In the corner, a solar flare distorted the image.He reached over her to close the curtain.
Anna visibly flinched under his outstretched arm. On her lap, her knuckles went white where they gripped the blanket. And that heartbeat of hers skipped a beat.
He finished pulling the curtain shut and lowered his arm slowly. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m closing the curtain.”
“Yeah. Thanks. The light is better now.” Anna scooted slightly away and gave a sheepish smile. The shadows played on her face as she looked off to the side, tugging on a strand of her hair.
Oh . . .His brow furrowed.No, that was definitely fear.The reaction was sharperthan the nervousness earlier. Fear from a raised arm. There was only one real reason someone would fear that.Annahas been hit before. That Paul must have hit her. Or someone.
The ship walls vibrated, and Atlas calibrated a response. Anna’s hands were back to being clenched together in her lap. Her fingers were rough, not manicured or perfect. And she kneaded them together, as if . . .
He cleared his throat. “Did you used to make the bread by hand in your bakery?”
“Yeah. I made lots of bread. With the stuff you dropped.”
“Did you run the bakery yourself?”
“No. With Paul . . . who . . .”
“Ah yes. Paul who died.”
Anna blinked and looked down. “Yeah.”
Atlas grimaced.That was the wrong thing to say. Did she love him despite everything?He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
But she shrugged her shoulders, giving a tight-lipped smile. “Don’t be. He was not a good person.”
His eyes widened in surprise. “Ah . . . no.”
An awkward silence followed. Twin spots of color appeared on her cheeks. She changed the subject. “I can keep baking, right? On Mars?”
Atlas tilted his head.Baking?Anna’s directness almost made him slide back. Instead, he leaned in. “Baking means that much to you?”
“I baked all the time with the shipments Mars gave. You must have wheat there?”
“We do.” His eyes scanned her face. “We have factories to process it to use in food for ourselves.”
She raised her eyes and met his own. “Could I see that?”
“Yes.” The nature feed changed as he clicked, taking away the ducks. And the cows. Now it showed an amber wheat field growing under the slightly lower level of sunlight Mars had compared to Earth. But the plants grew the same under a terraformed atmosphere that made the sky blue and the clouds white.
Atlas studied Anna as her fingers kneaded almost unconsciously in front of her, her just-stitched palm red.Zero is right. They are fragile. But it was almost endearing, in a way, because they kept trying despite that.
His voice was hushed. “You can bake as much as you want.”
Her return smile tugged at his neural mind. “Thank you.” She held up her hand. “And thanks for fixing this. I’ll go get back to the kitchen.”
Softness filled his sensors. “No thank you is necessary. You should sleep.”
“Nah.” She slid off the chair. “I left some batter out. Let me finish baking. At least then I’ll feel like I accomplished something. I don’t want to end my night on such a bad note.”
Then she waddled out the door, that pregnant belly of hers leading the way.
The room was empty except for him and the plants now. Atlas sat frozen a moment before slowly cleaning up the sterile tools he’d used to stitch her palm. His processors were hot again, working his CPU to its limits in the background. As he turned down the lighting, more for the plants’ benefit than his, the puzzled feeling returned.She flinched when I raised my arm.
He held that thought as he walked to his charging area. The stasis protocols started as he connected himself in. Being in stasis was not a sleep; he had told the truth to Anna when he said that he couldn’t sleep. But during his charge, he did seem to process data better.
He closed his eyes thinking of Anna. And when he woke up several hours later, fully charged, he was still thinking of her. Both of the conversation they had while stitching her palm and cleaning that kitchen.
