‘You don’t know . . . what? Where you two left things?’

‘No, I – I don’t know. I don’t know how to have this conversation.’

Pop sipped and exhaled, same as he had every sip before. ‘One word in front of the other is how I do it.’

‘Me and him and the kids . . . that’s not our only family.’

‘Obviously.’

‘And we can’t do this without talking to everyone else.’

‘Define “this”. Tessa, if you can’t say it, you’ve got no business doing it.’

She shoved the words out. ‘We’re thinking about going planetside.’ There. They were out now, out in the open, somewhere between treachery and relief.

Pop did nothing but nod. ‘Colonies?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Good. It’s hard work out there, and hard work keeps you honest. Keeps your head on straight.’

She waited for him to say more than that. She waited for him to get mad, to scoff, to tell her every reason why this was stupid, to be the outward confirmation of all the guilt and fear she felt within.

He did not.

‘Is that all you have to say?’ Tessa said incredulously.

‘What do you want me to say? That I don’t care? Of course I care. I’ll miss you and the kids like hell. Or do you want me to get pissed and tell you no way, no how are you leaving home? That kind of thing didn’t work when you were a teenager, and it sure as shit won’t fly now.’ He laughed. ‘You’re an adult. You know what you’re about. Whatever you decide, I’m not gonna tell you otherwise. I’m too old for making big decisions. Had my fill of those.’

‘But—’ She scrambled, trying to find the trigger for the reaction she’d expected. ‘But what about—’

‘You know I’m not going, girl. I’ll visit. But I’m not going anywhere.’ He reached across the table and patted her hand. ‘You don’t have to worry about me. I got a good hex and the best friends a person could ask for.’ His face scrunched into a worryingly pleased grin. ‘Y’know Lupe from neighbourhood four?’

An image appeared in Tessa’s mind: a tiny, white-haired old woman, arguing with her son behind the seed shop counter. One of Pop’s lunchtime cronies. ‘Yeah.’

Pop replied with a waggle of his eyebrows.

The other shoe dropped, and Tessa recoiled. ‘Ugh, Pop, I don’t need to know.’

‘It’s nothing serious,’ he said, relishing her discomfort. ‘Just some casual fun—’

‘Pop. I don’t. Need. To know.’

Her father laughed and poured them both another drink. ‘Here, I have something else to show you.’ He unholstered his scrib, gestured at the screen, and slid it across the table.

M Santoso,

This is a confirmation for your ocular implant installation this upcoming second day.

Please arrive at the clinic at 10:00.

On a personal note, I’m very happy you’ve made this decision. I think you’re going to be pleased with the results.

Dr Koraltan

‘See,’ Pop said, bringing his glass to his mouth. ‘You don’t need to worry about me.’ He sipped and exhaled loudly. ‘Though you are gonna have to send me those creds.’

Tessa truly, genuinely didn’t know what to say.

Pop’s gaze lingered on the wall of painted hands, reaching from floor to ceiling. ‘Y’know, my great-granddad – we called him Great-pa, he thought that was funny – I didn’t know him long, but I knew him.’

Tessa knew this much already, but she didn’t interrupt.

‘He remembered contact,’ Pop said. ‘He told me so often about that day when the Aeluons arrived. He was always pushing me to go. “Get out there, boy,” he’d say. “That’s what we’re meant to do.” I wondered, when I got older, why he didn’t go, if he felt that way. I thought maybe he’d been scared, or set in his ways. But now I think it’s because he knew that wasn’t for him. Some of us have to go, yes. But some of us have to stay and kick the others out. Otherwise . . .’ He scratched his chin. ‘Otherwise all we know is the same place. My great-pa, he was right. We’re meant to go. And we’re meant to stay. Stay and go, each as much as the other. It’s not all or nothing anymore. We’re all over the place. That’s better, I think. That’s smarter.’ He nodded. ‘That’s how we’ll survive, even if not all of us do.’ He looked up. ‘You’re gonna do great out there. I know you will.’

Tessa’s first instinct was to protest. They hadn’t made a decision yet, and here he was, talking like it was a done deal. But she looked again at the bottle, kept half full for her sake, an offering for a future her father had prepared himself for decades before she’d considered said same. She closed her eyes for a moment. She got up from her chair, sat down on the floor, and rested her head against her father’s leg like she used to when she was small, like she used to when he was huge and handsome and knew everything there was to know. He pressed his palm into her curls, and she closed her eyes. ‘I love you, Pop.’

‘I love you, too, Tess.’

Part 7