It took Gael about four days to figure out that Bram didn’t really need any help on the farm. Alkirak wasn’t a technologically advanced colony planet, but even though Bram filled his days with a lot of manual labor, what he mostly did was maintain the machines that tended his farm. That kept him busy, but didn’t require two of them. Bram spent the other hours he was awake on what he called his projects: trying new seeds, experimenting with hybrid crops, charting weather patterns, testing the soil, and carving puzzles out of interesting rocks he found.
Of an evening, he relaxed with a book—sometimes one of his own making, though he was quick to tuck that one under his thigh if someone happened by. Otherwise he watched history programs on the HV. The most surprising thing about him was that he was messy. Left his stuff everywhere. He kept a pretty strict routine, but it was easy to tell he’d been alone for a long, long time. Probably a lot longer than his couple of years homesteading.
What Gael couldn’t figure out was why.
His tenth morning at the farm, Gael woke to a tingle of excitement. Another night had passed without a nightmare, and the air pressing down on him had a friendly aspect, as if to say, Today is going to be a good day.
He glanced at his Band, though it would tell him nothing but the time, and not even the local time. The thing was too cheap to sync with the Alkirak satellites, and he had no idea if he could update it manually. It had become nothing more than decoration, and not a particularly attractive one. But he kept it. The bracelet was his mark of galactic citizenship, and he was still grappling with the idea of being “real.”
Idly, he wondered if Aavi’s Band had synced with Alkirak Orbital, or the single local satellite. A knot of dread moved through his insides, landing in his stomach. Sun, why hadn’t he thought of that before?
As though wakened by the prickle of alarm, Aavi rolled over and curled into his shoulder. Loic had never curled against him, but Gael had cuddled up to his brother plenty of times. He missed that. Being close to another being. He glanced over and Aavi yawned.
“Is anyone going to be looking for you?” Gael asked.
She blinked sleepily. “No.”
“What about your family?”
Aavi rolled away. “Don’t have one.”
He knew how that felt.
The sense of unease traveled into the kitchen with him, however. Spying one of Bram’s handheld task panes, Gael considered doing a little poking around. Besides his concern for Aavi, he worried after Price, but didn’t want to burst the bubble of happiness he’d found in perhaps the unlikeliest place in the galaxy.
He picked up the handheld, activated the display, and waited for the holo to stabilize before checking for a signal. It was weak. Alkirak Orbital acted like a comm beacon for about a quarter of the planet and an auxiliary satellite covered the rest, meaning they got a signal twice a day for an hour or so, and the strength of it depended on the weather north of the farm.
He’d have to be quick.
Gael had Price’s name half pecked out on the virtual keyboard when it occurred to him that such a direct query might not be the best angle. He wiped the letters away and tried District Twenty-Eight. Apparently Zhemosen wasn’t the only city to host numbered districts. After narrowing his search, he began scanning headlines for any mention of, well, anything. He hadn’t dared try this aboard the freightliner. Even now, his palms sweated and his heartbeat flickered at the back of his throat.
“What’re you looking at?” Aavi asked.
Gael jumped high enough to bump his knees on the underside of the table. Then the kitchen door slid open. Gael swung around to see Bram standing there, frowning at the scrubbed circle of stone where his boots had been. “Where’re my boots?”
“I cleaned them up for you!” Aavi announced brightly.
Gael waved his hands through the display, dismissing his query, and glanced over his shoulder. Bram looked put out.
“I’m sorry I didn’t ask—”
“I don’t care if you use a task pane, Gael. I just want to know where my good boots are.”
Aavi disappeared down the hall leading to Bram’s room. She came back a minute later, arms filled with boots. “Which ones are the good ones?”
Grumbling, Bram sorted through the various boots Aavi had gathered in her arms. “Did you clean all these?”
“They were dropping mud on the floor.”
“Hmm. This pair.” His brow creased into a collection of deep wrinkles. “Thank you.”
Clearing his throat, Gael asked, “Anything I can help you with today?”
Bram seemed taken aback, as he always did when someone offered to help him.
Too much time alone.
Brow furrowing, he scratched his cheek. “Well, I was going to work in the packing facility today.”
“I can help!” Aavi surged forward.
Bram cracked a smile. “You’re a little short to reach the conveyor. How about if you come count the boxes for us when we’re done?”
“Okay. I’ll keep cleaning, then.”
“Cleaning?”
“There’s dust everywhere.”
Bram’s brow wrinkled again, his expression plainly stating: Well, yeah. It’s a dusty planet. Instead of voicing his thoughts, he grunted and turned to Gael, one eyebrow raised.
“I’ll get my shoes.” Gael hopped up.
Packing processed soy wasn’t the most boring activity Gael had ever participated in, but it neared the top of the list. Bram tried to engage his interest for the first fifteen minutes by narrating the journey of beans from kettle to cooler, to cutter, compressor, cuber, and finally to packaging. Still, he got to work with Bram and took to watching his expression move from a lightly veiled curiosity to placid satisfaction as each cube disappeared beneath a square of thin, waxy plastic.
After an hour, Gael’s back ached from standing over the conveyor, where he nudged a cube now and again, making sure they lined up for the packing chute. When Bram asked how he was doing, he mustered a smile.
“Everything’s square!”
Surprisingly, Bram laughed.
“What?” Gael quickly checked his section of the conveyor. Nope, all lined up. “Did I do something wrong?”
Bram shook his head. “No.” Pink highlighted his cheeks. “I just never heard much enthusiasm for packing work before.”
“Oh.” Gael took a turn at blushing.
“It’s pretty boring.”
Should he agree or? “The process is . . .”
“If you didn’t nudge a cube now and again, it would line up in the chute.”
“Then why are we standing here?”
“I dunno. I’m so used to supervising stuff, it’s hard to let go sometimes.”
Gael offered a small smile. “That makes sense.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Want to go play with the rabbits?”
“Did you just ask if I wanted to play with the rabbits?”
Bram’s smile took on a coy aspect. “Don’t tell Aavi, but I kinda like petting them. It gets . . . quiet out here.” Gael suspected he actually meant lonely. “I’ll show you how to clean out the pens,” Bram continued. “Then we can call it work.”
“Okay.”
That first day, Gael had thought the rabbits were odd. He knew what a rabbit was, but figured Bram had stocked his farm somewhere other than Zhemosen, or any Commonwealth planet. Bram’s rabbits had bright-red tails, for a start, and fur of a deep russet that blended alarmingly with the dirt scattered around the edges of the farm terrace. They didn’t look exactly cuddly, either, with their long, sinuous bodies and huge ears.
“I make the bedding out of soy fiber,” Bram explained, pulling out a bin of fresh straw-like packing.
“Is there anything you don’t make out of soy?”
“Coffee, though someone will figure it out one day and then the galaxy will become a one-crop wonder.”
“You’re growing other things, though.”
Bram made one of his gruff throat noises. “Soy is practical, but sometimes you gotta have a little fun.”
After cleaning the pen, they sat cross-legged, side by side, each with a lap full of rabbits curled into lopsided balls. They might be strange, but their fur was soft. After cooing and petting his own bundles, Gael glanced over to find Bram tucking one into the space between his shoulder and neck. Obviously sensing he’d been caught in a not-practical moment, Bram made a show of inspecting the rabbit’s paws.
“Having fun over there?”
Bram arched a single eyebrow. “Might not look like it, but rabbits are great conversationalists.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Great listeners, anyway.”
Laughter bubbled behind Gael’s breastbone. His lips curved into a full-on smile. Bram’s eyes brightened, and they sat there looking at each other. It was weird and sort of nice. Gael had become used to spending evenings in Bram’s quiet company, but this was the first time they’d shared a daytime activity. He liked it.
At the hen house, Bram said, “I’m going to go get some more bedding,” and peeled off toward the gaping cavern of his garage and one of his multiple storage areas.
Gael hefted his shovel and rake and let himself inside.
Caroline, or maybe it was Martha, greeted him with a warm warble. Gertie flapped her wings. Gael waited for the hens to finish their conversation before edging farther inside the pen. The sight of the rake ruffled a few feathers, but they settled again, calling out occasional encouragement as he swept out the muck. The trouble started when he moved on to the nesting boxes. Aavi hadn’t been in to collect the eggs, so he did that first. The hens seemed okay with it. They didn’t like it when he swept the tangles of soy fiber out of the boxes, though.
Gertie squawked softly and Trixie snapped her beak. He had only a second of warning—a brush of air against his cheek—and ducked before a hen flew over his head. He wasn’t so lucky the second time. Barbara let out a shriek and launched herself right at him. Gael didn’t duck low enough, and her toes tangled in his hair. A sharp claw raked his cheek. Hissing, Gael lifted a hand toward his face, only to have another hen attack his fingers. He quickly tucked his hands into his armpits and made for the door, shaking his head from side to side in an effort to dislodge Barbara. She fell to the side, taking a clump of hair with her, but before he could escape, Trixie rushed him.
Yelling, Gael ran for the exit. He tripped over the sill and fell outside, the door banging open along the way. Would the hens—
Oh, yes. They flew out after him—those not attached to his hair or his clothing. Flapping feathers and harried squawking filled the air. Gael choked in a breath and pushed to his knees. A pair of boots stepped into his field of view. A recently cleaned pair of boots.
Gael lifted his head slowly, afraid of what he might find on Bram’s face. He didn’t relax when he saw the smile. Nor when Bram’s smile widened into a grin.
“Not as cuddly as the rabbits, are they?”
A few more hens used his back as a median launch point before Bram helped Gael to his feet. Bram’s brow wrinkled when he spied the cut on Gael’s cheek. He touched it and Gael winced.
“I’m sorry,” Gael said quietly—probably unconvincingly.
Bram moved his fingers away from the cut and flattened his palm over Gael’s cheek, just by his ear. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”
Only his pride. Gael shook his head.
Bram stood there a moment longer—close but not too close, hand still resting lightly against the side of Gael’s face. His expression shifted every few seconds, from the verge of laughter toward a question, maybe, and then back. Then he patted Gael’s cheek and dropped his hand.
“I suppose we better catch the hens before they take into their heads to fly out over the crevasse. Aavi’d be mighty disappointed if we lost one.” And there it was again, the edge of laughter.
Lips twitching in response, Gael ducked his chin and followed Bram as he started clucking and cooing and calling the hens by name. Every single one.
That evening, on the couch, Bram didn’t make mention of the escaping hens and cuddled rabbits, but the gap between them seemed to have shrunk by another degree—by a measure that couldn’t have happened on one of these quiet evenings in front of the HV. And every time he looked over at Bram, he could see the same thoughts reflected—in his expression, in the way he let his fingers linger next to Gael’s as he passed over a cup of coffee, in the way he shuffled closer and stopped just short of leaning against Gael’s shoulder.
Bram didn’t need help around the farm. He didn’t seem sorry to have it, though.