The town unravelled around them. From the bar, Blake, Jace and Miki wound and wove through the thin alleys, past steaming vents in walls and floors, around refuse piles and smoking speeders. The smell of hot sand and burnt oil eventually became the only scent in the air, and then it passed like the dust-brick houses and metal girders, until they stood before a tall apartment block in the centre of everything.

In comparison to the rest of what Blake had seen, this place had the sheen of the super-rich. It was instantly perplexing to him – if this Jace had money, why did he live in this desert dump and kidnap patients for Green? Jace, however, hardly seemed to notice. He hopped from the road to the pavement, nodded at the doorman who pulled on the metal door, and then they were inside.

Miki made low beeps of concern as they climbed to the third floor. Blake understood it, but he was not going to turn down the offer of a bed, at least not while he had this headache.

The apartment that Jace walked into was huge. The two impressions Blake got all at once were that Jace was indeed loaded, and that he knew how to spend his money well. The two couches that were nestled into the sunken entertainment space were white and plush as if they were newly bought; the coffee table was brushed glass and repurposed piping. The shelves were crammed with trophies and ornaments and décor, but there was not a book in sight. In the kitchen, on a platform to the left of the door, the coffee maker and cooking gadgets were integrated into shiny chrome and white polished doors. Everything was slightly rounded and shiny and dreamlike, as if someone wrestled clouds into useful furniture.

Jace blew out his cheeks, dropped his medical bag on the floor. “This is the bachelor pad. Make yourself comfy. Don’t touch the TV.”

And he walked off to a door on the right.

Blake stood, dumbstruck. He had been around Green most of his life but it had always been something illicit and secretive, never used for home comforts or pleasures like these. The casual boredom Jace assigned to his incredible home was uncomfortable.

Miki hopped from Blake’s shoulder and hurried off to explore. Blake did nothing. There was a ringing in his head, like a buzzing of bees made of bells, and he felt like everything was spinning around him, and –

“Moon-head,” said Jace, suddenly close by. “Hey. Greevo to Moon-head.”

Blake blinked, turned to the noise. Jace stood only feet away – there was the impression he had been talking for a while but for the life of him, Blake could not remember a word he had said. Jace’s expression went from bored to concerned.

“Maybe you should sleep. Here. Come.” He waved a hand, but when Blake still did not move, he came and took Blake’s untorn sleeve and pulled him along slightly. There was a door on the left. “This is the guest bedroom. Have a nap. There’s a shower in the next room through there, and – where’s your dumb robot?”

Jace opened the door to the bedroom and almost instantly, Miki popped out from under the bed, covered in dust.

“How did he -?” said Jace, oddly angry, as Blake smiled and knelt to pick Miki up. Sighing, Jace rolled his eyes. “All right, whatever. Later.”

Jace left, shutting the door behind him.

Blake settled on the end of the bed. He had never felt a softer mattress, a warmer blanket.

I am out of my depth, he thought faintly.

But he did not move. Movement seemed like way too much.

For a while, Miki jumped on the bed behind him. Blake stared at the closed door, feeling minutes brush past his tingling fingers, pulse through the pain in his head and arm. Then, Miki was on his lap.

By the time Blake stirred to move the robot, Miki was already gone, and the hazy hot light that had been sprinting across the carpet was blackness. Miki had plugged himself into the wall, arms and legs dangling.

Night already.

Blake stood. It felt… fine.

He had always been adept at moving quickly and quietly. He slipped like a shadow back out into the main room. Jace was not there.

Questions, Blake found, were too indirect to get the full measure of a man. It was better to form your own assumptions based on the people and purpose that others surrounded themselves with, and the best way to do that was to investigate by himself. He ran his fingers over the shelves in the sunken room, his long fingers passing by trinkets of much less monetary value than other things in the room – small pretty stones and fabric patches – and he paused at the trophies. Trophies for GoBall. So many trophies for GoBall. Sitting right beside a framed copy of a medical degree for one Doctor Jason Brooks. And…

In the whole apartment, there were only two photographs. One was Jace, in a long white robe trimmed with gold lapels and ribbons – graduating, probably, from his medical college. That picture was not half as interesting as the small, older-looking picture beside it.

A female silhouette, backed by three setting suns. Nothing else.

Blake frowned, glanced at what he assumed was Jace’s bedroom door. Loud snores emanated from it.

He moved from the shelves to a chest of drawers, idly reached down to open one –

Then, inexplicably, felt… guilt?

Blake stared at his outstretched hand, almost touching the drawer handle. The action was unconscious, bad habit, and… and distrustful, and cruel. Jace had opened his home to a stranger – a rude stranger – who then what? Went through all of his possessions looking for secrets?

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

He clenched his fist, took a deep breath and sat on the sofa. It was almost as soft as the bed.

Gently, he removed the spherical object from his pocket – his second bad habit – and examined every line and scratch in the darkness, and replaced it where it always stayed. Sighing, he put a hand on the lump on his head and closed his eyes.

Mornings dawned hot and dusty, every day. Jace flopped out his arms across his bed, like he was trying to grab both sides and failing miserably (it could, and had, house at least five people comfortably). He yawned, rubbed his eyes. Another day of not much to do and nowhere in particular to go.

He rolled out of the bed, not bothering to find any clothes, and padded out into his bright apartment. The sunlight through the windows was warm on his bare arms and legs. Humming, he touched the side of a kitchen cupboard, revealing the fridge enclosed in the cabinet, and grabbed the carton of juice, and had just taken a big mouthful when he saw the one thing he had forgotten from the night before.

He spat the juice clean across the counter. “Triple suns!” he cried, putting a hand to his chest.

Blake, the crash survivor, stood wordless and unkempt by the sofa, staring right at him in that unnerving way of his. He had not slept, that much was obvious – or washed, judging by the dust and blood still all over him.

“You bastard!” Jace said, picking up a towel for the juice. “You scared me!”

Blake blinked, rubbed his nose. Jace realised, all at once, that he had nothing on but his boxer shorts and, grimacing, he hurried back to the bedroom.

Dressed to his usual standards, he returned to the main room, tucking a shirt into his very tight trousers. Blake still had not moved.

What is with this guy?

“You have a problem,” Jace seethed, shoving the hem of his shirt probably too vigorously into his waistband. “You know that? Where’s your stupid –“

He put down a hand to start the hot water and touched something entirely unfamiliar. Miki, startled, jumped and squeaked and ran from the coffee maker.

“Dammit!” Jace said, shaking his hand like he had been burned. To Blake, “Control your bot!”

Blake idly wandered to the kitchen, held out a hand, and the robot gratefully climbed into his waiting palm from the counter. Jace was not accustomed to company – not like this, anyway. He liked people. He liked their adoration. He liked sex. This was not normal, none of it. He was not sure why he had offered the use of his home to a total stranger; it had seemed almost funny at the time, that he had something that this weird man wanted, but now the weird man was in his house and dirtying his extremely expensive couch.

He tried to compose himself. Coffee would help.

Blake watched him the whole time, then cocked his head and said, “What does ‘triple suns’ mean?”

“What now?” said Jace, hardly hearing him over the constant irritation running through his head.

“’Triple suns.’ You say that a lot.”

Jace laughed to himself. “You don’t travel much, do you?” There was no answer, which was fine. He slid the carafe out of the coffee maker and put it between him and Blake. “How’s your head?”

It looked bad. The bruising was purple and green around the red lump but it was impossible to know if Blake could even feel it. The sheer nothingness in his face was impressive and unnerving. Miki the robot sat on his shoulder, eyeing up the swirls of steam from the coffee.

Jace raised his eyebrows. “Talkative guy, aren’t you?” he said dryly.

“It isn’t like I can get a word in edgeways,” said Blake, without any humour.

“Do you eat?”

Now, he frowned. “I’m sorry?”

“You obviously don’t sleep, so do you eat?”

Blake glanced at the mirror by the front door and the robot, delighted, danced and made noises at his own reflection. Blake did not look pleased, though. Jace wondered if he really understood what had happened. Maybe he was concussed.

“Does he ever stop making those annoying noises?” Jace said, going into the cupboard for cereal. There was, as he now expected, no reply, but it was his home and he could talk if he wanted. “At least have some coffee. Come on.”

The breakfast he had set out was simple but generous – fresh fruits, most of them not native to Greevo-16, and several different varieties of grains, breads and cereals, with juice and nut milk and cheeses – but the coffee was the prize. Jace poured a generous mug, dropped two cubes of sugar in it and pushed it across the counter towards his house guest.

Blake hesitated. Every movement he made was constructed and careful, Jace noticed, like he was afraid he might crush something underfoot or accidentally smash whatever he touched, which was bizarre because he seemed to be at least half Jace’s weight. Eventually, Blake approached the breakfast bar, took the mug and sat in a stool, and Jace plopped a hefty slice of desert melon into his mouth and said, “So, how come you crashed?”

Blake’s mouth twisted slightly to the left. “Engine failure.”

“I’d have thought an engine would be a pretty important thing to fix.”

The robot was gone. Jace turned his head – the stupid bot was fast – and saw it poking the icemaker, head under the chute.

Blake nodded, drank from his mug.

“I left in a hurry,” he said.

Jace eyed him suspiciously. “Oh yeah?”

Blake did not look perturbed by Jace’s cynicism. He just drank coffee.

So, this kid was a… fugitive? Great. That almost explained why he was alone in a ship with nothing but a single robot for company.

“You got an engie?” Jace asked. Blake frowned.

“A what?”

“Y’know, a techie.”

Neither word made Blake’s face change from a puzzled frown. Dumb amazement flooded through Jace like whisky burn.

“A mechanic?” he offered.

“Oh. One of those. No.”

It was silent. Jace stared.

“I was right,” he said, faintly, almost to himself. “You are a moon-head. A total moon-head. What are you doing flying around without a mechanic?”

Blake nudged his head towards the icemaker. “Miki runs the ship.”

There was a clatter. Jace turned; the robot had turned on the icemaker and slammed cubes right into his faceplate. He jumped out of the way, shaking his head, and backed up so far that he fell off the counter with a clatter.

“The tiny dumb robot runs the whole ship,” Jace whispered.

Blake raised an eyebrow and nodded.

“Well,” said Jace, “now I’ve seen it all. A moon-head with an attitude and a dumb robot who captains his bastard ship.”

“Please stop insulting my robot,” was all Blake had to say on the matter.

And there he was, on the stool, climbing back onto the counter. Blake smiled gently at him.

“Where are you heading?” said Jace. Now, he was genuinely curious.

Blake put down the mug and stared at the bar. Jace selected another piece of fruit.

“Okay, you don’t want to tell me, that’s cool,” he said.

“I need to leave here as soon as possible,” Blake said.

“Yeah, good luck with that.”

“Sorry?”

Jace leaned over the counter and spoke in a low, deliberate voice.

“Your ship is in a hole in the ground. You’re not leaving without a decent mechanic fixing up the thing.”

Blake considered that statement.

“Do you know one?” he said.

“Know one what?”

“A decent mechanic.”

The sheer absurdity of the morning, of the previous evening, of everything that had brought Jace to that particular moment of his life, suddenly took a hard hold of him and shook him. He just laughed. And laughed. And laughed. He was not sure why. Blake continued to stare, irritated, at him, and the robot looked on in wonder, and Jace laughed until he cried.

When he was done, he wiped his eyes, downed his coffee and grinned wildly at the stranger.

“Now there, Moon-head, you are on your own,” he said.

“You must know a place I can go.”

“Look.” Jace shrugged. “I can take you to Copper Corner. That’s where all the engies set up. After that, kid, I can’t help you. I got stuff to do, work to be done, money to earn –“

“Patients to kidnap?” said Blake, eyebrow raised.

“Something like that.” Then, tutting, Jace swatted at the robot. “Hey, Tin-Brains, off the counter!”

Miki booped mournfully.