The Harmagian rose up on her cart, holding her body like a wave frozen in time. Her tentacles shuddered, curling and unfolding in strange symmetry. ‘Respect,’ she said.

Tamsin took in the display, and gave a satisfied nod. ‘Right back at you.’

Tessa

Received message

Encryption: 0

Translation: 0

From: George Santoso (path: 6159-546-46)

To: Tessa Santoso (path: 6222-198-00)

Tess,

I know you’re running around like a headless hopper these days, but I’ve got a surprise for you. Go to our bench after dinner, or whenever you can manage. Leave the kids with the hex. It might take a while. And no, I won’t tell you what it is. I think you’ll like it, though.

George

*

Tessa would never disparage her husband for being cute, but stars, she didn’t have time for this today. Aya needed help with her schoolwork – she was struggling with reading, just like her father had – Ky needed a bath, Pop needed . . . stars, what didn’t he need. A swift kick in the butt was what he needed. Besides which, the laundry needed doing, the herb garden was wilting, and the cleanerbot had glitched out again. Whatever George was up to was probably very sweet, but did it have to be today?

She stepped off the transport pod and headed for the big plaza oxygen garden, not needing to follow the signs. She took a breath and tried to shift her mood. She was being ungrateful. Since that cargo guild meeting a tenday ago, she’d written George a half-dozen or so letters that amounted to nothing more than emotional ejection. He hadn’t had the time to respond to any of them, which she’d expected. He was busy, and had never been one for writing. She hadn’t really wanted a back-and-forth, to be perfectly honest. She’d wanted a recycling bin, a compost box, somewhere she could throw the junk cluttering her brain. But now he’d gone and arranged something to make her feel better – what, she had no idea. She considered the possibilities as she entered the garden and wound her way along the lush, familiar paths. A present dropped off by a friend, maybe. She hoped it was nothing performative. That wasn’t his style, but then, he wasn’t in the habit of sending her cryptic messages and making her trek through the district on a school night, either. She was being a jerk about the whole thing, she knew, but she hoped whatever it was was worth the bother. She hoped— Tessa froze, mid-stride. There, on a bench, with his back toward her, was George. George. Her husband, George.

His head turned slightly at the sound of her, just a touch, no eye contact needed. ‘There’s room for two,’ he said.

She walked up and faced him. ‘What—’ Her mouth could form no other words, and her brain was stuck on one thought and one thought alone. George. George was here. ‘What—’

George looked around. ‘Well, this is a canteen,’ he said, lifting the container resting beside him. He patted the space to his left. ‘And this is a bench.’

Tessa rolled her eyes. ‘What are you doing here?’ He wasn’t supposed to be back for another three tendays, at least.

George took the lid off the canteen. A ribbon of steam unfolded as if it were alive. He filled the lid with tea and gestured for Tessa to sit. ‘I got your letters.’

Tessa sighed and sat. ‘Stars, George. I’m fine.’

‘You didn’t sound fine.’

‘All right, fine, I’m not fine, but I’ve been not fine before without you – you running back home. You could’ve got on the sib.’

He handed her the cup. ‘This seemed like it should be a faceto-face conversation.’ He reached into his pocket, produced a flat packet of throw-cloth, and unwrapped two big spice cookies.

Tessa accepted both cookie and tea, but consumed nothing yet. She leaned back against the bench, a hand’s-width apart from George, not ready to be closer until she’d processed the full scope of things here. He smelled great, though. He always smelled great. ‘I don’t know if I meant any of it,’ she said. ‘I was just . . . y’know. Mad. I don’t know why you took it so seriously.’

‘The way I read it, Tessa Santoso is considering the mere possibility of leaving the Fleet. That seems pretty damn serious to me.’

Thick steam drifted from the cup, but she braved a sip anyway. ‘Is this your dad’s blend? He added something.’

‘Don’t change the subject.’

‘What is that? Cinnamon?’

‘Don’t—’ He frowned and took the cup, taking a timid sip of his own. ‘Huh. Yeah, I think that is cinnamon. Where’d he get cinnamon?’

‘See,’ she said. ‘That’s why I don’t mean what I said.’

‘I’m not following.’

‘Why I don’t mean what I said about leaving.’ Tessa looked at the tea and shook her head. ‘Your dad, your mom, my dad. Your brother—’

‘You’ve got a brother, too. He left, and it was fine.’

‘Yeah, and that’s why I can’t. One of us needs to be here.’

‘Why?’

She looked him in the eye, disbelieving. ‘Are you seriously saying I should?’

‘No,’ he said, taking a large bite of his cookie. ‘I’m just asking questions.’ He swallowed, sipped the tea, and handed the cup back. ‘I don’t believe for a minute that the sole reason you’re here is because Ashby left and you feel obligated. That’s never been the case.’