Page 80 of The Brightness Between Us

I nod.

“Oh lords, yes! And it was amazing. Did you?”

I blanch. There was plenty of sex between cadets at the cosmology academy, but we certainly wouldn’t talk about it proudly, if we did at all. I went through many periods of erotiyet with Li Qiang, as well as with Abdul. But we still assumed we would marry women later in our lives, or perhaps choose celibacy. The fact that it was limited to a brief window of our lives made our training sex all the more exciting.

But Devon Mujaba? No. Maybe if we had spent more time together, it would have happened. He was certainly beautiful. But during our few weeks in each other’s company I was still reeling. It was hardly a sexy mood. And he didn’t ask me to have sex with him. I guess he liked Ambrose more. “I think maybe I’m not Devon Mujaba’s type,” I finally say.

“Someone turned down this piece of prime beefcake?” Ambrose says. “I find that hard to believe. You’d be anyone’s type, at least for a go or two.”

“Stop,” I whisper, pushing a sodden branch back and forth, back and forth, with my foot. Part of me is angry at the effeminacy of what Ambrose is saying. Part of me feels it’s mean for him to compare me to a piece of meat. And part of me wants to coil around Ambrose as he says these words of desire, ask him to repeat them while I purr like a cat. And one last part of me wants to saythis thing, this most important thing that binds people, isn’t only about sex, but you talk about it like it is.

“I notice you said you’re not Devon’s type, not that he’s not yours,” Ambrose says.

“Maybe it was mutual,” I say, rocking the log faster and faster.

“Maybe it was,” Ambrose says. He pauses, and I can sense him waiting for me to look at him. I refuse. He speaks again. “I do bear a passing resemblance to Devon Mujaba, you know. Beyond the general all-around handsomeness.”

I let myself look at him. I know I’m failing to keep the desire off my face. “Yes, you do. In a kind of decadent constructed way.”

Except for one arched eyebrow, his face is impassive. Not a flicker as I wound him. I realize Ambrose might be just as good at disguising when he’s hurt as I am. “Thankyou,” he says gruffly. Or as close as his velvet voice can get to gruff.

I lie down on the sodden earth, ignoring how it instantly wets through the fabric covering the heaviest points of my body. I gesture vaguely to the stars. “TheCoordinated Endeavoris out there, traveling dark. But in a thousand years a pair of us will wake up. They might have this very conversation.”

“Not the Devon Mujaba part. They won’t have met him.”

I turn just my head to look at Ambrose. My hand toys with my chest hair. In the hush of soft rain on pine forest, it suddenly feels as intimate as if we’re in a bed together. “No, not the Devon Mujaba part.”

“Well, Kodiak, I’d welcome you anytime. Or donate, if that’s what you prefer. It’s what I prefer, I guess. By a hair.”

I cover my eyes with my hand. “These trendy Fédération words again. How can you say them without being embarrassed?”

“No harm using the opportunity repetitive use of language provides us to build daily reminders about the damages of homophobia and misogyny,comrade,” Ambrose says.

I snort. “‘Hut’ and ‘shihut’ are perfectly adequate sexual terms. You in Fédération could use your time much more productively if you thought a little more about where youspend your attention, that’s all. ‘Welcoming’ and ‘donating.’ Just listen to yourself. And you say it so proudly, like you’ve just saved a life, like switching the names for things does any good in the actual world.”

“You did dodge saying which you’d prefer,” Ambrose says.

“I refuse to use this ludicrous terminology in reference to my own body,” I say. Then I grin. “I will be happy to go hut any shihut who disagrees.”

Ambrose is so outraged that he squeaks. Adorably. “See! You just used ‘bottom’ as apunishment, Kodiak.”

“Yes, and look how fired up you got,” I say.

“Oh. I see. You’re teasing me.”

“I guess I am, yes.” Sheep snorts awake, rearranges herself, falls back asleep. “We appear to be keeping our traveling companion up.”

“Yes, I noticed,” Ambrose says. “She’s not exactly subtle about it.” He turns on his side, propping his head on his hand. Looking at me.

I break from his eyes, rest my palms on soft fallen pine needles, turn my gaze to the stars. TheCoordinated Endeavortook off weeks ago, which means it’sout there. If it happens to be reflecting sunlight right now, it could be one of the points in this night sky. With twenty copies of us dormant on board. It’s unfathomable and yet it’s true. This person beside me. We’re up there together.

I stare into the sky, thinking of the violin, of our life on the ship, of the spacefarer career that was taken from me and yet also granted to me, twenty of me. Our life on a distant planet, perhaps trying to raise small humans from poisoned embryos. Unless Ambrose and I can get to Glasgow and launch flies across the galaxy.

For the sake of that mission, I should get a good night’s sleep. No more WakeSleep for me, just the natural kind. But tight as I close my eyes, as resolutely as I try to control my breathing, I can’t feel anything but wide awake. This arousal isn’t helping.

Maybe we could help each other with that feeling after all. I could show Ambrose just how welcome I am to his donating. I chuckle at his charming, ridiculous righteousness. Then I turn on my side, toward him.

He’s asleep.

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