“I’m gonna kill him,” proclaims Timour.

“He clearly has issues,” I say. “Don’t let him bother you. We’ve got bigger problems.”

“He tried to…” Timour paces back and forth, hands twisting in his blond hair.

“He didn’t. I pushed him away, and he accepted that.”

“Kind of a low bar. What gives him the impression that it was an okay thing to do?”

“Likely the same inner devil that tells him stealing ships and kidnapping people is okay too.” I take a deep breath. “We need to talk to Felix.”

“What for? And what happened between you and that Captain? You two act like…” he falters.

“Like…?”

“Like you’re together,” he finishes, subdued.

“Um… no, Timour. Felix and I are certainly not together… I…” I don’t even know what to say.

“I haven’t seen you for the past twenty-four hours. Where did you sleep last night?”

While his tone suggests he’s concerned, the underlying accusation baffles me. “It’s not like I had a choice. Regardless, he was a gentleman about the situation. He slept on the floor so that I could have the bed.”

Timour raises his eyebrows, expression fluctuating from surprise to perplexity to outrage. “We don’t know what his motives are. He’s a pirate, therefore we can’t trust him.”

“I somewhat agree, but that’s why we have to talk to him first.”

“Isn’t he too old for you?”

I sigh. Why am I even entertaining this? “One, you’re not my dad. Two, I’m a Sergeant in the Interstellar Force who has a PhD in computer science. If I’m old enough to put my life on the line multiple times in service to my country and my planet, then I am capable of making my own decisions when it comes to my relationships. Three, there’s a time and place for this conversation, and it’s neither here nor now. A relationship is the last thing on my mind. We’ll discuss this later, okay?”

Timour isn’t pleased, but he responds, “Yeah, alright.”

Ten minutes of sensitive silence passes until Felix emerges from the end of the hallway. He hands Timour and I separate portals, clarifying, “These are only good for specific contacts. You can’t communicate with anyone outside Titan.”

“Felix, we should—” I start.

“Wait,” he orders, then changes his severe look to one of indifference. “I’ll show you to your rooms.”

We follow Felix through numerous hallways, doors leading to other rooms becoming smaller and more frequent. The surface we walk on is seemingly flat, since our view never extends far enough to discern that the floor is curved. But despite the illusion of horizontal ground, my spinning head begs to differ.

Reaching a blue door that already has “Chambers” holographically displayed, Felix unlocks it and ushers us inside. The cabin features a white and navy queen-sized bed against the wine-red right wall, next to two armchairs surrounding a sturdy circular table. A blue couch with canary-yellow pillows sits against the left wall, beside a long desk facing a floor-to-ceiling mirror. The back wall consists of an artificial window and balcony, framed by yellow curtains and sunrise orange lights.

I stand close to the circular table, Felix lingers by the fake window, and Timour leans against the front door—as far away from Felix as possible.

“Boss told me,” the Quartermaster begins, “you’ll be working on NeuroQueue.” He smirks at me. “You’ve been busy. Care to fill me in on anything else I’m not aware of?”

“Things I did during college?” I ask, shaking my head. “Not really.”

“Ailee,” Timour addresses, “you wanted to talk…?” His eyes flit to Felix.

“Yes. Felix and I agreed to a truce. We’re going to figure out why Boss wants us here, and in exchange, he promised to send us back to Earth.”

Timour shakes his head, dumbfounded. “I don’t know why you think he’d keep his promise.”

“I have faith in him.” Most of the time.

“And Boss already explained why we’re here,” Timour adds.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Felix speaks up. “He needs Ailee to recreate NeuroQueue, yes. For the ill? Perhaps. But even I don’t have the full story yet.”

“There’s a reason why we never published our findings and destroyed every trace of NeuroQueue,” I say. “Any tool used to help people can be turned into a weapon. We decided the risks outweighed the benefits.”

“Makes sense he’d want a weapon,” Felix contemplates. “Ailee, what could potentially happen if the brain device was tampered with?”

“A spectrum of horrible things. From aggravating your disability to becoming a full-blown torture machine. Even with the best firewalls available, any chance of hacking becomes a liability… I’m not a neuroscientist, so I don’t know every detail, but I think we can safely assume we don’t want this technology in the wrong hands.”

“Could you pretend to work?” Timour questions. “Counterfeit the results?”

“Not for long. He’ll notice if I’m not making progress.” And then Boss will dispose of us.

“He’ll want you to run experiments on actual ill subjects,” Felix states. “If the device doesn’t function properly, it could kill them.”

“How do you know these subjects exist?” Timour asks Felix.

“Because I’ve seen them.” Felix takes out his portal and sends us an album, pictures and videos of patients in a lab. Victims of stroke, aneurysm, encephalitis, dementia, and more.

“You took these?” I ask.

Felix nods. “Yeah.”

“What’s the plan?”

Hands on his hips, Felix stares at the floor in concentration. Finally, he queries, “How long did it take you to build the device last time?”

“It took us years, but a lot of that time was spent researching and refining preliminary models. Obviously, Boss knows I can remake the final product in less time. It depends how far along they are…”

“What if you had to start from the beginning?” Felix asks. “Estimate how long.”

“I’m not great with the mechanical or electrical side of things… maybe around six months. However, if they’re covering the hardware, assuming they construct it perfectly, then it would only take me three weeks to set up the code.”

“From scratch?” Timour emphasizes.

“Again, assuming the hardware is flawless,” I say.

“Too soon. I need more time.” Felix rocks back on his heels, tearing his gaze from the spotless floor to look into my eyes. “Can you stretch it to two months? That will allow me to rummage around and figure out what’s really going on.”

Two months on this ship sounds dreadful, but it’s better than prematurely dying. “Yes. How can we help?”

“By staying out of it,” Felix replies. “You two don’t have access to anywhere of interest. Outside private cabins and lavatories, Titan’s security system tracks your every move.”

“So we sit like ducks and wait for you to maybe uncover some evil scheme?” Timour’s flabbergasted, imploring, “Ailee, he’s not here to help us. He’s spying on us. If he had any plans to let us go, we’d be gone.”

“No, it was necessary to bring you here,” Felix counters. “Now I have an excuse to remain on Titan and monitor the situation rather than leave for another mission. If I had let you flee while on DeLarge, Boss would’ve known something was wrong, because that battleship is inescapable.” Felix shifts his attention from Timour to me. “Boss gets reckless when he’s excited about something, and if my call with him earlier is any indication, he’s… Ailee, you can distract him.”

If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

Timour looks like he’s going to be sick.

“What happened to ‘staying out of it’?” I ask.

“I don’t want you involved with the snooping part, but,” Felix shrugs, “distracting Boss…?”

“No,” Timour objects, “no.”

“I’m not implying anything uncouth should occur,” says Felix. “Just be your usual contentious self around him, Ailee.”

I raise my eyebrows, wondering, “Contentious? I’ve never met anyone who argues more than you.”

“You’re arguing with me right now, dear,” Felix retorts.

I sigh, running my hands through my hair. “I’ll be ‘working.’ How am I supposed to distract him?”

“Pursuing him is too apparent. Let him come to you.”

“How are you so certain he will?”

“Boss has a weakness for beautiful women.”

“Don’t we all,” Timour murmurs.

“That’s not a good enough reason,” I tell Felix.

Spreading his arms out, Felix looks at me like I’m stupid. “Men have gone to war for less. He’s intrigued. Curious. He fancies gathering new information, so expect him to ask questions.”

“And how do I answer?”

“Lie. Tell the truth. It doesn’t matter.”

“What if he—” I cut myself off. No, I’m not going to say it.

“Go on,” Felix urges.

Avoiding his gaze, I gesture absently with my hands. “You know.”

Understanding crosses his features. “If you’re uncomfortable with anything, tell him ‘no.’ Push him away.”

“He tried to kiss her today, without her consent,” Timour reflects, his tone harsh.

Felix’s eyes widen as he gapes at me. “Well, this is news to me. But…?”

I shake my head.

“Good,” Felix declares. “Boss occasionally resorts to unconventional methods as a persuasion tactic, but he’ll listen to you.”

“I don’t think you understand, Pirate,” Timour strides forward from the door, passing me until he’s half a meter away from Felix. “You weren’t there, and you didn’t see what I saw. So either you’re not comprehending the gravity of the situation, or you and I use completely different dictionaries. Because the position that disgusting man put her in was a millisecond away from sexual assault. She had to physically fight him off.”

Felix stares at him for a few seconds, then narrows his eyes and dips his voice low, “I’ve known Boss for a very long time. He confesses to me all the great he’s done along with all the terrible. Boss has never touched a woman against her will.”

“No, he just murders people,” Timour affirms. “Against their will, if that wasn’t already clear in your definition of the word ‘murder.’ And sorry, but actually you don’t know all his secrets. Case in point: NeuroQueue.”

Grinning at Timour capriciously, Felix places a hand on the grip of his gun. Can we not do this? I walk over to them, pleading, “Guys, remember what we’re trying to accomplish. Timour, it’s my choice. I can handle this. Felix, Timour is right, maybe you don’t know everything about Boss.”

“No, I do not,” Felix says reluctantly. Lowering his arms and taking a step back, he looks at the digital clock on the nightstand. “We’ll resume this engrossing discussion some other time. I must escort Commander Orlov to his quarters.”

“Wait, shouldn’t somebody stay with Ailee?” Timour questions.

“No one but her has access to this room,” Felix replies. “She’ll be safe in here.”

“Then how did you unlock the door?” I ask.

“I didn’t,” Felix responds. “You did.”

I assume he means through facial recognition.

Before the two men shuffle out of the cabin, Timour gives me a quick kiss on my forehead. The door shuts behind them, and for the first time in a week, I’m utterly alone.

* * *

Two hours later, I’m bored. I lie on my bed and stare at my portal’s map of Titan, which exhibits the rooms I have access to on each level. Any prohibited rooms are nameless and transparent. I search for “Orlov” and find Timour’s room on the outer level, where he’s experiencing 1 G as opposed to my 0.680 G. Felix’s room is just down the hall, while Boss’ room is unlisted—invisible to me. The area that catches my eye is “Track,” since it spans the circumference of the ship in an endless loop. I could use some mind numbing behavior.

My closet is full of various attire, but anything that isn’t a tank top or workout shorts, I chuck aside. After putting on a neon red racerback tank top and shadow-gray running shorts, both of which are too large, I take out a handful of rubber bands from the cabinet under the bathroom sink and tie the extra fabric. For a moment, I wish I had the curves to fill out the clothes, but I remind myself not to think that way. Don’t worry about what other people think of you, Ailee, just try to be healthy.

Although, I may need to solicit Felix to send clothing that fits. If we’re stuck in zero G again, the wrong size will impede my movement.

Slipping on running shoes half a size too small—which is fine, because they’re running shoes—and tying my hair into a high ponytail, my hand prepares to pull the handle on the door when my portal buzzes. A schedule pops up as I remove the device from my side pocket. “Work” consumes most of the week. Nothing remarkable stands out apart from the “Afternoon Tea” on Sundays at sixteen-hundred hours with Felix.

I’d bet my life savings he’s not inviting me to scones and cucumber sandwiches.

Locating “Track” by foot proves to be a real hassle. Some doors don’t open for me, and a couple elevators let me in but don’t stop on the outer, “lowest” level, forcing me to backtrack. There must be an easier technique other than waiting for Cosmics to head in that direction and looking suspicious while I tail them. Eventually, I fiddle with the portal map and realize there’s a feature called “Find Path” that paints the user an available trail.

Cool.

The width of the track spans sixteen meters, eight for running in one direction, and eight for running in the other. While the length is technically infinite, one lap is four-point-seven-one kilometers. Treadmills, ellipticals, bikes, and weight machines line one wall, evenly spaced apart and seemingly stretching the entire circumference of this ship.

I use a rubber band at my hip to strap my portal in—I don’t want it bouncing against my leg—and begin jogging, following the arrows. The gym is more empty than full, but considering how expansive it is, there’s still plenty of Cosmics working out. How many live on Titan?

Usually, I run ten kilometers per day, but I’m determined to make up for skipping the last few days. I should go easy on myself, since being kidnapped is an adequate excuse.

Yet I don’t.

Just over thirty kilometers later, I’m dying. My throat is parched, my legs burn, my head throbs. I want to run another ten kilometers, but I probably shouldn’t. I should take a break.

Slowing down, I amble over to the nearest water station and fill up a disposable water container, breathing deeply as my heart pounds in my ears. I blink a few times, ignoring the pressure building behind my eyes, and take a long sip of cold water. I shiver.

“What’s got you so worked up?”

Straining to focus my eyes, my head snaps toward the source of the voice. Nupan stands about two meters away from me by a rowing machine, dressed in dark green yoga pants and a matching sports bra. Black ink tattoos cover her chest and shoulders, traveling down her arms and hands. I even make out the Cosmic skull and bones symbol peeking out from her inner forearm.

She skims a towel across her forehead and neck, saying, “If you’re trying to escape, I don’t know how else to tell you this but… you’re running in circles.”

I smile, angling my body so I’m facing her completely. “She has a sense of humor after all.”

“Only when I’m in the mood.” She smiles too, and her face lights up, softening her harsh features. “You’re alive.”

“Seems like it.”

“You find out why Boss is keeping you around?”

“Indentured servitude.”

Her grin widens, exposing perfect teeth. “Ah, classic Boss.”

I turn to refill my water container, but change my mind and wonder, “Can I ask you something?”

Nupan stops wiping herself with the towel, instead holding it in both hands. “Sure.”

“Why did you defect from Mars?”

She raises one eyebrow. “That’s a little personal, don’t you think?”

I shrug. “Is it?”

She’s silent for a couple seconds, staring at her towel as though it will reveal a diplomatic response. Eventually, she raises her right hand and shows me the back of it, where a diamond wedding band glimmers on her ring finger. “My wife—girlfriend at the time—and I wanted to get married.”

“You couldn’t do that on Mars?”

“I couldn’t do that with the MSF. She and I worked in the same battalion; we weren’t allowed to be in a relationship. Marriage was an impossibility. I discussed it with my superiors, but they considered the relationship fraternization, a hazard, and threatened to split us into different divisions. If that happened, we could get married, but we’d never see each other—which was the point, I suspect. I still wanted to serve my nation. I loved Mars, but I loved my wife more. We felt betrayed by our own planet, so we left.”

“Who is your wife?” I ask, but I already know.

“You’ve met her.”

“Doctor River.”

She nods.

“But she’s a doctor, and you’re an engineer,” I say, mystified. Those professions aren’t in the same chain of command, so it shouldn’t have been an issue for them to marry.

“We like to work together. We like to be near each other,” she explains plainly. “Besides, I think the MSF is stricter on their policies than the IF, at least, according to what you said.” I recall our time in the interrogation room. “The MSF became constrictive, and we just wanted to feel free without changing careers.” She shrugs. “The Cosmics offered that.”

In my experience, freedom and Cosmics are incompatible. I frown.

“I’m not evil, Ailee,” Nupan declares. “No matter how upset I was at the situation, I wouldn’t have joined the Cosmics if there wasn’t a good reason.”

“Other than marriage, are there other reasons?” I wonder.

She nods. “Wanting to get married enticed us into joining, but several reasons contribute to why we stayed. Right now, you are here against your will, but eventually Boss will give you a choice. He will respect that choice. Don’t take this the wrong way—I’m not trying to be snarky, simply factual—you and the Liansan are not the only people in the Solar System that matter. Boss’ methods may be a little extreme, but he strives for a better universe, not only for Cosmics. For everyone.”

Nupan picks her water container off the floor and walks past me as I stand motionless, conflicted by her enigmatic assertion. It’s not just the workout that leaves my body aching.