“I know… damn—” She gave up and wrapped the towel around her head. “You’re a fine guy, Maris.”
“You’re not so bad yourself.”
She blushed. “Glad you approve. Ugh, your rug—!I got it all wet.” She disappeared into the bedroom.
Maris stretched unwillingly, stared up into ceiling beams bronzed with early sunlight. He sighed faintly. “You want some breakfast?”
“Sure, I’m starving! Oh, wait—” A wet head reappeared. “Let me make you breakfast? Wait for me.”
He sat watching as the apparition in silver-blue flightsuit ransacked his cupboards. “You’re kind of low on raw materials.”
“I know.” He brushed crumbs off the table. “I eat instant breakfasts and frozen dinners; I hate to cook.”
She made a face.
“Yeah, it gets pretty old after half a century… they’ve only had them on Oro for half a century. They don’t get any better, either.”
She stuck something into the oven. “I’m sorry I was so stupid about it.”
“About what?”
“About… a hundred years. I guess it scared me. I acted like a bitch.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Yes, I did! I know I did.” She frowned.
“Okay, you did… I forgive you. When do we eat?”
They ate, sitting side by side.
“Cooking seems like an odd spacer’s hobby.” Maris scraped his plate appreciatively. “When can you cook on a ship?”
“Never. It’s all prepared and processed. So we can’t overeat. That’s why we love to eat and drink when we’re in port. But I can’t cook now either—no place. So it’s not really a hobby, I guess, any more. I learned how from my father— he loved to cook…” She inhaled, eyes closed.
“Is your mother dead?”
“No—” She looked startled. “She just doesn’t like to cook.”
“She wouldn’t have liked Glatte, either.” He scratched his crooked nose.
“Calicho—that’s my home, it’s seven light years up the cube from this corner of the Quadrangle. It’s… a pretty nice place. I guess Ntaka would call it ‘healthy,’ even… there’s lots of room, like space; that helps. Cold and not very rich, but they get along. My mother and father always shared their work… they have a farm.” She broke off more bread.
“What did they think about you becoming a spacer?”
“They never tried to stop me, but I don’t think they wanted me to. I guess when you’re so tied to the land it’s hard to imagine wanting to be so free… It made them sad to lose me—it made me sad to lose them; but, I had to go…”
Her mouth began to quiver suddenly. “You know, I’ll never get to see them again, I’ll never have time, our trips take so long, they’ll grow old and die…” Tears dripped onto her plate. “And I miss my h-home—” Words dissolved into sobs, she clung to him in terror.
He rubbed her back helplessly, wordlessly, left unequipped to deal with loneliness by a hundred years alone.
“M-Maris, can I come and see you always, will you always, always be here when I need you, and be my friend?”
“Always.” He rocked her gently. “Come when you want, stay as long as you want, cook dinner if you want, I’ll always be here…”
… Until the night, twenty-five years later, when they were suddenly clustered around him at the bar, hugging, badgering, laughing, the crew of the Who Got Her—709.
“Hi, Soldier!”
“Soldier, have we—”
“Look at this, Soldier—”
“What happened to—”
“Brandy?” he said stupidly. “Where’s Brandy?”
“Honestly, Soldier, you really never do forget a face, do you?”
“Ah-ha, I bet it’s not her face he remembers!”
“She was right with us.” Harkané peered easily over the heads around her. “Maybe she stopped off somewhere.”
“Maybe she’s caught a Tail already!” Nilgiri was impressed.
“She could if anybody could, the little rascal.” Wynmet rolled her eyes.
“Oh, just send us the usual, Soldier. She’ll be along eventually. Come sit with us when she does.” Harkané waved a rainbow-tipped hand. “Come, sisters, gossip is not tasteful before we’ve had a drink.”
“That little rascal.”
Soldier began to pour drinks with single-minded precision, until he noticed that he had the wrong bottle. Cursing, he drank them himself, one by one.
“Hi, Maris.”
He pushed the tray away.
“Hi, Maris.” Fingers appeared in front of his face; he started. “Hey.”
“Brandy!”
Patrons along the bar turned to stare, turned away again.
“Brandy—”
“Well sure; weren’t you expecting me? Everybody else is already here.”
“I know. I thought—I mean, they said… maybe you were out with somebody already,” trying to keep it light, “and—”
“Well, really, Maris, what do you take me for?” She was insulted. “I just wanted to wait till everybody else got settled, so I could have you to myself. Did you think I’d forget you? Unkind.” She hefted a bright mottled sack onto the bar. “Look, I brought you a present!” Pulling it open, she dumped heaping confusion onto the counter. “Books, tapes, buttons, all kinds of things to look at. You said you’d read out the library five times; so I collected everywhere, some of them should be new… Don’t you like them?”
“I…” He coughed. “I’m crazy about them! I’m—overwhelmed. Nobody ever brought me anything before. Thank you. Thanks very much. And welcome back to New Piraeus!”
“Glad to be back!” She stretched across the bar, hugged him, kissed his nose. She wore a new belt of metal inlaid with stones. “You’re just like I remembered.”
“You’re more beautiful.”
“Flatterer.” She beamed. Ashen hair fell to her breasts; angles had deepened on her face. The quicksilver eyes took all things in now without amazement. “I’m twenty-one today, you know.”
“No kidding? That calls for a celebration. Will you have brandy?”
“Do you still have some?” The eyes widened slightly. “Oh, yes! We should make it a tradition, as long as it lasts.”
He smiled contentedly. They drank to birthdays, and to stars.
“Not very crowded tonight, is it?” Brandy glanced into the room, tying small knots in her hair. “Not like last time.”
“It comes and it goes. I’ve always got some fisherfolk, they’re heavy on tradition… I gave up keeping track of ship schedules.”
“We don’t even believe our own; they never quite fit. We’re a month late here.”
“I know—happened to notice it…” He closed a bent cover, laid the book flat. “So anyway, how did you like your first Quadrangle?”
“Beautiful—oh, Maris, if I start I’ll never finish, the City in the Clouds on Patris, the Freeport on Sanalareta… and the Pleiades… and the depths of night, ice and fire.” Her eyes burned through him toward infinity. “You can’t imagine—”
“So they tell me.”
She searched his face for bitterness, found none. He shook his head. “I’m a man and a cyborg; that’s two League rules against me that I can’t change—so why resent it? I enjoy the stories.” His mouth twitched up.
“Do you like poetry?”
“Sometimes.”
“Then—may I show you mine? I’m writing a cycle of poems about space; maybe someday I’ll have a book. I haven’t shown them to anybody else, but if you’d like—”
“I’d like it.”
“I’ll find them, then. Guess I should be joining the party, really, they’ll think I’m antisocial”—she winced—“and they’ll talk about me! It’s like a small town, we’re as bad as lubbers.”