her eyes. "We thought we'd lost you there." Her voice was small and quiet, and she sniffed and rubbed her nose on her sleeve.
Prez gave her a hug. She smelled of apples and engine oil. "You won't lose me," he said. "Not yet anyway. I've got some plans you'll like, once this mission is over and we've got ourselves a faster ship. That's if you're planning to stay with me, of course."
She smiled. "You saved me from the compound, Prez. We're family. Wherever you go, I'll be there. And... welcome back, Captain."
***
The following night the ship was back on autopilot, passing through a particularly empty part of the sector where the only danger for a pilot was -- according to Prez -- dying of boredom. Lan stood at the mirror in his quarters and rubbed some maquille oil into his skin, trying to take away the dryness caused by one too many chemical showers. The smell of the oil made him remember his mother; exhausted after a long day scrubbing the spring fluff of the blajo trees from the generator interior, she'd rub the oil on her cracking skin to soothe the rawness away. Melancholy settled over him like a fog. He didn't want to be with the others, not when so many crazy thoughts were running around in his brain like pok in mating season.
But there was a Kiz-Mah dinner to attend, a party Glitch had organized and apparently made a cake for. The thought of eating sweet food made him feel slightly faint. He straightened and tried to ignore the unpleasant sensation in his groin. The beads in his hair clicked together and he remembered the soft touch of Prez's hands, braiding his hair. The stomach-clenching terror that had jolted his brain when he'd watched Prez crashing to the ground at his feet, swollen-faced and deathly pale. The relief when the doctor had said the captain would sleep off the ill-effects in a day or two. Then the panic when he'd read how these unusually extreme emotions could be a symptom of a wide variety of mental disorders, some requiring hospitalization. He threw his Tablet on the floor in a fit of despair and turned his thoughts to Kiz-mah .
The presents he had managed to find for the others in honor of their festival lay in his satchel. The Elders had drummed the thirteen Mishaqueh into his head at school; all emotions came in pairs, two parts of a whole, an active and a passive. All thirteen concepts were represented in statue form at the temple, stone carvings of tenets of belief that would take days to translate into written language. The only one that had no pair was faolomisha, being alone, cut off from the universe. It was represented in the temples -- and the miniature set he'd brought -- by a small, shriveled figure in dark robes that covered almost all of the face, leaving a mouth open in a silent scream to the heavens. Not particularly appropriate as a gift, but then again, the others would just think of the figures as novelty statues, and who was he to interfere in the pleasure of choice? He stroked the face of the miniature and dropped it into the bag with the others. Even though he would have liked nothing better than to be alone right at that moment, the thought of that scorned figure was always enough to spur him to company. He looked in the mirror again, satisfied that his appearance did not reflect the turmoil in his mind, and stepped out of his quarters.
The others were gathered in the equipment storage area where a small table had been erected and decorated with a flowing red cloth and candles. There was a carafe of mukkesh that Kris was guzzling at an impressive rate. An elaborately-decorated cake had pride of place in the center of the table, three layers of dark brown sponge with cream plastered over the top. "Lan!" exclaimed Glitch, patting the empty chair beside her. "So glad you could come."
He sat down in the chair a little too hard and pain jolted through his body for a second. "Thank you for inviting me."
Prez leaned over the table and squeezed his hand. "You're one of us
Prez gave her a hug. She smelled of apples and engine oil. "You won't lose me," he said. "Not yet anyway. I've got some plans you'll like, once this mission is over and we've got ourselves a faster ship. That's if you're planning to stay with me, of course."
She smiled. "You saved me from the compound, Prez. We're family. Wherever you go, I'll be there. And... welcome back, Captain."
***
The following night the ship was back on autopilot, passing through a particularly empty part of the sector where the only danger for a pilot was -- according to Prez -- dying of boredom. Lan stood at the mirror in his quarters and rubbed some maquille oil into his skin, trying to take away the dryness caused by one too many chemical showers. The smell of the oil made him remember his mother; exhausted after a long day scrubbing the spring fluff of the blajo trees from the generator interior, she'd rub the oil on her cracking skin to soothe the rawness away. Melancholy settled over him like a fog. He didn't want to be with the others, not when so many crazy thoughts were running around in his brain like pok in mating season.
But there was a Kiz-Mah dinner to attend, a party Glitch had organized and apparently made a cake for. The thought of eating sweet food made him feel slightly faint. He straightened and tried to ignore the unpleasant sensation in his groin. The beads in his hair clicked together and he remembered the soft touch of Prez's hands, braiding his hair. The stomach-clenching terror that had jolted his brain when he'd watched Prez crashing to the ground at his feet, swollen-faced and deathly pale. The relief when the doctor had said the captain would sleep off the ill-effects in a day or two. Then the panic when he'd read how these unusually extreme emotions could be a symptom of a wide variety of mental disorders, some requiring hospitalization. He threw his Tablet on the floor in a fit of despair and turned his thoughts to Kiz-mah .
The presents he had managed to find for the others in honor of their festival lay in his satchel. The Elders had drummed the thirteen Mishaqueh into his head at school; all emotions came in pairs, two parts of a whole, an active and a passive. All thirteen concepts were represented in statue form at the temple, stone carvings of tenets of belief that would take days to translate into written language. The only one that had no pair was faolomisha, being alone, cut off from the universe. It was represented in the temples -- and the miniature set he'd brought -- by a small, shriveled figure in dark robes that covered almost all of the face, leaving a mouth open in a silent scream to the heavens. Not particularly appropriate as a gift, but then again, the others would just think of the figures as novelty statues, and who was he to interfere in the pleasure of choice? He stroked the face of the miniature and dropped it into the bag with the others. Even though he would have liked nothing better than to be alone right at that moment, the thought of that scorned figure was always enough to spur him to company. He looked in the mirror again, satisfied that his appearance did not reflect the turmoil in his mind, and stepped out of his quarters.
The others were gathered in the equipment storage area where a small table had been erected and decorated with a flowing red cloth and candles. There was a carafe of mukkesh that Kris was guzzling at an impressive rate. An elaborately-decorated cake had pride of place in the center of the table, three layers of dark brown sponge with cream plastered over the top. "Lan!" exclaimed Glitch, patting the empty chair beside her. "So glad you could come."
He sat down in the chair a little too hard and pain jolted through his body for a second. "Thank you for inviting me."
Prez leaned over the table and squeezed his hand. "You're one of us
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