...And that¡¯s everybody,¡± Basil finishes up, and gives Rich that nervous little grin that¡¯s becoming more and more familiar. ¡°We usually have two people on the night shifts at a time and three or four people on day shifts, since we gotta be on-call all the time in case somebody needs a hole patched but there¡¯s less routine work at night. Uh¡­we were gonna start you on days, second or third shift, ¡®cause you¡¯re new and it would suck to show up and get dumped on first shift out of nowhere. Unless you like nights?¡± He looks abruptly concerned, giving Rich the big, worried brown eyes. ¡°We can switch stuff around if you like nights. I like nights, I¡¯m pretty much always on fourth and first shifts, I¡¯m kind of nocturnal, but, uh, I know that¡¯s not normal, like, at all, so.¡± He stalls out, looking like he thinks he might have screwed up and insulted Rich somehow and is waiting to be smacked for it.


    Rich barely restrains himself from patting the kid on the head. ¡°I like days,¡± he assures Basil, carefully mild. ¡°I can do second and third shift no problem¡ªI¡¯m used to working 0600 to 1800.¡± He thinks, then admits grudgingly, ¡°I can do extra if you need it, but I¡¯m not gonna be at my best by fourth shift.¡±


    ¡°Cool,¡± says Basil, smiling in relief, and glances around at the other guys. ¡°I think that¡¯s everything, uh. Welcome to the Reliant, I guess!¡± He pushes himself up and stretches. ¡°And since I¡¯ve been up for¡­awhile, right now, actually, I¡¯m gonna get back to my bunk. If you need to know anything just, like¡­¡± he pulls up the chat room again, then collapses the screen into the palm of his hand, and Rich nods. Basil gives a little wave with his gloved hand and heads out of the room.


    On the one hand, Rich can''t make it look like he''s clinging to the guy, like he''s scared to face people on his own, but on the other hand there are a lot of nervous and judgmental faces looking at him right now and he would really rather not deal with that. Phil is the only one who doesn''t look even slightly terrified of Rich right now, and he''s staring out the window, apparently lost in thought. Rich remembers him from before too, and how he always had a detached air, like whatever crisis was going on didn''t pertain to him. Including giant, dangerous soldier mods, apparently. It¡¯s actually kind of reassuring.


    Rich glances around, trying to be polite and not meet anyone''s gaze too directly, and nods to the room at large.


    ¡°Nice to meet everyone,¡± he says, ¡°I¡¯m sure we¡¯re going to work together just fine,¡± as polite as any puppet from Family Fleet. No one seems to think it''s weird or stupid, which he guesses is good. ¡°I''m gonna head back, try and get settled in.¡±


    Everyone says some variation on ¡°Nice to meet you,¡± like a whole damn chorus of puppets, except for Anton, who says ¡°Great to see you again!¡± which has got to be a straight-up lie. Unless it''s about the protection thing, maybe.


    ¡°Yeah, you too,¡± Rich manages, and flees. Basil hasn''t gotten very far, and he doesn¡¯t tense up or turn and keep a wary eye on Rich as he gets closer¡ªjust slows down, glancing back, until Rich is next to him. Falls in step.


    They walk quietly for a while. Basil looks distant, preoccupied, and Rich has a lot to think about.


    Eventually it occurs to him to say, "We had, what, four other interns last time I was here? Are the babies all asleep right now, or what?"


    Basil grimaces, which makes Rich¡¯s heart shoot up into his throat and stick there.


    "We¡¯re kind of between interns right now,¡± he says, and Rich expects him to follow that up with ¡®Because we knew you were coming and didn¡¯t trust a huge dangerous guy from a toxic boat around kids¡¯ so much that it takes him by surprise when Basil goes on: ¡°because of, you know, the spring storms¡­Rocket and Hiram graduated off to grown-up assignments fine, but Sean¡¯s mom freaked when Admiral Clearwater, y¡¯know. Passed away during that last storm, because everyone says it was the strain of navigating that did her in. His mom made him change careers, pulled him out of the internship! Like anyone would let an intern go pilot, anyway! And from what I¡¯ve heard a lot of parents are doing the same thing, the spring semester¡¯s turned out like a grand total of two IST interns and they¡¯re both girls so they went to the Medusa, I think. Ben¡¯s kinda worried about it. The fall storms are gonna completely suck if we don¡¯t have any kids around to pick up the slack while we¡¯re piloting.¡±


    It¡¯s a weird relief to remember that not everything is actually about Rich: when ancient old Admiral Clearwater finally passed on while piloting the Washington through the worst storm of the whole last season it was shocking, tragic, and also inevitable. Rumor had it that her teenage clone of an heir had charged onto the bridge and took over her predecessor¡¯s link with the ship before the body had even cooled. People have been saying the second Clearwater handled the whole, staggering workload a ship required from its techies during a superstorm so brilliantly and smoothly that no one outside the Washington¡¯s techies had noticed a thing until the storm was over.


    Rich had been busy piloting the Sympatico through the same storm, himself, and hadn¡¯t heard that the first Clearwater was dead until days later. Rich had felt weird about it: more guilty that he wasn¡¯t properly sad than actually sad.


    Clearwater had already been in her forties when she first commandeered the Washington, the very last aircraft carrier that the crumbling United States of America ever had commissioned, because having the biggest boat with the most airplanes was somehow supposed to make everyone stop caring about the climate collapse and stop having civil wars and go home. The Washington was done just in time for her freshly promoted Admiral to arrange for the carrier to be deployed to one of the largest and most stable bodies of drinkable water in the increasingly unstable northern hemisphere, instead of some ocean somewhere to shoot people for no reason.


    With the core of the Free Society of the Michigan Fleet in place, the Admiral then spent the rest of her life building it into a stable, independent community well away from landside chaos, a safe haven for refugees from all over. She was nearly ninety by the time she hit that last storm, and even if everyone knew she wasn''t actually going to live forever, the fact that she didn¡¯t still managed to be a shock.


    Storms always screwed Rich up, though, left him hollowed-out and exhausted. Miserable, but so distant from his own misery it looped right back around to indifference. During spring, by the time he was done recovering from one storm another one would come along, and so Rich had more to worry about than if the new Admiral was going to do anywhere near as good a job of keeping the Fleet afloat as the old one managed.


    So the storms came and went and Rich had done his duty and kept the Sympatico afloat, day after day, week after week, until finally the overwhelming chaos of spring had finally settled into the relative calm of summer, and the Sympatico had gotten broken up anyway. And now Rich is here, just trying to keep his own head above water.


    ¡°I¡¯m not a kid, but I¡¯m good at picking up slack,¡± Rich offers, after an awkwardly long pause. On the Sympatico he did nothing else.


    ¡°Glad to hear it,¡± Basil says. ¡°It really has been crazy busy around here. You don¡¯t have to worry about anyone liking you, you know, if you do your share of the work you¡¯ll be a fucking hero, I promise.¡±


    Rich brightens up at that: he can¡¯t help it. Even if Basil¡¯s just being nice, he¡¯s still being nice, being incredibly reassuring. It can¡¯t be that easy, of course, nothing¡¯s ever that easy, but it sounds like a good place to start. Do his work, keep his head down, don¡¯t cause trouble, be¡­someone who¡¯s liked, who other people actually want around and appreciate.


    ¡°I can work,¡± Rich assures Basil. ¡°If there¡¯s one thing the Sympatico taught me, it was how to fucking work.¡±


    ¡°Well, awesome,¡± Basil says, and then there¡¯s a stretch of much more comfortable silence than the last one.


    Rich notices after a bit, though, that Basil keeps glancing over at him. Finally the kid goes and opens his mouth, clearly trying to nerve himself up to say something, but then closes it and looks away again, swallowing down whatever he was intending.


    ¡°What?¡± Rich says, getting nervous all over again.


    ¡°Nothing,¡± says Basil. And then, when Rich frowns worriedly at him, ¡°Okay, just, it¡¯s dumb, that¡¯s all. It¡¯s, I mean, you¡¯re a lot bigger than¡ªuh, than I remembered, which is normal! You know, you grew up, we both grew up, but¡ªyour nose is different, it¡¯s a different shape now? I was thinking how it¡¯s weird, how you look the same, but like¡­different.¡± He fiddles nervously with a loose curl, eyes darting away. ¡°I said it was dumb.¡±


    Rich frowns to himself, wondering what the hell is weird about his nose¡ªoh. Right.


    ¡°Broke it a couple years ago,¡± he says. ¡°My nose. I had a minor disagreement with a bulkhead.¡± Which is definitely what you call it when a guy trips you and you go face-first into a steel bulkhead.


    ¡°A, oh!¡± says Basil. And then, like he can¡¯t help himself, ¡°A disagreement about¡­what?¡±


    Rich shrugs. ¡°Relative velocity.¡± It''d been right after yet another disorienting growth spurt, and he wasn''t used to the length of his legs and arms yet or he could''ve caught himself. He wasn¡¯t used to the extra muscle, either, or he wouldn¡¯t have broken nearly as many of the asshole¡¯s ribs afterwards. First time he¡¯d really gotten himself in trouble, if not anywhere near the last.


    But Basil lets out a sharp, startled little burst of laughter and then covers his mouth a second later. His freckled cheeks are flushing rosy brown and there¡¯s a smile crinkling up his eyes no matter how hard he tries to look penitent and sympathetic, and¡ªhuh. This could be an issue, maybe. It''s definitely a thing, Rich thinks, an unexpected smile tugging at his own lips.


    ¡°Did you win?¡± Basil says, a little strangled, and grins at Rich, brief and startlingly bright. ¡°¡®You should see the other bulkhead''?¡±


    Rich laughs out loud at that, because that''s not how people look or sound when they''re making fun of his build. That was an actual joke not at his expense for once.


    ¡°We eventually negotiated a compromise,¡± he says, through the laughter. ¡°I wouldn''t try to go through it face-first and it wouldn''t cause further bodily harm.¡±


    Basil is snickering for real now, light and sweet and wicked and¡ªcute, okay, he¡¯s cute. That¡¯s definitely going to be an issue, Rich already wants to let down his guard with the guy.


    ¡°Well, for what it¡¯s worth,¡± Basil says, and reaches out, pats Rich¡¯s arm, leaves his hand there for a second to squeeze. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t bet on a bulkhead if you wanted it down. I¡¯d be in your corner for that one.¡±


    ¡°Appreciate it,¡± Rich smiles, and thinks, Yeah, especially if the bulkhead was coming after you otherwise. Then he stops. This is, it has to be about protection, Basil being nice to the scariest guy around so he''ll scare anyone else off. Except¡­Basil didn''t act scared in the mess, wasn''t looking around him nervously like someone might be dangerous to him, and he wasn''t cautious at all about kicking James out, or nervous of anyone else in the room. The only person he''s acted nervous around is Rich.


    Well, fuck. He''s nervous around Rich, he¡¯s scared of him, Rich showed up twice as big as before with a broken nose and a bad reputation and he was such an asshole to Basil when he was younger. So of course Basil¡¯s going to play this smart. Of course he''s trying to make sure Rich won''t come after him. Even if Rich never got physical with him back then, it''s no wonder if the kid doesn''t think he can bet on that after Rich¡¯s education on the Sympatico.


    It puts a sick little curl in Rich''s stomach, makes exhaustion pull at his shoulders and drag at his feet. Basil has every right to expect Rich to be dangerous now. Rich is dangerous now. The kid¡¯s got no reason yet to believe that Rich isn''t going to hurt him, wouldn''t hit him unless he started it, and would do his absolute best not to break anything even then.


    Maybe if Rich keeps being friendly back, keeps being careful and good, Basil will eventually realize he doesn''t have to worry, his plan worked and Rich isn''t going to get rough. And then he''ll probably avoid the hell out of Rich instead, but at least it won''t be out of fear.


    ¡°This is me,¡± Basil says, and scans his palm at the door decorated with a big poster of a fire-breathing red dragon. Someone¡¯s taped a paper seed-packet of basil¡ªthe plant basil¡ªover the dragon¡¯s face, and Rich would bet a lot of credits that it wasn¡¯t Basil himself. Rich catches a glimpse of his room as he turns around in the door¡ªa stack of old paper books, scattered pieces of what looks like disassembled machinery, clothes all over every horizontal surface. Basil glances back, flushes darker and pushes the door further shut, so he¡¯s just peering out through the crack.


    ¡°I¡¯ll see you tomorrow?¡± he says, and he would sound hopeful if Rich didn¡¯t know any better. ¡°I think it¡¯ll be¡ªI mean, I think we¡¯ll be, uh.¡± He stops, takes a breath, and then finishes, ¡°Cool! Goodnight!¡± and closes the door.


    ¡°Goodnight,¡± Rich says to the closed door, bemused: it¡¯s barely even afternoon. But then again, Basil¡¯s nocturnal. This is probably midnight for him. No wonder he¡¯s a little scrambled if it¡¯s right before bedtime.


    Rich sighs, scrubs a hand through his hair, and goes into his own nice, spacious berth to catch his breath and marvel at his luck. No one¡¯s expected to take a work shift on their first day aboard a new boat, and the rest of the day stretches out in front of Rich in a long, luxurious span of hours. Time all to himself, time to do whatever he wants. He thinks he¡¯ll put his stuff away neat and tidy, and then he''s got a shot of vodka waiting for him¡ªhe¡¯s worked out to the ounce how much he can have per shift until he figures out where to get another jug¡ªand some paperwork to start in on filing for his nutrition requirements, and a bed he can actually stretch out on to enjoy the vodka and relaxation time. He doesn¡¯t even know what he¡¯ll do with that time. He¡¯s going to need to get some hobbies.


    Getting out his full jug of vodka, he slides the window open, breathing the sweet fresh breeze off the water. "One for the lake, may she rest easy," he murmurs by rote, and pours the first drink out to the water below before pouring his own.


    Then he stands there at his window, sipping the vodka. The sunlight spills over him, a warm clean gold, and he finds himself smiling as cautious hope rises inside him.


    ¡°I think we¡¯ll be cool,¡± Basil said.


    Maybe they actually could be.

 Chapter 2: So Long And Thanks

    Chapter 2


    The first few days on the Reliant are startlingly different. Rich gets accustomed a little at a time to the way the Reliant rides in the water, to the bigger berth and the way the crew tries to hide their wariness behind awkward friendliness. Somehow, though, he can¡¯t seem to adjust to the ship herself.


    The Sympatico was broken. Rich knew that, spent enough time buried deep in her faulty AI, but he didn¡¯t realize how warped and needing she was until he was unceremoniously dumped onto a ship that¡¯s streamlined and well-maintained. It¡¯s...disconcerting, almost disappointing, the way she hums along without him, without more than glancing pings in Rich¡¯s direction. Even on the rare occasions she drops a maintenance request onto the techs¡¯ queue, Ben and Phil are the senior techs and they step in so fast Rich barely has time to read the task description.


    The work Rich is left to do is both different and strangely familiar at the same time. AIs are a crucial component of any ship, needed to do everything from regulating a ship¡¯s daily operations to keeping track of its crew¡¯s whereabouts to making sure no one accidentally slams a catamaran into a cruiser on a dark night. They¡¯re also fundamentally just an aggregated collection of programmed routines, and every program ever written can only run as smoothly as the guys who run it. Human nature being what it is, this means that everything is always breaking down, everywhere.


    So the techs get called out to other ships frequently, instead of staying in and slogging through a queue that¡¯s half-consumed with their boat¡¯s neurotic tangle of internal problems. They go out and fix a sanitation boat¡¯s faulty water purifier, a little hull-patching single-residency¡¯s issue with their AI¡¯s proximity guidance system, a tool library¡¯s check-out archives that report three thousand bandsaws lent to some guy named Pfsiksis XXchund, and a church boat¡¯s sound system that keeps playing a hymn on a family boat¡¯s sound system three miles away. There''s also a plastics recycler that has somehow convinced herself that anything red is radioactive, and another family boat whose AI has been convinced by her children to refer to their mother exclusively as Captain Poopface, which is actually a pretty sophisticated bit of programming considering the hackers were eight and ten.


    The techs are even called out once to the flagship Washington itself to fix a mechanical error on a set of massive bay doors. It¡¯s on the lowest-security level, but still. Rich hasn¡¯t been there since his brief, terrible stint in cadet training when he was fourteen, but somehow it feels even bigger now, and even more stable and strangely unmoving underfoot than the Reliant. The repurposed aircraft carrier feels as big as an island, as a continent, the indomitable steel heart of the Fleet.


    Rich remembers learning in school how when the old Admiral Clearwater was first assembling the Fleet, she sailed the Washington all around the rim of Lake Michigan, from one burning war-torn city to the next, and traded the aircraft carrier¡¯s complement of aircraft one careful piece at a time for every single boat she could get. The local governments of the newly forming city-states gladly handed over the superyachts of absent millionaires and the cruise ships of dissolving leisure companies and the freighters and fishing trawlers and cargo carriers of regular working citizens, and sent entire marinas sailing off into the lake in exchange for the dream of military domination of the skies.


    The history lesson was much quieter about the military part when Rich was six, of course. He mostly remembers learning the song about the Admiral sailing the Washington around collecting all the different ships for the Fleet. It wasn¡¯t until later that he learned how crafty Clearwater had been.


    She had left the would-be warlords of Milwaukee and Chicago and Muskegon to figure out on their own that any weapon was only as good as the infrastructure required to launch it. After the fifty United States finished tearing themselves into a thousand contentious micro-territories, jet fuel got pretty expensive. Jet pilots, even more so. And Clearwater had kept the Washington¡¯s anti-aircraft missiles working just fine.


    So Milwaukee and Chicago and Muskegon got their warplanes, and the Fleet got the hundreds of boats it would need to be an actual fleet, rather than an increasingly crowded naval carrier and a couple dinky rowboats. The dozens of cruise ships were initially meant to form a floating analogue of landside apartment towers, and be populated by up to five hundred people at a time. Rich saw some of the plans in school when he was nine or ten, and they gave him nightmares: more than twice as many crew as should ever be packed in anywhere, crammed claustrophobically tight from one end of their boat to the other, with nothing to do and nowhere to go.


    Fortunately, the Admiral realized in time that wasn¡¯t going to work. When the autumn superstorms hit in the Fleet¡¯s first year, it became immediately apparent that anything smaller than a freighter couldn¡¯t be reasonably expected to survive the chaos, no matter how skilled the pilot or dedicated the crew. Smaller boats had to be berthed somewhere more stable, and for all the massive span of the Washington¡¯s flight deck, for all its suitability as a functional dry-dock, there still just wasn¡¯t enough space for every other ship in the Fleet to be perched on top all at once. Plus, more small boats were turning up by the day, as desperate refugees across the midwest and central territories grabbed up anything they thought would float and launched off into Lake Michigan to join the Fleet.


    The notion of cruise liners as apartment complexes was scrapped, and the ships were hastily cored out from jam-packed residential suites to spacious docking bays that could function as industrial garages during the steadier summer and winter seasons. What remained of the cruise liners¡¯ former luxury cabins got cut down even further to the perfunctory sleeping berths of working crewmembers. The cruise liners became the steel spine of the Fleet not in hosting the Fleet¡¯s population, but supporting it through crucial industrial labor: manufacturing, recycling, and repair.


    After that, the Fleet spread itself out across the lake, quickly evolving into the stable chaos of a nearly uncountable number of AI-governed interdependent houseboats, tour boats, catamarans, yachts, superyachts, megayachts, sailboats, fishing boats, trawlers, freighters, tankers, tugs, pontoons, barges, scows, to say nothing of all the unquantifiable hot messes that amateur shipwrights in landside warzones slapped together and shoved out into the lake. A ship¡¯s crew could be composed of anything from a couple friends running a lunchboat, to a single set of parents raising their children on their own, to a multi-family collective like the Infinity that Rich¡¯s dad had joined so his kids would grow up socially well-adjusted. Not that any of them actually did, but Rich appreciates that he tried to give them a shot.


    Whatever adjustment he managed to scrape together in his early years, Rich has apparently lost most of it in the interim. He can¡¯t seem to shake the feeling of being off-balance wherever he goes, uncertain and unsteady even when he¡¯s taking care of tasks he could normally do with his eyes shut. He spent four years on the Sympatico and barely even went above-decks, let alone off the ship herself. And now he¡¯s relearning all of it. Badly.


    The most embarrassing part of the whole situation is that since the last time he was doing this kind of work, Rich has grown from an uncomfortably large teenager into the kind of obviously-tweaked steel slab of a guy who has trouble fitting through doors. On a cruiser, freighter, or tanker, he¡¯s intimidatingly and inconveniently huge, but that¡¯s all. On any boat smaller than a 50, three hundred pounds of muscle suddenly landing on the deck is likely to make the whole ship list far enough to one side the crew gets hazard alerts from their startled AI. The constant self-conscious calculation of where he¡¯s too big to stand does nothing to make Rich feel any better.


    He just has to hope it isn''t too obviously pathetic, how clumsy and off-balance he is: he feels like he¡¯s walking around with a giant overlay screen across his whole body that just reads What¡¯s This Enormous Jackass Doing Now?!


    It''s no surprise that the other guys don¡¯t have the same difficulty, any more than they seem overawed by the rest of it: it¡¯s regular life on a 200-crew fix-it boat, Rich supposes. This is just the ordinary grind for them. Except for the part where Rich is there, now, and people see the techs coming and scramble out of their way, wide-eyed and incredulous in a way Rich hasn¡¯t missed. That guy¡¯s one of the techies? Really? He¡¯s not here to haul cargo? Really?


    The Sympatico fixed engines, when it wasn¡¯t running hard drugs, and it was Hendricks who always made sure to be the friendly face of the tech department when it came to going out and about, running diagnostics and taking all the credit, while Rich stayed back on his own boat and put in all the work. His unfamiliarity now with what''s routine to the Reliant¡¯s crew complement makes Rich feel like a newbie again, wide-eyed and unfamiliar with even the most basic procedures, stressing out over screwing up. It isn¡¯t great, but nobody even laughs at him for it.


    Well, James pokes some fun, smirking to himself and cracking whatever shitty little jokes he thinks makes him seem like a tough guy. But everybody keeps on glaring at him whenever James takes a dig, even before Rich has time to growl at him.


    His favorite topic of mockery isn¡¯t actually Rich¡¯s size or inexperience, it¡¯s how utterly goddamn hilarious it apparently is that someone Rich¡¯s age is having to retake kindergarten-level sociability courses. He keeps making pointed comments to everyone about ¡°We have to set a good example for our newest friend!¡± and ¡°Remember to let Mr Merrill know; respect makes a ship run smoothly!¡± and ¡°Hey, has anyone let Rich know that manners are magic?¡± and humming the opening theme of Family Fleet whenever Rich walks by.


    Smiling close-lipped and considering stops making him twitch nervously two days in, so Rich just nods politely at every jab and doesn¡¯t punch the obnoxious little jackass¡¯s teeth out and also keeps watching all the Family Fleet he¡¯s assigned, and filling out the associated coursework, because he¡­well, because he has to, it''s part of the mandated behavioral training for everyone off his ship. But also because it¡¯s not like he has any other point of reference for the bizarre way these guys interact with each other. The shake-down Rich keeps expecting from someone, sometime, just keeps on not happening.


    James¡¯ asinine commentary aside, everyone is modeling genuinely prosocial behavioral patterns with each other, and it¡¯s baffling. No one¡¯s word for word with the puppets or anything¡ªexcept sometimes, as a joke, and Rich is at least sharp enough to get when it¡¯s a joke¡ªbut they''re so absurdly friendly to each other, even him, even while they''re being cautious around him. Even with James, the most they do is tell him to knock it off or go away¡ªand then most of the time he does. The more Rich watches, the more it seems like the IST department could probably host an episode of Family Fleet all on their own. It''s a whole new kind of exhausting, having to constantly revise his own expectations while waiting and waiting for some actual trouble.


    He expected to have trouble with Security, here, at the very least. There were four Security guys back on the Sympatico, one each for first through fourth shift, and they were just to keep the stabbing and drug use to a minimum. As long as you stayed out of their way¡ªand didn''t mess too much with anyone they were friends with, which was the tricky part¡ªthey wouldn¡¯t seek you out to start any more shit. Of course, to stay out of their way you had to not be caught anywhere there was a fight, or be involved in any way including as the victim, when Security showed up with their clubs out. Rich always did his best, but on the Sympatico that never did end up being good enough.


    Here and now, even though the Reliant has four times the crew compliment of the Sympatico, it¡¯s such a well-behaved crew that they only have two more Security guys, making six total. And those guys have every reason to consider him a danger to whichever of the crew they protect, which is probably a whole lot more of them, considering relative populations. So Rich wasn''t expecting a beatdown, exactly, but a statement on the order of ¡®You¡¯d better not make our lives any harder, new guy,¡¯ would be only natural.


    So when an older man in a Security uniform comes out and finds Rich sitting cautiously on the corner of the sundeck on day three, Rich tenses up for multiple reasons. He doesn''t think Basil lied intentionally about it being okay to go on the sundeck, there¡¯s always some amount of people hanging out up here, but the rules could easily be different for Rich. It''s already going to be difficult enough balancing respect for Security with not giving anyone the idea that Rich can be pushed around, without having to guess if sundeck rights are something Rich actually has in the first place, or if that''s going to be added to the list of his delinquencies.


    The Security guy nods a greeting as he comes over to Rich, though, and he doesn''t look stiff or angry. His dark brown skin creases when he smiles, and his close-shaved black hair is going steel grey at the temples. His navy blue jacket has the gold braiding on the sleeve that identifies him as the Chief of Security, which freezes Rich on the spot. What''s he done that''s brought down that kind of attention?


    ¡°Rich Merrill?¡± Security says. ¡°I''m Avram Appleton, Security Chief on the Reliant. I wanted to welcome you onboard, though I know it''s a little late.¡± His smile quirks wryly, but Rich is too occupied staring in mute terror to return it. ¡°If you have any issues with safety, or any interpersonal difficulties, you can bring them to us if your department head isn''t helpful¡ªalthough Ben''s great, I know you can talk to him. No one has to solve any problems with their fists here.¡±


    ¡°Uh, yes sir,¡± Rich says hastily, because of course James ran and told on him, or someone did, shit. ¡°I mean, no sir, of course not. I, uh, I haven''t been! Strictly hands-off, these days. You won¡¯t get any trouble from me, I swear¡ª¡±


    ¡°No, I know, you''ve been just fine so far!¡± Chief Appleton says, clapping him on the shoulder, and Rich could swear his smile is approving. ¡°Settling in well, from all I hear. Just remember there''s help available if you ever need it.¡±


    ¡°Yes sir,¡± Rich says, bewildered. ¡°Thank you, sir. I will.¡±


    ¡°Well, good! Enjoy the sun, kid, it''s so nice out here in the summer,¡± and he''s headed inside again with a quick, swinging stride.


    Rich takes a minute to breathe, letting his shoulders loosen, his heart slow and his back relax, everything uncoiling that had drawn tight in preparation for a stun baton or a simple beating, despite logic. He''s had plenty of experience reinforcing that you''re polite and don''t argue with Security, and he wasn''t looking forward to repeating any of the lessons, obviously, but¡ªthat was it, really? That''s all? It was like the warning he was expecting, he guesses, only very gently delivered, with none of the threats or posturing he assumed would come along with it.


    Granted, it does sound like, ¡®If someone goes for you, you''d better not fight back,¡¯ which could be a problem. Rich will deal with that when he gets there, though.


    He eyes the lounging gang of off-duty mechanics sharing the sundeck with him, but they¡¯re all already stretched out in the sun, their faces pillowed on rolled-up coveralls, sleepily cozying up to each other like a bunch of lazy selkies. At noon, techies don¡¯t bother coming outside: the overhead sun washes screens out too much to get work done without risking a nasty headache. So until the shadows get longer, Rich is fine to put on a Family Fleet vid and get ahead of his Behavioral Adjustment coursework for the day.


    Nobody bothers him, or even seems to care he¡¯s there, except for the occasional curious gull hopping toward him looking for food. Even then, Rich would swear they¡¯re more polite about it than they were the few times he went on deck at the Sympatico. They don¡¯t peck or dive or anything, just hop up, eye him sideways with mad yellow eyes, pick at something invisible on the deck a few times, and then give up on him as a bad prospect and take off to go harass the mechanics instead.


    Rich has waved off his fifth or sixth feathery visitor and is lounging stomach-down with his overshirt off on one of the deck chairs, sleepily watching Ivanna Inchworm count all the ways she values her friends, when he realizes the footsteps coming out onto the deck are accompanied by a familiar voice.


    ¡°¡ªDidn¡¯t even know if he was around here, I wasn¡¯t gonna snoop in his room! But anyway he¡¯s up on the sundeck, I found him,¡± says Basil¡¯s voice, and pauses like he¡¯s listening to a private call, ¡°¡ªYeah, yeah, I know, okay. Bye-bye, pumpkin.¡±


    Rich finally unfreezes and scrambles to blank his screen and glance back over his shoulder at the same time.


    ¡°Hey, Rich,¡± Basil says, waving with his gloved hand as he comes over. His hair is out of its ponytail today, in a fluffy black cloud of curls around his head. ¡°I was gonna¡ªuh. Oh. Unless you¡¯re¡­busy?¡±


    Somebody on Rich¡¯s screen moans and goes ¡°Ohh, god, baby yes¡­right there¡­¡± and the nearest couple of sleepy mechanics start giggling.


    Rich turns back to flail in horror at his screen, because instead of blanking it, he hit next video, and now it''s showing two extremely beautiful women in implausibly well-fitted mechanics¡¯ coveralls, preparing to demonstrate extremely implausible ways you can stress-test a work desk. He manages to hit pause after a second of fumbling in the glare of the sunlight.


    Goddamn it, Rich was saving that for later tonight, as a personal, private reward for himself for getting through his coursework. He didn¡¯t think he¡¯d actually manage to skip to it in public, where anyone could see, like some horny juvenile dumbass who doesn¡¯t know how to manage his own video queue.


    Worse, he somehow also set the audio for the vid to public, so everyone nearby could hear it, too, as it broadcast right to their comms.


    ¡°Aww, no!¡± Basil says, and plops his narrow butt on the edge of Rich¡¯s lounge chair, right by Rich¡¯s hip. He¡¯s got his casual black sarong on again, messily tied, and his bare knees are basically right there. ¡°Don¡¯t stop it, man¡ªI haven¡¯t seen this episode of Family Fleet before!¡± Rich feels a bright electric wash of heat go through him as Basil braces his bare hand on Rich¡¯s lower back, leaning over his shoulder to see the screen¡ªthen reaches out and hits play.


    Rich stares at Basil in startled betrayal, and Basil grins back cheerfully. The nearest mechanics snicker some more as the women in the vid start moaning and encouraging each other to stress-test the desk even more intensely, and Rich wants to throw himself overboard and drown.


    ¡°Is this Sharing is Caring, or Ask Nicely?¡± Basil adds brightly.


    ¡°Uh. Healthy Bodies, Healthy Minds,¡± Rich ventures from the midst of a scalding-hot cloud of embarrassment, and Basil chokes laughing, which helps. When he stops giggling, Basil just goes back to watching the screen, though, looking terrifically amused at Rich¡¯s whole situation.


    Rich stares helplessly at him and then back at the screen, feeling his blush boiling all down his neck and shoulders. Family Fleet lessons don¡¯t exactly cover this particular kind of social interaction, where you accidentally set off your goddamn porn in public in front of a guy who¡¯s apparently more than willing to make you sweat about it. Not that he would be in this situation if he hadn¡¯t been a ridiculously shy idiot about letting Basil catch him, what, doing his mandated Behavioral Adjustment? That everyone already knows he¡¯s doing? Ugh. Rich is a moron.


    Is Basil trying to make Rich mad or something, leaning on him like this, teasing him about it, instead of doing the decent thing and pretending he didn¡¯t see anything? Basil hasn¡¯t been mean before now, though, he¡¯s been really sweet. Maybe he¡¯s thinking about taking the opportunity to hit Rich up for¡ªfor a hand, for a favor¡ªshit. Not that that would be the worst thing, not a sweet, cute kid like Basil, but¡ªRich¡¯s skin prickles all over, uncertainty and anticipation mixing awkwardly inside him, and Basil¡¯s still touching him and he¡¯s not even sure if he likes it, or what.


    ¡°I think we¡¯re learning a good lesson about sharing today,¡± Basil snickers as one of the video girls gives a loud, overwrought moan and yanks her¡ªobviously tearaway¡ªpants off with a dramatic flourish. ¡°Hell yeah! They¡¯re really going for it. Man, our work uniforms are so lame, imagine if we had tear-off coveralls like these smart ladies. We¡¯d have a way better time around here, I bet.¡±


    ¡°Um,¡± Rich says, eyes unfocusing slightly as he involuntarily thinks about Basil wearing tear-off coveralls. ¡°That¡¯s¡­I guess, uh, it¡¯d be easier to get ready for¡­uh, sleeping, or a shower or something.¡±


    ¡°Oh, yeah, or something,¡± Basil snickers, gesturing his gloved hand at the screen, where both participants have taken all of their clothes off in a remarkably efficient amount of time. ¡°I gotta suggest this to Liam,¡± he adds, and pulls up his screen and starts messaging, like this is a totally normal thing to do while, on-screen, one of the women is getting absolutely rawed over a desktop by her friend. ¡°He¡¯ll probably find somebody to make him some tear-off pants within the hour.¡± He snickers to himself. He has dimples when he smiles.


    Rich stares blankly at the screen. Even if this is weird and awkward and Rich doesn¡¯t want any of it to be happening, it''s still a thing that''s very much happening anyway, and what if Basil did want some sex? He doesn''t have the strength or authority to force Rich into anything, it''d have to be bribes or trade, which could be okay. Rich would maybe be very okay with that. He sneaks a look sideways at Basil. He¡¯s got such a cute smile now, he¡¯d probably have dimples while getting¡ªnot fucked, of course, but maybe blown¡ªon a desk somewhere. He might, anyway, if Rich was the one doing it, Rich could go slow, take his time, keep him smiling¡­God, this is terrible. Rich doesn¡¯t need this to be happening to him, this stupid thing he can¡¯t even pretend he¡¯s not developing for Basil.


    Basil is still messaging his buddy, and looks perfectly casual about the whole situation. It doesn¡¯t even look like he¡¯s getting a boner¡ªthough it¡¯s hard to tell, from this angle, and the sloppy folds of his wrap, but he certainly doesn¡¯t seem to be giving Rich any of the considering once-over looks or pointed overtures Rich would get on the Sympatico when somebody wanted to trade something for a helping hand or mouth.


    ¡°So, anyway,¡± Basil says abruptly, an excruciating minute later, and closes his chat window. ¡°I came to find you cuz me and some guys are gonna be playing Spellcraft in the second deck rec room and¡­if you wanted, you could come. I mean I¡¯m not gonna make you come, but you might have fun. Y¡¯know, if you did?¡± He smiles hopefully like that sentence wasn¡¯t the worst sequence of double entendres Rich has ever heard in his life. ¡°It¡¯s not as fun as lounging around watching porn in public, I bet, but it¡¯s¡­pretty fun.¡±


    ¡°Uh¡­¡± Rich already decided to just take half a second shift from 1500 to 1800 this afternoon, feeling daring and decadent, so he is free for the next couple hours. Free like off-shift, not free to leave the ship, of course, since he''s still on-call for emergencies, but it''s still more leisure time than he''s had in years.


    He numbly considers the porn, then sighs and gives up. ¡°Yeah, sure, okay. I can totally humiliate myself some other afternoon.¡±


    ¡°Cool!¡± says Basil, and smiles like it¡¯s a relief. ¡°Okay, cool. Do you need like¡­another fifteen minutes, or¡ª¡±


    ¡°No!¡± Rich says, and closes the screen completely, pushing himself up. A few of the nearby mechanics make sleepy booing noises at him, and he can¡¯t help his embarrassed flinch at the noise. God, he''s probably red all the way down to the waist. Stupid. ¡°No, I¡¯m good, kid. Let¡¯s go.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, uh,¡± Basil says, looking wide-eyed and uncomfortable all of a sudden, eyes fixed on Rich¡¯s chest. ¡°You¡ªuh, you wanna¡ªmaybe change your shirt¡ª¡± he points carefully at Rich¡¯s chest. Rich looks down, confused, then groans in dismay.


    ¡°Fuck, I liked this shirt, it was soft,¡± Rich growls, and sticks a finger into the sizeable hole where his left shoulder seam should be. The stitches have almost completely given way, and now it shows a ridiculous expanse of too-pale skin and too-red chest hair. When Rich pokes it, the tired fabric gives way even further and he has to practically grope himself to keep from like, flashing a nipple to everyone on deck.


    ¡°Oh my god,¡± Basil says, very quietly.


    ¡°So, I think you were saying something about tearaway clothes, huh, kid?¡± Rich sighs, and grabs one-handed for where he¡¯d left his overshirt folded up by the head of his lounge chair. ¡°I can¡¯t seem to keep mine in one fucking piece, shit.¡±


    ¡°I, uh, ahahaha, yeah! Yeah, uh. You¡¯re ahead of the curve, I guess! Good job!¡± Basil gives Rich a thumbs up, looking wide-eyed and embarrassed for him, and Rich laughs softly, appreciating his attempt at humor. He¡¯s a sweet kid, even if he¡¯s a tease, too.


    ¡°I¡¯m gonna get another shirt real fast, okay?¡± Rich says, struggling into his overshirt as best as he can without his t-shirt doing anything even more humiliating. ¡°One with more structural integrity. You go like¡ªgo on ahead, and I¡¯ll be there in five.¡±


    ¡°Right, yes, okay,¡± Basil says distractedly, brushing a spill of curls out of his face, and looks haphazardly around the sundeck instead of at Rich again. ¡°Yes. Uh, integrity, yes. See you there!¡± He bounces off ahead of Rich across the deck and through the nearest hatch.


    Rich takes the opportunity to stop by a washroom and splash some cold water on his burning face, and by the time he gets to the rec room, he feels at least most of the way normal again. Basil, Nate, and Anton are gathered in the rec room, looking relaxed and casual in off-shift t-shirts and tank-tops and patterned wraps, all of them barefoot and unguarded. Rich would feel overdressed in his full-length black jeans and work boots, if he didn¡¯t know he¡¯d have an absolutely pathetic meltdown at exposing any more skin than his arms to guys he barely knows. As is, he still wishes sharply that he¡¯d taken the time to grab an overshirt.


    Apparently they were already aware Rich was coming, because nobody looks too freaked out to see him loom through the doorway: Nate gives a cautious smile, and Anton even gives a wave. There¡¯s plenty of room in the circle, like they were waiting for more players. Basil pats the space right by his hip¡ªit¡¯s one with a clear view of the door, which could be an accident, but if it is, it¡¯s one Rich will gratefully take advantage of; he comes over and then stops short.


    There''s a potted plant suction-cupped to a window, and the pot¡¯s little pop-up infoscreen is saying ¡®Please give me 2 cups water.¡¯ Apparently no one else has noticed, or maybe cared. They don''t appreciate how lucky they are to have plants around, a clean boat with enough light and space and peace to support green living things.


    ¡°Sorry, hold on, the plant needs a drink, back in a second,¡± Rich says, and walks right out again, heading for the nearest washroom. He gets a jar, fills it with what he thinks is about two cups of water, and goes and pours it carefully onto the plant, waiting for it to soak in so it doesn''t overflow.


    ¡°Sorry, guys, thanks for waiting,¡± he says, and settles down gingerly into the open space by Basil. He can watch the door past Basil¡¯s shoulder here, and the bulkhead of the rec room is solid against his back.


    Anton smiles warmly at him, and if Nate chuckles quietly, it doesn''t sound mocking. Rich isn''t sure quite what the smile Basil gives him is about, a shy note he can''t read, but it seems pleased, so that''s fine, he doesn''t think Rich is dumb either.


    ¡°Okay, you have to download the client onto your system, but it¡¯s a tiny file,¡± Basil explains. ¡°This is the rule sheet, so if you need some reference¡ª¡±


    Rich starts the download, and all three of them pile in at the same time trying to explain the rules of what seems to be an incredibly complicated card game full of colors and classifications and modifiers. Then Nate produces a couple boxes of snacks, and it gets even harder to focus as Rich has to weigh ¡®playing the game¡¯ against ¡®obtaining the maximum amount of sweet potato chips that¡¯s socially acceptable to have¡¯.


    So Rich is distracted, but not so distracted he doesn¡¯t notice when another figure appears in the doorway beyond Basil; he¡¯s a well-built young guy, with copper skin and short red-gold hair, wearing the black tank-top and navy blue sarong that warns of off-duty Security. Rich doesn¡¯t see a disruptor baton but he tenses anyway; the guy notices him looking and winks at him, stalking forward silently toward Basil¡¯s unprotected back. Shifts something in his grip, something small and thin he holds like a¡ªthat¡¯s a shiv, no, fuck that.


    Rich is on his feet so fast he bowls Basil over backwards, lunging past startled faces to ram the Security guy off his feet and pin his wrists to the deck. Basil yelps somewhere behind him, and then goes ¡°Fuck!¡± and then, ¡°Rich, what are you¡ªhey, whoa, hey!¡±


    ¡°Drop it,¡± Rich growls at the Security guy, and Security guy twists, testing Rich¡¯s grip, and then hisses as Rich squeezes his wrist harder. ¡°Drop it.¡±


    ¡°Holy shit, man, let go!¡± says Basil squeakily, and a hand touches Rich¡¯s shoulder like he¡¯s a bomb that¡¯s about to blow, plucking at his shirt. ¡°What¡ªhey¡ª¡±


    ¡°This fucking club was gonna knife you,¡± Rich snaps, adrenaline boiling through his veins. ¡°You know this guy?¡±


    ¡°Oh my god,¡± says Basil.


    ¡°Knife him?!¡± says the Security guy, disbelieving. ¡°Haha, uh, wow¡ª¡±


    ¡°Mitch, shut up,¡± says Basil. ¡°Show him¡ªRich, seriously, it¡¯s cool. It¡¯s cool, okay?¡±


    The Security guy opens his hand, and the thing he was holding rolls away and comes to a trundling halt on the deck. It¡¯s¡­a paint marker, it¡¯s just a normal red paint marker, like for marking tools and equipment.


    Rich stares at it blankly, then at the Security guy, then slowly lets go of his wrist. His heart is still pounding, and he can¡¯t quite manage to process this latest development.


    ¡°Rich, let¡¯s take it easy, okay?¡± says Basil, in a patient, careful tone. ¡°This is my friend¡ª¡±


    ¡°Michigan,¡± says the guy. ¡°Mitch. Ford. Mitch Ford? Moved here last year. Man, you move fast for somebody your size¡ª¡±


    ¡°And this is Rich Merrill!¡± Basil says, louder, cutting over that line of inquiry. ¡°Who doesn¡¯t know about the game yet, dumbass.¡±


    ¡°Game,¡± repeats Rich. The adrenaline is starting to drain away, his stomach twisting with the slow realization that he¡¯s made an absolute dipshit of himself in front of half his department and one of the ship¡¯s Security officers. He tackled one of the ship¡¯s Security officers, a couple hours after being welcomed aboard and told he was doing a good job by their boss, fuck.


    ¡°Yeah, y¡¯know, Assassins,¡± Mitch says, and reaches over to grab the paint marker, waving it around in illustration. ¡°You try to sneak up on the other guy, and if you get him¡ª¡± he mimes slicing the paint marker across his throat. ¡°You assassinated him, and you win.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s this silly game we do,¡± says Basil. ¡°Rocket and Hiram used to play with us, but they graduated off to the Sanitary Confinement when they finished their internship, so it¡¯s just me and Mitch right now. It¡¯s kinda fun, though¡ª¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s fucking annoying is what it is,¡± pipes up Anton. ¡°I¡¯m over in the mess trying to eat my blocks and you two are having marker fights across the tables like a pair of under-tens playing pirate.¡±


    Basil gives a furtive, embarrassed look towards Rich, going ruddy across his cheeks, but Mitch grins unrepentantly. ¡°Yeah, and I won the mess round,¡± he says, spreading his arms out proudly. ¡°That¡¯s important, I won.¡±


    Their ''game¡¯ sounds like the dumbest thing Rich has heard of. If you''re used to sneak-attacks resulting in paint marks on your skin and someone crowing over a harmless victory, how are you going to be ready for someone who actually wants to hurt you? Not that anyone on this boat seems to think that way, he''s coming to realize.


    Unfortunately, none of that fixes the fact that Rich just screwed up bad. He gets to his feet and uncertainly offers Mitch a hand up, wondering how dead he is now he''s personally pissed Security off.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± he says carefully. ¡°I didn''t, uh. Didn''t realize. I should have left you to it.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, no, ¡®s cool!¡± says Mitch, and takes the offered hand, tugging himself up. ¡°Y¡¯know, good looking-out, though! Nice to know this hamfisted dorkus has a real security detail now, it¡¯ll make the game a lot more fun.¡±


    Rich expected this guy to be fuming and red-faced, talking about demerits and fines, but from the look of him he''s somehow not even annoyed. He''s not pissed off and hiding it, that friendly face is completely open. Mitch is just¡ªletting it go. Letting Rich get away with being an idiot instead of making him pay for it.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± says Basil as Rich stares at Mitch, and pats Rich on the shoulder with his gloved hand, more firmly this time, interrupting his paralyzed confusion. ¡°It¡¯s cool you, uh, you had my back like that. That was cool of you, thanks.¡±


    His hand feels different than Rich expected, harder than it should be under the leather, stiffer, or something, but Rich doesn''t have the attention to spare for that right now. He finally looks away from Mitch and gives Basil a twitch of a smile. Basil doesn''t look mad, either. A bit uncertain, maybe, or like¡­worried? But he doesn¡¯t look like he¡¯s being sarcastic or mocking or just saying it so Rich won¡¯t be mad at him. And he wouldn''t be standing this close if Rich had scared him. As Rich stares at him, his smile widens and makes crinkles at the corners of his eyes.


    ¡°No problem,¡± Rich says, and hesitates a second before deciding he doesn''t quite dare return the shoulder-pat. He nods at Mitch, ducks past Basil and sits down again, working on breathing through the adrenaline letdown and not thinking about how much he could use a drink right now to settle his nerves back to a reasonable simmer. He''s all on edge, he''s gonna be watching the door for the next hour now, flinching away from everyone¡¯s hands, and they¡¯re playing with cards, everyone¡¯s going to be waving them everywhere¡­but they¡¯re all friends, here. And willing to be friendly with Rich. So he¡¯s going to just sit here, and deal with it.


    So he deals. It doesn¡¯t go too badly. Everyone starts the game over, with a flurry of good-natured bitching and moaning and reshuffling that doesn¡¯t have anything to do with anything Rich might or might not have done. Mitch, it turns out, has been playing this card game with Basil for years, on and off, and has managed to avoid learning most of the rules, through a combination of cheerful dumbassery and shameless dedication to winding Basil up.


    Apparently he wins sometimes anyway, usually because of pure luck and sometimes because of suspiciously shrewd guessing, so he adds a random element to the game that at least makes Rich¡¯s newbie fumbling with the rules a minor sideshow to the spectacle of Mitch making a phenomenal amount of suicide plays. It keeps everybody distracted, laughing and smiling and heckling the guy.


    The only problem is, Mitch¡¯s goofing around keeps Rich distracted too. When Mitch sits down in the circle he immediately twists around to put his legs in Basil¡¯s lap, and that¡¯s¡­fine, except the next thing he does is poke Basil in the stomach with a foot and go, ¡°Hey, sugarplum, deal me in already,¡± and Basil, before Rich has even finished staring about that, goes, ¡°Cut your engines, pumpkin, I¡¯m fucking getting there.¡±


    Public displays of affection were not a good idea on the Sympatico, even if you had somebody to be affectionate with, so Rich honestly has no idea if what he¡¯s seeing is real flirting, or insincere flirting, or insincere-looking flirting that¡¯s actually real, or some godforsaken combination of the three. They hang on each other through the whole game, even while they play against each other as often as they play against anyone else, and every so often they drop some more ludicrously over-the-top pet names: cookie and cupcake, peaches and pumpkin and honey-bear and muffin, on and on. And then sometimes Basil whacks Mitch on the leg and grumbles how he¡¯s a dipshit and a loser, and Mitch chortles and plays another board-wrecking card specifically to prolong the grumbling.


    Neither of the other techs seems to be paying them the slightest bit of extra attention, either, which is entirely unhelpful. If someone would at least comment, Rich might catch a clue about what''s going on with the two of them.


    Not that it matters, obviously. Not that Rich cares if Basil is attached to anyone already, even a fit, handsome, sweet-tempered young Security officer.


    But that''s the thing: Mitch can''t be with Basil if he''s Security unless they¡¯re really serious about each other, like married or at least engaged. Security¡¯s on libido-suppressants as a matter of course. Unless they apply with a committed partner for an exemption, they can''t do sex, and they¡¯re generally intense enough about ¡°avoiding distraction¡± and ¡°preventing potential abuses¡± that they don¡¯t even consider trying to find a partner to put in for an exemption with.


    So it''s gotta be joke-flirting. Rich is pretty sure.


    Nate wins a round, and then Basil wins two in a row. At 1600, Rich realizes with a guilty jolt that he''s late to start his half-shift, and then he looks around and defiantly decides to stay right where he is and enjoy himself. He worked double shifts the first two days, so it''s probably okay to slack off today, even if he''s instinctively twitchy about it. It''ll be fine.


    Basil wins another round, and then Rich wins one, to his utter shock. Everybody boos the winner, and it should feel bad, but everybody¡¯s grinning at the same time, swearing at each other over the scattered cards, gathering their decks back up again. It¡¯s¡­nice.


    It¡¯s really nice.


    He catches Basil smiling at him: an odd, soft, warm little smile, like Basil thinks he¡¯s getting away with something.


    ¡°What?¡± Rich asks, and elbows him carefully. ¡°What¡¯re you smiling about, huh?¡±


    ¡°Oh!¡± Basil goes, like he didn¡¯t expect Rich to be keeping an eye on him, and ducks his head. ¡°Nothing, man, it¡¯s just¡ªI haven¡¯t seen you look, uh, happy. Before.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Rich asks, stupidly. ¡°That¡¯s¡ªno. What? I¡¯m happy, I can be happy, I¡¯ve¡ªI do that.¡± His face starts burning. What the fuck, he¡¯s been happy before. He can¡¯t remember right now when the last time was, but he¡¯s not a total grouch! Is that what everyone''s been thinking of him here, that he''s some angry, scowling asshole all the time? What a great impression to make on his new crewmates, god.Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    ¡°No, yeah, you always look like you¡¯re about to stress-puke,¡± Nate says. ¡°I didn¡¯t figure you could have fun.¡±


    Rich stares at him, startlement giving way to confused embarrassment. Rich can''t be that transparent, can he? He''s assumed people have been treating him cautiously because they''re scared of him, waiting for him to snap. They wouldn''t do that if they just thought he was stressed out. Would they?


    ¡°Oh my god Nate, that¡¯s so rude,¡± Basil says. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean it like that.¡±


    He leans over and takes Nate¡¯s bag of chips, then gives it to Rich. ¡°Here, Rich, Technician Chau is very sorry he did a James impression.¡±


    ¡°Oh, wow, hit me where it hurts, Wright,¡± Nate says, and clutches dramatically at his chest. But he doesn¡¯t make a peep about getting his chips redistributed, so Rich doesn¡¯t question it and starts in on eating them real fast before someone does complain. The food helps distract him from his burning embarrassment and confusion until the heat in his face subsides.


    Nate is going on fourth shift at 1800 hours, and has to tap out a round later to get ready for work; somebody¡¯s got a problem with their emergency broadcast system, either a hacking or a glitch, nobody¡¯s sure. Mitch makes a couple playful, showy swipes at Basil with his paint-marker and gets shoved over for it, then helped off the deck to saunter out with Basil, arm-in-arm. Anton heads out with a bright smile and a cheerful wave just for Rich, and then Rich is alone in the rec room with his thoughts. He has a lot of them and none of them go anywhere in particular. The basic summary is: he doesn''t understand anything and it''s unnerving; somehow things still haven''t gone wrong yet, which is simultaneously unsettling and reassuring; and goddamn, Basil is way too attractive when he''s grinning victoriously.


    Maybe Rich should go watch porn. It might distract him from bad ideas.


    He goes back to his berth and closes the door, takes a series of deep, careful breaths, then deliberately settles himself on his bed to enjoy what he can of the rest of the evening.


    -


    That night, Rich has finished tidying up his berth before bed and is trying not to feel weirdly aimless and lost over not having anything of Trimmer¡¯s to put away anywhere, none of the guy¡¯s clothes or journals or tools, when his comm goes off and distracts him from being a huge idiot. He takes a deep breath when he sees who it is, and answers with a huff and an eyeroll.


    ¡°Didn''t I say I would call you?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, and I''ve been waiting, and you haven''t!¡± Thena retorts. She crosses her arms, which are about as heavy with muscle as his, tosses hair the same shade as his out of her face, and glares, her hazel eyes narrow with irritation. He notices in exasperation that she has a fading black eye, the shiny purple and green bruise sickeningly vivid against her pale skin.


    ¡°It''s been a week, Rich,¡± she goes on, ¡°you''ve gotta be on your new boat now, right? How''s it going, are you okay? Do I need to come beat anybody up for you?¡±


    ¡°Athena!¡± he yelps. ¡°No, fuck, keep your homicidal tendencies off this boat, god! If Nanna and T¨ªa heard you going on like that¡ª¡±


    His little sister laughs, completely unrepentant. ¡°Oh, they¡¯d cheer me on!¡± she says.


    ¡°Yeah well, they¡¯re raising a monster,¡± Rich says.


    ¡°Raised, past tense,¡± Thena says, and flexes proudly. ¡°I¡¯m all grown up and carrying off fair maidens to my lair, you know!¡±


    Rich sighs. ¡°If Dad was still here,¡± he says, even though he knows it¡¯s a low blow, but he just¡ªhe worries about her sometimes. ¡°He wouldn¡¯t be so cool with all the crazy, violent shit you¡¯re always pulling, and you know it.¡±


    Thena sighs, and pulls a lock of hair over her shoulder to play with, twisting it around her finger and looking unhappy in a way that makes Rich feel worse about everything.


    ¡°Well¡­he isn¡¯t,¡± his sister says finally, ¡°plus, you know I never listened to him when he was around, so, it doesn¡¯t matter.¡± She swallows and look away, and Rich bites his lip and lets the silence rest. She''s still so young, only just eighteen, and even younger when it happened, and he only got a few days¡¯ bereavement leave from the Sympatico to spend with her. He still hates that he¡¯s never been able to be there for her. Angela tried to stay longer, care for her more, since that was back when she still gave a fuck about both of her two delinquent younger siblings, but it didn¡¯t work out much better.


    Inside a week of what passed as maternal attention from Angela, Thena had gone and moved Nanna Leah and T¨ªa Maria, two ancient and indomitable old retired engineers, from their little studio-berthing in a corner of the family boat Infinity into the Merrill¡¯s much larger and more spacious family allotment, and the three of them together turfed Angela right back out to her Security barracks bunk on the Washington.


    ¡°Granny trumps sister any day of the week, sweetheart,¡± Nanna Leah had reportedly told Angela, while T¨ªa Maria had dumped Angela¡¯s duffle bag in the back of a deck-hopper and started it up. It had been the one thing to make Rich laugh all month. Probably all year. And after that¡­Thena had grieved, of course she¡¯d grieved, just like Rich did, but she¡¯d had two doting iron-spined old ladies at her back, and she grew up wild and fearless and terrifyingly convinced of her own invulnerability, while Rich¡­


    Well. Rich learned a whole lot of life lessons in the last couple years that he can¡¯t stop worrying will catch up to her sooner or later.


    Here and now, he breathes in, and changes the subject. ¡°It''s really nice here, actually. It''s, uh, it''s weird because I''m back on the Reliant, I used to work here when I was an intern, and there''s a couple of guys I knew from before, y¡¯know, who remember me from when I was a kid, but it''s¡ªit''s nice, they''ve been nice. And the Reliant¡¯s got a sundeck! So I''ve been hanging out there for like a couple hours every afternoon¡­¡± He trails off. Thena''s listening, nodding at the appropriate places, but she''s obviously less enthralled by the concept of a sundeck than he is. He snorts.


    ¡°Okay,¡± he goes on, ¡°you''ll like this. I got invited to a game today, and while they were explaining the rules this guy came slipping through the door, off-duty Security, okay¡ª¡±


    He tells the story as well as he can, enjoying her suspicion followed by alarm, yes, thank you. ¡°¡ªAnd it goes rolling out of his hand, and I realize¡­it''s a fucking marker. They like to pretend they''re gonna try to kill each other, it''s so fucking dumb!¡±


    ¡°Oh my god,¡± Thena says, and whoops with laughter. ¡°Oh no, you tackled Security, holy shit!¡± Her grin goes uncertain at the edges. ¡°Was he cool about it?¡±


    ¡°Yeah!¡± Rich says, still bewildered over that. ¡°He didn''t seem to mind at all, he was totally relaxed and friendly. It was weird.¡±


    ¡°Okay, that''s not weird, Rich,¡± Thena says, rolling her eyes. ¡°Someone being reasonable about a misunderstanding makes sense, that''s how people are usually. You know, now that you''re off the fucking murder boat.¡±


    ¡°Would you stop calling it that?¡± he grumbles. ¡°It¡¯s not a murder¡ª¡±


    ¡°You got stabbed with a knife, like nine people died in the, what, four years you were there, I''m not¡ª¡±


    ¡°I wasn''t stabbed¡ª¡±


    ¡°With a knife, Rich! Dad would flip if he knew! He would''ve gotten you hauled out of that shithole so fast¡­¡±


    ¡°Yeah, well,¡± Rich mutters. It¡¯s only fair for Thena to throw what Dad would or wouldn¡¯t do in his face this time, even if it does suck. ¡°I¡¯m out, now, so it doesn¡¯t matter. And anyway, like I was saying, it''s nice here! People are cool, there¡¯s no murders happening whatsoever.¡±


    ¡°Good!¡± Thena says, with a firm nod. ¡°People should be cool to you, I¡¯ve had enough of dickheads trying to kill you.¡±


    ¡°Same here and let¡¯s change the subject, okay?¡± Rich says plaintively. ¡°I want something new to argue about with you for once.¡±


    ¡°You got it, dearest sibling!¡± she says with a spritely grin that he eyes mistrustfully. ¡°So, are any of your new crew cute?¡±


    ¡°Oh, fuck off!¡± he yells, throwing his hands up. ¡°I''m not talking about that shit with you, forget it!¡±


    ¡°You''re such a prude, Richard,¡± she huffs, affecting an air of deep hurt. ¡°And I didn''t ask about who you¡¯re hauling back to your bunk! I just asked if there''s anyone cute on your boat, how is that a crime?!¡±


    ¡°Because I know you,¡± he growls, crossing his arms, but she only pulls tragic faces at him until he gives in. ¡°...Yes. The skinny little pipsqueak who was always following me around when we were interns is still here, and he went and got really cute. He''s being nice, too¡ªhe invited me to that game I mentioned. And he''s the one who plays the dumb assassin game with the Security guy.¡± Rich stops, waves his hands. ¡°Which is another thing! Basil and his Security friend¡ªThena, they were like, all over each other, all touchy and huggy and calling each other ''cupcake¡¯ and ''sweetheart¡¯ and all this shit, and I couldn''t fucking tell if they were for real or if it''s just a game or what, I mean, he''s Security!¡±


    Thena raises her eyebrows at him. ¡°You realize people can do romance without sex, right? Weren¡¯t you and your pissy little fourhands boyfriend doing that?¡±


    Rich¡¯s entire body revolts at this notion, and he finds himself rearing back from the screen in abject horror.


    ¡°Athena!¡± he wails. ¡°Oh my god no! Me and Trimmer were¡ªfuck, augh, no, yuck!¡±


    ¡°Yeah but you slept together!¡± Thena says. ¡°I don¡¯t know how many calls you took with Trimmer sacked out on your lap like a¡ªa hilarious douchebag kitten, or something! I don¡¯t care if you weren¡¯t banging, you can¡¯t tell me you didn¡¯t have a thing with him!¡±


    ¡°Yeah, that thing was called mutual self-interest!¡± Rich says. ¡°We watched each other''s backs, Thena, it wasn¡¯t¡ªaugh. We weren¡¯t¡ª¡± he can¡¯t even say in love, ¡°¡ªhaving a romance, holy shit. Trimmer¡¯s emotional range is basically if a rock could be a jackass.¡±


    ¡°I liked him,¡± Thena says, and that¡¯s¡ªwell. Rich wants to keep being indignant, but. He did too. He sighs, runs a hand through his hair, and settles back down.


    ¡°Yeah, well,¡± he says. ¡°Everyone got sent away to different boats and like, blocked off from contacting each other, so, that¡¯s that. Another epic romance lost to the ages.¡±


    ¡°Aw,¡± Thena says. Then, horribly, ¡°God, what do you think even happens when a fourhands gets with a soldier mod? Do you think like a gorilla comes out?¡±


    ¡°Thena, that¡¯s racist,¡± Rich says decisively. ¡°Also it¡¯d be an orangutan, if it was us, wouldn¡¯t it.¡±


    Thena throws back her head and cackles.


    "Anyway," Rich says, trying to haul the conversation back on track, "yes, thanks, baby sister, I know about nonsexual romance¡ªdespite having no experience myself¡ªbecause I am actually aware of the basic facts of life."


    "Are you?" Thena says, pretending concern. "Because you know, I''m happy to explain anything you need to know about the happy little fish and the hungry little pelicans. You see, when men and women like each other very, very much¡ª"


    Rich snorts. "Thena, the day either of us needs an education on cross-gender relationships is the day this fucking Fleet goes under¡ªdo you know how long it¡¯s been since I talked to a girl that wasn¡¯t my obnoxious baby sister?¡± A long-ass time, is how long.


    When he first got on the Sympatico, he was looking forward to being an actual adult finally, old enough to hire a Physical Relief Technician and go have sex with a girl for once. Then he found out that the PRTs wisely exercised their right to refuse calls if anybody on the Sympatico was dumb enough to try to hire one, and by the time he turned eighteen he didn''t have the money or free time to make or keep an appointment on the Completion anyway. Maybe that''ll change in the future, but he''s not holding his breath.


    Rich sighs, then catches Thena¡¯s wicked grin and scowls at her in return. ¡°And don¡¯t start on the minnows and trout either, that wasn¡¯t an invitation. I¡¯ll keep my fishing life private and you can spare me the stories about all the romantic conquests of Athena Merrill, professional sparrowhawk."


    "Alright, then, young scholar, we can move from romance to procreation," Thena says with a solemn nod, and raises her voice over his protests, face set in a dramatically serious expression. ¡°So, Mr Merrill, when some billionaire likes his military very, very much¡ª¡±


    Rich cracks up laughing. ¡°He gets some genetic engineers together,¡± he continues for her, and Thena nods sagely. It¡¯s not a new joke, most gene-mods have their own how some rich asshole decided I should be a weird genetic mutant story¡ªbut it¡¯s comforting in its familiarity. ¡°And they make a whole bunch of adorable baby supersoldiers, yeah, I know, this is Babies 101¡ª¡±


    ¡°And no one cares about how cranked up their metabolisms have to be to stay so crazy buff,¡± Thena goes on, and lowers her voice, grinning ghoulishly. ¡°...Nobody expects it the first time one of them gets hungry enough to start eating bodies off the battlefield¡ª¡±


    ¡°Oh, come on,¡± Rich protests. ¡°Thena, yuck, that¡¯s not even¡ªwho¡¯s been telling you about¡ª¡±


    ¡°Everyone knows about the hungry Hastings thing, Rich,¡± Thena says, rolling her eyes. ¡°That¡¯s like, the only thing anyone does know around here about our mod¡ª¡®oh yeah, they¡¯re big and buff and handsome¡ªand sometimes they flip their shit when they¡¯re hungry enough and they just like, fucking eat people¡¯. There¡¯s a reason my fighting name is Maneater.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re not even full Hastings mods!¡± Rich says, disturbed and worried for Thena all over again. Sure, that¡¯s something he¡¯s had to deal with, but he doesn¡¯t like the thought of Thena having to, let alone embracing the gruesome old horror stories. ¡°We¡¯re like¡ªwhat, an eighth? And the rest is, I don¡¯t know, random outcrossings¡ª¡±


    ¡°Yeah, well, we got the coloration anyway, a Hastings soldier is all anyone sees when they look at us, so who cares about the fiddly fucking details,¡± Thena says, framing her face with her hands and rolling her eyes. ¡°If we don¡¯t get a choice about any of this, we might as well use what we¡¯ve got when we can.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ve got a choice,¡± Rich says. ¡°We can choose not to be crazy murder weapons who eat people.¡±


    Thena drops her hands and grins, slowly. ¡°Sparrowhawk, remember?¡± she purrs. ¡°I like eating a nice, juicy¡ª¡±


    ¡°Could you stop being nasty for like ten seconds!¡± Rich yelps.


    She laughs. ¡°I¡¯ll give you five seconds, if you ask nicely,¡± she says. ¡°Because you¡¯re my brother and I love you so much.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m leaving after those five seconds,¡± Rich says, but he can¡¯t help smiling.


    ¡°So, let¡¯s circle back around to your new mancrush,¡± she goes on.


    ¡°That was not five seconds!¡± Rich says.


    ¡°I¡¯m being nice! I¡¯m not asking for any details, I¡¯m keeping this Family Fleet!¡± she protests. ¡°But so like¡ªyou think he might be taken?¡±


    Rich sighs, deeply wounded by life in general and the intensely obnoxious persistence of little sisters in specific. ¡°I dunno, Thena, maybe! If Security even gets exclusive like that, anyway. I don¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°It''s cute the way you pretend you don''t know anything about Security, you know,¡± she says, and rolls her eyes at him for something like the fifteenth time this conversation. ¡°Just because you bailed out fast, you pretend you never learned anything.¡±


    ¡°I was in there for a couple months, okay, because I thought that was just what soldier mods do,¡± Rich growls, ¡°plus we were kids, they weren''t talking about like, filing for marriage or whatever, they were telling us how sex is a distraction and a source of abuse and corruption, and we were gonna be good little protectors and take our suppressants every day and serve the Fleet for ever and ever.¡±


    She rolls her eyes at him again. ¡°Whatever, Rich. Anyway, speaking of Angie¡ª¡±


    ¡°No,¡± he snaps, raising a hand to the screen. ¡°Athena, I''ll end the call, I swear.¡±


    ¡°Rich, come onnn!¡± Thena moans at him. ¡°I know she was a jerk to you about your reassignment, but she''s still our sister, you have to¡ª¡±


    ¡°I don''t have to do shit,¡± Rich says tightly. ¡°If she wants to apologize for treating me like some piece of shit criminal just waiting to get shipped out, lemme know, but until then I''m fine with never seeing her again.¡±


    Thena''s face twists in distress. ¡°That''s so dumb, though! You''re both being so dumb! You''re off the damn ship now, you¡¯re making a new life, can''t you both put it all behind you?¡±


    ¡°Ask her,¡± Rich says. ¡°She''s the one who can¡¯t get over what a huge fucking disappointment I am.¡±


    ¡°I mean, you were getting in fights and getting written up by Security all the time¡ªI believe you!¡± she says as he reaches for the end call button. ¡°I know you weren''t starting the fights, I know Security was full of it, I know, I''m just saying, it doesn''t look good!¡±


    ¡°Yeah, unless she listened to me!¡± Rich says. ¡°You believe me! But she gave up on me ages ago, she doesn''t give a fuck now. Forget it,¡± he adds as Thena opens her mouth again. ¡°I don''t wanna talk about her. So where''d you get the black eye?¡±


    She glares at him, crossing her arms. ¡°Where do you think.¡±


    He sighs, even though he doesn''t know what other answer he expected. Of course she got it in her damn fighting ring at the Mall. ¡°Thena¡­¡±


    ¡°What, Rich? Are you gonna give me the ¡®stop being a delinquent¡¯ speech now? For all you two wanna pretend we¡¯re not family, you sure like giving me the exact same lectures!¡±


    ¡°It''s not about being a delinquent,¡± he growls, ¡°I don''t want you getting hurt! Or hurting anyone else!¡±


    ¡°I''m not gonna!¡±


    ¡°Thena, if somebody brought a knife¡ª¡±


    ¡°Rich,¡± she says loudly, shoving both hands into her hair. ¡°We''re not trying to kill each other, okay?! It¡¯s show wrestling! No one! Is going to bring a knife! Okay? No one ever has, why would they?¡±


    ¡°If they wanted to make sure they won¡ª¡±


    ¡°That wouldn''t do it, because no one would ever let them fight again!¡± Thena yells, waving her arms. ¡°There¡¯s rules!¡±


    ¡°And you¡¯d still be bleeding out, if someone ever feels like breaking them,¡± Rich says, stubbornly.


    Thena¡¯s biting her lip and looking worried now. ¡°Well, at that point they''re a murderous asshole and we''d call Security and get them shipped out of the Fleet for doing crazy shit. Rich¡­are you gonna talk to your caseworker about this?¡±


    ¡°About how my little sister is involved in an antisocial fight club?¡± he says incredulously. ¡°Thena, c¡¯mon, just because I don¡¯t like it doesn¡¯t mean I¡¯m gonna try to get it shut down.¡±


    ¡°No, Rich,¡± she says with elaborate patience. ¡°I mean have you talked to your caseworker about how you constantly worry about random people having knives.¡±


    Okay, that''s not fair. ¡°It''s not random,¡± Rich growls. ¡°If someone knows they''re going to be in a fight, they sometimes bring a knife, there''s nothing random about it!¡±


    ¡°This isn¡¯t your murder-boat, Rich, this is wrestling. We''re fighting for fun, like I told you before. For exercise, for the fun of it¡ªand to win some money, some fame, some girls. This isn¡¯t the kind of fight anyone brings a knife to.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, but the higher you get the more someone''s gonna want to take you down,¡± Rich says unhappily, shaking his head. ¡°Just¡ªkeep an eye out, okay? Watch yourself.¡±


    ¡°Okay, Rich,¡± she says, too gently.


    He glares. ¡°And stop looking at me like I''m crazy! I know what I¡¯m talking about!¡±


    ¡°I''m not!¡± she retorts. ¡°I''m looking at you like you''re a dumbass, because you are!¡±


    ¡°Hey, I''m not the one getting in fights for no reason!¡±


    ¡°Neither am I,¡± she says smugly, and the smirk warns him even before she says, ¡°I''m getting in fights to have more beautiful women than you¡¯ve ever seen throw themselves at my feet. When I win, which I pretty much always do.¡±


    ¡°Oh my god,¡± Rich groans, ¡°some jealous asshole is so gonna come after you.¡±


    ¡°Well, I¡¯m done with this argument now,¡± she says, rolling her eyes one more time. ¡°Look, I''m glad things are going okay. Call me next week, okay?¡±


    ¡°I will! Don''t fucking get stabbed in the meantime!¡±


    ¡°Yeah, same to you! I love you, dumbass.¡±


    ¡°I love you too, pipsqueak,¡± he says. She snorts and gives him the finger, grinning, and hangs up the call.


    -


    Rich wakes up the next morning because an urgent work summons is blaring between his ears. For a second he¡¯s dizzy and disoriented, waiting for the ungraceful yank on his implants as the Sympatico hooks into him¡ªthen he feels the professional clarity of the AI already retreating back to its neat core and he remembers where he is, what she is, what¡¯s going on.


    ...If the Reliant wants him for something, it must need all hands. Rich pulls up the task, scans it quickly, then swings out of his bunk, takes his morning shot, takes a much longer drink of water, and yanks his coveralls on as he heads toward the door. Insulation, hydration, clothes, boots, and he¡¯s set to shovel whatever ration of shit today has in store. He¡¯ll do a fast, efficient, excellent job on whatever it is, and maybe then the Reliant will stop politely and repeatedly swatting his hand away whenever he reaches out to help.


    Basil is stumbling out of his own berth as Rich opens his door, and there¡¯s an awkward second where both of them stagger sleepily and try not to slam into each other.


    ¡°Fuckin¡¯, shit, mmnfgh,¡± Basil moans, and yanks at the zipper of his coveralls, leaning distractedly on the bulkhead. He¡¯s got mismatched socks on and his boots under one arm, and his hair is a mess, frizzy curls straggling in all directions. His left hand is already gloved, though. ¡°Shit, goddamn, there would be an emergency when I just finished my shift and was gonna take a nap for once. Fuck double shifts, what if I don''t wanna?" He finally wrestles the zipper into submission and heads down the passageway, half-hopping as he tugs his boots on. ¡°Come on!¡±


    Blinking, Rich follows him, close enough to catch him if he tips over. "Man, no one likes double shifts," he points out. It''s weird to hear Basil complaining about it when he''s the one who told Rich how busy the department is. Especially when, despite starting his usual shift at midnight, Basil seems to stay awake until early evening frequently before passing out, so it''s not like it''s messing up his sleep schedule.


    Basil heaves a doleful sigh in answer, which shouldn''t be as cute as it is.


    "If you fall asleep on the job, I''ll keep you from going overboard," Rich promises.


    ¡°I mean,¡± says Basil, and then has to stagger to one side and reach hastily for a grab-bar as the ship¡¯s engines kick on. In Rich¡¯s ear, the voice of the ship pipes up.


    ¡°There has been an urgent maintenance call requiring 50% or more of technical and 20% or more of mechanical crew,¡± she says calmly. ¡°Rerouting to destination.¡±


    ¡°Fuck!¡± says Basil, and slows down, leaning against the bulkhead to get his boots on properly. ¡°Somebody messed something up, like¡­really good.¡± He waves a hand at Rich, still breathing hard¡ªreaches up and pulls his hair back, fixing it into a slightly less wild-looking ponytail. ¡°We¡¯ve got a second, we¡¯re unmooring. We just gotta be up on deck by the time we reach whoever fucked up.¡±


    ¡°ETA?¡± Rich asks the air, and the Reliant murmurs, ¡°Eight minutes, Technician Merrill.¡±


    ¡°Eight minutes,¡± Rich says, and Basil sighs and goes back to yanking his boots on.


    ¡°Get your bag, grab some snacks,¡± he says. ¡°This is gonna be a long day.¡±


    It¡¯s a long, long day. The issue is the 50-crew tanker-turned-fishery So Long And Thanks¡¯s sewage system, which basically exploded because some morons tried to steal proprietary samples of the new stock, for some reason. Apparently the best way they could think of to smuggle a bunch of experimental new fish off the boat was to lock the pipes that were feeding the tank, shut off the pressure alarms, and then try to physically remove the entire tank and make off with it into the night.


    Unfortunately for them, the ship, and the crew of the Reliant, they didn¡¯t know what they were doing. High-pressure leaks and rapid flooding turned the lower decks into a hellscape of fish waste and treacherous, slippery decking. Whoever the unlucky thieves were, they don¡¯t seem to have made it out.


    They¡¯ve left behind a much bigger problem, which is that the miles of pipes the So Long contains are backing up with waste, where they¡¯re not starting to burst, and the ship is losing more food stock by the second. They might have to start venting untreated sewage directly into the lake itself, and the whole thing needs to be fixed yesterday.


    Thank god, twenty or so of the Reliant¡¯s mechanics handle most of the actual messing around with pipes, but they need techs right on their six to shut down valves and reroute the system so some amount of waste venting can keep happening. The So Long''s techs are sharp and capable and know their way around their boat, but they¡¯re not equipped to handle this level of large-scale sewage emergency. There are only three of them, and they¡¯re already there when the Reliant pulls alongside to board by gangway; three tired women in filthy coveralls, with filter masks on, who promptly take charge of dividing the Reliant''s techs into teams while the lone engineer on board gives orders, frowning over her blueprints.


    It¡¯s been a while since Rich worked directly under an engineer; he¡¯s seen two or three on the Reliant, but he hasn¡¯t done more than nod respectfully at them in the passageway, and the Sympatico didn¡¯t even carry any. Even after all this time, though, Rich knows to shut up and listen when somebody in a white coat starts talking. The Reliant¡¯s crew are here to maximize efficiency and minimize fish die-off; this, the white coat says, is the lady who¡¯ll tell them how best to do that. And also how to wade through the minimum amount of ammonia and dead fish water.


    Rich is in favor. Even on the top deck, as they suit up in sanitation gloves and face-masks, the smell is brutal. Rich catches a glimpse of Ben grimly twisting his long ponytail into a bun, Vince looking sleepy and glum, face twisted up at the smell; down the line from them, Basil frowns at the work glove he¡¯s already wearing and then pulls the longer sanitation glove on over top of it, all the way up the wrist brace, wrapping a rubber band around the cuff. Rich stares, confused and intrigued, and then looks away fast as Basil looks up, before the kid can catch him staring.


    Basil puts up with the whole thing better than Rich was expecting, somehow, putting his head down and wading in with grim-faced determination. All the mechanisms that the ship AI usually monitors need to be restarted and debugged, and it involves a lot of walking around in foul-smelling tank and piping areas, following the engineer''s instructions and trying not to think about what they¡¯re wading in where the pipes have backed up.


    Unfortunately, Basil is also the one who finds most of what¡¯s left of the two would-be fish thieves, in the very last area they clear, much the worse for wear. The poor kid legitimately looks like he might puke or faint or both, and Rich puts an arm around him before he can think about it and helps him back to the access hatch to get some moderately fresher air. His shoulders have gotten broader since he grew up, but he¡¯s trembling against Rich¡¯s side and he feels so light and fragile that Rich just¡­takes an extra couple minutes to hold him close while he pretends like he¡¯s not losing his shit over some genuinely gruesome crap.


    ¡°First corpses,¡± Basil eventually says, sounding very young. ¡°Haha. I¡¯ve never seen¡ª Fuck. Have you ever¡­?¡±


    Rich has seen probably way more than his fair share of corpses, although mentioning that to Basil doesn¡¯t seem likely to be helpful. It¡¯s certainly not making Rich feel better to think about it. He tries to stop thinking about it, about bodies carved up to bleed out, bodies drowned in the dark. People he knew, people he didn¡¯t want to know. He thinks about the skinny, shivering body next to him instead, takes a deep, careful couple breaths.


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t get any more fun, or easier or anything,¡± he says softly. ¡°It¡¯s always awful.¡± He considers his own filthy boots for a second, and then gives Basil a hesitant squeeze, rubbing a hand up and down the narrow stretch of his spine. ¡°It¡¯s okay to be freaked out, man. It¡¯s freaky. You¡¯re fine.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± Basil agrees, in a miserable little voice that makes Rich want to pick someone up and throw them. Instead he rubs Basil¡¯s back again, which actually seems to help. Maybe Family Fleet is onto something. Sharing is caring. Take turns. Give your buddy a big old hug when they find some unlucky bastards¡¯ floating remains.


    The So Long¡¯s two Security officers take charge of the bodies, and the So Long¡¯s engineer supervises the Reliant¡¯s mechanics in closing up the last few pipes. The techies all pile out onto the deck and into the late afternoon sunlight, gasping and groaning and stretching out hunched backs and cramped limbs. The constant, circling whirlwind of gulls over the So Long is landing on railings and on the deck, almost berserk with the churn of activity and the way even the freshest top deck of the So Long still smells like dead fish and sewage. They mill and flap and caw, sidling boldly within pecking range and then raucously taking off again when they¡¯re shooed away, only to be back within seconds.


    It¡¯s not just the smell that¡¯s luring them in; a few of the So Long¡¯s crew not involved in the clean-up have gone and gotten together some luxury food, fruit and snacks from the nearest grocery boat. There¡¯s also a water pump, a couple of hoses, and some good soap. In the aftermath of the awful, dark, stinking morning, it almost feels like a party; the women of the So Long cheerfully take turns using the hoses on the mechanics and techies from the Reliant, laughing and teasing like a flock of hungry gulls themselves, encouraging the men to preen and pose for them. The air slowly clears as the worst of the sewage and ammonia are sluiced off, and the men start trooping off in twos and threes to line up for a proper, thorough wash-up in the So Long¡¯s shower blocks.


    Rich isn¡¯t a big fan of taking clothes off in front of other people, but goddamn he hates being dirty. He peels his sodden coveralls off and drops them to the deck for somebody else to triple-wash, takes his turn under the hoses in his T-shirt and jeans, endures an embarrassing amount of whistling from the attending hose ladies, then retreats to the nearest shower stall to scrub as much soap as he can into every possible inch of his skin.


    There¡¯s no hooting ladies and no ogling in the showers, but that doesn¡¯t make it easier. Even if Rich hasn''t been on the Reliant long enough to make any enemies, it''s still nerve-wracking to be naked and vulnerable around a bunch of other guys, any of whom might decide he doesn''t like Rich''s attitude so far and turn out to have a knife or friends who agree with him. Wet soapy tiles are impossible to get good footing on, and a shower stall is a great place to get trapped, and¡ª


    Rich has to stop himself as his heart races and his breathing gets tight and shallow. Everyone here just wants to get clean as fast as they can. No one''s even looking at him.


    He still finishes cleaning up in record time.


    His boxers and jeans are fine to put back on, after getting wrung out a few times, but his shirt got some stains on it he doesn¡¯t want to think about too closely, and Rich thinks he¡¯s gonna leave it in the showers¡¯ fabric recycling bin and get a new one back on the Reliant. It¡¯s a blow, he doesn¡¯t have many T-shirts that fit him, but he can get more now that he''s being paid. It''s not like he''s picky: basic black is fine, he''s not gonna insist on technician''s grey even if he''s entitled to it, it just needs to be big enough.


    He¡¯s in the process of towelling his hair and angling towards the snacks when a message pops up, marked URGENT, from Ben¡¯s contact.


    Benedict Jones, IST Head: Come help me win this fight.


    What the fuck, who''s attacking Ben? Rich will dangle them overboard until they apologize. He takes off at a run, bowling past a couple of confused looking guys who were waiting their turn for a stall, heading toward the beacon attached to Ben¡¯s message. Down a flight of stairs onto a lower deck, deeper into the overpowering smell of fish.


    He''s only running for a moment before he catches a familiar voice from the end of a branching corridor, raised in obvious annoyance. ¡°¡ªAsk if you had any you were willing to rent to me, I asked if you have one you can trade! Since ours are obviously nicer than your shitty hover-coolers anyway, and we stopped this boat from exploding like a giant sewage bomb!¡±


    Ben doesn''t sound strained or in pain, so Rich slows down to a fast walk. He comes around a corner and there''s Ben, facing off with a scowling woman with her arms crossed, a scattering of other crew behind her, none of them armed. No one looks like they''re thinking of attacking Ben, or even threatening him. Rich steps forward in bewilderment.


    ¡°Uh, Ben?¡±


    ¡°Huh?¡± says Ben, and then breaks his glaring contest with the lady to grin victoriously at the sight of Rich. ¡°Oh! Well, fuck. Never mind, looks like I don¡¯t need to cut a deal after all.¡± He waves a hand at Rich; Rich, still confused, comes over. Ben steps to one side, with dramatic flair, and gestures to a huge pile of what appear to be freshly-rinsed dead fish.


    ¡°Technician Merrill,¡± he says, and pats the side of an absolutely massive silver, scaly body. ¡°Pick up our reward and let¡¯s get the fuck out of here.¡±


    Rich gives the fish a dubious look, but shrugs and hoists it up. Some kind of super-carp that weighs a little more than he does, he¡¯d guess, so it takes a slight effort, and then it gets tricky, because the damn thing is slippery and draping it over one shoulder doesn''t work for long. Eventually one of the watching, wide-eyed crew hesitantly offers a stretch of netting, and once the fish is wrapped securely in that it behaves itself much better. Which is good, because Rich wasn''t looking forward to princess-carrying a damn fish back to the Reliant.


    As Rich carries the fish back the way he came, Ben walks a couple steps ahead of him, radiating an uncharacteristic satisfaction with life. Even his long, curling ponytail looks smug and pleased.


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t that urgent,¡± Ben says, as they¡¯re climbing the stairs. ¡°You could¡¯ve stopped and put on a shirt or something, ¡®s not like there was a fire.¡±


    ¡°You said you were in a fight,¡± Rich points out. ¡°I thought you needed someone to have your back, I wasn''t gonna stop for a shirt!¡±


    Ben''s stride hitches and he turns to give Rich this weird look before turning back to keep going, shaking his head. ¡°Shit, kid,¡± he mutters. ¡°The fuck were they doing on that ship, holding pit fights?¡±


    ¡°Nothing that organized,¡± Rich says, in case that wasn¡¯t rhetorical. ¡°You just¡­had to be ready, was all. In case someone on your side screwed with someone on one of the other sides, and one of their guys came after you.¡±


    ¡°Great,¡± Ben says. ¡°A little land-style gang warfare. What a fucking mess.¡±


    Rich can''t argue with that. Even if he wanted to he doesn¡¯t have time, because a minute later they¡¯re at the top of the stairs and Ben is speeding up his stride, voice rising over the distant sound of the Reliant¡¯s chattering crew.


    ¡°Hey, delinquents!¡± he announces, as Rich starts up the last couple of steps, hoisting the fish more securely onto his shoulders. ¡°Guess what we¡¯re bringing home for dinner!¡±


    That seems like Rich¡¯s cue. He comes up into view and turns when there''s room to better display the full size of the fish. It''s not just the Reliant crew, he realizes, looking around, but a lot of the So Long''s women hanging around socializing too, and most of the chatter stops dead when Rich steps into the sun with his burden.


    He knows the So Long crew is plenty familiar with huge fish, but they''re staring right along with the Reliant crew, like they''re seeing something incredible. Maybe they''ve never seen a supersoldier-type gene-mod lift before?


    That''s a lot of eyes on him all at once. The So Long is a 50, and half the crew must be up here, all of whom are intently focused on him.


    Rich catches sight of a woman grinning in his direction with a vidscreen up, and doesn''t get it until he realizes the screen¡¯s edges are flashing green. She''s recording this, and by the way she''s focusing on his chest it''s not exactly scientific interest, and it''s definitely not about making fun of the big tweak. When she catches him staring at her, she looks him dead in the eyes and makes a blatant Call me! gesture, pointing right at him and then tapping the communication implants at her temple and giving a big thumbs up.


    Suddenly all the attention seems a little less threatening, though Rich can¡¯t help but make the immediate and obvious comparison between the women¡¯s attention and the voracious way that gulls go after any unattended source of protein¡ªall that focused interest isn''t for the fish he¡¯s carrying.


    It¡¯s better than being sized up for murder, but Rich isn''t used to being ogled, especially not by women, staring and filming and talking to each other behind their hands. He hurries across the deck and rejoins the cluster of his fellow Reliant techs with some relief, trying not to hunker down in a way that strains his back, drops the fish, or makes him look too blatantly unnerved by the way they¡¯re looking at him.


    "Shit, wow," says Basil, and Rich glances at him. Basil is¡­also staring at him, like, not at the fish, at him, grinning hugely. His hair is a loose black cloud around his face, curls still damp from the shower, droplets of water gleaming in the sun. When the light catches his eyes, their luminous brown is captivating. "Holy shit, man!"


    "Damn," agrees Anton, and pats Rich¡¯s side gingerly, like he''s afraid Rich''s skin is going to burn him. His eyes are on Rich''s bare chest, which¡ªis just out there, yeah, Rich still hasn''t spontaneously manifested a shirt.


    It''s distracting enough to have a bunch of women, some of whom are very attractive, eyeing him thoughtfully, but to have two cute crewmates giving him the same look¡ªRich''s ears are heating up already. If he gets a full-body blush right now it''s going to show clearly, and he''ll have to throw himself overboard after the last of his dignity.


    ¡°You guys never saw a fish before, I know,¡± Rich says in an attempt to distract himself, and gives a serious, sympathetic nod.


    Anton gives a loud, startled snort and Basil starts giggling. He still laughs the same as he did when they were kids, hitching little bursts in between gasps for air, not that Rich got to hear it much back then, and it''s unfair amounts of cute.


    "Shit," Basil finally gasps, and reaches up to shove dangling curls out of his face, cheeks flushed. "Fuckin'' A, man, let''s get that thing back to the Reliant!"


    ¡°Fine by me,¡± Rich says, too gratefully as he glances around at the staring women, and Nate and Vince snicker at him.


    ¡°I¡¯m gonna stay here for a bit,¡± Nate says smugly. ¡°There¡¯s like, some clean-up operations I got invited to consult on.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll send him back when I¡¯m done,¡± one of the So Long¡¯s techies says.


    ¡°When we¡¯re done,¡± says her crewmate, and the third techie pauses, blatantly looking Rich up and down.


    ¡°You¡¯re invited to this consultation, big boy,¡± she says. ¡°If you wanna dump that cargo real fast and come back over?¡±


    ¡°Oh, uh, haha,¡± Rich says, and, yeah, he¡¯s blushing hard right now, all the way down his chest. ¡°That¡¯s, that¡¯s definitely something to think about, ma¡¯am!¡±


    God, she''s assuming he''d even know what to do. She doesn''t realize he''s had basically no female contact in the last few years. If Rich ever gets time off again, he''s got to try to hire a female PRT, who''d at least be paid to deal with walking a clueless guy through the ins-and-outs of an alternate set of reproductive hardware. It''ll be seriously embarrassing if he has to explain to these bright-eyed, inviting female technicians that he''s never had to negotiate anything more physical than a handshake with a woman before, when they¡¯ve clearly had enough experience with their male counterparts to be completely confident.


    ¡°Nope, I can handle this all myself, buddy,¡± Nate says, to Rich¡¯s intense relief.


    ¡°Absolutely like hell you can, pal,¡± says Vince, who''s looking a lot more awake at the moment. ¡°If you¡¯re consulting, you might need backup. Which I am exceptionally well qualified to provide in this instance.¡±


    ¡°The more the merrier,¡± says the first So Long techie to Vince. ¡°I mean, no offense, but men wear out fast. Scientifically speaking.¡±


    ¡°Vince and I can handle this all ourselves, and with perhaps some other guys who these distinguished women of science are free to pick as they so desire, but none of whom are you, Mr Merrill, so please take your enormous goddamn fish and your enormous goddamn everything and leave us a little dignity, thanks,¡± Nate says.


    ¡°I will take my enormous goddamn everything,¡± Rich says solemnly, ¡°and leave you guys to your science.¡±


    ¡°The science had better conclude before we¡¯ve gotta depart,¡± Ben says loudly. ¡°You guys are still on the clock, and there¡¯s only so much lying I feel like doing on the paperwork.¡±


    ¡°Wait, when¡¯s that gonna be?¡± a passing woman asks. ¡°What¡¯s our window, here?¡±


    ¡°I can stretch departure out another two hours, probably,¡± Ben tells her, then raises his voice to the group at large. ¡°But anyone who isn¡¯t on board inside those two hours is getting back by hopper, and it will be taken out of his personal allowance. Also he¡¯ll miss dinner.¡±


    ¡°Goddamn,¡± the woman says, and immediately changes course towards the nearest Reliant mechanic, who brightens up considerably as soon as he notices. From the way he grins as she takes hold of his belt loops and keeps on walking, Rich seriously doubts he¡¯s going to mind paying for a deck-hopper back home.


    Ben claps Rich on the back, refocusing him. ¡°Come on, big boy. Let''s get that thing home and cooking. If you really want some woman to romance you afterwards, I will issue you a formal apology for how that¡¯s not gonna happen.¡±


    Rich smiles gratefully and hurries after Ben as the department head makes for the gangway. He¡¯s profoundly relieved to have the decision so comprehensively taken out of his hands. Sex can be stressful enough even without trying to figure women into the equation, but food is always a good thing. It¡¯s no hardship at all to leave the So Long and all her hungry birds behind.

 Chapter 3: The Fish Fry

    Rich follows Ben back to the Reliant along with about half the guys who went out, all damp and smelling of soap except for Rich, who''s got a fresh helping of fish smell thanks to Ben¡¯s haul. He''s startled that Basil doesn''t choose to stay behind with Nate and the other guys who are more into women than dinner, and also pleased about it, which he''s not thinking about. Maybe Basil''s hungry too. He¡¯s so lean, he could stand to eat more.


    After dumping the fish where he''s told to on the edge of the sundeck, Rich goes below to scrub off fish slime and stray scales and put on a clean black t-shirt and his least-ragged black work jeans. He hesitates over putting his work boots back on: they¡¯re soaked through and honestly disgusting, but the thought of going into a crowd without steel over his toes and heavy leather around his ankles is frankly dismaying. He¡¯s broken toes before, it¡¯s not fun.


    But he¡¯s not going to get jumped at a fish-fry where he¡¯s the guy who brought the fish. This is the Reliant. It¡¯ll be okay. And if it¡¯s not, at least he¡¯ll be on the top deck, where he can pick up anyone who¡¯s coming at him and throw them overboard. His feet will be fine.


    By the time he gets back up on the top deck, barefoot and feeling very brave, the mechanics are halfway through constructing an absolutely massive grill out of spare parts and sheet metal. Phil has his dreadlocks pulled back with a couple colorful loops of electrical wire, and is in the midst of butchering and preparing the fish, because Phil apparently has hidden depths and an unnerving facility with big knives. Ben is supervising, mostly by way of deadpan heckling, and only snorts disdainfully when Phil threatens him with a handful of fish guts.


    Rich hadn''t realized he was getting tense, hovering around the edges of Phil¡¯s work zone to keep an eye on the blades and if any of them might get pointed at Ben, but he relaxes when he realizes that Phil didn''t even joke about threatening Ben with a knife instead of the guts. Phil¡¯s on Ben¡¯s side, anyway, everyone here¡¯s on Ben¡¯s side, Ben is not getting stabbed with anything. Rich can relax, and maybe even retreat to a more casual distance from the butchering to try and chill out.


    ¡°There he is, the employee of the goddamn month,¡± Ben says when he sees Rich watching, and gives him a small, sardonic smile, which is more smile than Rich has ever gotten from him before and honestly feels like a victory. He looks more relaxed than Rich has ever seen him, actually; he¡¯s wearing a wrap and everything, even if it¡¯s a plain, black, full-length affair, and his arms are bare, exposing the incredibly cool tally-mark scars of a former Spook. Ben¡¯s got thirteen pale, raised lines cut into the underside of his left forearm, and when Rich was an intern they used to dare each other to ask him about them, but no one was ever brave enough.


    Today, Ben smiles at him and drawls, ¡°You¡¯re lucky I¡¯m your boss, and therefore above passing on any of the ¡®big fish¡¯ jokes these nasty motherfuckers have been telling about you.¡±


    ¡°Hey, you¡¯re the one who hauled this ¡®big fish¡¯ away from all those hungry birds in the first place,¡± Rich says, daring to tease, and spreads his arms out uncertainly, showing himself off. ¡°If you wanna get nasty about it I think you, uh, you got the right to be first in line.¡± Ben¡¯s a handsome guy, sure, and professional¡ªhe¡¯s stern and snappish, but not cruel. Rich thinks if he wanted to exercise his rank the way Hendricks never had a taste for, he¡¯d be quick and neat about it. It wouldn¡¯t be too bad.


    ¡°Let me stop you there, kid,¡± Ben says, holding up a hand firmly. ¡°I like to eat as much as any guy, but I¡¯m not catching any fish recreationally any more than I¡¯m getting caught by any birds. I¡¯m right out of that shit. Not interested.¡±


    ¡°I¡ªoh!¡± says Rich. He stands there like an idiot, face burning at his own presumption, then manages, ¡°Sorry?¡±


    ¡°Nothing to be sorry about, dumbass,¡± Ben says, waving it off. ¡°If I wasn¡¯t in a good mood right now I¡¯d give you a hard time about it, but right now there¡¯s a real, actual, non-metaphorical fish to fry. Fuck off and enjoy the party.¡±


    That Rich can do. He gives a flustered, awkward nod, which Ben returns with significantly more poise, then heads hastily away to watch the mechanics finish setting up the grill instead. They can elbow each other and shoot him significant looks and make jokes about how much meat he¡¯s brought them to enjoy, but he doesn¡¯t owe anyone anything so far, so none of them have the leverage to lay a hand on him if he doesn¡¯t want it there. It feels good to stand there and smile at them and know that. It feels really good.


    A sudden public poke from a comm application he hasn¡¯t had activate in years startles him, and he fumbles it open along with everyone else on deck. It¡¯s Two Cents, the consensus voting app, and Phil¡¯s set up a mass poll to see what flavor he should be cooking the fish.


    There¡¯s a buzz of chatter as everyone discusses it, except for Rich, who stands there quietly reading the three options over and over. Lemon and cilantro, lime and red pepper, or honey barbeque: they all sound so good it makes him drool, he doesn¡¯t have any possible way to narrow down a preference. The Two Cents app is called that because you get three votes¡ªthree percentages¡ªand you¡¯re supposed to put your two cents in on the option you want most and then your remaining third on the option you¡¯d settle for, but Rich can¡¯t choose. In the end, when the poll starts counting down the last minute, Rich distributes his three votes evenly among the three options, feeling like a complete moron. His first vote in like five years, and he¡¯s got no preference whatsoever.


    Lemon cilantro wins by a narrow margin over barbeque, and there¡¯s a ragged chorus of sincere cheers and insincere boos from the crowd, before everyone goes back to chatting. Rich just stands there, feeling deeply relieved.


    The party settles in comfortably after that, with everyone lounging around waiting as Phil fusses over exactly how to dress the fish, sending people on various errands. Someone shows up on a hoverbike with a big bag of lemons and a whole bunch of cilantro and is warmly cheered¡ªa couple guys boo, laughingly, and are elbowed by their friends. Another guy comes back with a couple huge sacks of red potatoes and another bag of onions, and helps himself to some of Phil¡¯s knives to start slicing them up, and a third guy shows up with an absurdly huge frying pan and a little portable stovetop, and starts doing obscure cooking-type things with the potatoes and oil and spices.


    The three of them seem practiced at this, confident and happy: they must cook for parties a lot. The Reliant is somewhere that has parties. Rich had forgotten that, somehow, put away the memory of hanging out in big cheerful groups of people and eating until he was full and never thinking to be scared.


    More crew emerges to stand around chatting and relaxing. A mechanic Rich doesn¡¯t recognize brings out a helios ball and starts tossing the glowing, free-floating orb around with their friends, and on the other side of the sundeck a couple guys are trading around a guitar. Rich watches from the edge of the growing crowd, wondering over how everyone¡¯s so at ease, just laughing and joking with each other, confidently happy. No one¡¯s circling around anyone else, posing or threatening, trying to win some temporary advantage. The most hostile group at the party is the gulls, who are obviously as interested in the fish as everybody else is, and way pushier. They''re only temporarily dissuaded by the fish guts Phil throws over the side for them to chase. Everyone else is just enjoying the evening air and the break in routine, and honestly, so is Rich.


    By the time Phil starts throwing fish steaks and fillets on the grill, Rich finds that Basil has drifted over to stand near him, wearing a midnight-blue sarong patterned with star constellations, and a softly worn old white t-shirt that fits him distractingly close around the chest. It¡¯s got a red twenty-sided die printed on it above the slogan ¡®This Is How I Roll¡¯, and the total effect is dismayingly cute. Even the single work glove he always wears doesn''t detract from the effect, not that Rich would say anything if it did. Basil''s hair is still loose, a fluffy black starburst around his head, and Rich wants to stroke it and see if it''s as soft as it looks, which he''s going to stop thinking about now.


    ¡°Hey,¡± Rich says.


    ¡°Hey,¡± Basil says, with that nervous smile that Rich is unfortunately finding more and more compelling.


    ¡°Hey!¡± says Nate, who Rich totally failed to notice tagging along behind Basil, and who apparently totally fails to notice the way Rich and Basil both jump when he inserts himself enthusiastically between them. There¡¯s a chain of dark hickies along the side of Nate¡¯s throat, disappearing down into the neckline of his shirt, and he looks incredibly pleased with himself. ¡°Look, man, you brought the food over without a word of complaint, I feel kinda bad for scaring the birds off, y¡¯know¡ª¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± says Rich, who was entirely unprepared to be apologized to, let alone for something he was grateful for. ¡°Uh, no, it¡¯s, I¡¯m good, it¡¯s fine.¡±


    ¡°Nah, come on,¡± says Nate, and pats Rich on the arm. ¡°We should pool our credits and S.O.S. the Completion, get some PRTs over here, make it a real party. We could order a girl for you specific, since¡ª¡±


    ¡°No,¡± says Rich, and pats Nate firmly. ¡°Ha, ah, no, I¡¯m good, I¡¯m...let¡¯s just enjoy the fish, and...hang out? That sounds like a good party to me. I¡¯m good.¡±


    ¡°Nobody on this boat¡¯s any fun,¡± Nate says mournfully. He reaches up to draw one of Basil¡¯s curls out long and let it spring back before strolling off to vanish into a group of chattering mechanics.


    There¡¯s a few seconds of awkward silence, and then Basil glances over and gives a sudden little huff of laughter.


    ¡°What?¡± says Rich defensively, and Basil keeps laughing, ducking his head to hide his face. ¡°What¡¯s so funny?¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s just enjoy the fish, Rich!¡± Basil says brightly, and punches him on the arm. Rich can feel his face heat abruptly: growls at him a little and reaches out, daringly, to pull the same springy curl Nate just tugged. Basil glances up at him and grins, flushed and bright-eyed. Shoving a fall of curls off his forehead, he looks up at Rich with those big, gorgeous brown eyes and opens his mouth to say something¡ª


    ¡°Who wants drinks?¡± someone yells from a couple steps behind them, and Rich''s twitch goes entirely unnoticed against Basil''s violent jump.


    ¡°Whoa! What! Oh,¡± Basil gasps, and puts a hand to his heart. ¡°Shit, man! Volume?¡±


    ¡°What, were you distracted, Wright?¡± Anton shoves a jar of beer into Basil¡¯s gloved hand. ¡°Hey, big boy, you drink?¡±


    ¡°I drink,¡± Rich says, as mildly as possible, and dares to take two jars from the little guy, tucking one under his arm and unscrewing the lid of the second. Anton grins up at him like he¡¯s done something funny instead of rude, so, hey, score. He¡¯s actually shirtless now, with a number of bright lake-glass necklaces gleaming against his bare skin and a sarong patterned with interlocking lizards in gaudy pink and green and orange done up in a fancy series of pleats, and Rich feels once more distinctly overdressed in work jeans, even if he did leave his boots off. Maybe he¡¯ll work his way up to casual wear, one party at a time.


    Of course, he¡¯ll have to find a wrap in his size first. It¡¯s not like it¡¯s hard to find sarongs, they¡¯re standard relaxation wear and there¡¯s at least one boat just for printing patterns, but most of the sarongs out there aren¡¯t sized for somebody like Rich. He hasn¡¯t worn them regularly since he started getting growth spurts; after he turned thirteen his favorite watermelon-patterned green wrap went rapidly from ankle-length to knee-length to not fitting around his waist in about a year. Even when he was just turning fifteen, too self-important to be caught dead in the colorful cartoons and fruit patterns of children¡¯s wraps, all but the largest sizes of adult wrap were too small to fit his oversized, awkwardly-towering frame.


    He had something pretty and mature and sunset-patterned that fit and played nice with his too-pale skin and too-red hair, when he went to the Sympatico. Rich has no idea what happened to it, though. Probably got torn up at some point to bandage something. The Sympatico was a bad place to show some leg.


    Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Rich has his jar all the way to his lips before he remembers his manners.


    "Should I, uh?" he asks Anton, gesturing his jar out towards the railing, and the waiting blue sheet of the lake.


    "Don¡¯t worry about it," Anton says, and takes a pointed sip of his own jar, "I already gave the lake her due, we¡¯re good."


    "Okay, cool," Rich says, and eagerly tastes his beer. It¡¯s delicious: dark and tangy and complicated, a million times better than the painfully straightforward burn of vodka. ¡°Oh shit, this is great.¡±


    ¡°Good food needs good booze, right? Just try and pace yourself with these tonight, I got ¡®em from Mark and they¡¯re really goddamn strong,¡± Anton slaps Rich¡¯s side playfully. ¡°If you drink like you lift we¡¯re gonna be in trouble, big guy! It¡¯d take a float-rig to get you back to your berth.¡±


    ¡°What, you think I can¡¯t handle my liquor?¡± Rich sniffs, mock-offended, and takes an exaggeratedly dainty sip, pinkie extended like a snooty fantasy princess. That earns an actual laugh, and Rich grins happily down at him and takes another sip. He will be good. No one¡¯s gonna pick a fight tonight, he¡¯s sure of it, he doesn¡¯t have to be on guard, he doesn¡¯t have to worry about hurting anyone or screwing anything up, he can relax. He¡¯s earned some relaxing.


    Basil shoos Anton off to distribute drinks elsewhere, then starts up a conversation about if Rich thinks he might like to play Spellcraft again, which Rich does, and they end up sharing a lounge chair while the food grills. People wander by and congratulate Rich on his haul, and Rich finishes off his first jar and then the second, and the world gets softer and warmer and infinitely nicer to exist in. This stuff must be strong, if he can feel it after only a couple jars.


    "Hey, boys," says a friendly voice, and Rich looks up from setting his empty jar down, already smiling. It takes him a second to recognize Raoul, and another second to wonder why he hasn''t seen the guy before now, and by the time he remembers, simultaneous with registering that the bandanna tied around Raoul''s upper arm is the dark red of a captain''s jacket, he has the feeling the transition from ¡®reasonably welcoming smile¡¯ to ¡®paralyzed terror¡¯ on his face is obvious.


    It''s not his fault he was taken off guard, though. The captain of the Sympatico would never have appeared in public without his jacket on, no matter how relaxed the occasion, if relaxed occasions had even happened on that ship.


    Here, Raoul''s scruffy and casual as he shoves long, wind-blown dark hair out of his face. His tanktop is slightly ragged around the neck, his sarong has a playful pattern of brightly-colored tropical fish, he''s barefoot like everyone else, and the only sign of his captaincy is that bandanna.


    "Hey, Raoul," Basil says just as Rich pulls himself together and says, "Sir! Captain Mencia!"


    Raoul blinks at Rich, eyebrows arching in his thin, olive-brown face. Rich can''t help but notice he still has that ridiculous mustache.


    "Well, look who grew up polite!" he says, mustache shifting with his wry smile. "It''s still just Raoul, kid." He waves a hand around them at the relaxed, cheerful crowd. "No one needs ''Captain Mencia'' at a fish-fry. Especially not before he¡¯s gotten any fish."


    Rich nods carefully.


    Raoul''s eyebrows gain a crease between them, but he''s still smiling when he says, "So, have you been settling back in alright?"


    "Yessir," Rich says, "I¡¯m doing my best, sir." The crease gets deeper and Raoul glances over at Basil, so obviously Rich is still messing up¡ª "Raoul," he corrects himself, and swallows the ¡®sir¡¯ that wants to follow it.


    The crease disappears and Raoul pats him on the shoulder, relaxed again. "Damn right you are! I heard you got us that fish yourself?"


    "I just carried it over, s¡ªRaoul," Rich says, and winces at how dumb he sounds, ears heating. "I mean, Ben''s the one who made the deal for it."


    Raoul lifts his eyebrows again, looks pointedly over at the huge fish head and skeleton finally being hauled away under the jealous watch of the flock of yelling gulls, and back to Rich. "Yeah, and I bet he could¡¯ve carried it over here, too, if you hadn¡¯t felt like helping us out." Before Rich can figure out what to say, Raoul steps back, smiling at him and Basil. "Okay, I¡¯ll let you boys get back to enjoying the evening. You''ve earned it!" and he walks off again with a nod, vanishing into the crowd.


    Rich looks after him, tense and still, before collapsing in on himself, hands shoving into his hair as he breathes out long and shaky.


    "Hey, are you okay?" Basil says, putting a cautious hand on his back.


    "Fine," Rich says, very steadily. "Gimme a sec."


    "Yeah, I mean, sure," Basil says, "but it was just Raoul! He''s cool, he''s nice, don''t you remember him?"


    "Yeah, man," Rich says as patiently as he can. "It''s fine, okay? Just chill."


    Basil is quiet, giving Rich time to start to catch his breath and scale back from high alert. Then Basil says, "Let me guess. The captain of your old boat full of violent assholes was also a violent asshole?"


    Rich snorts a startled laugh. "Yeah! Shit, yeah, kid, good guess."


    ¡®Violent asshole¡¯ doesn¡¯t cover it: ¡®short-tempered power-hungry paranoid douchebag with a nasty gang of equally awful douchebags behind him¡¯ is closer, but Rich doesn¡¯t feel like explaining that. Especially not to Basil¡¯s expression of wide-eyed, earnest sympathy. He doesn¡¯t need that tilting any closer to pity.


    "Fuck," Rich sighs, "I need another drink."


    "I can do that," Basil says with a firm nod, and goes to get them refills himself, rather than wait for Anton to come back.


    Basil brings Rich two jars this time, and Rich thanks him fervently. The beer helps, and then suddenly there¡¯s a line forming for the fish. Rich goes to lever himself off the lounge chair to go join it, except Phil¡¯s coming over with a plate and like the biggest and most beautiful cut of meat that Rich has ever seen, with a fancy little lemon slice on it twisted to look like a butterfly, and a pile of mashed potatoes on the side that¡¯s gotta be a food block''s worth all on its own.


    ¡°You don¡¯t wait in line, kid,¡± Phil says, and gives him the plate. ¡°You get as much as you want, as soon as you want it, just lemme know.¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± Rich says, sitting down hard. ¡°I¡ªthanks. Uh. Thanks a lot.¡±


    He isn¡¯t tearing up or anything, because that would be dumb. He¡¯s just preoccupied with blinking. Phil ruffles his hair, which should feel condescending but actually is absurdly nice? Friendly. And heads back to help serve dinner to the other guys.


    Basil waits in line, then comes back with more beer.


    ¡°You¡¯re useful,¡± Rich observes, taking his¡ªfourth? third? fifth? who cares¡ªpair of jars from the kid.


    ¡°I try!¡± Basil smiles. He¡¯s flushed and unsteady, holding his plate in his gloved hand with intent concentration and eating with the bare hand. Rich is maybe more hung up on the way he licks his fingers than he should be, considering like¡­


    ¡°You know, I was such a dick to you when we were younger,¡± Rich says, apologetically.


    ¡°Oh, well, yeah,¡± Basil says, blinking at him. ¡°But we¡¯re cool now, right?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m trying!¡± Rich says. ¡°I¡¯m trying so hard, man.¡±


    ¡°Well, there you go. It¡¯s cool. You¡¯re cool.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re really cool now?¡± Rich asks. He doesn¡¯t mean it to come out so clumsy and vulnerable, but it does, and he feels himself flushing with embarrassment. ¡°I mean, like, I was just such a huge dick to you, if you wanted to like¡­if you weren¡¯t cool with that. It¡¯d make sense.¡±


    ¡°Pffsh, no, c¡¯mon,¡± Basil says. He shifts where he sits, and leans his shoulder deliberately against Rich¡¯s arm. He¡¯s really warm. ¡°You grew up. We both grew up! And like, hey, dinner! You got us so much dinner. You¡¯re fine. It¡¯s cool. I don¡¯t wanna be mad about dumb old shit that doesn¡¯t count anymore, okay? Eat your fish.¡±


    ¡°God, I am,¡± Rich says, and eats more fish. ¡°I haven¡¯t had this much to eat in basically forever, this is amazing.¡±


    ¡°This is so fucking good,¡± Basil agrees. ¡°I can¡¯t believe fish is so boring when it¡¯s in a block and so goddamn like, magic, when you eat it like this. Why don¡¯t we eat it like this all the time?¡±


    ¡°Calories,¡± Rich says uncertainly, and Basil nods like that made sense.


    ¡°Yeah, calories,¡± he says vaguely.


    It''s a good thing Rich has been drinking, because it means when he hears a whisper of movement behind them, he''s relaxed enough he doesn''t dive off the lounge chair and throw his plate at whoever it is. He just glances back, sees the ginger hair and snaps out a hand to catch Mitch''s wrist before the marker tip can reach the side of Basil''s neck.


    "No," Rich says sternly. "No marker attacks, not right now."


    "Aw," Mitch says, but caps the marker and shoves it in his pocket readily enough as Basil grumbles at him. "Come on, muffin, where¡¯s my kiss hello!" he chirps, and Rich doesn''t even tense up when Mitch half-tackles Basil, laughing.


    ¡°Mitch!¡± Basil complains, elbowing Mitch off before he can get Basil in a headlock. ¡°What the fuck!¡±


    ¡°Oregano, aren''t you happy to see me?¡± Mitch says with an attempt at a pout that doesn''t work when he can barely stop grinning.


    ¡°Not so much right now, no, Montana,¡± Basil grumbles, poking at his fish.


    Mitch looks from Basil, glaring at his plate, to Rich, who¡¯s still a little wary about the explosion of energy and cheerful sobriety next to him, and the guy snickers.


    ¡°Uh-huh,¡± he says, ¡°cuz you¡¯re that busy, huh?¡± and nods significantly over at Rich. Basil just glowers and elbows his friend again. Mitch amiably lets himself be shoved off and goes to perch on the chair next to theirs.


    Rich shakes his head in wonder, and instead of keeping it to himself for fear of pissing off an officer, goes and asks, "How''d a fun guy like you end up in Security, anyway?"


    Unperturbed, Mitch shrugs. "I don''t like it when people fight," he says, like it¡¯s that simple.


    "When we were kids," Basil says, "anytime there was a fight, you''d find Mitch in the middle of it, goofing around until everyone stopped being mad at each other and started being mad at him, instead." He''s trying to look exasperated, but it''s coming out more fond than he probably means it to. "He was still doing it when we were deckhands, this skinny little tween dropping his chores all the time to go find trouble and get in its way. He was just this, this completely unstoppable little moron."


    "And it worked so great, I figured I''d make a career of it!" Mitch grins, and gives a showy, goofy bow from the waist. ¡°You¡¯re welcome, citizens.¡±


    "Huh," Rich says. "Well, cool. Good for you."


    Technically, Security is supposed to be more about mediation and conflict-resolution than wading into trouble with their stun-batons out and just hitting everyone until it''s over. In reality, places like the Sympatico exist. Mitch does make a lot more sense as an officer in the context of some little kid¡¯s idealized sense of peace and safety. Of what Security should be. Rich wouldn¡¯t have figured anyone could reach, what, eighteen? nineteen? and still stay that sweetly naive, especially not a guy whose career involves seeing people at their very worst, but Mitch seems to have managed it. Thoughtfully, Rich eats some more fish.


    ¡°Hey, so, subject change!" Mitch says. "Rich, did you really carry that fish all the way back? Like, without a float rig or anything?¡±


    ¡°Yeah?¡± Rich says, puzzled.


    ¡°How much you think it weighed?¡±


    ¡°Mitch, come on!¡± Basil says.


    ¡°It''s fine, man,¡± Rich says, shrugging. ¡°Maybe three-fifty?¡±


    ¡°Dang, that''s awesome,¡± Mitch says, and Rich can''t help perking up. ¡°What''s your upper limit, you know?¡±


    ¡°I don''t know for me specifically, never had it tested,¡± Rich admits, ¡°but Dad said my mom could do half a ton. I''ve probably lifted five or six hundred like back in manufacturing. Pretty sure I could do more.¡±


    ¡°Half a¡­¡± Basil says.


    ¡°Whoa,¡± Mitch says, mouth dropping open. He looks delighted.


    ¡°Oh hey!¡± Anton says, dropping onto Mitch''s lounge chair and stretching out a leg to nudge Rich''s shin with one bare foot. ¡°Are we asking Rich questions? I''ve got some!¡±


    ¡°No, we''re¡ªagh,¡± Basil says, glaring at Anton, who''s bright-eyed and pink-cheeked and looking more than a little buzzed. ¡°Fine.¡± And like it''s a natural follow-up, he scoots over until he''s almost in Rich''s lap, one elbow propped on Rich''s thigh. Rich blinks at his elbow and back to Anton in case looking at Basil makes him think Rich isn''t cool with this, which he definitely, absolutely is. Mitch has a private little giggle fit, but Anton just grins at Rich.


    ¡°So, big guy, how the fuck are you so pale? I know you Hastings guys are supposed to be like, ghost white, and the Sympatico probably didn''t have a sundeck, but you didn''t have anywhere to get some sun?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Rich says. ¡°''S kinda weird the way you guys take it for granted. Like, you got the sundeck, and you''re allowed on the sundeck, nobody''s gonna get pissed and try to muscle you off, and you can even fucking relax when you''re out there! Shit, man. You guys just. This ship is so nice.¡±


    ¡°Muscle you off?¡± Mitch says, frowning, at the same time Anton says, ¡°Why couldn''t you relax in the sun?¡±


    Rich snorts at him. ¡°Are you kidding? Can''t let down your guard like that right out in the open, that¡¯s a good way to get jumped.¡±Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    ¡°...Jumped,¡± Basil repeats, and a hand touches Rich¡¯s arm. Basil¡¯s gloved hand, touching one of the long, shiny white lines of scarring that stripe his forearms. Basil looks like he¡¯s¡­feeling something? He looks vaguely distressed and confused and thoughtful, but who knows why or which one¡¯s winning.


    ¡°You thought Mitch had a knife,¡± Basil says slowly, brows furrowing, and then blinks and takes his hand away again. ¡°Is this from, was there a knife fight?¡±


    The word ¡®fight¡¯, singular, like there was just the one, is startling enough Rich snorts, despite the weird pang of muffled hurt somewhere under the warm buzz of the alcohol.


    ¡°Man,¡± he sighs, ¡°there were knives everywhere, it was a fix-it boat. Motherfuckers would lose one edged weapon and drop into the nearest garage bay to sharpen something else. You''d be thinking ''Okay, there''s just two guys, I can get through this,¡¯ in the showers or whatever and then one of ''em pulls a knife and now you''re hoping they don''t want you dead all that much. My¡ªthis one guy I was cool with, Trimmer, he never went anywhere without a six-inch steel straightedge. Called it his multitool. Saved my life like half a dozen times with it, he kept tally marks on the back that he¡¯d point at sometimes if he wanted to try to win an argument with me.¡±


    God, he misses Trimmer. Rich takes Anton¡¯s beer away and drinks most of it in one breath, then wipes his mouth and realizes maybe he¡¯s starting to get drunk and also possibly he should shut up.


    ¡°Shit,¡± is all Anton mutters, and gestures for Rich to keep the beer when he offers it back. So Rich finishes it.


    ¡°Did you have a knife?¡± Basil asks.


    Rich shakes his head, wishing he had more beer already. "A knife isn''t gonna stop another guy''s knife, and I wanted to not get stabbed, not to stab other people. And anyway¡ª" he holds out his arms, showing off his size and reach. He¡¯s got arms bigger than some guys have bodies.


    ¡°I¡¯m already a weapon,¡± he points out. ¡°It¡¯s faster for me to, you know, just grab someone and mess ¡®em up, than to fuck around waving any knives myself.¡±


    ¡°Okay,¡± Basil says, looking even more upset. ¡°Okay, uh, yeah. Wow.¡±


    Mich leans forward, frowning darkly. ¡°Okay so, hey, all of this is like, completely awful to hear about, man, but what was up with the Sympatico¡¯s Security? Where the heck were they when all these knife fights were happening?¡±


    Rich shrugs. ¡°Four guys per fifty crew sounds like a lot but it¡¯s only like, one or two officers per shift, y¡¯know? On a whole fucking boat full¡¯a knives and assholes. They played it safe, they only stepped in to save their favorites. If you weren¡¯t one, Security just made a fight that much harder to get through to make sure everyone knew not to push it. So it was safer for everyone to handle shit on our own.¡±


    ¡°That sucks,¡± Basil says, thumping his head against Rich''s shoulder.


    ¡°Well, yeah, but I was big, I was too big to take out with just¡ªI mean, it wasn¡¯t¡ªit wasn¡¯t too much of a thing, for me, I can take a lot of hits, that¡¯s why my arms look like this, anything short of like a fucking harpoon kinda gets stuck and then, and then the guy who stuck you doesn¡¯t have a knife anymore, and you can wreck his shit for trying. It was okay, I¡¯m okay now.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, but¡ª¡±


    ¡°No, no buts, we¡¯re done with the knife stuff¡ªyou wanna know what really sucked?¡± Rich demands, waving his empty beer jar and then setting it carefully down before it breaks. ¡°Doing the work of three guys and getting the credit of one lazy fucking slacker! That pissed me off, that¡¯s what I¡¯d rather be like, be complaining about, since we¡¯re complaining now.¡±


    Anton blinks. ¡°Three guys? You mean the other techies?¡±


    Rich ticks them off on his fingers. ¡°Schwartz was drunk all the time, the fuckin¡¯ deadweight, he basically just ran his still and traded what he brewed and downed the rest and that was his fuckin¡¯ job, and Hendricks was even worse. Schwartz at least shared what he brewed with me to make up for how I did all his fucking work, but Hendricks didn''t wanna do a lick of work that he could make someone else do for him, no trading, no nothing, just taking. And he was our boss, he had all the privileges and passcodes and shit, you were dead if you crossed him too bad, he could¡ªhe could just delete you, if he wanted! I think that¡¯s what happened to the guy I replaced. He sure let me think that, anyway. When I tried to lodge a complaint about him further up the command chain. He let me know just how bad it¡¯d be if I ever tried that shit again.¡±


    He shudders at the memory, slams back his beer, wipes his mouth, glares at the deck plating. ¡°So I got to do fucking everything for everyone and then Hendricks would take credit for like ninety-five percent of it, and I''d get the demerits and shit for slacking off when I didn¡¯t have enough hours in the day to get my own work done! If you looked up the encyclopedia entry for ¡®Freeloader¡¯, it¡¯d have a picture of the guy. Fuck him.¡±


    Rich realizes he¡¯s snarling, teeth bared and voice doing that stupid, low rumbling growl that baseline humans can¡¯t make. Mitch and Anton are staring at him wide-eyed and worried. He reins himself in, swallows a few times, and rubs at his face in embarrassment.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± he says lamely. ¡°Sorry, um. Kind of a sore spot, I guess. I promise I didn¡¯t pick up the same work ethic as those guys, I¡¯m not here to freeload, I swear.¡±


    ¡°We are literally eating the three hundred pounds of fish you hauled back to the boat just because Ben asked you nicely,¡± Anton says, and gives him another beer. ¡°I don¡¯t think you have to worry about anyone here not thinking you, of all people, aren¡¯t literally hauling your actual goddamn weight.¡±


    ¡°And anyway you¡¯re allowed to be mad about assholes,¡± Basil says fervently, leaning hard against Rich¡¯s chest. ¡°Assholes who treated you really shitty! That¡¯s messed up!¡±


    ¡°That did sound like something I¡¯d be pretty ticked off about myself,¡± Mitch says, which is cool to hear from Security. ¡°People abusing their positions like that, that¡¯s just¡ªthat shouldn¡¯t happen, not in the Fleet!¡±


    ¡°Well, it does,¡± Rich says, as gently as he can. Mitch seems very young, all of a sudden.


    ¡°Well, it shouldn¡¯t,¡± the kid repeats unhappily.


    ¡°So why didn''t someone stab your useless boss, anyway?¡± Anton says, and gets frowned at by Mitch. ¡°What?! I''m just saying, since it was going around¡­¡±


    ¡°You couldn¡¯t just, just stab anybody,¡± Rich says, and has to fight the urge to lower his voice, the feeling that he¡¯s saying things that shouldn¡¯t be said too loudly. Flaherty¡¯s gang isn¡¯t going to corner him somewhere and make him sorry for talking about their business. He¡¯s out of there now, it¡¯s fine. ¡°Couldn¡¯t stab Hendricks. He was, y¡¯know. Delivering packages. For Flaherty¡¯s people.¡±


    ¡°But,¡± starts Anton.


    ¡°¡®S good, too!¡± Rich says bitterly, and liberates Anton¡¯s next jar of beer. ¡°''S a good thing, ¡®cause who do you think the clubs would blame when they came to check out the corpse? Some random jackass from another department or the huge bastard with about fifty million reasons to want his boss dead?¡±


    ¡°Did¡­uh,¡± Mitch says, looking uncomfortable. ¡°Did you ever...?¡±


    ¡°No, I never fucking killed anyone!¡± Rich says, flaring up. ¡°Hell, I was doing my damnedest not to even hurt anyone more than I had to, not that anyone ever fucking appreciated the effort! I don¡¯t like fighting! I don¡¯t want to! But no one ever even asks, they see some big scary soldier tweak and get ready to fuck with me and I¡¯m sick of it!¡±


    Mitch looks slightly guilty, but mostly relieved.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay, man, you¡¯re okay, ease up,¡± Basil says, ¡°we know you¡¯re cool, okay? Mitch just says dumb shit like, constantly.¡± He sighs heavily. ¡°But that all sucks so bad, that you had to, like, deal, so much. With so much. It was a lot. God.¡±


    ¡°Aww, Sage, don''t be so sad,¡± Mitch says, visibly shaking off the grimness of the conversation to grin mischievously at Basil. ¡°Everything''s okay now, like Rich said¡ªand we¡¯re gonna make sure of it!¡± He slips off his chair and kneels up in front of Basil to squish Basil''s cheeks together, and laughs when Basil makes complaining noises and smacks at him. ¡°My fuzzy snuggy-wuggy shouldn''t be sad about anything, you know that super awesome Officer Ford guy is gonna take care of all of you!¡±


    ¡°Oh my god fuck off, jackass!¡± Basil wails, trying to squirm free, but Mitch just laughs harder and starts exaggeratedly petting his face and cooing.


    Rich leans to one side to get out of the way of flailing elbows and blinks questioningly at Anton.


    ¡°They''ve been like this ever since Mitch was assigned here last year, or¡ªyear before, whatever,¡± Anton says. He rolls his eyes. ¡°They were childhood friends or something, emphasis on child. It¡¯s disgusting.¡±


    ¡°Why are you¡ªpffhaha¡ªwhy''re you being so mean, babycakes?¡± Mitch demands. ¡°Has the love left our relationship?¡±


    ¡°Yes! It has!¡± Basil says. ¡°God, why are you like this!¡±


    ¡°Security wanted a dog,¡± Anton says sadly. ¡°We all wanted a dog. But we got Mitch.¡±


    Rich stares at him, and then at Mitch, who rather than stiffening up in offense and getting ready to hand out demerits for disrespect all around, grins and makes as if to lick Basil¡¯s face.


    ¡°I exist specifically to get you big old important grown-up guys to lighten the heck up,¡± Mitch says, and succeeds at licking Basil¡¯s cheek. Over Basil¡¯s howl of outrage, he crows, ¡°It¡¯s my service to the Fleet!¡±


    Basil plants a hand on his face and shoves him right over onto the deck.


    ¡°So, are you and Basil like¡­a couple?¡± Rich says. An hour ago that question would''ve seemed like a bad idea, but now it seems totally reasonable and also kind of urgent.


    ¡°Yep!¡± Mitch says, and sits up to pillow his cheek on Basil¡¯s thigh, batting his eyelashes.


    ¡°No!¡± Basil yelps, flailing at him.


    ¡°We¡¯re married,¡± Mitch says gleefully.


    ¡°No we¡¯re not,¡± Basil wails.


    ¡°He gave me a twist-tie engagement ring when we were nine and my heart has been his ever since!¡± Mitch says. ¡°He treats me so gosh-darn mean sometimes but I don¡¯t mind. I know my special dearest darling sparkle-spice loves me back, somewhere deep down.¡±


    ¡°Kids,¡± Anton says, with fond despair.


    ¡°I¡¯m not," Basil says, scrubbing his glove at the wet spot on his cheek, and he sounds so hilariously young¡ªhe looks young, even, flushed and gangly and tousled, goofing around with his buddy, that Rich¡¯s heart turns over in his chest and he starts laughing helplessly.


    ¡°You¡¯re the picture of maturity, baby boy,¡± he says, and ruffles Basil¡¯s curls into a wild, frizzy cloud until Basil is wailing and swatting at him, not Mitch. He used to call Basil that, he remembers, baby boy, because he was the resident child genius and that pissed Rich off so much, that Rich had to basically claw his way out of the cadets just to be a mechanic, and then jump through a million more hoops to rate an assignment as an intelligent systems technician, and then find out some punkass little baby department darling had tested so phenomenally well that he¡¯d been interning since he was thirteen¡­


    But Basil¡¯s not thirteen anymore, he¡¯s a young man now and he¡¯s drunk and adorable and sprawled back against Rich¡¯s chest in a loose warm tangle of limbs and freckles and fluster, and Rich is having some distinct feelings about that. He wants to get his hands on the narrow stretch of that warm brown stomach where Basil¡¯s shirt has pulled free of his sarong, pull it up further, see if he¡¯s freckled everywhere.


    ¡°...¡¯M drunk,¡± Basil says, face smooshed against Rich¡¯s chest, and pries his face up to blink at Rich. ¡°Am I drunk? You, are you drunk too?¡±


    ¡°You are definitely drunk, kiddo,¡± Rich says. ¡°I''m, like, tipsy.¡±


    ¡°Fortunately!¡± Anton grins, and waves a hand at him. ¡°You gotta keep some motor control, cuz we¡¯re sure as hell not carrying you out of here.¡±


    ¡°I want more fish,¡± Mitch decides. ¡°Anyone else want more?¡±


    ¡°Me, please,¡± Rich says immediately, handing over his empty plate. He''s fuller than he''s been in years, but he''s not gonna turn down more food.


    Mitch nods easily and goes off toward the grill. Anton hesitates for a moment, looking at Rich and Basil, then goes after Mitch in a sudden rush. The little guy falls in at the officer¡¯s side and elbows him, saying something that makes Mitch glance back at Rich and Basil and then laugh; they push into the crowd around the grill and Rich loses them.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± says Basil quietly.


    Rich blinks, startled, and glances down at him. Basil has pushed himself up, and he¡¯s watching Rich¡¯s face with bleary concern.


    ¡°For what?¡± Rich says. ¡°This is great!¡± He waves a hand around at the food and beer and friendly people, smiling warmly. ¡°This is awesome, man! Life is so good here!¡±


    ¡°Yeah but¡­¡± Basil glances down at Rich¡¯s arm again, the scar he was poking at earlier. ¡°Making you talk about¡ªthink about, I mean, just, ¡®s none of our business.¡±


    He pauses and then pushes himself up even further, almost off of Rich completely, tugs his glove down a bit, and starts methodically pulling at the brace underneath. ¡°So,¡± he says, with hazy determination. ¡°So, uh. You should probably see. So it¡¯s fair.¡±


    Honestly Rich is interested in seeing whatever Basil wants to show him, especially if after the brace comes off, the shirt follows. Distracted by watching Basil undo the straps, it takes a minute to track back to the thing he said that Rich needs to argue with.


    ¡°Some of it is your business, though,¡± he says. ¡°I mean, everyone knows where I''m from, it makes sense people wanna know, like, what was going on there and if I''m as dangerous as¡­¡± he waves a hand somewhat dejectedly, ¡°as I look, or whatever.¡±


    ¡°You don''t look dangerous,¡± Basil mutters.


    Rich raises his eyebrows. ¡°I¡¯m built like a battleship had a baby with an iceberg,¡± he points out. ¡°I¡¯m huge as shit and I got a coloration that everyone recognizes. I¡¯m literally a soldier mod, kid, it¡¯s normal for people to keep a close eye on what the fuck I¡¯m up to.¡±


    ¡°I mean, yeah, but like¡­¡± Basil trails off, then shakes his head and goes back to determinedly fiddling with his brace. ¡°You''re cool, though,¡± he finishes lamely, and pulls off the brace and glove together. The hand underneath¡­


    ¡°Fuck,¡± says Rich, intrigued and vaguely horrified, and takes Basil''s wrist, turning his hand back and forth. The smooth flesh of Basil¡¯s arm ends in a welted, gnarled ring of scar tissue halfway down the forearm, gruesomely pink against the freckled brown skin, and continues on as a stunningly sophisticated prosthesis. It''s covered in sturdy plates of clear plastic, closely articulated at the joints, like a medieval plate-armor gauntlet built by some techno-wizard. Under the plastic there''s a complicated structure of metal bones and tendons with colorful wire nerves, all of it flexing as Basil''s artificial fingers give a nervous twitch. ¡°Fuck, man.¡±


    ¡°It wasn''t like...a fight, or a¡­whatever, whatever you''re thinking, it wasn''t bad,¡± says Basil, who looks thoroughly self-conscious, ruddy cheeks flushing darker and darker. ¡°Just, y''know how you''re supposed to definitely 100% make sure a fabricator is turned off before you stick your hand in the hopper to see why it¡¯s jammed?¡±


    ¡°Uh...yeah?¡± says Rich, confused. ¡°What¡ªoh.¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± says Basil dryly, and wiggles his fingers, watching the mechanical joints flex smoothly under their protective shell. ¡°So, definitely make 100% sure the fabricator is off before you stick your arm in there.¡±


    ¡°Shit, yeah,¡± Rich agrees, and then thinks that sounds dickish. What''s the right, prosocial thing to say here? ¡°That really sucks, man. That prosthetic¡¯s fucking cool, though.¡± Was that dickish? Like maybe he thinks it¡¯s worth it for Basil to have lost his entire hand, holy shit, because it looks neat? Why is it always so hard to tell if he¡¯s being an asshole?


    He puts a cautious hand on Basil''s shoulder and squeezes a little. ¡°Um, I''m¡­really sorry it happened.¡±


    ¡°It''s cool,¡± says Basil, and takes his hand back, fumbling with the glove and the straps on the brace, frowning the focused frown of the uncoordinated drunk. ¡°Happened like, pretty soon after you left, so. ¡®S been, like¡­years. I made...I designed, I mean, I didn¡¯t make it, I designed it, I fixed it. ¡®S not a big deal.¡±


    ¡°Shit, that must''ve been rough, though,¡± Rich says, thinking about trying to defend himself with only one arm, or a new arm he wasn''t used to yet. Then he remembers Basil probably never had to defend himself, which Rich discovers some confusing feelings about, relief and resentment and a weird sadness he doesn''t want to think about. He takes another drink and shoves it all away.


    ¡°Yeah, I mean, no,¡± Basil says softly. ¡°It¡¯s whatever. I got over it, Mitch helps me with maintenance, no one around here¡¯s ever been mean about it. So, so there¡¯s that, and...I wasn¡¯t hiding it from you because I think, uh, I mean there¡¯s nothing wrong with missing a chunk or two, okay? I know a lot of guys lose bits, there¡¯s accidents, it¡¯s not wrong. But, it¡¯s, it wasn¡¯t an accident, it was my fault. I was stupid. It¡¯s embarrassing.¡±


    ¡°Everyone makes mistakes and gets fucked up,¡± Rich says. ¡°You lost it a couple years ago? You were a kid. Kids do stupid shit.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not,¡± Basil starts, and then sighs, long and slow. ¡°I was a kid. I¡¯m older now. Okay?¡±


    ¡°You make sure the fabricator¡¯s up for it before you stick bits in now,¡± Rich says, and Basil gives a sweet, tipsy giggle, leaning heavy and warm against his side.


    ¡°Yeah! Yeah, you gotta, you gotta stay safe, haha.¡± Basil fumbles at the straps again, then frowns and lets the brace drop to the deck. ¡°Okay, I¡¯m, speaking of. Safety. I¡¯m real drunk. Shit.¡±


    Rich picks the brace up and says, ¡°Here, gimme,¡± and fits it delicately back on over Basil¡¯s prosthetic forearm. It takes a minute to line it up and pull the straps tight, then fit the glove on properly, and he¡¯s pricklingly aware the whole time of how closely Basil¡¯s curled against him, the guy¡¯s warm unsteady breath on the side of his face.


    ¡°You could,¡± Basil starts, and swallows hard. ¡°I¡¯m, uh. You could help me get back to my bunk, if you¡ªuh, if you felt like, uh. That would be cool. If you felt like that would be cool.¡±


    ¡°Yeah?¡± Rich says, hopefully. Very aware of how close they are. ¡°You don¡¯t want Mitch to walk you back?¡±


    ¡°No, I want you,¡± Basil says, and then in a rush, "to get me there! I mean, take me! To my bunk!" Then he blushes deep rosy-brown.


    Rich doesn''t have to be the smartest guy around to interpret this particular offer. And he¡¯d be the dumbest guy ever, probably, to not go for it. Basil¡¯s cute, sweet, soft, nice¡ªthis could actually be good, this could be so good.


    ¡°Cool,¡± he says, smiling at Basil. ¡°Okay, yeah, cool. Okay. I think I could probably haul another fish back home tonight. If he wanted.¡±


    That vivid flush lingers on Basil''s face, half-hiding his freckles, and the way he bites his lip and looks up at Rich through his eyelashes makes Rich¡¯s heart race.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Basil says. ¡°Yeah.¡±


    "Cool," Rich says again, breathless, and finishes off his last jar. He sets it carefully down on the deck, and eases off the lounge chair. His head¡¯s light and thick, a comfortable couple steps away from the harshness of the real world, but he¡¯s still got his coordination. Basil doesn¡¯t, when Rich helps him up: he sways and grabs for Rich¡¯s arm, wide-eyed, and stares around like he can¡¯t figure out why everything¡¯s moving.


    ¡°Next time pace yourself, kid,¡± Rich says, amused.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± Basil insists. He doesn¡¯t let Rich¡¯s arm go, clinging with both hands. ¡°The boat¡¯s¡ªit¡¯s the boat, right? The boat¡¯s going around. I¡¯m fine.¡±


    ¡°Sure, sure,¡± Rich agrees, because this is adorable. ¡°C¡¯mon, let¡¯s go, pick your feet up.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± Basil repeats stubbornly. ¡°I can handle some drinking, you know, I do it, I do plenty, like¡ªI¡¯m cool. I¡¯m not a kid.¡± He shuffles off with Rich, his face a mask of intent determination, and they get back to their passageway without anyone tripping over much of anything.


    ¡°So, this is you,¡± Rich says, and stands there prickling and anxious while Basil sways forward and palms his door unlocked, shoves it open with one hand.


    ¡°Yeah, I, yes,¡± Basil says, and doesn¡¯t detach his grip on Rich¡¯s arm. ¡°Hey, can you carry me? Like physically.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Rich says cautiously.


    ¡°Can you though,¡± Basil repeats, and looks up at Rich¡¯s face with obvious invitation.


    ¡°I¡ªyes. Yes I can,¡± Rich says, relieved. He picks Basil up and carries him the last couple meters to his cot, then grabs the rumpled topsheet and pulls it off, taking the messy scattering of books and game pieces and tools with it. Basil¡¯s crap can stay down on the deck tonight. It isn¡¯t invited. He dumps Basil on the bed, admires the way his shirt has ridden up his stomach, then gets his hands all over that exact stomach.


    Basil, for his part, contributes a lot of enticing giggling and squirming, and does not at any point say ¡®Actually no, I changed my mind, go away,¡¯ which is great for Rich¡¯s emotions right now. And also, come to think of it, his dick.


    Rich frees up his own pants situation to avoid any future strangulation, then sets about methodically sucking marks below Basil''s ribs, and nipping and nuzzling at his stomach, and Basil squeaks and makes little breathy noises. The kid is pretty drunk, though, so when Rich finally reaches his star-printed sarong and sets about getting the folds unwrapped, he''s not particularly surprised that Basil''s barely half-hard, and that it''s clearly going to take some more in-depth work to get him all the way up.


    Basil isn''t as chill. ¡°Aaaugh, I dunno why it''s doing this,¡± he moans, muffled by the hand and glove pressed over his face. ¡°I get it up all th¡¯fuckin¡¯ time, fuck!¡±


    ¡°Cuz you drank too much, smart guy,¡± Rich says, unperturbed as he gets acquainted with Basil''s dick, slow and coaxing. ¡°Alcohol¡¯s a sedative.¡± His own dick is much more interested in the goings-on, straining up out of his open pants for attention, but it''s also more than used to waiting its turn for Rich to attend to it.


    ¡°Nuh-uh,¡± says Basil, and makes a compelling series of gasping noises as Rich strokes him gently, freckled hips bucking up off the sheets in uncoordinated twitches. ¡°Ah, ah, ah fuck, Rich. I didn¡¯t dr¡ªhha, didn¡¯t, I, nnh.¡± He slumps, panting, hips still twitching but obviously trying to gather himself, and then shudders and loses it again as Rich plays with his dick, grinning.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t you?¡± Rich teases.


    ¡°No, but, I wanna,¡± Basil bursts out plaintively, and does his best to swing a leg around Rich¡¯s waist, trying to pull him in closer. ¡°I want¡ªwhy can¡¯t I¡ªagh, fuck.¡±


    ¡°Man, relax, it''s just gonna take a little patience!¡± Rich tells him, relenting. ¡°Don''t worry, I''ll get you there.¡± He leans down and puts his mouth on the head, teasing gently at the foreskin with his tongue, and Basil makes an amazing noise.


    Rich looks up and grins. ¡°See, if you hadn''t had so much to drink, I bet you¡¯d have gone off then and there, and that''d be way worse, right? I¡¯d have had to pack up and go home after three minutes.¡±


    Before Basil can finish saying indignantly, ¡°I would not!¡± Rich goes back to work, and the end of Basil''s protest turns into a loud moan.


    It takes some time and patience, like Rich expected, and Basil gets embarrassed and apologetic again before Rich gets him all the way up, but he does get there in the end, and then it''s just a matter of applying some well-practiced interpersonal skills. And Rich finds himself really enjoying the application, which he''d forgotten was a possibility with a straightforward blowjob. Basil is a lot more fun to blow than anyone Rich has done it for in the last few years, though: loud and grateful and incredibly responsive, cute as hell¡ªand he¡¯s got a nice dick, too. It''s awesome. Basil is awesome.


    Rich finds himself pulling back when it seems like Basil¡¯s getting close, toying with him with just his lips and tongue, going slower and slower the more frantically Basil twitches and whimpers.


    ¡°You gonna pack it in already, baby boy?¡± he asks. ¡°Gonna call it an early night?¡±


    ¡°God, I, god, fuck,¡± Basil pants, dragging his hands across the sheets. ¡°No, I¡¯m, I¡¯m good, I¡¯m good, I can last!¡±


    ¡°Good,¡± Rich says, and just keeps teasing, giddy with happiness. Basil lets Rich take him apart, shuddering and groaning, writhing desperately underneath his mouth and hands, louder than anyone Rich has ever been with. Safer, sweeter. Life is so good right now, it''s incredible.


    ¡°M¡¯close, close, gonna¡ªplease fuck oh god fuck I can¡¯t, stop,¡± Basil finally wails, and Rich pulls off fast.


    ¡°What?!¡± he demands, heart pounding. ¡°You okay?¡±


    ¡°Nnh,¡± Basil says, and he¡¯s got tears in his eyes. ¡°Shit, man, I, nnnhah, I couldn¡¯t, mmn. Couldn¡¯t hold off, it was, it was too good.¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± Rich says, and lets his forehead rest against Basil¡¯s trembling thigh, relieved. ¡°Okay, phew. Thought I hurt you.¡±


    ¡°No, fuck no, you¡¯re amazing, shit. I just¡ª¡± Basil makes a vague hand gesture. ¡°I¡¯m not a kid, a baby, I don¡¯t¡ªyou said¡ªI don¡¯t wanna¡ªI¡¯m not gonna come too soon. I can last. I¡¯ll be good. I¡¯m good. Okay?¡±


    ¡°Okay,¡± Rich says, touched. ¡°There¡¯s nothing wrong with fast, though, like¡ª¡±


    Basil¡¯s sweaty and dark-eyed and flushed and probably well past drunk, but he still manages an impressively skeptical glare.


    ¡°I¡¯m not a baby,¡± he repeats stubbornly. ¡°M¡¯ gonna go as long as you.¡±


    Rich can¡¯t help it: he starts giggling. Basil curls in on himself at that, expression going from mulishly determined to defensive and hurt, and Rich has to wave a hand at him apologetically.


    ¡°No, no, sorry,¡± he gasps, ¡°Just, you said¡ªpff¡ªbaby boy, no one¡¯s as long as me, okay?¡±


    Basil blinks, and Rich points down at his own crotch. At that Basil sits up, leans unsteadily forward to have a look at how long Rich actually is, and starts laughing too.


    ¡°Okay,¡± he admits, after a good long minute of hysterical giggling, ¡°okay, okay, shit. I can go¡ªI can go a third as long as you, so there!¡±


    Rich puts his forehead down on the mattress and wheezes, overwhelmed with mirth. The ship¡¯s spinning around him, a bit, and everything is light and easy and joyous and he¡¯s probably had enough to drink that he¡¯s stupid with it, but god, what a great night. What a fun guy to spend it with.


    ¡°Okay,¡± Rich says finally. ¡°Cut you a deal. I¡¯ll keep blowing your little bitty baby brains out, if you keep telling me when you¡¯re close, and afterwards I¡¯ll even pretend to be impressed at however long you can last. Cool?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll be impressed for real,¡± Basil says.


    ¡°Uh-huh, yeah, definitely yes,¡± Rich says, and widens his eyes theatrically. ¡°This is my impressed face, for sure.¡±


    ¡°Pfsh, jerk,¡± Basil says, and flops back down on the mattress. ¡°C¡¯mon, fuckin¡¯¡ªbring it, Rich!¡±


    ¡°Mmhm,¡± Rich goes, and gets down to business.


    He expects that after one or maybe two more times getting close and stopping, Basil''s going to run out of patience and want to come already. Especially when the guy can barely talk, when he''s a mess of shivers and moans, his face sheened with sweat, his brown eyes bright with tears, Rich thinks it''s only reasonable for him to ask to keep going and finish, but Basil doesn''t.


    Rich is definitely enjoying it. Basil can''t manage a warning when he gets close, now, but his noises get an urgent, anxious edge when he''s getting right to the edge of coming, his thighs and the muscles in his stomach twitching and shivering. And every time Rich pulls off and braces himself over Basil to watch, fascinated and hungry, as Basil¡¯s body goes slack and trembling against the sheets.


    It''s intoxicating, to be pushing him so far, making him feel this good and then making him wait, and even better that Rich isn''t making him, Basil is calling the shots and willingly going along with it. Eventually, though, Rich starts to feel guilty about it. Basil is so wrecked, eyes distant, brow creased and almost pained, making desperate little noises on every breath.


    ¡°Okay, baby boy,¡± he says when he pulls off that time, voice rasping, ¡°I''m impressed, alright? I think you''re about ready. You good with that?¡±


    Basil whimpers faintly, then licks his lips. ¡°Tol¡¯ you¡­m¡¯notta kid,¡± he mumbles.


    Rich puts his forehead down on Basil''s thigh to hide his grin, helplessly fond. ¡°Yeah, guess you were right,¡± he says. ¡°So? You wanna come, or should I fuck off and let you sleep?¡±


    ¡°Nnno please!¡± Basil gasps, ¡°please Rich I wanna, can, please lemme?¡±


    ¡°Okay,¡± Rich says hoarsely, his own dick aching. ¡°Okay, I gotcha.¡± He puts his head down and gets serious this time, and Basil wails and shakes and moans, and it''s amazing.


    He howls out loud when he comes, and Rich''s ears flush with how hot that is, even as he gentles the guy through it and finally pulls away, breathing hard. Basil¡¯s sprawled out on the sheets, gorgeously wrecked, twitching and whimpering still, squirming a little with aftershocks. His eyes are shut¡ªRich can see them flick behind his eyelids, but he can¡¯t seem to get it together enough to do so much as crack them open, raise his head, say anything, he¡¯s just gone with the pleasure of everything that was done to him. That Rich did to him. Rich did this to someone, took him apart, made him feel so good he couldn¡¯t even stand it, can¡¯t recover from it. He isn¡¯t sneering down at Rich and tucking himself away and walking off like nothing happened, he can¡¯t. He won¡¯t.


    Rich grabs his own dick, hand slick with Basil¡¯s come and rapidly getting slicker with his own pre, and pumps himself hard and fast, looking at Basil, reveling in what a mess Rich has made of him. His softening dick against his freckled hip, the fast shuddering rise and fall of his chest, the way his mouth is soft and rosy and slack as he pants for breath. Spread out and open and soft and so cute¡ª


    Rich comes, grunting quietly with the force of it, bracing himself against the edge of Basil¡¯s cot. Kind of¡ªoops, okay, kind of coming on the edge of Basil¡¯s cot, he¡¯ll have to clean that up, but¡ªgod, it feels good for now, so who cares. He strokes himself more and more softly through the last of the orgasm, biting his lip, taking the time to enjoy it and not run calculations on how soon he can pack himself back in his pants and bail. He¡¯s got time. Basil¡¯s too wrecked to kick him out, Rich can take a second.


    He leans against the cot for a long, dreamy moment, hand still on his dick, rubbing slowly, and breathes. His head¡¯s spinning, heavy now as alcohol and a damn good orgasm finally catch up to him and weigh him down.


    When he''s good and ready, he climbs carefully to his feet and looks around for some hygiene wipes. He doesn¡¯t find any. Basil¡¯s berth is a dump, an insane rat¡¯s nest of nerd crap, books and cards and dice and snacks and toys and dirty clothes and bits of paper mounded up everywhere. Rich eventually grabs a questionably damp sock from the corner of the room and uses it to wipe his come off the cot, then throws it back in the corner.


    He¡¯s gonna just¡­dart back to his berth really fast, rather than try to clean his dick off with anything here. It is probably not possible to clean off with anything in here. Basil¡¯s room is way more enjoyable pre-orgasm than post.


    ¡°Mnfgh?¡± Basil goes, when Rich cracks the door open and peers carefully out.


    ¡°Go to sleep,¡± Rich says.


    ¡°Mnnphf,¡± Basil replies, and does so. Rich checks both ways and then strides across the passage in two steps, palming his access plate, turning the handle and squeezing through the door in one smooth move. No one sees his dick who hasn¡¯t been invited to, success! He goes and gets his own packet of hygiene wipes, cleans his dick and then his hands and uses another on his face and arms, clearing away sweat and an embarrassing amount of fish grease. Yuck, he blew someone while wearing dinner. Next time he¡¯s gonna be less drunk and also make sure Basil has hygiene wipes in his room beforehand.


    He flops on his mattress, stretches luxuriously, and thinks giddy, elaborate thoughts about what the next blowjob he gives Basil is gonna involve, until he falls asleep without even noticing.