On my first day of work, the NeuroQueue team acquaints me with the lab, the codebase, and resource documents. There are around one hundred scientists and engineers on this team, all specialized to complete a specific portion of the device. While a few extroverted workers bombard me with questions—many of which are unusually personal rather than about my dissertation—most serenely focus on their job. My manager guides me through a hospital where they conduct experimental treatments on patients with neurological disorders.
Boss and Felix weren’t lying about the sick. There are eighty-seven of them total, kids included, which is an abnormally high number on a ship that has no more than ten thousand occupants. Maybe the researchers gathered these patients from outside for this specific project.
After hours of feigning work mixed in with fixing overfitted machine learning models, modifying formulas that update the learning rate after each epoch, and answering queries surrounding NeuroQueue’s filaments, the clock displays eighteen-three-six. Time to go.
I turn a corner leading to my cabin’s hallway and bump into a hard chest. Firm hands wrap around my elbows, preventing me from tripping. “I’m so sorry—” my throat closes when I raise my head. Alluring eyes from my nightmares bore into mine, freezing my blood.
“Not a problem,” Boss barely whispers, and yet his voice carries down the hall like a melody. His smile is almost genuine. “I was looking for you, actually.” He releases one of my elbows to graze my cheek with his knuckles. My fingers become fists to steady my trembling hands. “Your wound has already healed.”
“Doctor River dabbles in alchemy,” I explain, pressing against his abdomen so he takes the hint. I’m pleasantly astonished when he lowers his hands and steps back. Crossing my arms, I lean against the nearest wall. “What do you want?”
“I want to… apologize for how I behaved when we first met,” he begins, sincerity oozing out of him. “I was having a bit too much fun and didn’t stop to think how my actions would affect you. I am truly sorry.”
I study his expression for a moment. The downturned eyes, softened eyebrows, repentant set of his lips. He’s really laying it on thick. Straightening, I move to sidestep him. “Apology not accepted.”
He blocks my path. “Wait.”
I give him a “what?” look.
“Please, I’ll make it up to you,” he implores.
“Really?” I drag out.
He tilts his head like a docile wolf. “Hold out your hand.”
Warily, I comply. Taking out a thin, aqua box that looks like a cigarette lighter, he dispenses an opaque pill into my palm. Okay. “What is this?”
Boss slides the box back into his pocket, clarifying, “It’ll take your stress away. Loosen you up. Although,” he leans in as if he’s divulging a secret, “I recommend only taking it after midnight, preferably away from people, mirrors, and sharp objects.”
“Huh,” I say, grabbing his hand with my free one and dumping the pill into his palm. However, he seizes the opportunity to clasp his long fingers around my hand. I jerk back, but his grip is merciless.
He pulls me closer to him, eyes toying with mine as he smirks. “Okay, fine. What do you want? I’ll give you anything.”
“I want to go home.”
“Ooh, anything but that,” he overemphasizes as though the mere thought is painful. “I told you, after NeuroQueue is complete, you can go home. What can I do for you until then?” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.
“You can stop harassing me.”
His smile fades, and he scans my face for a minute, eyes lingering on every feature. Unbeknownst to me, I start to admire his high cheekbones, prominent jawline, and hunter eyes before recalling he’s the enemy. He loosens his grip, enabling me to step back, the contact between us severed. He holds his hands up, resigned. “Okay.” He doesn’t move, so I make a wide arc around him and stride to my door. Before I open it, I peek back to ensure he isn’t following me. I expect him to, but he doesn’t. He stands stationary in the hallway, a statue facing the other direction.
I enter my room and swiftly close the door behind me. Part of me wants to slap him, and part of me wants to accept his apology and then ask if he’s alright. His lunacy must be contagious.
Felix is right. I’m not sure if it’s his innate charisma or manufactured presence, but Boss is persuasive, if that’s even the right description. Now I understand how egocentric maniacs can coerce others into executing malicious deeds. The next time Boss talks to me—assuming there is a next time—I’ll find a way to distract him long enough to be of use to Felix.
I only pray I remember who I am when all is said and done.
* * *
Two days later, someone knocks on my door. Shoot, I totally forgot our meeting tonight. I’m barefoot and ready for bed, dressed in a cobalt blue tank top and plaid shorts. Nobody said anything about a dress code. Pulling the door open, the first thing I see are flowers, purple and orange lilies.
“For you, milady,” Thomson says, bowing slightly as he hands me the bouquet.
“Wow, um, thank you.” I step aside. As he comes in, I notice his open-collared, white shirt, pine green coat, black slacks, and leather cap-toe shoes. “I’m underdressed. What’s the occasion?”
He stops by my desk and picks up my butterfly hair clip. He absently fiddles with it, glancing my way every couple of seconds. “Your face looks good—I mean, it always looks good—I—it’s healed.”
I smile. “Yeah, good as new. How is your arm?”
“Almost like I never got stabbed.” His eyes peruse the room, landing on the fake balcony, my magnetic boots by the bed, and finally my makeshift pajamas. “I planned out what I was going to say, but now that I’m here…”—he takes a deep breath and chuckles—“I’m really nervous.”
Lingering by the door, I ask, “Why are you nervous?”
He runs a hand through his stylized, russet hair, tousling it. “Because I’m afraid I’ll screw everything up.”
I wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t.
He swallows, setting down the butterfly and clutching the desk for support.
Placing the bouquet on my bed, I walk over to him and wonder, “Are you okay?”
He backs away from me and heads toward the balcony. “Yeah, I just—I need to say something.” Half a minute passes, and he turns around, highly strung yet smiling. “I really like you.”
I suppose I should’ve seen this coming. There isn’t any other reason for him to want to talk to me late at night, not to mention the flowers and the clothes. It’s a little ridiculous that he’d hit on a prisoner. Felix miscalculated. This is one hundred percent about sex. For Thomson, maybe the power play is a turn on. “You don’t even know me.”
“I know you’re selfless enough to risk your life to save mine.”
“And you did the same when you moved me behind the fortress. I think we’re even.”
“It’s not about being even, I just—I think you’re really cute, and you’re obviously very smart, and we’re both from the UE, and—and I want to ask you out,” he rushes that last part, dipping his head.
“I can’t, Thomson. I’m really busy with work right now,” I lie.
He considers me for a moment. “Did Felix tell you to stay away from me too?”
“No,” I immediately answer, but then what he said sinks in. “That’s what he told you?”
“No,” he replies, voice rising an octave. He sighs. “Maybe.”
Suddenly interested, I play with the ends of my hair. “What did he say?”
“He said you would make me lose focus.” He pauses, shifting his stance and putting his hands into his front pockets. “That you’d break my heart.”
Trying to giggle without being too dismissive, I comment, “So melodramatic. What does he think is going to happen? We star-crossed lovers commit suicide together?”
The corners of his lips turn down. “My dad committed suicide.”
Dread fills the pit of my stomach, and I lower my eyes to the floor. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that, and I certainly shouldn’t joke about it. I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright. It was a long time ago,” he reassures wistfully.
The mood’s already garbage, so I might as well get this conversation over with. “Look, Thomson, I don’t want to waste your time. Timour is my boyfriend.”
Thomson gestures around the room. “I don’t see him in here.”
“We have a quota on how long we’re allowed to spend alone together. Wouldn’t want us plotting our escape.”
“If he was actually your boyfriend, that would’ve been the first thing you mentioned.”
His persistence would be comical if he was any less earnest, but his ardent tone convinces me he’s unequivocally serious. “Thomson… you know this will never work, right? You’re Cosmic, I’m Empirical. I’m not here because I want to be. I’m here because I have no other course of action.”
He purses his lips in thought. “What if you eventually decide to join us? After you’re done with the project.”
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
“You know about the project?”
He nods. “Yeah. NeuroQueue, right? The thing for those with brain illnesses.”
“Yes. Do you know why Boss wants me to recreate it so badly?”
Thomson furrows his brows. “I would imagine he wants the technology to heal people. Brain tissue is kinda finicky. Why? What did he say to you?”
I shrug. “Identical. I thought you might know something I don’t.”
“Even if I did, what makes you think I would tell the daughter of an IF Admiral?” he questions, smirking and crossing his arms.
I flip my hair over one bare shoulder and mimic his stance. “Because you like me, and you think I’m cute, and you want to ask me out.”
He grins. “Is that a ‘yes’?”
Heading toward the entrance, I shake my head. “Okay, time for the eternal optimist to go.”
He’s still simpering when I open the door and practically shove him into the hallway. The door is halfway shut when he says, “Ailee?”
I pull the door back a bit to look into his candid eyes. “Yeah?”
“Take care of my flowers.” He’s staring at my neck, and I comprehend that the bouquet isn’t the sole commodity he’s referring to.
I beam. “I will.”
* * *
After I’m satisfied there are no cameras or bugs in the bouquet, I steal an empty vase from one of the decorative tables in the hallway and pour in some water. The stems are already cut, so I directly transfer the flowers into the vase and set it on my desk.
They look nice. They smell nice. Perpetually living in space makes astronauts appreciate plants that are alive. I can’t remember the last time we celebrated Christmas with a real tree. Even back on Earth, real trees are a luxury.
The next day at work, a sky blue alien sits on top of my desk. Well, it’s not an actual alien. The stuffed animal is half my size with floppy ears and a head bigger than its body. I guess it could pass for a dog if it didn’t have enormous violet “feed me” eyes.
“Oh my gosh, that’s so cute!” the coworker to my right exclaims. “You know who it’s from?”
Oh, I know. “Yeah, I think so.” Flipping open the tag on one of the floppy ears, I read the elegant handwritten note:
Dear Miss Chambers,
It seems that I am terrible at both first impressions and apologizing. Let me make reparations. Meet me outside my office at 19:35. I’ll take you to dinner.
Yours truly,
Boss
I raise my eyebrows. Not who I was expecting. Despite what everyone else claims, Boss doesn’t strike me as someone who takes “no” for an answer. But this is good. I can use this to my advantage, a chance to distract him.
After work, I text Felix and Timour code words “Midnight snack at 00:00,” so they know my expected end time. I may need to update that time later depending on how long Boss and I spend together.
Carrying the alien dog back to my room, I ignore the stares while I ponder what I’ll wear. Is this a date? Aren’t dates usually a mutual occasion? I am accepting the invitation, so technically it is mutual. I don’t think my closet houses any dresses though. Perhaps I’ll ask Felix if I can borrow one.
Nevermind. A faceless figure stands in my room, donning a royal blue halter top dress. A whole-ass, ivory mannequin, with hands on her hips and one leg crossed in front of the other. The silky dress stops at her ankles, proudly displaying silver heels.
I swear, Boss is trying to give me a heart attack.
Placing the stuffed animal on my bed, I inch closer to the mannequin. Something’s off about her. She’s shorter than those I see in stores. Less curvy. I gasp when I realize the problem.
She’s a replica of me. The face is smooth, devoid of features, but the body… oh no. Gross. Why?
Circling the figure, I search for a note. Nothing.
Whatever. It’s a fine set of attire in my size. I peel the dress off the mannequin—don’t pay attention to how detailed she is—and change into it. A perfect fit.
A knock on my door. Checking my portal, I notice I still have twenty-five minutes until dinner. I turn on the door camera for a glimpse of who it is.
Opening the entrance, I say, “You know, the ‘Afternoon Tea’ sessions are meaningless if you’re just going to show up here.”
“Hello to you too, love,” Felix says, pushing his way into my room. “Can I come in?”
“You… are.” I let the door close and turn around.
“Why is there a naked statue in your room?”
“Because I took her dress.” I walk past Felix and spin the mannequin around, so that she’s facing the corner. I gesture to my dress and the alien dog. “Presents from Boss.”
“Ah.” He walks over to the dog and reads the tag. “Hm.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Okay… “Felix, what is it?”
He stills for a moment, then lifts his eyes to meet mine. A battle wages in his mind, and I attempt to fix my expression into one of understanding. Finally, he reveals, “I’m having second thoughts about this.”
I freeze. “About what?”
“About everything.” He takes a swig from the flask previously in his jacket pocket and offers it to me.
“I’m okay.”
“You might need some for tonight.”
“I’m sure Boss has his own supply.” Not that I’m drinking any of it. “Felix, what do you mean by ‘everything’?”
He empties the flask into his mouth and sets it on my desk. Isn’t his sobriety required for the next few hours? His tolerance level must be through the roof, along with his blood-alcohol concentration. “I regret bringing you here. I should’ve let you go. I should’ve put you and the Liansan in a dropship headed straight to Earth, damn the consequences.”
“You said it yourself: You needed us—”
“And then I continued to screw up. I convinced you to seduce Boss—”
“You didn’t—”
“Oh, come on, Ailee,” Felix cuts in, eyes sharp. “I essentially did. It’s not right. None of this is right.”
I cross my arms, all of a sudden cold. “Look, I’ll be fine. Just… make it worthwhile.”
He sits on the edge of my bed and puts his head in his hands, hiding his face. “Can you promise me something?”
I want to ask if he’s okay, but all I say is, “Sure.”
“Promise me you won’t sleep with him.”
“Jealous?” I smile, but it’s phony.
“That’s one reason,” he admits, “but not the main one. Just promise me, even if you’re lying. Promise me. I need to hear it.”
Perhaps I should escort him to the hospital. “I promise you, I won’t sleep with him.”
Felix breathes in deeply, uncovering his face and blinking his eyes as if he’s adjusting to the light. Standing up, he grins at me, waves, and saunters toward the door. “Cheers.”
“Felix.” He halts, and I state, “When I first met you, I thought you were a bad person. I thought all of the Cosmics were evil. But you’re not. You clearly have a moral compass, so why do you steal?”
I can’t see his face, but I hear him sigh. “Not today, Ailee.”
“Not today, then when? You come in here, you show me you’re worried about me, you tell me you regret bringing me here, and yet you murder innocent people?”
He tenses, flexing his fingers. “It’s not that simple. The planets aren’t the only ones at war. They’re collateral damage.”
A war between criminal factions. Awesome. “Collateral damage?” I laugh without an ounce of humor. “Felon lives above the honorable. Might as well throw me out the airlock now if my life means that little to you.”
Felix loses his cool. He flies at me so fast I trip and collapse onto the couch behind me. His eyes radiate rage, becoming molten. Veins pop out of his neck. Although he hasn’t touched me yet, his hands form fists as he holds himself back. “You don’t know anything!” he shouts, voice like acid. “You’re the blasted Admiral’s daughter! Pampered your whole life. Got to attend uni. You don’t know what it’s like to be impoverished, to dream about possessing just enough money so that my mother doesn’t have to sell herself on the street anymore! And what does your honorable government do when they find her begging for food? They put her in jail.”
My eyes widen at the realization that he isn’t a pureblood Cosmic, a declaration he made when I first met him. “You’re from the UE.”
He grits his teeth. “They penalized her for prostitution. The first prison sentence lasted a year. The second was five. When she got caught for the third time…”—he takes a shuddering breath—“the sentence was twenty years. She couldn’t bear it anymore and overdosed on a speedball—heroin and meth.” He closes his eyes briefly, his jaw ticking.
“Where were you while she was in…?” I trail off.
“The police questioned her pimp—a wealthy owner of a luxury hovercraft manufacturer. He claimed she was an old friend of his, and that he had attempted to get her sober. Complete bullshit. He was the one supplying her the drugs, forcing her to do his bidding else she wouldn’t get her next hit. The only thing my mother wouldn’t budge on was my own prostitution. She wouldn’t allow it. Therefore, when my mother lost her rights to me, I was adopted by her pimp. She died when I was twelve, and he sold me to Boss.” Felix turns away and walks back to the bed, sitting on it with his hands clasped between his knees. “I wish I brought more whiskey.”
Glue sticks in my throat. “But Boss is…” he’s too young.
“He wasn’t the Boss back then,” Felix clarifies. “Almost all Cosmics started out as unfortunate souls who simply wanted a different life. Bloody hell, spaceflight is an indulgence. It’s morphed into something a tad different, but our goals are still the same: A balance of freedom and justice.” He chuckles mirthlessly. “The funny thing is, at least with the Cosmics, I could work my way up. I could prove my worth. That’s more than I can say for the rich folk and verified criminals whom you protect.”
The rapid beating of my heart refuses to slow, but I force myself to sit up. Breathe. “Most of us aren’t criminals.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. You’re complacent. Ignorant. In a way, it’s worse.”
My head jerks back, his words a slap in the face. “Then why help me?” I stand, moving a couple steps in his direction. “Why go through all this trouble, go against your superior? Let’s say Boss is planning to attack Earth with his special Martian stealth tech. Why save a world you don’t care about? Why help someone who works for the IF, for the government you despise?”
Felix’s eyes arrest mine, and he steadily stands and nears me. I don’t flinch. He’s in control. Lowering his voice, he lists, “A: I’m not a psychopath, and logistically, controlling an entire planet is bonkers. I abhor slavery, and yes, perhaps you are correct—not everyone on Earth is crooked. B: I’m loyal to my people, and for a very long time, I was loyal to Boss. But if he is thinking about destroying Earth, then he won’t be my superior for much longer. And C…” he doesn’t finish. His eyes roam my face and drop to my lips. I’m exceedingly aware that we’re only a few centimeters apart, separated by electricity. We remain in limbo for a minute, neither one of us willing to make the first move. His intention becomes clear as day on his face, and my lids slide close as I tilt my head forward—
Da da da da da da, da da da da da da…
We jump apart at the loudest sound I’ve ever heard. What the hell? Felix covers his mouth with one hand and looks anywhere but me. The ringtone blares from the pile of clothes I changed out of, and I fish through the bundle for my portal.
It’s my alarm. The time reads “19:30,” five minutes till my date.
My head spins with the revelations of Felix’s past combined with both our hurt. I’m not sure if I hate him for insinuating I’m a criminal, if I hate his despicable view of me, or if I hate myself, because the despair and rage I harbor at what society has done to young Felix, driven him—no, sold—to piracy, eclipses any other emotion.
A tragic fact of this universe is that many individuals have traumatic childhoods, but not all of them grow up into monsters. I don’t believe Felix is a monster, but I’m biased, because I like him. I enjoy his company, and we’ve bonded despite the atypical circumstances. One could argue it’s Stockholm syndrome, but all I know is everytime I look behind the hardened exterior of his charcoal-lined eyes, I see a man who cares for his crew, who is willing to help his enemy, who shines with humanity.
Yet the question remains: Are his transgressions justified, and if so, how do we definitively prove it?
“I need to go,” I pronounce, grabbing the silver heels and marching toward the door. I glance back at Felix for one last time. He’s in the same position, one hand over his mouth and staring at the floor. My body reflexively tries to force me in his direction, to comfort him, but my mind has the final say, and I keep walking. “Goodnight, Felix.”