The new drill bits worked like magic. The right resonance made all the difference, allowing Bram to burrow through to the mineral deposit without causing the facing rock to sheet away, taking him to the bottom of the crevasse. He made several holes before carefully carving out a section of stone so he could shine his helmet light over his find. The scans only told most of the story—size, density, and direction. He wouldn’t know exactly what type of mineral he’d found until he extracted some.
Changing one bit for another, Bram prepared to extract his sample.
He should be checking his lettuces for grubs, or fixing the leak on pump four. The new seeds he wanted to try had been in the order from Maia, along with the filters for this suit. He could be cooking, cleaning, harvesting, preserving, packing. Hell, he could be talking with Gael about how they were going to go about breaking the contract, reworking the contract, figuring Aavi into the contract.
What he needed was this: the deep darkness of the lower crevasse; the cloak of poison mist; a glimmer of something bigger behind a ragged hole in the rock; a rare find, a brighter future.
He could only hide down here for another twenty minutes, though. Even with the anchors he’d set into the rock between ledges, he had to allow enough time for the climb back to the terraces. If only he’d fiddled with the environmental system first. Replaced the damn filters.
Swallowing grumbles both mental and audible, Bram extracted his sample. He pulled out a slim, shiny tube of golden crystal, slipped it into a special case, and tucked it into a thigh pocket. He repeated the process because two samples were better than one. Then he began the slow ascent to the lower terrace, thoughts carefully neutral.
The sun had passed over the top of the crevasse by the time he got back to the farm. The days were long on Alkirak—about thirty Standard hours. Sunlight only reached into the crevasses for ten or so hours, though, making the term day somewhat relative. The nights were long on Alkirak.
Until he’d started farming, Bram had disregarded the terms day and night. Now he usually reserved the sunlit hours for farming and the longer dark for the rest of it, with a nap in the afternoon and proper sleep when everything was done.
He’d skipped his nap periods two days running, with driving to Landing and all, and the lack of rest pulled at his limbs and thoughts as he cleaned and stowed his suit and transferred his samples to a specialized shipping container. He couldn’t test the mineral here, but he could make a couple of guesses. Yellow meant it wasn’t a lot of things. Usually. New planets sometimes meant new rules. What he didn’t know was whether he could discount the possibility that he’d found another cluster of trellacite. A small trellacite deposit would guarantee his future and then some—he’d definitely recoup the cost of Gael’s ticket. But if the vein proved larger than what he’d already mapped, Muedini would probably take it.
A very thin seam ran between what could be personally valuable and what the company considered valuable. He wouldn’t know which side he fell on until he got the mineral tested, though, and as Orfeo would say, without risk, there was little hope for reward.
Fatigue dogging his heels, Bram made his way from the workshop to the rooms he called home. He should head out to check on the faulty pump, and then there was the livestock. Autofeeders were only as reliable as—
What was that smell?
Lifting his chin, Bram followed his nose around the final curve in the tunnel and into the kitchen. Gael stood near the cooking range, actually cooking. Not programming the autochef, but stirring in a pot. Aavi was busy too, setting out silverware and plates on the square table by the wall.
She looked up at his step and showed him a bright, animated smile. “Is this okay? I wasn’t sure if you ate here. There was a lot of stuff piled on the table.”
Which had disappeared. Where had she put it all?
Gael paused whatever he was doing, looking up with an expression Bram couldn’t decipher. Then he turned back to the range, stirring one pot before pushing it aside and reaching for a cloth so he could pull a dish from one of the ovens. He had something simmering on a back burner too, and some greens in a bowl and sliced bread arranged on a plate next to a warming pot of butter.
They’d opened a sack of flour. Never mind that the bread looked amazing—the fact someone had opened one of his precious sacks of flour felt intrusive. Should he have left a list of things not to be touched? And all these other dishes. Had they cooked everything in his stores?
“It’s okay here?” Aavi asked again. She patted the edge of the table in question.
Swallowing a growl, Bram bit off a couple of words. “I’ll, ah, just wash up.”
Leaving his boots by the terrace door, he retreated to the only room that hadn’t been on the tour of the living quarters. He paused in the doorway of his bedroom to absorb the quiet atmosphere of the space, and then got to wondering if they’d been in here while he’d been down the crevasse.
Few of the rooms in his house had doors. It was impractical inside a cave. He’d have had to carve channels into the rock to install sliding doors, and his reasons for not using the swinging kind had made sense when he was excavating the tunnels and rooms that would one day be his home. Bram had compromised by angling rooms that required privacy away from the entryways, almost leaving a small vestibule in the case of the bedrooms. He stood in that space now, checking out his bed, his shelves, and the shallow nook he used as a wardrobe. His quilt lay twisted across the middle of the bed, two pillows pushed up against the wall and two pillows on the floor. Clothes spilled out of the shelving in his wardrobe. Boots formed a loose circle beneath. Cups and squeeze bottles wound their way around a stack of handheld task panes on the nightstand, and what he’d been wearing the day before lay strewn across the floor.
Taking it all in, Bram couldn’t be sure none of it had been disturbed. Why hadn’t he tidied up before going to collect Gael? What would his guests think if they had ducked down that last hallway and checked out his bedroom? Probably that the space reflected the whims of a man who had never had a room to himself, and so rebelled by leaving shit where it lay, cleaning up only when he couldn’t find anything.
Which was never, because he knew where everything was: somewhere.
When Bram returned to the kitchen, Aavi guided him to the table as though seating him in a fancy restaurant. She even pulled out his chair—the one usually reserved for his small projects. What had she done with his carving tools and the puzzles he’d been working on?
“What can I get you to drink?” Aavi asked after spreading a napkin across his lap.
“The beer I opened, Aavi,” Gael said, his voice somewhere between a shout and a whisper.
“Oh, right!” Aavi bounced and went to the cool room. She returned a moment later with a frosted glass and a bottle of his favorite ale. The one he saved for special occasions.
Holy hands, they were . . .
Trying. Despite the rising tide of panic in his chest, Bram guessed they were just as anxious as he was, but had they had to open a bottle of his favorite ale? He counted backward from ten. When he got to one, he had to start again. Now wouldn’t be a good time to lose his temper. Never was a good time for that. In fact, he couldn’t even remember when he’d last let go. It’d probably been at a group of raw recruits who hadn’t cleaned their suit filters properly. Using up some stores wasn’t going to endanger his life.
Bram breathed out.
Gael started carrying dishes to the table. A large serving bowl of rice and another of a chunky stew that smelled so good, Bram’s stomach tried to crawl out of his belly and onto the table. Gael gave the third pot on the range another quick stir. Aavi set out glasses of water for herself and Gael, and claimed the seat next to Bram. Gael hesitated behind the back of his chair, across from Bram, before pulling it out and sitting down gingerly, as though he expected to be sent away.
Aavi was reaching for the spoon sticking out of the rice when Gael cleared his throat, folded his hands, and bowed his head. He didn’t say anything out loud, but the gesture was familiar enough.
Putting his hands together, Bram bowed his head and offered a quick prayer to anyone who might listen for some strength and perseverance. And patience. And maybe a little understanding. His thoughts wandered after that, and he’d just gotten to wondering where they’d stacked his almanacs and tools, when Gael murmured a soft “Amen.”
When Bram looked up, Gael again wore the shy smile. It was a sweet expression and one Bram could get used to. If Gael stayed.
Aavi hoisted the platter of bread with both hands. “Have some! Gael made it!” She held the plate out. “He cooked everything but the greens. I did them.” She set the bread down only to push the bowl into his plate. “Try them.”
“All smells good,” Bram said, cutting a sideways glance toward Gael, who was still wearing his small smile and blushing mighty attractively.
“It’ll all store well,” Gael said, his voice quiet. “I made enough for a few days. I figured that’s what you did. You had a lot of frozen stuff. But I thought something . . . I wanted to make you something fresh. Tonight. To say thank you.”
Dust. Not altogether sensible given the amount of food Bram already had stored, but nice.
“’Preciate it,” Bram murmured, helping himself to rice, stew, greens, bread, and butter.
Though the smell could have been deceiving, the stew was as good as promised. Soy protein—a staple on any colony world—vegetables, and a rich broth that teased with hints of unfamiliar spice beneath the cumin and pepper Bram was used to.
“Where’d you disappear to?” Aavi asked around a mouthful of bread.
Not used to being addressed over dinner—or having company at dinner—Bram chewed thoughtfully and swallowed. “I got a small claim down in the crevasse.”
“Like for a mine? What’s it for? Gold? I read that’s rare here. Iron is Alkirak’s biggest export, followed by . . .” Aavi continued to list ores and minerals between mouthfuls with the solemnity of a student reciting a lesson. Where had she learned all of this? And why? Bram darted a glance toward Gael and saw he seemed as taken aback.
After finishing her list, Aavi segued into the colonization efforts of the Muedini Corporation, and how someone could apply for a claim on Alkirak. She was up to the homesteading rules by the time Bram finished his plate of stew. His belly was satisfied and his ears were exhausted.
“Do you want seconds?” Aavi asked, apparently aware enough of her surroundings to have noticed his empty plate.
She’d helped herself to seconds and thirds. Gael had only had one small serving. Bram gestured toward the bowls, inviting Gael to have more. He was way too skinny.
“No, I’m good.” Gael backed up his seat. “I can start clearing if you’re done.”
Aavi popped out of her chair. “No, I’ll clear. You do the dessert, Gael.” She beamed at Bram. “He made it just for you!”
Bram squirmed in his seat.
Gael fetched the last pot from the range and started fussing with some bowls on the counter. Then he brought one over and set it down in front of Bram. “I’m sorry we hydrated a cube of fruit, but you had fresh eggs and I wanted to try to make custard because I had it once and it was about the best thing I ever ate. With fruit. We don’t really get fruit on Zhemosen. Well, people do, but, ah, not us.”
Fruit and custard. Not Bram’s idea of a five-star dessert, but the expressions on Gael’s and Aavi’s faces suggested it was close to a miracle.
“Well, let’s all sit down, then,” Bram said, gesturing to their places.
They sat to dessert and ate in silence. Aavi inhaled her fruit—Bram couldn’t see the sides of her mouth moving at all. She hadn’t stopped to chew a single bite. Gael, on the other hand, ate as though the fruit and custard were his last meal. He chewed and sucked the life out of every morsel and might have licked the bowl if left alone.
Bram nearly encouraged him to do it until he found himself daydreaming about what Gael’s tongue might look like moving around the rim of the bowl. Swallowing quickly, he turned his attention back to his own dessert.
Aavi picked up her lesson on the history of Alkirak, jolting Bram’s thoughts in myriad different directions. He split his attention between her and the quieter Gael, who even in repose was a beautiful man. So sweetly featured, so restful to look at and be with. Even his small smiles lit his face like the sun he revered, and when he chuckled at Aavi’s recitation of the various creatures that miners imagined lived deep in the crevasses, Bram’s heart jumped a little.
Aavi spoke until her voice wound down and she had one arm folded along the edge of the table, her head drooped toward it. Then she was asleep, the silence both stunning and profound.
Bram looked at Gael, who was watching Aavi sleep, his expression odd. Not wholly unreadable, but almost too much to absorb. Confusion warred with the sort of exhaustion a single nap couldn’t fix. Fear fought against the same fatigue. But underneath it all, traveling along set lines of his jaw and brow, was fierce determination.
He glanced at Bram, and that determination burned brightly. Something had damn near worn Gael out, but he’d keep going if he had to. For Aavi? That would make the most sense, but Bram had a feeling there was more to it.
Gael carried Aavi to their room, draped over his shoulder like a sack of rice. She bounced and snored and it was kind of cute if he ignored the buzz in his ears left by the absence of her voice. The girl could talk. And talk.
Her idea to make dinner seemed to have worked out, though. Bram had eaten everything, so he must have liked the food. Then again, Gael would eat the worst-tasting crap in the galaxy if offered, because turning down food was stupid.
He tucked Aavi in and spent a moment studying her sleeping face. She looked nothing like his brother. Or him. Surely Bram didn’t really believe she was his sister? But she did have the innocence of youth. Mobile features that could cycle from shock to elation in ten seconds flat. From mischief to melancholy.
Who was she?
Shaking his head, Gael left the room. He stuck his hands in his pockets and strolled back toward the kitchen to check he’d put everything away properly. Wouldn’t do to inconvenience his host.
Bram was bent over the beverage maker. He straightened and the scent of coffee drifted into the air. Gael stood in the doorway a moment, wondering if he should retreat, leaving Bram to enjoy the rest of his evening in peace. He hadn’t said a lot at dinner. While that could have been Aavi’s fault, he sort of thought Bram didn’t often say much.
Bram glanced in his direction.
“I was just—”
“Do you want—”
Gael gestured Bram to continue.
“Do you want some coffee? I, ah, usually have a cup after dinner. Sit and watch something for a bit.” He scratched the side of his face. “Well, I usually do more work, but after the drive, I might take the night off.”
“Oh. I can . . .” Gael pointed back over his shoulder, indicating he could leave if Bram needed some alone time.
“Coffee?” Bram asked again.
“Okay. If it’s no trouble.”
Bram shrugged and turned back to the machine burbling quietly on the counter. He pulled a couple of mugs down from the shelf and started filling them. When both steamed, he nodded toward the adjoining room, the one Aavi had referred to in hushed tones as the entertainment room. It had a sofa and an HV console. Just that. Well, and shelves with real books on them—who collected real books?—and a low table in front of the sofa. Gael was more used to rooms that served triple purposes, though.
Gael followed him through.
Bram dropped onto the couch with practiced ease, aiming for a spot where the cushions had acquired a natural dent. Gael studied the rest of the cushions, wondering if he should sit at the other end, or close to Bram, or somewhere near the middle. Would things have been this awkward if Aavi hadn’t popped out of a locker at the shuttle port? Closing his eyes, Gael drew in a quick, tight breath, and searched for the right mood. For who he needed to be in this moment.
He sat close enough to Bram to be companionable without crowding him. If Aavi chose to join them, she could fit in between—at a squeeze. Bram didn’t appear alarmed or surprised by his proximity. He didn’t shuffle away; nor did he give out come-closer vibes.
“So, I don’t know what the situation with Aavi is, but she ain’t afraid of you. That’s something,” Bram said.
Gael swallowed. Here we go. “I . . .” Don’t know what to say.
“I guess we’ll have to talk about it, at some point.” Bram’s now habitual shrug stood in as punctuation. “But I’m too tired tonight. How ’bout we just watch a holo?”
“A holo?” Gael repeated.
“I like biographies. But maybe something less thinky? What kind of HVs do you usually watch?”
So not what he’d expected.
“Ah, um, I never really . . .” Was he ever going to figure out how to finish a sentence in Bram’s presence? “Anything is fine.” He and Loic had snuck into theaters sometimes when they were boys. Loic’s favorite HVs had always been adventure stories.
Bram had activated the display and was scrolling through menus. “Have you seen Pirates of the Nexus?”
A lump formed in Gael’s throat. “No.”
Bram’s eyebrows drew down. “In our few messages you weren’t all that forthcoming about your life on Zhemosen. I’m beginning to understand why. Maybe. We might have to talk about that at some point too.”
What can I say that won’t dig a deeper hole? “I wanted to come here, Bram.”
“That I believe.”
“I meant what I said at the shuttle port. I’ll sell the locker. Get work with Maia. We can be out of here as soon as you need us to be. Until then, we’ll work hard. Both of us. Earn our keep. I can cook. Clean. Help with the farm. Other things.” His cheeks warmed. “Whatever you need me to do.”
“I didn’t bring you all the way out here to pick up after me.”
“I know.” Gael glanced down at his hands, then without thinking too much on it, shuffled his hip closer to Bram’s, reducing the space between them by maybe half an Aavi.
“I didn’t bring you all the way out here for that, either.” Bram’s breath made warm little puffs against the side of his face.
He didn’t lean in or away.
Gael turned to look at him, lifting his gaze to study the square line of Bram’s jaw—peppered with ruddy-blond stubble—the sensuous line of his lips, his nose, his dark-blue eyes, and his straight, sensible eyebrows. For a moment, Bram resembled his picture, exactly. Then his perception shifted, and once again Gael confronted the fact that he was here, on the other side of the galaxy, with a man he’d tried not to fantasize over. Abraham Bauer was a real person. Warm, quiet, practical. Nice. Apparently quite reasonable.
And Bram still wasn’t leaning away.
Gael wondered how he measured up. Did Bram find him attractive? Had he been excited to meet him? What exactly had Bram been looking for in a companion? How had they never pinned that down?
“Maybe we should talk about what you were expecting, then?” Gael prompted.
“How ’bout if we just see how it all shakes out?” Bram said, his words another brush of air across Gael’s cheek.
“You mean stay? But you don’t really know me. Or Aavi.”
“I know more now than I did thirty hours ago.”
The closeness was sending hot prickles of awareness into Gael’s skin. The quiet conversation, the scent of Bram’s words. Slightly crowded, Gael leaned away. He ducked his head so he couldn’t see Bram’s expression as he did so. Instead, he concentrated on fitting his back to the sofa cushions. Settling in. Call it practice for what he’d have to do here, on Alkirak, for the next however many days or weeks.
Bram shifted beside him and handed over a mug, then spoke a soft command and the HV started.
Sitting with Bram wasn’t the same as seeing the sun. The joy started slowly, more carefully. The warmth of the mug in Gael’s fingers seeped upward, and the warmth of Bram next to him crept inward. The simplicity of doing nothing but watching an HV. The lack of conversation—because it wasn’t necessary.
Neither he nor Bram moved, but by the time the credits rolled, the gap between them seemed to have narrowed. Was this why he was here? For simple companionship? The terms of their contract specified all kinds of things. Physical things. Bram didn’t seem to be in a hurry, though, and for once, Gael didn’t mind. Maybe he could learn to smile properly by the time they got around to more.
Maybe he’d even enjoy it.