I guess Felix got tired of looking at my underwear during the Cosmic-Martian battle, because this morning he tosses me a denim romper, cinched at the waist, and orders me to wear it. Other than the deep V-neck exposing my nonexistent cleavage, I can’t complain.

Felix, Thomson, Blaze, and Nupan stand in the command center at their respective stations. Felix positions me right next to him at the comms station, raising his eyebrows as though he is saying “see? I’m choosing to trust you.” Whatever, just keep those handcuffs away from me.

“Preparing to dock with Titan. ETA: thirty minutes,” Blaze declares as interim pilot, all business replacing the lingering despair.

“Sweetheart,” Felix addresses.

“I have a name, you know,” I say.

“But you responded, did you not?” Felix smirks. “I don’t mean any disrespect. Where I’m from—”

“You mean the Cosmos Not-Cosmos but actually Not-Cosmos Cosmos?” I look at him. “Remind me, where’re you from again?”

His smile widens. “I was going to ask what you did to piss off Mars, but I think I have my answer.”

I grin, lying, “I have no clue. Maybe they’re after me because…” I gesture to my face.

“Because you’re Helen of Troy?”

“Ha ha,” I say sarcastically, “no, everything ties back to my father. We’ve got a cold war going on between the planets, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“So… they believe they can use you as a bargaining chip?”

I shrug. “Possibly.”

Before he can further question me, the command center entrance slides open, and a booming voice from a large Cosmic announces, “The Liansan prisoner, sir, as you requested.”

“Ah, excellent. Remove his handcuffs,” Felix orders.

Behind the large Cosmic is Timour, clad in a simple white shirt and black jeans. His handsome face is gaunt, with dark circles under his eyes. Somehow, he looks worse than when I last saw him—recovering from oxygen deprivation. When he sees me, his eyes light up, and he starts walking toward me. The large Cosmic blocks his path, telling him to wait. A smaller Cosmic near Timour unlocks his handcuffs, and then he’s running.

I meet him halfway, wrapping my arms around his waist as he warmly hugs my shoulders. Burying my face into his chest, I notice whatever Cosmic body wash he’s using makes him smell like apricots. In Liansan, he murmurs cheesy, romantic quotes that are utter nonsense, yet I giggle.

“Stop,” I plead, face flushing.

He stills. “You speak Liansan?”

“I can understand it, but I’m not fluent.”

He clears his throat and pulls back to gaze at me sheepishly. “Is there anything you’re not—” The light in his eyes dies. He grazes my jaw with his fingers, and I know what he’s staring at. “What happened?” He throws a glare at Felix, who returns it wholeheartedly. Timour sidesteps me, so I grab his arm and place a hand on his chest.

“It wasn’t him!” I quickly clarify. “It wasn’t anyone on this ship. It happened when the MSF attacked. They’re dead.”

He clenches his jaw. “During the stall?”

I nod and reach a hand up to touch his face, changing the subject, “Have you been eating?”

“Yes,” he replies, but his voice cracks.

“Sleeping?”

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“Like a baby.”

“You liar.”

“I was worried about you.”

I frown and smile at the same time. He should prioritize himself, but I’d be mendacious if I said I didn’t think that was sweet. “Same here.”

His ocean-blue eyes become glaciers in his resolve, and he leans forward, so slow it’s excruciating. One hand strokes my hair while the other rests on my waist. Our noses touch, and I close my eyes, anticipation building. But he ceases moving. Perhaps he’s waiting for me to push him away. Perhaps he’s giving me the opportunity to decide, yet my mind’s already made. I kiss him once softly, and expect that to be it. But the arm around my waist ensnares me like a vine, the hand in my hair forms a fist, and when he lowers his lips to mine, I forget where we are.

My lips no longer numb, I feel every touch this time, every sensation. I’m flying through the sky, floating in the Dead Sea. I want the clock to lull so I can bask in this perfection. I imagine us back on Earth, traveling between Issho, Glory, Leonardo, and countless other destinations, reveling in past mistakes and future prospects. When I deepen the kiss to feed my addiction, Timour is ripped out of my grasp.

“Hey—” he and I protest as the large Cosmic from before shoves Timour into a wall by the entrance.

Felix materializes out of thin air, his hand catching mine and pulling me back to the comms station. “Alright, kids,” he says, “have a little dignity. Nobody wants to see that.”

“I was enjoying it, actually,” Blaze quips, smug.

“Yeah, well, your opinion doesn’t count,” Felix retorts.

Nupan and Thomson don’t pay attention to us. The former is crafting three-dimensional models of microprocessors while the latter… Although a computer terminal is open on his screen, he’s not running any commands—it’s a blank terminal. However, Thomson’s inspecting it as if it’s maniacally printing out nefarious emojis.

The large Cosmic tells Timour, “We’re docking soon. Strap in.”

Timour’s eyes implore me, and I try to move toward him, but Felix’s grip is unbreakable. “I wish he’d splattered against the floor yesterday,” Felix flippantly remarks. “Then I wouldn’t have had to witness that horrendous display.”

“Jealous?” I joke.

“You have no idea,” he states with a straight face. “After all, we’re getting married soon.”

“What?”

“I told you not to return the dress, Ailee. Now marriage is mandatory.”

Narrowing my eyes at him, I scowl. A glint in his eye discloses he’s only teasing. I smile, and so does he. Shaking my head and rolling my eyes, I opine, “You can let go of my hand. I might need it one day.”

“As you wish.” He releases me and whispers, “I need to tell you something.” His breath tickles my ear as he leans in. “Be careful when you see Boss, and try to keep it together.”

“Can you be a little less vague? Does he have a crab for a head or something?”

“He’s inordinately”—he tilts his head from side to side—“persuasive. Saying ‘no’ is an option. He’ll respect that, but you need to remember that you have a choice.” He points to a nearby chair. “Sit.”

After I follow Felix’s “request” and buckle my seatbelts, he heads to his own seat. Premediation really isn’t his forte. He couldn’t have divulged this earlier? I have so many questions. What does he mean “no” is an option? If I refuse to work for Boss, will he send me home? Will he retaliate?

Felix announces to the crew of DeLarge by speaking into the portal on his arm, “We are docking with Titan in ten minutes. Secure any loose items and buckle in, as there’ll be little to no gravity at Titan’s center. No matter how many times we make this trip, a couple of you always manage to forget what the Coriolis effect is. As you move toward the outer levels of the ship, its spin may cause you to feel nauseous or dizzy. Not because you are dying—your body simply requires a few days to adjust. Antihistamines may help, but if not, head to your nearest pharmacy.”

“Spin?” I question after he ends the message.

“Titan orbits the Sun at a constant speed, meaning it doesn’t need to use propulsion, but it also doesn’t create artificial gravity through acceleration. Instead, it fabricates gravity via rotation, producing a centrifugal force.”

“Isn’t that what cruise liners do?” I picture the giant, cylindrical hotels transporting socialites and families on vacation. The hotels move at a constant speed to preserve energy, and by spinning like a centrifuge ride, objects are pushed outward by an inertial force, turning the walls of the ship into walkable ground. Granted, as individuals move toward the center of the ship, the revolutions per minute remains the same, but the radius shortens. Therefore, the artificial gravity decreases until objects are essentially weightless.

Some research stations rotate as well, but the smaller ones would have to spin faster in order to produce 1 G, which would result in ill effects thanks to the Coriolis force. As a consequence, most research stations choose to maintain a more practical spin rate, manufacturing around 0.3 G.

“Bingo,” Felix interrupts my thoughts, smirking, “that’s what Titan used to be. Until we took it off Earth’s hands and expanded it for ourselves, of course.”

“What did you do with the people on board?” I ask flatly. He doesn’t answer that one, but if I’m not mistaken, a hint of remorse twists his lips.