"Were her lips soft, Ema?" Io covered her mouth and stifled a giggle as she led Ema past the other classes' dorms—their own footsteps clicking alone in the darkened corridor. "Would you do it again?"

  "Ugh, don't remind me... I really wanna forget that happened." Ema palmed her forehead, her shoulders sulking. She was still wobbly on her feet. Whatever Lin had done to her and Diane would take a minute to wear off. You had to admit, it was a pragmatic way to diffuse a boilover of bad blood—like dunking both of them in cold water and parading them around naked. They still hated each other, but at least the others wouldn't get any ideas.

  "Oh, watch out." Io pulled her out of the way of a danger-orange maintenance cart trundling between the marble orders, yellow strobes sweeping over the two as it passed. The engineer gave them a mean stare as she stood on the throttle.

  "T... Thanks," Ema said, rubbing her arm plaintively.

  For better or worse, the two got a closer look at each other in the silence. Ema's annoyance faded for an instant as she met Io's eyes, and noticed that the girl who'd been laughing at her had maybe been forcing herself a little.

  "...Crap." Ema turned away, towards the receding cart. She touched the back of her head guardedly. "We're really in it now, huh."

  It used to be that other people (well, schoolchildren) would come to Io for help—before she grasped the general backhandedness of politics on the Zeb, and stopped being the precocious little pilot who was a kind of trophy to the Guard. Before she'd elected Marat her father.

  One time in aquaculture class, she saw the other kids pour a live pumpkinseed down Melchizedek's collar. The small, quiet boy only needed to give her one pleading look before she whipped out a small truncheon she'd gotten from Tallulah when she was still in the Guard, then clocked the biggest, meanest looking bully in the forehead. She hadn't planned any further than that. Mel grabbed her hand and the two bolted down the corridor, nearly knocking over a woman lugging a tray of salted sprat.

  The two of them weren't fast enough to outrun the bigger boys, but what they did have was the code to one of the side doors into the Hall of the Founders, creeping out behind the jute curtain—apparently Mel saw one of his dads open it once. A faint soup of incense had penetrated the weave over the years' rituals. It had since became their secret hideout, at least when there wasn't a function.

  While they waited for class to be over, Io and Melchizedek would climb a towering carving of the Serpent at the far end of the hall, which coiled around a smaller version of itself and at the center became vanishingly small. She'd heard the vault was tall enough to have its own weather system; while they'd never seen any clouds, the two children found the summit a little chilly in their pressed kombucha dresses, the color and transparency of black tea. Her heart still thumped from the effort of climbing as she adjusted herself on the cool marble scales. They looked at each other and grinned.

  "Look, down there." Mel touched her hand. "You ever seen that kid before?"

  Io shook her head. From her perch atop the head, she saw a girl about her age wandering about the quiet Hall as if lost. Neither of them had heard her enter. She walked in a stilted and halting manner—not quite like an invalid, but someone who'd been raised exclusively around them.

  They reached a wordless agreement that the girl was suspect. The two children slid down the stone serpent and scampered up to the interloper, trying to look large. Io realized she was still carrying her truncheon and tucked it bashfully behind her back.

  "What are you doing here?" Mel grilled her, his hands on his hips.

  "Hmm..."

  The girl's face hardly moved. She didn't even look at Mel, her eyes instead moving over the lanterns on the wall and tapping the air as if counting them. Her hair was long and poorly-kept. Her neck came out of a scuffed ripstop tunic that seemed cut from a heavy container tarp—definitely an Outsider. The goose from a freight company's logo flew decapitated into her hem, just above where her toes curled in machined acrylic clogs.

  "Do you have any robots," she said at last. "I would like to talk to them."

  Was that a question? She used the question particle but stuck to the first tone. Was this how they spoke in the Huang?

  Io scratched her head. "I've never heard of a robot that can talk. You, Mel?"

  "Nah."

  "How old are you?" Io asked.

  "Thirteen." A year older.

  "What's your name?"

  The girl stroked her chin. "Thirteen. The Thirteenfth." She seemed to struggle with the ordinal, but she struggled with most of her words.

  That couldn't be right. What a weird name. Outsiders were weird.

  "Ro.. Robot?" Thirteen pointed at the statue behind them, her eyes suddenly focused and sparkling.

  "Not robot." Io corrected, propping her hands on her hips.

  "Then what?"

  "Let me explain!"

  "—Ok," the girl said.

  "—This is the Ark of Alabaster. It allows the Elders to speak to the spirits of the Seven Founders!"

  "Access?" Thirteen tilted her head. "Computer?"

  "No!" Io tutted. "Alabaster!"

  "Allocation. Big computer..." Thirteen made strange spidering motions with her fingers, as if fingering a keyboard that wasn't there. "Wanna play with it."

  "You can't play with the Ark. It's very important—"

  Suddenly, Io heard the footfalls of a certain pair of clogs coming up behind her. Mel turned pale too, and the two children huddled together in fear.

  "Fuck, there you are. Little shit."

  Captain Tallulah appeared from the corridor and scooped the strange girl up in her arm. Her back was still good at this point, but her typically shaven hair had started to grow into a salt-and-pepper mat, which suggested she'd been up to her neck in work. Her scowl was accordingly mean.

  "Negotiations are over," Tallulah croaked. "It's time for you to go home."

  "Mwehh. Cancel. Abort." The girl in the truck tarp let out a noise like a deflated balloon as she wriggled in Tallulah's arms.

  "Io, Melchizedek, you're not supposed to be here either. Don't you two have school?"

  "S...School's boring." Io stuffed her hands on her hips and pouted. "Anyway," she grinned, "If you wanna see a robot, go to Engineering."

  "Engineering," the strange girl tasted the word. "Thankful." Her mouth was a small 'O', the closest thing she'd shown so far to an expression. She punched Tallulah in the shoulder as if she were a broken cathode ray tube. "Engineering. Go. Move. Request. Command. Go. Stupid. Go. Go."

  "Well I... suppose we can..." Tallulah sighed. She glared daggers at Io. "Your mother will hear about this."

  "I'd hope so." Io met her eyes. "A shoulder to cry on. A push in the right direction. That's what the Guard is. Right, Mel?"

  The boy nodded. "Right."

  "...You're not wrong," Tallulah said, lugging the girl. "But it can take a lot out of you, and the world won't always give back. Take it from a pro."

  Io didn't know how to do something like that again. She'd had a small window when she arrived maybe, but it felt too late to make friends now—when she needed them. She and Ema were broadly alone in the kitchenette of 1-H. Someone was recording a last message for her family in the corridor—I hope you're doing well, Oma. I killed two people and I'm not sure when I'll be back.

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  "Can we go to your room," Io ventured.

  Ema looked left and right, then crept to her feet and shrugged noncommittally. Maybe Io was making her uncomfortable—or the more rote explanation was that Ema remembered that Io had fired a warning shot at her over Tyumen, and was weighing her options.

  Ema screwed the pod door shut over the circular portal behind them. It was rather more lived-in than Io's, with about a suitcase worth of local souvenirs hung up on the bedposts and scattered over the study table, a flash of color against the baby-blue nonwoven sheets. Little embroidered mats from Calcutta, a doily from Xiaguan, a miniature coffee balance of the Aurigan type.

  Ema's favourite plush automaton took up most of one corner, its rectangular head grinning blankly. If this pod had been installed outdoors, it would've been blocking a view out the window—but Io knew there was nothing there but trusses and labeled ducts.

  "You, um, feeling alright, buddy?" Ema said, tapping the bed beside her with evasive eyes.

  "I don't know." Io shuffled on the lip of the bed. "I think Diane saved my life."

  "Yeah, I dunno about that." Ema clicked her teeth and stared ahead. It seemed like a sore spot for her.

  "It was close." Close calls were routine, but that wasn't like an accident. Io felt like she'd been tested, and if she'd made any more mistakes than she did, she wouldn't be alive.

  "I'm kinda sorry for shooting at you," she added, finally gathering the resolve to really look Ema in the eyes.

  "Um."

  Ema had changed into a black knit sweater beforehand, her long brown hair freshly blown after a shower. Hunched over on the mattress, everything sagged to her navel without the support of a bra. It looked like a lot to lug around. Io vaguely remembered a piece of advice from Tallulah, that girls like this liked it when you massaged their shoulders, and reached out to touch them.

  The instant she made contact, Ema scooted away until she was at the far end of the bedframe, so fast she literally blinked and missed it. It seemed like the chubby girl was capable of surprising bursts of speed when intimidated.

  "...D...Don't be." Ema's cheeks flushed, her body still crushed into the corner. "You knew what you were doing. That guy would've picked somebody off if we'd followed you."

  "I maybe thought you'd want a shoulder rub after getting thrown."

  "Oh." The girl's eyes widened. "Ohhhhhhh."

  She clutched her hand over her sternum and exhaled. "I just need to um, prepare myself. Could you pour that cup of coffee out from the balance."

  Io's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "...If you say so, Ema."

  The Aurigan on the desk was a needlessly complicated machine with a little governor and two separate chambers floating on a common fulcrum. Decanting was about the only intuitive operation. There was only enough black blood to fill a single demitasse.

  Out the corner of her eye, she found herself drawn to a small black disk weighing down a stack of boyish military periodicals. The carving looked somehow familiar. As she walked over to the desk, she recognized the motif of the Serpent coiling around itself, smaller and smaller until its tail vanished to nothing.

  "Is this carving from the Zebulon?" Io raised it to the artificial light.

  Ema glanced left and right. She probably wasn't expecting to be quizzed on something she had on her desk—this was Io's fault, entirely. But after a moment, something occurred to her and she smiled gently.

  "...You asked me where I learned to fly." Ema accepted the demitasse and blew air over the lip as she waited for it to cool. "I had a mentor. He's the one who taught me how to fly an Arrowhead. We used to travel around the Outer Huang looking for odd jobs, and he'd always get me these little regional souvenirs; this one's probably just tack from a local market."

  "It's called the Ark of Alabaster. They say the Seven Founders made it to commemorate the end of a big feud between the tribes." Io turned it about in her hands. The black disk felt warm and rubbery to the touch; likely cast latex, with a hideous ridge of untrimmed flash around the rim. "Or at least a pretty bad copy. The real thing's a kind of dirty white color."

  She sighed, trying to remember what it looked like.

  "The real thing was stolen from the ship when I was a little girl—but in the end, even that one was just a piece of tack. We didn't end up needing it after all, and the thieves were probably just after the money."

  "Don't say that." Ema's lips quivered all of a sudden, and she placed a hand on Io's. "I'm sure it meant a lot to you guys."

  "I know. I know! It's just..."

  Was it right to say that she thought it was all superstition? She remembered the scrolls that Tallulah had given her. What would they think if the drifters couldn't even send a real believer?

  "I just... Dunno if I believe any of it." She sulked.

  Ema didn't say anything. She just squeezed Io's shoulder and frowned sympathetically. The way her jaw tensed suggested she wanted to say something, but didn't feel close enough, or just thought better of it. Come on, it was better to just spit it out.

  "...I was supposed to be rubbing your shoulders." Io realized, pouting.

  Ema suddenly gulped. This was the closest their faces had actually come. She squeezed her eyes in panic and before long, she'd grabbed both of Io's shoulders and wrestled her down to the bed.

  Io's mouth hung open in surprise. Ema's soft hands felt heavy on her wrists. The girl usually put on an air of affected cool or fiery anger, but her green eyes had a plaintive resting expression, like she was seeking comfort from something chasing her.

  They stared at each other for a while. Io didn't enjoy locking eyes with people. She appreciated that people normally did, and that a good stare could sometimes send a message, but it was something each of her parents had to force her to do against discomfort.

  They were not having a conversation. This was something else.

  "Io. I wanna tell you something." Ema took forever saying this.

  "W...Well, spit it out."

  "I put your name in the hat for class president."

  Io blinked. She felt her face burning at the idea that this was about anything else. But then, why was Ema still pinning her to the bed?

  "Why?"

  "I... dunno if you're a good class prez, necessarily, but if you can teach everyone to fly like that..."

  "Do you know who's in the lead?" Io asked. Her lips felt chapped somehow. What would Ema think if she licked them right now?

  "Remy has the most votes, but she said she doesn't want it."

  "That's weird." Io whispered. She couldn't think of what that sentence meant. "Remy's kind of weird."

  "Remy's cute. You're..."

  Ema barely blinked as she said this. Was she even thinking of the wheelchair-bound girl, or simply free associating on the equation that 'girls = cute'? Io hadn't put two and two together the last time, but she felt stupid in hindsight. The other day, when Ema told her to put some clothes on, she'd thought Ema might be a prude—but it was more likely she was self-conscious of her reaction to seeing Io's bare shoulders.

  Io had stopped behaving that way since when she was very young. Eventually, she'd gotten used to sharing a bath with girls her age. As long as she didn't look too hard, she wouldn't get feelings she didn't want.

  And if she had to touch herself later, she tried not to think of a face she knew. She thought about bodies, flesh, shoulders, breasts, speckled with water. She didn't want to imagine their fingers lacing, or their breath on her neck, because then it seemed reciprocal and possible, when it clearly was not.

  In all these things Io felt like a wolf in sheep's clothing; even her hair was the same lupine grey. But she would be a good wolf. The kind who first came in from the cold and begged for food beside the fire, the ancestor of the dog.

  Based on Ema's background, she may have managed to avoid getting particularly close to girls in her day-to-day life. It wasn't clear that she could control herself in the same way.

  "Are you warm, buddy?"

  "A little," Io gulped. Her back tensed and she wriggled slightly in her hoodie. "Did you lock the door?"

  "Mmm." Ema glanced to the side. "I did."

  Oh no. Io felt butterflies in her stomach. This wasn't good; they barely knew each other.

  Ema's weight sank into her as she curled a finger under the hem of Io's hoodie. The bigger girl wasn't wearing a bra, so the huge, soft heat spread and melted over Io's chest. Her heart raced. She couldn't help but gird her fingers behind Ema's back, where the fat folded into gentle piles. Io felt giddy, frankly lightheaded. Her nape itched. It was too hot under the bigger girl. If her clothes stayed on, she might die.

  "Tummy," Ema said, her lips ajar with fascination. Her fingers felt feverish as they explored Io's flanks, kneading them like dough. "You were hiding something like this under there..."

  "...it's not what it looks like." Io reddened, looking away. "I, um..."

  Io's own body was narrow-boned, widest at the waist—she'd never round as elegantly as Ema, instead folding accordion-like around her middle. Soon Ema's hand traced the hard ridge of bone where the fat spilled above Io's hips, her iliac crest, lingering gently. The feeling of being explored like this... There was a part that wished Ema were bolder, but she found herself touching Ema in the same parts—the worst ones, the weight of their decadence. She wondered if Ema's face was as soft as it looked.

  "I've never done anything like this before," Io whispered.

  "Me neith—"

  There was a forceful blow on the door. Fuck. Io felt her soul leave her body. Ema went completely pale.

  "Emaaaaa." A voice she recognized as one Fredda Nous squawked from the door. "There's this girl from another class in the common room, she wants to know where you are."

  Ema blinked. As the color returned to her face, her eyelid twitched with annoyance. "In the middle of somethiiiing," she hollered.

  "She says she wants to kill you!"

  Io felt Ema's weight disappear as she shuffled off the bed, checking that she still had her sweater on. Worth checking, she supposed, after they'd undressed each other in their heads.

  "The fuck? Why did you even let her in?" Ema whined.

  ''First she just wanted some help with her luggage and then she wanted to kill you."

  Io gestured with her eyes, 'go.' She scanned the darkened bedroom for a place to hide. There, behind the plush automaton in the corner. She made herself small but couldn't help but notice that the nape of its neck smelled sweet and foul. Had Ema been sucking on it like a shirt collar?

  She watched Ema and Fredda argue in the bright corridor before they shut the door and left.

  When she was sure the two of them were gone, Io stuck her head out the portal and glanced up and down the corridor. Calm down, it's not that weird to visit another girl's bedroom (it was probably a bigger problem if you managed to avoid it), but then again it had been weird. Io was still walking a little funny. They'd fucking know. What if that was against the rules?

  Okay, calm down. Breathe. 3.142... Io recited the digits of Pi in her head and headed for the kitchenette. Some tea wouldn't go amiss; if she found Remy she'd chip a couple candareens off Tallulah's cake and congratulate her on making class president. If Ema was indisposed she might go back to her room and masturbate. Maybe they'd have another chance tomorrow.

  That's when she heard a voice she thought she'd never hear again.