Sylvk still wasn’t fit so Professor Zhan pushed the next test a few more days. I didn’t mind at all. It wasn’t one I wanted to do so soon. Another Zero-G.
<
“I just am,” I returned to her.
“I’ll help you get some practice in. We can see your worry line from here,” Kerry offered, that familiar eager light in her eyes when she looked at me. I’d noticed it before—that mixture of curiosity and something else I couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t unusual for me; new team members often latched onto the novelty before the shine wore off.
“We both can,” Rob added, clapping a hand on my shoulder. The team had been remarkably welcoming, especially after Ashley’s directive to look after me. Perhaps too welcoming. The familiar sensation of being observed like a specimen crept up my spine again.
“I got extra studies elsewhere, sorry.” I shuffled my feet, not meeting their eyes.
“Studies,” Kerry laughed putting air quotes around her words and exchanging a knowing glance with Rob. Her attention always seemed to follow Sylvk when he was around, yet in his absence, it redirected to me with unsettling intensity.
But they both nodded at me, and we parted ways in completely opposite directions. Thoughts of their expectations followed me down the corridor. I’d been through this cycle before—new people, new connections, new disappointments waiting to happen.
Major Kuba met me at her door, looking tired. Dark circles had formed under her eyes, and her usually impeccable posture had a slight but noticeable slump. “You okay?” she asked.
“I am. Ready to keep pulling everything that makes Doli—Doli apart?” I watched her carefully, noting how her fingers tapped restlessly against her thigh.
“Yes,” she said.
“You’ve got more to prove now, right?”
“I want ours to work. I want theirs to fail.” She frowned. “So, yes.”
Ashley had such a beautiful vision, and I found her insight and tenacity to never giving up refreshing. Different from my ex, who’d abandoned ship at the first sign of trouble—both literally and figuratively. The thought came unbidden, and I pushed it away quickly.
Through the day my body and my mind was put through its paces, but in the evening, everything I was, was pushed all the more.
“I can’t get this in close enough,” Ashley said. “Pass me the smaller wrench, please.”
I was about to pull it from her toolbox when I heard a sickening thwack and her yelp.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
I rushed straight to her. “What you do?”
“It’ll be fine,” she said holding her other hand up to stop me. The stubborn set of her jaw reminded me of myself, refusing help even when it was clearly needed.
<
“No,” I said. “It won’t be.” I moved in and pulled her hand toward me for a better look. “Doli says you’ve dislocated it.”
“I know,” she said. “Not the first time.” Her voice was tight, controlled in a way that spoke of practiced pain management.
“I’ll call—”
“Just get me some ice from the freezer,” she said. Her tone was stern, but I could see underneath it. The vulnerability she rarely showed, flashing in her eyes for just a second before disappearing behind her military discipline.
I went to her freezer and pulled out some ice. Heading back, I could see what she was doing, then heard the snap as she pulled her thumb back into place herself. The sound made my stomach turn, but I kept my face neutral. Just like in the care system—never show weakness, never flinch.
“Desk. Second drawer down,” she panted, “at the back. Grab us both a glass.”
A nice bottle of Scottish Highland whiskey sat there, so I found two glasses and returning to her poured us each a measure. The amber liquid caught the light, reminding me of similar nights drowning different sorrows.
“Hand,” I said.
Ashley held her hand out for me, and I wrapped it in the ice packs. She never even winced. “How many times?” I asked her.
“Too many,” she replied and downed her shot, pouring another—that went down too. Her hand trembled slightly, not from pain but something deeper. I recognized the look—the one that said tonight was significant for reasons she wasn’t sharing.
“Kerry,” Ashley slurred. How was she drunk already?
<
<
<> That constant presence, always listening, always analyzing—it made my skin crawl sometimes.
“Kerry Hinada,” I nodded. “What about her? Wants to be a doctor at a big space station.”
“I saw the way you were smiling at her. Honestly, I didn’t think you’d be so... predictable.” There was an edge to her voice I hadn’t heard before, a rawness that belied her usually composed demeanor.
What, what was this? She had me totally confused here. “Predictable?” I asked, then chided. “Smiling is polite, Ashley, not a crime.” I’d been careful to maintain professional distance with everyone—had she noticed something I hadn’t?
“Oh, sure, and I’m supposed to ignore that you’re clearly her new favorite person?” She swirled the whiskey in her glass, not meeting my eyes.
I was not her new favorite person, Sylvk was. She had no eyes for me at all. I’d watched her light up whenever he entered a room, had noticed how her attention followed him during training. My observational skills hadn’t failed me there.
Why is that bothering her? I held her eyes with mine trying to parse this new… jealousy? It wasn’t just tonight—there had been small signs before. The way she tensed when Kerry touched my arm during lunch last week. How she’d started calling me more frequently for “project updates” whenever I spent too long with the team. “I’m her new teammate, they’ve been told by you to look after me. That’s all they’re doing.”
“She’s not just looking after you,” she said and downed another shot. A flush had crept up her neck, and not just from the alcohol.
I thought about it for another second, then smiled. “Jealousy looks good on you. But seriously, you’re not worried about some stranger stealing me away, are you?” The words left my mouth before I could filter them, an old defense mechanism—deflect with humor, never show vulnerability.
Ashley looked away and tried to pull her hand with it. I held on, and gently rubbed up her inner forearm. She was so tense. I didn’t want that. I reached the top of her forearm and retreated slowly. Her eyes met mine then, and she blushed, really blushed. The sight of it caught me off guard—that someone so composed could be so affected by my touch.
“What’s going on?” I asked. “Seriously? You’ve been stomping around here all night.” In truth, I’d noticed her mood from the moment I arrived—the sharp movements, the distracted glances, the way she kept checking her comm device then setting it down with frustrated sighs.
“I have not.”
<
She sucked in a breath. “I don’t get jealous... usually. But maybe it’s because I’m not used to sharing people who matter to me.” Her voice dropped on those last words, as if admitting something she’d fought against acknowledging.
“Woooh—I matter to you?” I grinned, and my stomach somersaulted. “This feels like a confession. Did you hit your head as well as almost break your thumb?” My heart raced as I said it. People didn’t matter to me, and I didn’t matter to them. That had been the rule—the safer option.
“Don’t push it,” she tried to pull away again, and again I didn’t let her. “I might have to reconsider...” She couldn’t hold my eyes. “What are you doing to me?” That question touched a different side of me, the analytical one.
“Distraction from the pain, mostly,” I replied. “It’s working, right?” Another deflection. Easier than acknowledging what was happening between us—whatever it was.
She nodded and was silent for a long moment. Her eyes drifted to a small holographic image on her desk that I hadn’t noticed before—a family portrait, perhaps? “What was it like growing up in care?” Not at all tactfully changing the conversation.
I downed my whiskey before answering, the burn in my throat giving me a moment to decide how much to reveal. These were waters I rarely waded into with anyone.
Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.
“It was tough,” I said. “I wasn’t ever in one place long. But it has made me who I am today.” I ran my thumb along the rim of the glass, remembering faces and places I usually kept locked away.
“You’re a strong character,” she admitted.
“I wasn’t always this composed under pressure. There was this one time in the care system when I nearly got suspended for defending a kid from a bully.” The memory surfaced unexpectedly—Tommy Reeves, seven years old, crying as the older boys took his only photo of his mother.
“You? Suspended? You don’t come across as the rebellious type.” Her eyes had softened, the earlier tension temporarily forgotten.
“I wasn’t. But when this kid tripped me on purpose in the lunch line, I accidentally—okay, intentionally—shoved pudding in his face. The worst part? It wasn’t even a good pudding. It was tapioca.” What I didn’t add was how the headmaster had looked at me afterward—like I was trouble, like I’d always be trouble. That look followed me from home to home.
Ashley snorted, and poured us both more whiskey. “That’s probably the most badass tapioca-related incident I’ve ever heard.” Her smile reached her eyes this time, creating small crow’s feet at the corners that I found oddly endearing.
“Your turn. Don’t tell me life on a military base was all marching drills and salute practice.” I shifted slightly, allowing myself to relax a fraction.
“My parents are both in the military,” she admitted, her smile fading slightly. She twisted a strand of hair around her finger—a nervous gesture I’d never seen from her before.
I raised an eyebrow at her. “Oh? Here?”
“My mother is on this base, yes. In the medical unit.” A shadow passed over her face, something complicated in her expression.
“Good to know,” I replied and turned her hand over. “Feeling better?”
“Much, thanks,” she picked up the bottle, and her glass then moved to her small lounge. I followed and sat opposite her, watching as she curled into herself slightly.
“What about your father?” I asked, before registering the tightening around her mouth.
Ashley shifted in her seat, kicking off her boots and tucking her feet beneath her. Her eyes darting to Doli. The AI’s presence in the room suddenly felt intrusive, witnessing something private.
“You don’t have to—”
“He’s out in the dark,” she whispered. Her knuckles whitened around her glass, and I realized I’d stumbled onto something significant.
“You miss him?” I asked, clearly being an idiot tonight was my agenda.
<
<
<<10%.>>
Shit… she downed yet another shot and cocked her head to one side. “That high IQ of yours is good at deduction, I guess too.”
“I’ve been around a lot of people,” I said. “From all walks of life. Someone who is jealous, or missing a parent is easy to spot.” My gaze fell on a small trinket on her shelf—something military, a medal perhaps, displayed with reverence.
Ashley looked away. “Growing up with them and their stature wasn’t easy,” she admitted. “One time, my brother and I snuck onto the training grounds after dark. He dared me to climb into a parked tank—long story short, it was not parked.”
She had a brother? The way she said it—past tense, with a catch in her voice—made me wonder.
“You accidentally started a tank?” I asked instead of the—where’s your brother question.
<
<
<
“Let’s just say, the base commander wasn’t thrilled with two kids joyriding a military vehicle. My dad grounded us for a month, but my brother got off easier because he said it was all my idea.” Her smile was sad now, heavy with memory. She traced a pattern on the arm of her chair, lost in thought for a moment.
“That explains a lot about us.” I deflected the family talk, sensing her discomfort. “Bold, reckless, and willing to throw pudding—or drive a tank—when provoked.”
“Guess we’re not so different after all.” She looked back at me. “I don’t mean to be jealous.”
“But you are?” I surprised myself by pushing the point. Perhaps I wanted her to admit it again—that I mattered.
“Been a long time since I was in basic training. But those friendships are made to last, they become family.” She stared into her glass, as if the answer lay somewhere in the amber liquid.
“I can’t afford to have family,” I said and poured us both another drink. The words came from somewhere deep, somewhere that still ached when I allowed myself to feel it.
“No one?” Her eyes met mine, searching.
“No one,” I said, and was quite firm over it. I’d tried that road before. Twice, in fact. Both times had ended with me collecting the broken pieces of myself.
“Why?” she asked.
I didn’t really want to talk about it. I swirled the whiskey in my glass, watching it catch the light rather than meeting her gaze.
“Why?” she asked again. Her persistence was both irritating and oddly comforting. Few people bothered to ask twice.
Fuck. “Because family even chosen family will always fuck you over,” I admitted, my fingers tugging on my uniform sleeve. Conscious of it, I forced myself to stop before I pulled a thread out and had to sew it. An old nervous habit from when I was younger—fidgeting with clothing when uncomfortable.
“You’ve been seriously hurt,” Ashley’s face fell, “I’m so sorry.” There was no pity in her eyes, just recognition—as if she understood exactly what I meant.
“My best friend and pregnant girlfriend.” I admitted. The memory still had teeth, still bit when I let my guard down. Walking into our apartment, finding them together, the subsequent revelation that nothing between us had been real—at least not on her side.
I watched her toying with her glass a little before she downed yet another shot, and I followed her example. The burn was welcome now, blunting the edges of the memory.
“You have a kid?” She asked it softly, delicately, as if handling something fragile.
It was the way her eyes held mine. There was nothing but sorrow there. Not judgment or morbid curiosity—just human understanding.
“No,” I replied though it made me uncomfortable. “She’d been cheating on me the whole time. They had.” I looked down at my hands, remembering how they’d shaken that day, how I’d packed my meager belongings while she cried and made excuses. “The baby was his.”
She was nodding softly. “I understand the way you distance yourself, your need to not be attached. Your need to be in space.” Her voice had a wistful quality, as if she recognized herself in my words.
“Good,” I added, and it was a little more snappy than I intended. I regretted it immediately, watching her draw back slightly.
<<15%.>> Doli said.
“I should let this rest tonight,” Ashley said, setting down her glass with careful precision. I’d totally blown it, hadn’t I? “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”
When she stood, she wobbled, “Yes,” I said and watched her sway out. The sudden ending to our conversation left me feeling hollow.
<
<
Doli didn’t say another word.
I put the glasses away, and I thought about leaving. Ashley had me worried, though. I admit I was only just getting to know her, but this felt weirdly out of character. Despite my snappy comment about my ex. I had enjoyed our brief opening up. The whiskey had pulled down walls I usually kept firmly in place, and something about Ashley made me want to peek over those barriers.
Instead of leaving, I pulled a blanket out of the cupboard, and tucking myself in, I settled on her couch for the night. The light from the base outside cast shadows across her living quarters. It was sparse but personal—a few books, that medal, a plant struggling to survive in the artificial light. Small touches of a life carefully constructed.
I’d take the hit when she shouted at me the next morning.
That hit never came. When I woke to the smell of fresh coffee, I glanced toward her kitchen area. Ashley was in a long t-shirt and those same fuzzy slippers, two mugs in hand. She turned to me, and then she padded over. Her hair was tousled from sleep, a softness to her I hadn’t seen before.
“Didn’t want to leave me?” she asked, settling one of the mugs down before me. The question held no accusation, just quiet surprise.
I shook my head. “You okay?”
She crossed her legs, and I got a wonderful shapely view right up to her—
<
<
<
> she replied. <
<
I heard a ping and then there was nothing.
Ashley was nursing her coffee, not drinking it. Her shoulders slumped, and her hair night swept. In the morning light, I could see the redness around her eyes. She’d been crying.
“Are you okay?” I asked again.
She looked up at me. “It was my father’s birthday yesterday,” she admitted. Her thumb, the injured one, absently stroked the handle of her mug, careful not to put too much pressure on it.
“Ahh,” I murmured, feeling like an idiot. Suddenly her behavior made sense—the drinking, the melancholy, the jealousy as distraction.
“It hit me. The alcohol… I—” She cut herself off, shaking her head slightly.
I sipped the coffee. It was good. “Then I’m glad I stayed the night.” I meant it. The nights after significant dates were always the hardest. I’d spent too many alone.
“I got up for water, noted you had. Thank you. It was comforting, you being here.” Her smile was small but genuine, reaching her eyes in a way that made my chest tighten.
“If you ever need—please ask.” The words felt foreign on my tongue. I didn’t offer support easily, didn’t invite people to lean on me. Yet here I was, doing exactly that.
“I’m not used to asking,” she said.
“Neither am I, but maybe you’ll try?” I held her gaze, trying to convey that I meant it.
She drank deeply. “They’ll have recorded your absence from your bunk,” she said. “I’ll have to log you were here.” Her tone shifted to something more professional, more guarded.
“That a bad thing?”
“Oh god, if my father finds out. Yes.” Her voice trembled, that fear was real, immediate.
“Would I be that bad as a—” I let the question hang, not entirely sure how to finish it. Friend? Colleague? Something more?
“No,” she said, “No to that too. He’s… he’s strict, said I could never be involved with a soldier.” Her eyes drifted to that medal again, and I wondered what history lay there.
“I’m not a soldier,” I replied. Technically true, but I suspected her father wouldn’t appreciate the distinction.
<
<
<
<
Doli went quiet. Too quiet.
“So,” I poked Ashley instead. “What would your mother say?”
Ashley laughed. “She’d laugh it off and say it was about damn time I had a man in my room.” The tension in her shoulders eased slightly.
I raised an eyebrow at her. “You’ve had girls here?” The question came out more jealous than I’d intended. Apparently, I wasn’t immune to that particular emotion either.
She didn’t reply to that… damn, so she had?
I laughed, something caught in my throat. I coughed till my head hurt, and Ashley was standing in front of me, patting my back a second later.
Now I got a nice view down the front of her shirt. Damn.
I am glad Doli was off. My heart rate would be through the roof. Ashley had curves that made my head swim. I’d not thought about the opposite sex in a long time. My last relationship had ended badly. The physical attraction I felt toward Ashley scared me almost as much as the emotional connection forming between us.
<
Doli said.
I tried to ignore her.
<
<
“I’m good,” I pushed back, trying my best to look away from her exposed flesh.
<
<
Ashley however, didn’t flinch. Not interested in me at all. Ugh.
“I’ll get dressed and run you to the gym,” she said.
I nodded and while I waited, finished the coffee and cleaned up. My eyes were drawn to where I knew Ashley was.
I can’t get attached. I repeated it to myself like a mantra. Attachment meant vulnerability. Vulnerability meant pain. I’d learned that lesson too well to forget it now.
It was, I feared, already too late for that. Something had shifted between us last night, some invisible barrier had crumbled. I found myself both terrified and exhilarated by the possibility of what might come next, and by the certainty that I was already more invested than was safe.