“Nope. No vein, anyway.”
I study him as he shrugs. It would be inappropriate for me to ask a 10-year-old to tell me how I get on his mother’s good side. Really, terribly inappropriate. How much easier that would make this, though. I don’t know what I did to anger Marlowe. When I checked on her earlier, she shut the door in my face. It was early—I’d been headed to the gym—so I assumed I’d woken her up. The snap in Marlowe’s tone takes on a whole new shadenow, and it scratches at the edges of my consciousness like an insect.
“Until I can check with Marlowe, let’s keep the gaming age appropriate.”
Vee rolls his eyes. “Or,” he drags the word out, “I tell you how to make it up to her and we play someDeaddd 2.”
I stare. “Are you trying to bribe me?”
“Dad says only a loser calls it bribing, and that a businessman calls it pitching.”
“Do you even know what that means?”
“Nope.”
That gets me to my feet, though I hide my amusement. I might not have spent time with a child in years, but I know enough not to encourage this. Every day, I learn more and more against my will about what kind of father Dominik is. It’s getting harder not to judge.
“I’ll take my chances. Enjoy the game,” I say. And then, against my better judgment, I slip both Dreamframes into my pocket. If the cartoon character on the screen wasn’t so pixelated and cheerful, I’d try to take that game with me, too. As it is, Vee doesn’t seem to be in danger of coming across any viscera with his avatar.
“Captain Sekmith!” Vee calls as I step over the threshold. I bite back the urge to remind him to call me Tanisira. “Are we gonna have dinner together again?”
It’s a good question I don’t have the answer to. If Marlowe is pissed off, she might not come to dinner with the crew. I aim for a political reply. “I’ll be there.”
I head towards the bridge, letting my mind wander. Thoughts of yesterday have been on repeat, and it’s not even midday. Finding Marlowe on the floor of the med bay raised such panic in me that only the force of her glare muscled it aside. I understand there was probably a level of embarrassment, butthis escalation baffles me. Maybe my anger was the catalyst. I’d let her lie to me the whole afternoon, and I couldn’t let it continue. She probably hates being called out.
She should learn to lie better.
But what was she expecting? She doesn’t owe anyone disclosure, and keeping her disability to herself wasn’t the problem. What I found irresponsible, and infuriating was her behaviour—Marlowe trying to be unflappable butphysicallyincapable of walking. She’s not as good at hiding the tremors and the stumbling as she thinks she is. I don’t know anyone with RIND to compare it to, but if her symptoms were like that after a few days, I can only image how bad it would have been by the time we reached Mars.
Nothing about Marlowe’s fierce expressions begs sympathy. If she’s not feeling better today, I don’t think she’ll ask for help when she needs it.
I force my thoughts away and slip onto the ship’s bridge. With everything compartmentalised, I turn to the view before me. Stepping into this space is always almost a religious experience. A 180-degree view of the cosmos stretches ahead, an indulgent design feature I nonetheless love. The captain’s chair sits in the centre, the transparent control panel flipped face down over the right armrest and the holo display extending down from the overhead. Stretching out on either side and forming a semicircle are five more control stations for the bridge crew I’m flying without. During this journey, Beau and I have often been the only people on the bridge.
“Good morning, Captain Tanisira.”
“Good morning, Kit. Updates?”
She provides me with a rundown, filling in gaps in my knowledge. Kit knows to inform me immediately if anything significant happens; I’m normally on the bridge earlier than this, but Vee caught me this morning. Now, I have quite a fewtasks to take care of because of my curiosity. And, if I’m being honest, because I enjoy his company, even when he’s conning me into playing macabre games.
That scene could not have been designed by someone who has seen combat.
Folding myself into the captain’s chair, my holo panel descends into place as I flip up the control panel. I can see from the log that Beau has attempted to tackle some tasks today—always nice to see. During this hastily planned trip they’ve taken on more than their usual duties to help out. The whole crew has been indispensable.
“I’ve finished compiling the list of damages to the hull. Would you like me to send it to Marlowe?”
That gives me pause as a sly thought takes root. Maybe Marlowe will talk to me if she has to come to me about the damages. “No. I’ll handle it.”
“Of course. I’ll send it to your NanoSlate.” I open my mouth, but she cuts in. “I won’t mention it in front of Marlowe.”
Kit’s AI capabilities are another wildly inflated expense I’ve come to adore, and, lately, I’ve caught myself feeling something akin to affection for her. It’s a strange thing to experience.
Clearing my throat, I begin to scan all the information in front of me. “What’s our ETA for docking at Red Horizon?”
“At current velocity, we’re expecting to dock in four days.”
I swipe through the list of damages as Kit runs diagnostics in the background. It’s extensive. There are terms I don’t even know, and I rely on the accompanying pictures. After a few of these instances, the AI pauses in a way that feels distinctly hesitant.
“Should I ask Marlowe to make her way here?”
