“Sorry, Seppo,” said Alan, sounding amused. “I told you, we couldn’t get to you before then.”
“Bah. I had sand in my skinsuit. Do you know how uncomfortable that was? I’m rubbed raw in half a dozen places. Look!” He pulled up the fringe of his ratty shirt to show a red line of skin across his belly where the lower seam of his skinsuit had chafed.
Kira said, “Tell you what, I’ll buy you a drink on Vyyborg to make up for it. How about that?”
Seppo lifted a hand and pointed in her general direction. “That … would be acceptable compensation. But no more sand!”
“No more sand,” she agreed.
“And you,” said Seppo, swinging his finger toward Alan. “You … know.”
As the botanist tottered off, Kira looked up at Alan. “What was that about?”
Alan chuckled. “No idea. But it’s sure going to be strange not having him around.”
“Yeah.”
After a round of drinks and conversation, Kira retreated to the back of the room and leaned against a corner. As much as she didn’t want to lose Alan—again—she also didn’t want to say farewell to the rest of the team. The four months on Adra had forged them into a family. An odd, misshapen family, but one she cared for all the same. Leaving them would hurt, and the closer that moment came, the more Kira realized just how much it was going to hurt.
She took another long drink of the orange-flavored punch. She’d been through this before—Adra wasn’t the first prospective colony the company had posted her to—and after seven years spent jetting around from one blasted rock to another, Kira had begun to feel a serious need for … friends. Family. Companionship.
And now she was about to leave all that behind. Again.
Alan felt the same. She could see it in his eyes as he moved around the room, chatting with members of the team. She thought perhaps some of the others were also sad, but they papered over it with drink and dance and laughs that were too shrill to be entirely genuine.
She made a face and downed the rest of the punch. Time for a refill.
The scramrock was pounding louder than before. Something by Todash and the Boys, and their lead singer was howling, “—to fleeee. And there’s nothing at the door. Hey, there’s nothing at the door. Babe, what’s that knocking at the door?” and her voice was climbing to a wavering, saw-blade crescendo that sounded as if her vocal cords were about to snap.
Kira pushed herself away from the wall and was about to start for the punch bowl when she saw Mendoza, the expedition boss, clearing a path toward her. Easy for him; he was built like a barrel. She’d often wondered if he’d grown up on a high-g colony like Shin-Zar, but Mendoza denied it when she asked, claimed he was from a hab-ring somewhere around Alpha Centauri. She wasn’t entirely sure she believed him.
“Kira, need to talk with you,” he said, coming near.
“What?”
“We have a problem.”
She snorted. “There’s always a problem.”
Mendoza shrugged and mopped his forehead with a handkerchief he pulled from the back pocket of his pants. His forehead reflected bright spots from the strings of colored lights draped across the ceiling, and there were blotches under his arms. “Can’t say you’re wrong, but this needs fixing. One of the drones down south went dead. Looks like a storm took it out.”
“So? Send another one.”
“They’re too far away, and we don’t have time to print a replacement. Last thing the drone detected was some organic material along the coastline. Needs to be checked before we leave.”
“Oh come on. You really want me to head out tomorrow? I’ve already cataloged every microbe on Adra.” A trip like that would cost her the morning with Alan, and Kira was damned if she was going to give up any of their remaining time together.
Mendoza gave her a steady, are you bullshitting me look from under his brows. “Regs are regs, Kira. We can’t risk the colonists running into something nasty. Something like the Scourge. You don’t want that on your conscience. You really don’t.”
She went to take another drink and realized her cup was still empty. “Jesus. Send Ivanova. The drones are hers, and she can run a chip-lab as well as I can. There’s—”
“You’re going,” said Mendoza, steel in his voice. “Oh six hundred, and I don’t want to hear any more about it.” Then his expression softened somewhat. “I’m sorry, but you’re our xenobiologist, and regs—”
“And regs are regs,” said Kira. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll do it. But I’m telling you, it’s not worth it.”
Mendoza patted her on the shoulder. “Good. I hope it isn’t.”
As he left, a text popped up in the corner of Kira’s vision: <Hey, babe, everything okay? – Alan>
Subvocalizing her answer, she wrote: <Yeah, all good. Just some extra work. Tell you about it later. – Kira>
From across the room, he gave her a goofy thumbs-up, and her lips quirked despite herself. Then she fixed her gaze on the punch bowl and made a beeline for it. She really needed another drink.
Marie-Élise intercepted her at the bowl, moving with the studied grace of an ex-dancer. As always, her mouth was pulled off-center, as if she were about to break into a crooked smile … or deliver a scathing witticism (and Kira had heard more than a few from her). She was tall to begin with, and with the shiny black heels she’d printed for the party, she was a whole head taller than Kira.
“I’m going to miss you, chérie,” said Marie-Élise. She bent down and gave Kira a kiss on each cheek.
“Same here,” said Kira, feeling herself getting misty. Along with Alan, Marie-Élise had become her closest friend on the team. They’d spent long days together in the field—Kira studying the microbes of Adrasteia while Marie-Élise studied the lakes and rivers and the deposits of water hidden deep underground.
“Ah, cheer up now. You will message me, yes? I want to hear everything about you and Alan. And I will message you. Okay?”
“Yes. I promise.”
For the rest of the evening, Kira worked to forget the future. She danced with Marie-Élise. She swapped jokes with Jenan and barbs with Fizel. For the thousandth time, she complimented Yugo on his cooking. She arm-wrestled Mendoza—and lost—and sang a horribly off-key duet with Ivanova. And whenever possible, she kept her arm around Alan. Even when they weren’t talking or looking at each other, she could feel him, and his touch was a comfort.
Once she’d had enough punch, Kira allowed the others to talk her into pulling out her concertina. Then the canned music was put on hold and everyone gathered round—Alan by her side, Marie-Élise by her knee—while Kira played a collection of spacer’s reels. And they laughed and they danced and they drank, and for a time all was good.
3.
It was well past midnight and the party was still in full swing when Alan signaled to her with a motion of his chin. Kira understood, and without a word, they slipped out of the mess hall.
They leaned on each other as they made their way through the compound, careful to keep their cups of punch from spilling. Kira wasn’t used to the bare look of the corridors. Normally overlays covered them, and stacks of samples, supplies, and spare equipment sat along the walls. But all that was gone now. Over the past week, she and the rest of the team had stripped the place in preparation for leaving.… If not for the music echoing behind them and the dim emergency lights along the floor, the base would have seemed abandoned.
Kira shivered and hugged Alan closer. Outside the wind was howling—an eerie rushing that made the roof and walls creak.