his lip in an argument about whether keeping the name of every last man, woman, and child on the colony was a sacred trust.
Anderson’s lip and nose had been pouring blood, and still, he’d insisted that it was. Alpha knocked his head against the wall and then stalked out, but Anderson remained convinced that one was a win.
When they reached the point of deleting their least favorite videos (but the ones Anderson was sure his mother would have liked) Alpha was greeting Anderson at the door by throwing him on the bed, yanking his pants down, and taking him forcefully, sometimes painfully, and never by asking for his consent.
About the time they reached the archives for the colonists themselves, Alpha’s hands made their first circle around Anderson’s throat during sex. That had been nearly a year before they found the space station at the Hermes-Eight system.
And now, after a day of celebration and a joyful use of the much-hoarded energy reserves, Anderson was afraid to walk into his sleep quarters with the man who had been built to love him.
But the fear had never stopped him before.
He walked into their small house—they’d put it close to the biosphere in the holo-design, so it had been like they’d grown up and taken jobs, instead of like they’d been forced into a smaller bubble of reality—and then into his and Alpha’s room.
The room itself was… it was pretty. He kept a picture of his family there on his old school tablet, in spite of Alpha’s protests, and looked at them every day and said their names. His mother, Caitlin, with the fine blonde hair and brown eyes and a smile that seemed to stretch her narrow face. His father, James, who had Anderson’s fair hair, brown eyes, and a slyer, more grave smile, but a fond look as he gazed at his children.
The tablet held more than just the picture, but the picture itself was special. It had been taken the day Anderson had turned twelve. He was smiling in real, honest-to-God sunshine, and Melody was trying to shove cake down his face. Baby Mandy had two fists full of cake and frosting and was coming to plaster it on Anderson’s pants, and Jen was stomping her foot and yelling at everyone to act their age. Their parents were laughing at their antics. A family friend had taken the picture, and when Anderson had found it in the archives, he had sacrificed a day’s worth of power for the food synthesizer to call it up in the highest number of pixels. There was grass beneath their feet, and the sun on their faces, and glee and joy and love….
None of them had known how wonderful that moment had been, but Anderson knew now.
He’d painted the walls of this room gold, like sunshine, and made the carpet a deep green. There was a big window next to the same bed he’d made out of cannibalized ship parts, because nothing went to waste, and the window looked out on the biosphere park, so the view was pretty. There was sun during the day, of course, and grass, just like the colors in the room. Anderson wondered if he was getting the colors right—would he even remember real sun and grass anymore if he saw them? The cover on the queen-sized cot was real, taken from the stores, so it was a grim, all-purpose gray. He folded the cover at the bottom of the black-vinyl-covered cot and focused on the pictures on the walls instead.
He had a few pictures left—some more of his family, one of Bren that he’d found in the archives as well, and a picture of all of them, Anderson, Kate, Bobby, Henry, Risa, and Alpha that had been taken at the beginning, when they were all playing at love and the health and hygiene files had been the best game ever invented.
Alpha was sitting in a chair by their small workstation table, studying figures from a tablet, as Anderson walked in, and a folk-singer from his colony that Anderson had particularly adored began to sing over the intercom for the nightly recording session.
“You spent energy making a hail out into space today,”
Anderson’s lip and nose had been pouring blood, and still, he’d insisted that it was. Alpha knocked his head against the wall and then stalked out, but Anderson remained convinced that one was a win.
When they reached the point of deleting their least favorite videos (but the ones Anderson was sure his mother would have liked) Alpha was greeting Anderson at the door by throwing him on the bed, yanking his pants down, and taking him forcefully, sometimes painfully, and never by asking for his consent.
About the time they reached the archives for the colonists themselves, Alpha’s hands made their first circle around Anderson’s throat during sex. That had been nearly a year before they found the space station at the Hermes-Eight system.
And now, after a day of celebration and a joyful use of the much-hoarded energy reserves, Anderson was afraid to walk into his sleep quarters with the man who had been built to love him.
But the fear had never stopped him before.
He walked into their small house—they’d put it close to the biosphere in the holo-design, so it had been like they’d grown up and taken jobs, instead of like they’d been forced into a smaller bubble of reality—and then into his and Alpha’s room.
The room itself was… it was pretty. He kept a picture of his family there on his old school tablet, in spite of Alpha’s protests, and looked at them every day and said their names. His mother, Caitlin, with the fine blonde hair and brown eyes and a smile that seemed to stretch her narrow face. His father, James, who had Anderson’s fair hair, brown eyes, and a slyer, more grave smile, but a fond look as he gazed at his children.
The tablet held more than just the picture, but the picture itself was special. It had been taken the day Anderson had turned twelve. He was smiling in real, honest-to-God sunshine, and Melody was trying to shove cake down his face. Baby Mandy had two fists full of cake and frosting and was coming to plaster it on Anderson’s pants, and Jen was stomping her foot and yelling at everyone to act their age. Their parents were laughing at their antics. A family friend had taken the picture, and when Anderson had found it in the archives, he had sacrificed a day’s worth of power for the food synthesizer to call it up in the highest number of pixels. There was grass beneath their feet, and the sun on their faces, and glee and joy and love….
None of them had known how wonderful that moment had been, but Anderson knew now.
He’d painted the walls of this room gold, like sunshine, and made the carpet a deep green. There was a big window next to the same bed he’d made out of cannibalized ship parts, because nothing went to waste, and the window looked out on the biosphere park, so the view was pretty. There was sun during the day, of course, and grass, just like the colors in the room. Anderson wondered if he was getting the colors right—would he even remember real sun and grass anymore if he saw them? The cover on the queen-sized cot was real, taken from the stores, so it was a grim, all-purpose gray. He folded the cover at the bottom of the black-vinyl-covered cot and focused on the pictures on the walls instead.
He had a few pictures left—some more of his family, one of Bren that he’d found in the archives as well, and a picture of all of them, Anderson, Kate, Bobby, Henry, Risa, and Alpha that had been taken at the beginning, when they were all playing at love and the health and hygiene files had been the best game ever invented.
Alpha was sitting in a chair by their small workstation table, studying figures from a tablet, as Anderson walked in, and a folk-singer from his colony that Anderson had particularly adored began to sing over the intercom for the nightly recording session.
“You spent energy making a hail out into space today,”
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