Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The world is murky, and dark.

Ambrose floats in the inky blackness, alone. It’s cold. For a moment, he thinks he’s gone blind—there’s no light, no shadows. There’s nothing at all.

Then, in the distance, he sees Minerva. She’s standing on Titan, waving to him. Ambrose lifts his hand to wave back, but Minerva shakes her head. She looks scared. Why does she look scared?

“Minerva,” he whispers. “Minerva, I’m here.”

“Ambrose! You left me behind!” Her voice echoes in the emptiness, high and desperate. “Save me, little brother!”

Ambrose reaches towards her, his hands shaking. “Minnie! I’m coming, I promise, I—”

A gash opens in her throat, like it’s been cut by an invisible knife, and she screams, loud and sharp, and falls to the ground. Her blood is black where it seeps from her neck. Ambrose watches as she bleeds out, unable to move, unable to breathe. “Minerva! Minerva!”

His own neck erupts in pain, and his hands fly to the wound. Darkness pours out of him.

You left me behind. You left me behind.

He can’t breathe, he can’t breathe—

2472

9 DAYS UNTIL LAUNCH

Ambrose’s eyes fly open, and he sits up with a gasp, his breath choking him. It feels like he’d been drowning.

His chest heaves as he comes back to himself, the last dregs of the dream fading around him. He’s in his dorm, the morning sun just starting to peek through the blinds and casting a soft, otherworldly glow throughout the room.

He takes a deep breath, covering his face with his sweaty hands. Minerva is fine, he knows she is; he’d spoken to her just yesterday at mission control. He wishes she was here. He wants to crawl into her bed and tell her all about his awful nightmare, let her stroke his hair and assure him that it wasn’t real, it was all just a dream.

He shivers, cold air prickling his bare skin where his blankets were thrown off. He can hear the wind whistling outside, and the low hum of crafts whirring past the compound. He savors the sounds—the minutiae of Earth. In one week, he’ll be leaving. He’s running out of time to appreciate his home planet before he jets off for two years.

On the table next to him, his bracelet beeps, his morning alarm going off at precisely 07:00. Ambrose drags his hands down his face, exhaling slowly. No time to waste on bad dreams; he’s got a meeting to prepare for.

Today, he meets the Dimokratían candidate for the Hyperion mission to Titan.

Ambrose is showered and dressed by 07:10, finishes scarfing down a bowl of cereal in the dining hall at 07:20, and at 07:25 exactly, he arrives at the meeting room. His assistant, Eve, is standing outside, frowning down at her tablet, and her head snaps up when he approaches.

“Look, I’m early!” Ambrose says, grinning, but Eve doesn’t humor him, frowning deeper.

“You were supposed to wait for me in your suite,” she snaps. “The meeting’s been changed. We need to meet Chairperson Cusk in her office, now.”

She strides past him, and Ambrose turns to follow, his heart racing. “What? Why? Has something happened?” He wasn’t even supposed to see his mother until later in the morning, when the Dimokratían cohort arrives. His mind flips through the possibilities. Their ship was delayed. There was an issue at the border. There’s something wrong on Titan. There’s something wrong with Minerva.

Ambrose tries and fails to not work himself into a panic as they enter the Cusk-only express elevator to the corporate floors. His dream is starting to feel more like a premonition, and the sound of his sister screaming for him replays in his mind until he’s nauseous. When they arrive at his mother’s level, he rushes past Eve, making his way down the hallway so quickly he’s nearly running. He gets to the door and takes a second to compose himself before stepping into the room.

The office is neatly organized chaos; the entirety of his mother’s cabinet, as well as nearly everyone on the Titan mission management team, are present, typing messages into their bracelets and exchanging hurried words with each other. His mother is sitting at her desk, a picture of calm and control as she swipes through holoprojections. They’ve set up a ring of chairs around a small table, the surface of it absolutely covered in tablets and drink cups, which goes to show how last-minute this change was if they didn’t even have enough time to move to a proper meeting room.

Eve strides past Ambrose in a huff, coming to stand beside his mother’s desk. “Ambrose is here, ma’am.”

His mother looks up, her gaze sharpening when she sees Ambrose hovering by the door. “There you are, we’ve been waiting. Come sit,” she says, waving him over to the empty seat across from her in the circle. The room goes quiet, everyone finding their seats as Ambrose does.

“What’s going on? Is Minerva okay?” Ambrose blurts out.

“This isn’t about your sister, Ambrose. She’s fine,” his mother replies. Ambrose’s shoulders fall in relief, and he takes a deep breath as discreetly as he can. “There’s been a change in the Dimokratían spacefarer selection. You will no longer be going on the mission with Celius Li Qiang.”

And just like that, he’s back to being on the verge of a panic attack. They’re changing his mission partner this close to launch? He’d spent the last three months learning about Li Qiang, getting to know his personality and even exchanging a few transmissions with him. Interpersonal cohesion was important for their mission, as they would be living and working together on Titan for nearly a year. Changing candidates this last-minute could jeopardize the whole thing. “What? What happened?”

An aide standing beside his mother steps forward. “Celius Li Qiang was reported missing this morning by Dimokratían authorities. So far they suspect no foul play, but they have been unable to locate him and the security cameras at the Ceres Cosmology Academy were wiped.”

If this wasn’t directly ruining Ambrose’s life, he’d be impressed. Going off the grid is nearly impossible; facial recognition and bio-readings are used in nearly every public space on Earth, and getting around personal identification software takes immense planning. Which means…

“How could he just disappear without a trace?” Ambrose asks. “Is this some sort of ploy to ruin the mission? A conspiracy, or something?”

“The Dimokratían government seems just as perturbed by this as we were, and we have no reason to believe this was an act of sabotage, considering how cooperative they are being,” his mother says, folding her hands on her desk. “The success of this mission is vital for all of our futures. Dimokratía wants it to go well just as much as we do.”

Ambrose feels faint. “Yeah. I guess that makes sense.”

“The runner-up selection for this mission was available. He’ll be arriving here late this afternoon.” One of the aides hands Ambrose a tablet, and he takes it weakly, his mind reeling. On it is a picture of a man with dark hair and dark eyes, his chin dotted with stubble and a stoic frown carved deep into his face, like it’s been there, unchanging, for years. “His name is Kodiak Celius.”

Ambrose’s head whips up sharply. “Celius? Are the two of them related?”

“Orphans are given family names based on the province they were born in. Kodiak and Li Qiang were from the same orphanage,” the aide explains.

“And we’re sure that doesn’t mean anything?” A man across the circle asks.

“As far as we know, no,” Ambrose’s mother says. “We’ll have to do our own assessment of him when he arrives, but according to the Dimokratían officials, he hasn’t been in contact with Celius Li Qiang since he was sent back to their birthplace after losing the spot on this mission to him.”

Ambrose’s head is spinning from all this new information so early in the morning. “So what does this mean for the launch? We’re supposed to be leaving next week.” Delaying the launch is unthinkable; they’d already pushed it back nearly six months, thanks to issues with the supply chain and inadequate planetary alignment for gravitational assists. Minerva was already running low on food and desperately needed repair supplies. Postponing any further could turn their expedition into a rescue mission.

“The launch should be unaffected, as long as everything else goes to plan. We’ll only postpone if anything comes of our investigation.”

“Okay. Okay.” Ambrose takes a moment to process, staring down at the Dimokratían spacefarer he’ll be calling his shipmate for the next seven months, and his partner in assuring the future of humanity for the next two years. Li Qiang had been smiling in his cadet portrait, and his demeanor had always been pleasant every time they exchanged transmissions discussing the mission. Ambrose has no idea what to expect from this unfamiliar, stony face. He almost wants to ask if they need to have a spacefarer from Dimokratía at all, but he knows the only reason this mission is even possible is because of Dimokratía’s financial and logistical support. If Fédération is sending another person to Titan, Dimokratía has to send one as well. “There’s no chance we can get Li Qiang back before the launch, is there.”

“Even if he was found unharmed and not at fault for his disappearance, the subsequent investigation would take too much time,” a woman that Ambrose recognizes as the head of international communications, says. “I doubt Dimokratía would let him leave their custody, regardless.”

“I wouldn’t trust him to follow through,” another man, one of his mother’s cabinet, says. “Disappearing like this, right before the biggest event of his life? Sounds like cold feet to me.”

Murmurs start up around the circle, buzzing with doubt towards Dimokratía’s intentions and the new spacefarer’s ability to perform the mission. Ambrose can feel a headache forming behind his eyes, and from the look on his mother’s face, she’s feeling similarly frustrated.

“We don’t know what happened to him. What we have to do is move forward,” Ambrose’s mother says sharply. Everyone in the room is immediately cowed, going quiet as she stands. “If Dimokratía is planning something, we will find out. This mission will go through. My daughter is counting on it. What we need now is a plan.”

Ambrose closes his eyes and takes another deep breath, the reminder of Minerva’s faith in him strengthening his resolve. When he reopens his eyes, his mother is looking at him.

“Ambrose. You’re going to have the most difficult job of all, my darling,” she says. Ambrose is taken aback by the direct address, but straightens his shoulders determinedly.

“Yes. Anything for the success of the mission.”

His mother smiles. “Good. You and Li Qiang were supposed to be spending the next week training together and developing a rapport, and you will be doing the same with Kodiak, with one alteration.”

The cold, heavy feeling he’d been having this whole conversation finally gets its name as his mother says, “You will be our spy.”

Ambrose swallows. Ah. Dread.

When the meeting ends, Ambrose is sent on his way with a file detailing everything they know about Kodiak Celius and a firm look from his mother. After taking a moment to calm his breathing, he tucks himself into the relative quiet of one of the academy lounges and reviews the file. There’s not much there; the Dimokratían academy sent them nothing more than basic facts about Kodiak and his training. (Age: 18. Blood type: O-negative. Specialized in navigation, engineering, and chemistry. Top of his class, but lost the spot in the mission to Celius Li Qiang.)

One thing stands out to him as he reads: according to the report, Kodiak had rejected offers to stay at the academy as a trainer or enter the military ranks as a lieutenant, instead opting to be sent back to Celius for civil service. Admittedly, Ambrose doesn’t know much about the Dimokratían cosmology academies, but based on his research, it’s likely Kodiak would have been much more well-off if he had stayed. The Celius province is rural and impoverished, with most of the people living there working as farmers or fishers. It doesn’t seem like a place a spacefarer would want to return to.

He reads and rereads the file until he thinks he could probably recite it from memory, and then he decides to go for a walk. There’s other things he could be doing—the essay that he still needs to complete to graduate, for example—but he’s restless, and he knows he’s not going to be capable of being productive until after the Dimokratían cohort arrives. Maybe not even until after the mission launches successfully, if he’s being honest with himself.

People pass by him in the halls, many of them offering him a smile or a wave. Everyone at the academy knows who he is and what mission he’s leading; he’s been fielding well-wishes all week. He’s been in front of enough cameras that he can fake an easy-going-and-confident-yet-still-humble expression as he bumps into people he knows, but it gets old fast. As soon as eyes are off him, he ducks through a service hall and into a wing of seldom-used classrooms.

The planetarium projection room is empty, just as he predicted, and he slides through the door with a gusty sigh. His footsteps echo through the atrium as he walks to the console, flexing his hands as he thinks of where he should go. He has a penchant for hiking through Ganymede’s icy terrain, and he hasn’t been to Pluto for a long while…

Even as he considers his options, he finds himself typing in the system code for Saturn, his thoughts going quiet as he watches the planet come into focus. He’s spent enough time studying the planet’s orbital system that his eyes snap to Titan immediately, a tiny green-blue dot in Saturn’s shadow. He taps a few commands, and the moon grows larger, its cloud-filled atmosphere sharpening into finer detail. He stares at Titan’s surface, scanning it for the tiny human settlement somewhere on its northern hemisphere. There’s nothing there, of course—the projections only show landmarks larger than ten square kilometers. Minerva’s base is a mere blip in its enormity.

Soon he’ll be a blip there with her. The most important space mission in human history, but in the grandeur of the universe, Ambrose is barely a speck of dust. It doesn’t rattle him; you can’t be a spacefarer without conquering those kinds of existential thoughts. Right now, though, in this room on Earth, he feels very dust-like. He bets if he walked outside, he’d get whisked away with the rest of the detritus in the cyclones.

Alright, Ambrose, he thinks. Don’t step off the ledge, now.

He checks his bracelet. He’s still got about two hours until he’s needed anywhere; the Dimokratían ship had been understandably delayed. He enables the star map and lays down on the floor, staring at Titan where it spins above him. He studies the stars, making up new constellations until his mind quiets and his eyes slowly drift close.

An insistent beeping draws Ambrose back to reality. He blinks blearily, lifting his bracelet to his face, and balks when he sees a torrent of messages from Eve, getting progressively more threatening the longer he went without responding. He slept through his follow-up meeting with his mother’s team, plus the skincare session and haircut that had been scheduled for him, and now he’s got only half an hour before he’s supposed to be joining the welcoming committee at the spaceport. Shit.

He scrambles to his feet, half-tripping on the stairs, and haphazardly smacks the console to shut down the projections before speed-walking out the door and immediately barrelling into a group of first-year academy students.

“Spacefarer Cusk?” one of them says, bewildered. Ambrose throws them a harried grin, smoothing out his rumpled jumpsuit as they stare at him, seemingly torn between awe and confusion as he continues down the hall. He winces as soon as he turns the corner, rubbing a hand down his face.

“Get it together,” he mutters to himself, hopping into the elevator and tapping his onyx card to take him express to the surface floors.

Eve is beside herself when he arrives at the meeting room, bulldozing through his apologies as she shoves him into a chair to be fussed over. His hair is swept out of his eyes and yanked into a neater arrangement as she rattles off the notes from the meeting he missed—their background check on everyone in the Celius’ academy class came back clean; no one has heard from or seen Li Qiang or Kodiak since their respective exits from the program. Neither of them have any traceable living family without doing ancestry tests, and Kodiak, according to Dimokratían officials, has given them no reason to be suspicious.

“You’ll be escorting Kodiak to his lodgings after the diplomatic formalities are over,” she says, her nails clicking on their tablet as she types. “You’re not scheduled for any official interactions until your joint training begins tomorrow.”

“What about unofficial interactions?” Ambrose asks. “Are those frowned upon?”

“What you do in your free time is not my responsibility,” Eve says curtly.

“Well, that’s not true.”

“I really wish it was,” Eve mutters.

Ambrose pats her arm. “Only six more days, and you’ll be rid of me for two whole years. How’s that for a break?”

Eve responds with a withering look, then glides away to check in somewhere else. Ambrose takes a steadying breath, still a little disoriented from his impromptu nap, and starts to run through the talking points the diplomacy team had prepared for him earlier this week, interlacing them with the new objectives he’d received this morning. Welcome to Fédération, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Would you like anything to drink? How’s the weather back home? Are you harboring any state secrets that would lead to the failure of our mission and would you mind sharing them with me?

More people file into the room, shaking hands and murmuring about the Dimokratían’s imminent arrival. Ambrose recognizes about half of the people here: most of the higher-ups in mission planning are here, as well as some of the academy faculty taking part in research on Titan. One of his favorite professors stops by to squeeze his shoulder and offer a gentle word of encouragement, which Ambrose is grateful for. He wonders if maybe he should’ve made a point to reach out to the instructors who had helped him get this far, and thank them for all they’ve done to prepare him for the most important event of his life, but he feels strangely unprepared to say goodbye.

Five minutes before the shuttle is scheduled to arrive, his mother walks through the door, her swarm of assistants following after her. She surveys the room, and when her eyes land on Ambrose, she goes to him immediately. She scans his face and seems to like what she sees, nodding sharply. “So fearless. You look just like Minerva, darling.”

Ambrose doesn’t feel fearless, but he’s not about to tell her that. “Wow. Thanks, Mom.”

She smiles. “It’s time. Shall we?”

Ambrose nods, getting up from his chair and following her to the doors that lead to the landing pad. Nearly two dozen landkeepers stand in a silent line along the edges of the building, which feels like overkill for an arriving group of scientists and diplomats, but Ambrose gets the feeling that they’re not willing to take any risks after the morning’s events.

The welcoming committee arranges themselves in a crowd as the Dimokratían shuttle approaches and slowly makes its descent. They technically landed thirty minutes ago, having gone through security checks and a search of their craft at a location on the outskirts of campus. Their arrival at headquarters meant everything went well, and Ambrose feels an overwhelming relief at one less hiccup after such a tumultuous morning.

He can feel the relief echoed amongst everyone else gathered. This mission is about more than colonization; it’s the first time in decades that Fédération and Dimokratían scientists are meeting to exchange research. The pursuit of knowledge has done more for international relations than years of political efforts, and Ambrose has never been more proud to be a part of it. Even more reason why anything going awry could be catastrophic; one wrong move, and tensions could explode. Ambrose doesn’t want to leave the planet amidst another world war.

The Dimokratíans don’t seem like they’re here to participate in warfare, however—they step off the craft and start to walk towards them calmly and proudly, a few of them even smiling as they approach. It’s easy to pick out the members of the cosmology program in the crowd, all of them dressed in crisp red uniforms with patches designating their rank.

Ambrose zeroes in on Kodiak immediately, his breath catching in his throat at the sight of him. The photo Ambrose had been shown did nothing to capture the strength he radiates—his shoulders and arms are thick and broad, his muscles visible even in his ill-fitting uniform. His jaw looks sharp enough to cut, and the stubble on his chin and cheeks only adds to the burliness of his physique. His hair is much longer than in his academy photo, tied back behind his head while a few errant blue-black strands frame his face in a way that makes Ambrose’s stomach flutter. His eyes are hollow and sunken with exhaustion, but nothing in his posture betrays any sort of weariness, his back straight and his gaze fixed firmly ahead of him.

He is, objectively, beautiful. Ambrose is instantly transfixed.

The Dimokratían diplomatic representative leading the group steps forward to clasp his mother’s hand. “Hello, Chairperson Cusk. I am glad to finally meet you in person.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” his mother says, wearing the broadest smile Ambrose has ever seen her muster. “We’re so glad to have you here.”

“Dyakuyu,” the diplomat says, releasing her hand and bowing slightly. Kodiak is silent in his place behind them. Ambrose keeps his gaze fixed on him as he and the rest of the Fédération representatives bow in reply.

“We’ll give you some time to get settled, and then we’d love to invite you to share an evening meal with us. I’m looking forward to our continued collaboration leading up to the launch,” his mother says.

“As are we,” the diplomat replies.

The team of Fédération diplomats and scientists step forward to greet their guests and guide them to their accommodations, ambient chatter starting up as introductions are made. Ambrose glances at Kodiak, standing alone with a stony expression. He startles a little when Kodiak’s eyes snap to meet his, his frown deepening almost comically. Ambrose takes a deep breath. Well. Here goes.

He approaches Kodiak, bowing at the waist as he does. “You must be Kodiak. It’s a pleasure to meet you; I’m Ambrose Cusk.”

Kodiak inclines his head. “I know who you are.”

That’s all he says. Woof. Ambrose takes it in stride, smiling at Kodiak gamely. “How was the journey here? It must have been stressful, with how last-minute everything was.”

“The flight was long. It is nothing I am not used to.”

“I would hope so, considering how long our next flight is going to be. Saturn’s a bit farther from Mari than Thebes.”

“Yes, it is.” His expression doesn’t crack, not even a little, and wow, Ambrose can’t wait to spend seven months trapped in a metal box hurtling through space with this man.

Around them, the crowd starts to dissipate, groups splitting off for tours of the facility. Ambrose clasps his hands behind his back, rocking on his heels. “Well, fellow spacefarer, it’s my job to show you around. Shall we?”

Kodiak honest-to-lords grunts in reply. Fugitive or not, Ambrose finds that he already deeply misses Li Qiang and his considerably more personable disposition. He does his best to not let his incredulity show on his face, and turns to head back into the building, Kodiak following close behind.

His mother is standing across the platform, still speaking with the Dimokratían diplomat, and she locks eyes with Ambrose for a brief moment. She tilts her head, her piercing gaze flicking to where Kodiak walks behind him before she slips back into her professional mask. Ambrose swallows, straightening his shoulders and striding through the doors.

As they tour the building, Ambrose points out different areas of the facility for Kodiak to know—the dining hall, the gym, the message center—adding his own anecdotes about the spaces. Kodiak says nothing in response, but Ambrose notices the slight furrow in his brow as he reads the labels on the walls and doors.

“All of the rooms have numerical assignments, too, if you find yourself getting lost,” Ambrose says. Kodiak glances at him out of the corner of his eye, his lips thinning, but he nods. “I also don’t mind showing you around if you want a guide. I suspect we’ll often be heading to the same places, anyways.”

Kodiak hums in reply. Ambrose takes that as a win.

“So,” Ambrose starts after a couple more minutes of walking in silence, “with how last-minute this switch was, we obviously didn’t get the chance to learn much about each other.”

Kodiak exhales. “Is that not what this week is for?”

“Well, yes, but that’s all going to be mission-related stuff. I’d like to know about who you are outside that.”

“Why?”

Ambrose looks at him, confused. “Why?”

“I do not see why that matters.”

Pardon me? Ambrose doesn’t say, but he’s sure his offense is written across his face. “Comradery is important for the mission’s success. We have to understand each other in order to work well together.”

“I disagree,” Kodiak says. “I am here to do my job, not make friends.”

“You can’t do both?”

“I have no need to. Even if I did, I have no interest in ‘making friends’ with a Cusk corporate princelet.”

Princelet? Ambrose shakes his head a little, taking a deep breath. “There’s no need for our nations’ cold war to extend to us. This whole mission is about unity between our countries, joining together to help humanity. You must have understood that if you agreed to this.”

“I agreed to do my job as a spacefarer. Last I checked, that did not include making nice with the son of a warmonger.”

Ambrose chooses to glide right past that last comment, swallowing down rebuttals about Dimokratía’s own bloody history. He takes another, deeper breath. “Kodiak. We don’t have to be best friends, but we do have to be partners. Having each other’s trust is important. All of humanity is counting on us, you can’t just not talk to me.”

Kodiak tilts his head. “Hm. I think I can.”

Good lords. Ambrose doesn’t know whether he wants to scream or cry. Maybe both, if Kodiak keeps this up. He’s frustrated that he’s letting Kodiak get to him so easily, but Ambrose has never taken rejection very well—a symptom of being raised a Cusk that he’s yet to find the cure for. He searches his brain for a response, but doesn’t find one. He hates letting him win.

They enter the elevator, and Ambrose lets the hum of machinery wash over him as they smoothly ascend to the dormitories. Kodiak’s presence at his side is making his skin buzz, the air between them thick and tense. Ambrose is going to escort him to his room, give him a cordial goodbye, and hope that Kodiak will be more agreeable after some rest. He’s going to pretend he’s okay with that.

“The medical facilities are on the third floor, yes?” Kodiak asks.

“Oh. Yes.” Thrown by the sudden question, it takes him a moment to recall. “Room 332. Emergency services are in another building, though. Why?”

“I was told to report there at my earliest convenience,” Kodiak replies. “Apparently the Cusk Corporation does not trust Dimokratían medical reports.”

“They’re just trying to be thorough. They added a few things on top of the typical Fédération requirements, too, since this mission is so critical.” Ambrose side-eyes him. “You do want the mission to go well, don’t you?”

“Of course I do.” The elevator doors open, and they step out in sync. “Do you think I am here just to sabotage everything?”

“Apologies if I don’t think you’re above subterfuge, considering how last-minute your appointment was. I would expect no less from you if our situations were reversed.” Ambrose tries to keep an even tone, but irritation still bleeds into his voice. He hadn’t intended to be so direct, but they’re here now, and Kodiak doesn’t seem perturbed by it. He’s irritatingly calm, in fact, and Ambrose wants to take him by the shoulders and shake him, to ask him if he understands the gravity of their role. Don’t you understand how important this is? My sister is alone up there, trying to save all of humanity, don’t you understand how much this matters? “If you’re hiding anything that could jeopardize the mission—”

“As I told your government, I do not know what happened to Li Qiang,” Kodiak cuts in icily. “Interrogating me will get you nowhere. I am not here to learn your country’s secrets, I am here to do my job. I suggest you try to do the same.”

They’ve arrived in the guest wing of the facility. Ambrose slows to a stop in front of Kodiak’s assigned room, his back to him while he takes a moment to control his breathing. This is already off to a catastrophically bad start, and he knows he needs to say something to salvage it, but he can’t find the words. He wishes Minerva were here. She’d know exactly what to do, what to say. He’s sure Kodiak would prefer her over him, anyway.

When he turns to face Kodiak, he’s watching him warily, his deep-set frown somehow even deeper than before. Now that they’re standing eye-to-eye again, Ambrose is struck by how truly exhausted Kodiak looks, despite his best attempts to hide it. He’s probably had a hell of a day, and here Ambrose goes, accusing him of taking part in a conspiracy right off the bat.

“Look,” Ambrose sighs, swallowing his pride. “I think we got off on the wrong foot. Could we—try again? Maybe?”

Kodiak looks at him for a long, hard moment. “No.”

Ambrose’s mouth drops open. No? “Wh—”

“This is my room?” Kodiak doesn’t wait for a reply, opening the door and stepping through the threshold. Ambrose stares, wide-eyed and indignant, as he looks over his shoulder at him. “I will not need your assistance for the rest of the day. Good evening, Ambrose Cusk.” Kodiak says, the door sliding shut firmly after him.

Ambrose jerks backward, his teeth clicking together as his mouth snaps shut. He stares at the closed door for a few seconds, his brain trying to process what the hell just happened. He resists the childish urge to shriek, and instead forces himself to move down the hall without causing a scene that’ll end up on every news reel within fifteen minutes.

He’s got a little over a week to learn how to tolerate someone who clearly doesn’t care to tolerate him. “The things I do for you, Minerva,” Ambrose mutters. Somewhere above him, she’s laughing at him, he’s sure.

8 DAYS UNTIL LAUNCH

Ambrose has another nightmare about Minerva dying that night. He jolts awake, his breath stolen from him, and lays staring at the ceiling trying to get it back until his alarm goes off.

As he reluctantly rolls out of bed, he wonders if he could convince mission control to let him send a message to Minerva, just to ease his mind. Ultimately he decides that it’s not worth it to worry her, especially since she’s surely already concerned about the sudden change in mission partners. His dreams are just that—dreams. He can wait until their weekly call to talk to her about it. He’ll be fine. She’ll be fine.

He mulls over the previous day’s events while eating breakfast. Ambrose hadn’t spoken to Kodiak at the diplomatic dinner, instead taking the opportunity to have a lively discussion about biodiversity in the Dimokratían provinces with one of the visiting scientists. Kodiak had disappeared early in the night, clearly unwilling to spend more time than necessary amongst the crowd of academics and dignitaries. Ambrose had admittedly also felt the urge to tap out early on, the stress of the day starting to wear on him by the time the sun was setting, but he’d stuck it out. It was the only night he really had to socialize; the rest of the week was too packed with training and meetings.

He ambles from the dining hall to the gym, all too ready to run laps on the track until his mind goes blissfully blank, but comes to a stuttering stop when he sees Kodiak leisurely stretching on a mat across the room. He’s wearing a cutoff shirt emblazoned with the Dimokratían cosmology program logo, the sleeveless look clearly having been DIY-ed if the unfinished edges are anything to go by. Ambrose stares as Kodiak laces his fingers together and lifts his hands above his head, exposing the swathe of skin covering his ribs that’s peeking through the armhole of his shirt.

Why is he still looking? He should stop looking.

Arms, his mind helpfully supplies. Boy with big, strong arms.

“It is too early for this,” Ambrose whispers to himself.

Kodiak drops the arms in question and starts to enter another stretch, his eyes snagging on Ambrose as he does. He dips his head in greeting. “Pryvit.”

“Good morning,” Ambrose replies, a tad too loud. Kodiak gives him a funny look, and Ambrose spins on his heel and walks over to the track, starting his own stretches if only for an excuse to silently stare at the ground and hide his burning face.

He sets the workout timer on his bracelet and starts to run, the soothing repetition of his feet hitting the rubber track allowing his thoughts to melt into a background hum. His bracelet tracks his lap time, and he feels a pleased satisfaction when he sees he’s running just below his average.

After he’s nearly completed five laps, a pair of footsteps join his own. Ambrose twists his head and sees Kodiak running on the track behind him, half a length away but gaining on him rapidly. Ambrose faces forward again, gritting his teeth and incrementally increasing his speed. At first, he’s intent on ignoring him, but his stung pride from the evening before rears its head and Ambrose finds himself actively trying to keep ahead of Kodiak.

Kodiak catches up quick, though, much quicker than Ambrose expected, and within a lap they’re running side by side, Kodiak clearly pushing to overtake Ambrose and Ambrose absolutely not having it. Every time Kodiak speeds up, Ambrose does too, and before long they’re both in a dead sprint around the track, their feet pounding thunderously on the floor. Ambrose’s chest is heaving, the pace already putting strain on his lungs, and Kodiak isn’t faring much better—Ambrose can hear him breathing heavily just behind him. Still, neither of them let up.

Kodiak eventually manages to get a couple paces ahead of Ambrose. Ambrose ignores his screaming muscles and speeds up, locking eyes with Kodiak as he overtakes him again. Something passes between them, a sharp snap like the tension of a rope suddenly pulled taut, and Kodiak makes a small, choked noise and abruptly falls out of view.

Ambrose stumbles to a stop, whirling around to see Kodiak pushing himself onto his hands and knees on the track. He’s breathing so hard that his whole body moves with each inhale, his hair hanging over his face. “Oh, shit.” Ambrose jogs over, his own chest heaving, and gets on one knee next to him. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Kodiak wheezes. Ambrose doesn’t totally believe him; his arms are shaking as he holds himself up, and he can see angry, red scrapes on his knees from the fall, but he doesn’t push it.

Ambrose sits down, his own legs a little too wobbly to keep himself upright. He gulps big breaths of air, leaning back on his hands and tilting his head towards the ceiling. Pain shoots up his legs, his muscles spasming, and he knows he’ll be feeling the consequences of not doing a cooldown lap later, but in the current moment, he feels satisfyingly exhausted.

Eventually, Kodiak sits back, flicking his hair out of his eyes as he does so. Ambrose pretends that doesn’t make him feel things, and offers him a small smile. Kodiak doesn’t return it, looking oddly rattled, and Ambrose is about to ask him again if he’s alright when Kodiak shakily gets to his feet, holding his hand out. Ambrose slowly takes it, squawking in surprise when Kodiak easily hauls him up.

“Good race,” Kodiak says, like this was something they agreed to do instead of an impulsive one-upmanship contest.

“Yeah. Not usually part of my routine, but it was fun,” Ambrose replies, crossing his arms. “Think we should add it to our daily workouts on the ship?”

“Only if you enjoy losing,” Kodiak says, still not smiling, but the unsettled expression he’d had before has smoothed into something more relaxed. Ambrose rolls his eyes and walks over to where he’d left his water bottle, uncorking it and taking a few big gulps. Kodiak walks off the track a bit more stiffly, shuffling over to a bench and sitting down heavily. He hisses quietly as he inspects his scraped knees.

“There’s a med kit by the showers if you want to bandage those.”

Kodiak presses his lips together. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” Ambrose puts a hand on his hip, furrowing his brow a little as Kodiak gingerly dabs away the blood with a towel.

“Yes.”

Ambrose decides to leave it, taking another swig of his water with an exaggerated throw of his head. When he looks back over at Kodiak, he’s staring at him, something strange in his eyes. He looks away as soon as Ambrose meets his gaze, standing back up and walking across the room towards the exit.

“Uh—see you later?” Ambrose calls after him. Kodiak doesn’t reply, disappearing into the hall without even a glance behind him. Ambrose sighs and closes his water bottle with a click, feeling strangely bereft as he walks over to the mats to finish his workout.

They meet again an hour later for their first joint training. Kodiak seems to be back to normal, nodding at Ambrose when he walks into the room and standing beside him without any of the unease he’d had at the gym. Ambrose wants to ask him what he did to make him so unnerved, but he gets the feeling that conversation wouldn’t end as neatly as Ambrose would want.

He doesn’t want to believe Kodiak is working against him, for the sake of Minerva and the mission, but doubt pervades. He’s really not making it easy to trust him, and Ambrose wants to trust him. If he has even a single shred of doubt remaining by the time they launch, it could send their mission crashing and burning, and that is an outcome Ambrose refuses to accept. Not when Minerva is counting on him.

Next to him, Kodiak shifts a little on his feet, his stony expression briefly cracking with a wince. Ambrose tilts his head. “How are your knees?”

Kodiak stops fidgeting instantly. “Fine.”

Ambrose resists the urge to roll his eyes. “I’m not going to judge you for needing a bandage. If you’re in pain, you really should—”

“Drop it, Cusk.”

Ambrose opens his mouth. Closes it. Reels in the innate younger-sibling impulse to keep pressing the issue, and drops it, exhaling loudly. Kodiak returns to his usual rigid stoicism, the line of his brow lower than it was before. Ambrose hates how impossible it is to read him. He’s no stranger to putting on a mask—life in the public eye demands some sort of protection from the clamor of the media—but Kodiak has built a fortress where Ambrose usually slathers on a veneer. It feels wholly impenetrable.

The lead mission trainer walks in and smiles at them warmly, seemingly oblivious to the tension in the room. “Good morning Spacefarer Cusk, Spacefarer Celius.”

“Morning, Tashi,” Ambrose says, smiling back. Kodiak dips his head in greeting, and Ambrose side-eyes him. Does he ever do anything other than nod?

Tashi crosses their arms. “If you’re both ready to get started, we’re going to work on some system maintenance stuff today.” They look at Kodiak. “I know you haven’t gotten any training for this specific mission yet, so we’ll be going over the basics just in case. Ambrose, feel free to tune out whenever I say something you already know.”

“Eh, a little review won’t hurt,” Ambrose replies. Kodiak, once again, nods. Tashi glances between them, a hint of amusement on their face, and beckons them over to the projection table.

“You’ll have an operating system monitoring the status of the ship and running diagnostics, but it’ll be up to you two to perform more complicated repairs that the onboard maintenance rovers can’t accomplish.” They pull up a panel of data. “Based on Minerva’s flight data and the simulations we’ve run, these are the stats for what repairs you’ll be most likely to encounter.”

Kodiak studies the list with keen eyes, lingering on the numbers where Ambrose skims through, having already seen it before. He slows when he sees some new stats on the list and frowns slightly.

“Has there always been that high of a risk of catastrophic wear on the hull for a spaceflight of this length?” Ambrose asks. “I didn’t think we’d need to do anything beyond regular maintenance.”

Tashi hesitates so briefly that Ambrose almost doesn’t catch it. “Some of this is worst-case scenario stuff. Any space travel longer than a couple days is considerably more risky, so we want you to be prepared for whatever may happen.”

“Right. Makes sense.” Ambrose runs the math in his head, but doesn’t come up with anything significant enough to refute it. Kodiak glances at him, and when Ambrose meets his eyes, he quickly looks away, his jaw tightening slightly.

“I’ll have you run through some diagnostics to practice, and then we’ll move on to going over how to rewire outboard sensors, since those are most likely to get fried during flight.” Tashi pulls up a set of practice data. “I’ll be in the lab setting up. Let me know if you have any questions.”

They move away from the console and into the adjoining room, the door sliding shut behind them. Neither of them move for a moment, Ambrose silently waiting to see if Kodiak will take the helm at the keyboard. “Should I…”

Kodiak makes a go ahead gesture, and Ambrose steps in front of the console, already typing in a line of code to correct the first imbalance. Kodiak steps forward to stand beside him, muttering the solution to fixing the next set of irregular oxygen readings, and they fall into an easy rhythm of typing and exchanging ideas out loud. Their hypotheses align more often than not, and Ambrose is quietly relieved that they won’t be wasting time fighting over whether the other misread the control panels.

“The drag on the thrusters is likely from an impurity in the fuel reserve,” Kodiak says, and, once Ambrose has entered the diagnosis, he adds, “The data was exaggerated.”

Ambrose falters, accidently mistyping one of the numbers. “What?”

“The likelihood of catastrophic hull breach.” Kodiak’s eyes stay fixed on the projection. “It would take several decades of spaceflight for enough damage to build up, unless we were constantly getting hit by asteroids.”

Huh. “Well, we will be passing through the asteroid belt. Guess they just want us to be prepared.” Ambrose corrects his mistake, and Kodiak nods in approval. “...Why, are you suspicious or something?”

“Are you?” Kodiak fires back calmly.

“I have no reason to be,” Ambrose says, maybe a bit more haughty than necessary. “I just wanted to make sure there wasn’t a mistake.”

“Right.”

“Right.” The sound of typing fills the empty air. “Excess humidity in the engine room. Think it’s an air circ issue?”

“Mm. Check the CO2 vents.”

Ambrose pulls up the vent efficiency numbers—the filter does need to be replaced. Kodiak has sharp instincts. “What if there was something wrong?”

Kodiak sighs. “What, with the humidity readings on our fake ship?”

“With the risk data.” Ambrose glances at him, trying to gauge his reaction. “Is there a reason you think I should be worried?”

Kodiak keeps his gaze resolutely forward. “Are you normally this paranoid?”

“Normally my mission partners don’t go missing the day I’m supposed to meet them,” Ambrose replies, going for lightness but it comes out accusatory instead. Kodiak doesn’t even deign that with a response, his shoulders tightening. “You’re the one who brought it up again. Tell me what you think, honestly.”

Kodiak pauses a moment. “I don’t know. It is your Cusk Corporation that put together our training materials. If anything is wrong, it would be their doing.”

Ambrose’s temper flares. “Our training is a collaboration between both countries. Every party has to approve for it to go through.”

“They could’ve tampered with it afterwards.”

“That’s ridiculous. Why would they intentionally give us false data?”

“Maybe they are testing your loyalty, Cusk.”

“Would you stop calling me that?” Ambrose snaps. “I get that you hate me, and my mother and my country, but I am more than who my family is, okay? I have a name.” He takes a deep breath. “Look. I know we’ve been raised to hate each other, Kodiak, but I don’t want that. We are partners in this mission. So I would like it if we weren’t enemies. I think we’ve both had enough animosity in our lives on Earth, and I don’t want to bring it to Titan with us.”

For the first time since their encounter on the track, Kodiak looks at him—really looks at him. His eyes have widened slightly, his perpetual frown softening at the edges. He looks… surprised. Ambrose finds himself staring back, his brow furrowing slightly as Kodiak’s gaze wavers, his mouth twisting. Maybe Ambrose is imagining it, but he thinks he sees a flash of guilt on his face.

“Alright,” Kodiak says, his voice soft. “We will not be enemies.” After a beat, he adds, “Ambrose.”

Now it’s Ambrose’s turn to be surprised. “I—Thank you. That’s all I want.”

They silently turn back to the data, tension finally broken, but the air between them is still strained and stagnant. Ambrose hates sitting in it, so he does what he does best: he talks. “Well. Who needs the stats, anyways? Could always pull a Han Solo and wing it.”

“Who?”

“Han Solo. ‘Never tell me the odds’, y’know?” Kodiak looks at him blankly. “Star Wars? You know, those old space opera reels from the end of the 20th century?” Nothing. “Don’t tell me you don’t know what Star Wars is.”

“I didn’t know I was supposed to.”

Ambrose shakes his head incredulously. “Good lords, did they really not let you watch anything fun at the academy?”

“We had better things to do,” Kodiak replies stiffly. He’s starting to look uncomfortable, and Ambrose mentally dials back his scorn for Kodiak’s upbringing. Insulting his deprived childhood is not going to win him any favors.

“You’ll have plenty of free time on the trip to Titan. If you’re looking for ideas to pass the time, I’d recommend giving those reels a try.”

Kodiak only hums in reply, and Ambrose supposes that’s better than outright rejection.

They work through the rest of the diagnostics without further conversation, reaching the end without making any catastrophic mistakes. The screen flashes their near-perfect score, and Ambrose smiles. “Nice. Now we won’t blow the ship up.”

“We should not congratulate ourselves for the bare minimum,” Kodiak says.

“In our line of work, anything that isn’t a failure is worth celebrating,” Ambrose replies. “If survival is the bare minimum, then I’d say we’re doing a good job.”

“You have strange priorities.”

“So you’ve told me. Can’t watch retro sci-fi reels if you’re dead, though.” Kodiak huffs, and Ambrose bites his lip to hold back a smile. “Alright, time for some wire soldering. Excited?” Understandably, Kodiak doesn’t reply, clearly not willing to encourage Ambrose further. “Great. Shall we see if Tashi is ready for us?”

Ambrose turns to shut off the projection table, and when he looks back up, Kodiak is considering him again. His gaze is oddly unnerving, and Ambrose tenses. “What?”

“It’s nothing,” Kodiak replies after a moment. “Let’s go.”

He turns and heads towards the lab. Ambrose slowly follows after him, ignoring the strange feeling of unease settling into his chest.

They go their separate ways after their session is over. Despite their truce, Kodiak had been no more forthcoming emotionally or conspiratorially, and Ambrose is already exhausted by the effort of trying to understand him. Tashi’s presence hadn’t really helped much, either; it seems that Kodiak’s wooden first impression is not exclusive to Ambrose, which is both relieving and frustrating. Kodiak can hate Ambrose all he wants, but he won’t accept any disrespect towards Minerva. He’ll get into his good graces for her sake, too.

Ambrose rubs his eyes as he walks towards his dorm, hoping he can sneak in a power nap before his next round of meetings in the afternoon. His terrible sleep from the night before is catching up to him, so he doesn’t notice the person sidling up beside him until a hand wraps around his elbow and yanks him into an empty classroom. Ambrose yelps in surprise, stumbling a little as the door shuts smoothly behind him, and whirls around to face his abductor, his hands raised in front of him defensively.

“Whoa,” Sri says, raising an eyebrow, their hip cocked to one side. “You gonna hit me, Ambrose?”

“Lords, Sri, really? You scared the shit out of me,” Ambrose exhales, dropping his arms. Their on-again, off-again relationship had firmly been “off” for a while, so he wasn’t expecting to see them before the launch. “What was all that for?”

“You weren’t answering my messages.”

“Oh.” Ambrose glances at his wrist and indeed, there are several messages from Sri blinking up at him. “Sorry. I’ve been in mission training all morning. Also, I really didn’t expect you to want to talk to me, if I’m being honest.”

“I can be mad at you for dumping me via spaceflight but still want to see you,” Sri says, as if they haven’t been avoiding him for the past month. “Besides, I’m nosy. Tell me everything.”

“About… the mission?”

“About the Dimokratían spacefarer.” Sri tilts their head curiously. “What’s he like?”

Ambrose hops up to sit on one of the desks behind them, leaning back on his hands. “He’s… interesting. Stoic, doesn’t talk much. He’s very focused on the mission.”

“So the opposite of you, then?”

“More or less,” Ambrose sighs. “I think I’m getting through to him, though. Maybe.”

“This situation can’t be sitting well with the mission team.” Ambrose can read between the lines: They’re losing their shit, aren’t they?

“I think they’re handling it the best they can,” Ambrose says diplomatically.

“Yeah? How’d your mom react?”

Ambrose eyes them. He knows full well Sri’s opinion of his mother, and it’s not a kind one. “The way she reacts to everything. Calm, collected, unflappable in the face of catastrophe. You know how she is.” Sri hums, and wisely doesn’t add their own thoughts on the matter. “She, uh. She actually wants me to try and figure out if Kodiak is a mole, or something.”

“Oh?” Sri leans forward with interest, their eyes glinting. “Do you think he is?”

“I don’t want to think he is,” Ambrose groans. “This entire thing hinges on his good intentions, and so far he hasn’t done anything to make me think he’s planning on interfering with the mission.”

“You trust him, then?” Sri is watching him carefully, their expression neutral.

“I have to. Without him, the mission can’t go through.” Sri presses their lips together, and Ambrose frowns. “What?”

“It’s just all so convenient, don’t you think? The Dimokratían spacefarer goes missing, and they have a replacement lined up just like that? And even more, Cusk Corp just accepts it and moves forward?”

“They had a whole class of qualified people to choose from, just like we do. If anything happened to me, they would’ve been able to replace me quickly, too,” Ambrose argues.

“You’re a Cusk. If you went missing, they would assume foul play and the whole mission would be halted until they found you,” Sri rebuts, crossing their arms.

“Good thing it wasn’t me, then.”

“Ambrose. Does none of this feel wrong to you?”

“Of course it feels wrong!” Ambrose lurches to his feet. “Everything that happened is wrong and I don’t like it but it’s for my sister, Sri. I don’t care about anything but her anymore.”

Sri watches him pace across the room, an aggravatingly impassive expression on their face. “If you were in mission control, responsible for the safety of the people on this mission, and they asked you if this mission was go for launch, what would you say? Considering all the variables, the competence of everyone involved. What would you say?”

Ambrose closes his eyes. “It doesn’t matter. It’s not my call to make.”

“Sure it is. If you refuse to go—”

“If I refuse to go, my sister could die,” Ambrose snaps. “I’m not going to risk her life like that.”

“If you go, and everything goes wrong, then you’re all dead.”

“Why are you fighting this so hard, Sri?” An acrid mix of fear and suspicion rises in Ambrose’s throat. “Do you—do you know something? What’s going on?”

“I’m just worried for your safety, Ambrose,” Sri says placatingly, their brow furrowed.

Ambrose stares at them, searching their face for any sign of dishonesty or distrust, but all he gets is concern. You’re paranoid. Not everyone is out to get you, Ambrose. It’s just Sri.

“Sorry,” Ambrose says feebly. “I’m a little on edge.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” Sri snorts, walking to stand in front of him. Ambrose wants to lean into them, to be tucked away and held until he forgets all the anxious thoughts tearing through his mind, but it’s a selfish wish when he’s leaving the planet in a week. He settles for hovering in their orbit, his hands itching at his sides. “Think about it, okay? I know you’re worried about Minerva, but you’ll be of much less use to her if you don’t even make it out of the atmosphere.”

“I’m not doing anything drastic unless I get concrete evidence,” Ambrose says firmly. “I’m not going to risk Minerva’s life just because I don’t feel good about the launch.”

“Trust your instincts, Ambrose. It’s your life on the line, too.” Sri reaches out and squeezes his bicep, an unreadable expression on their face, before turning and leaving the room. Ambrose watches them go, dread pooling in his stomach.

7 DAYS UNTIL LAUNCH

Kodiak is at the gym at the same time the next morning. Neither of them say anything as they go through their warmups, quietly stretching on opposite sides of the room. When Ambrose walks to the track, Kodiak follows, waiting patiently next to him at the start line as Ambrose sets up his workout timer on his bracelet.

They run at a much more sustainable pace this time, quietly matching strides as they circle around the track. After nearly twenty minutes of running steadily, Ambrose suddenly dashes forward, zipping around the curve ahead of Kodiak. He can hear Kodiak speeding up behind him, and Ambrose grins as he increases his speed too, giddy with the thrill of the chase.

Same as yesterday, Kodiak catches up with Ambrose easily, and they swap between who’s in front until, at the last second, Ambrose steps past Kodiak right before they cross the finish line. Ambrose throws his hands in the air with a whoop as he slows to a jog and then comes to a stop halfway down the track, bending over with his hands on his knees. Just behind him, Kodiak mirrors his pose, his chest heaving.

“I win,” Ambrose says proudly, even as he gasps for air.

Kodiak shakes his head. “Not yet. Best out of three.”

“Oh, you’re on,” Ambrose chirps. “Though technically I’ve already won two, if you count yesterday—”

“I tripped. Does not count.”

“Alright, alright, I won’t count it.” Ambrose ambles off the track and grabs his towel off the bench. Kodiak follows behind him, pausing incrementally to stretch his calves.

Ambrose lets his eyes linger as Kodiak moves around the room, watching as he takes a moment to breathe, his eyes closed and his head tipped towards the ceiling. He’s wearing another infuriatingly revealing cutoff shirt, and he’s swapped his shorts for joggers, likely for the sake of his scabbed knees. He holds himself differently when it’s just the two of them, Ambrose notices; he drops the rigid line of his shoulders, wanders around a bit more loose-limbed. Maybe from the exercise, but maybe it’s a sign of comfort, too. When his eyes reopen, Ambrose glances away quickly before he can catch him looking.

Ambrose walks to the mats, settling down to start his rest of his workout. He’s only just started his first set of push-ups when Kodiak passes by, headed for the exit. Ambrose turns his head, speaking up without stopping his workout. “Going already?”

Kodiak pauses by the door, leaning against the threshold. He doesn’t look at him directly, his eyes fixed on a point just behind Ambrose’s head. “I got here an hour before you did. I’m finished.”

“Oh,” Ambrose huffs. He finishes his reps and props himself up on his elbows. “I was gonna offer to walk to the hangar together once we’re both done, but turns out you’re an overachiever, so.”

The corner of Kodiak’s mouth turns up. “What is the Fédération saying? Earliest bird eats the worm?”

“Something like that,” Ambrose says cheerfully. “I’ll meet you there?”

“Yes,” Kodiak affirms, pushing off the wall with his shoulder. If Ambrose watches him walk away until he’s out of sight, well. No one’s around to call him out for it.

Kodiak does meet him at the hangar, and when Ambrose finds him, he’s hovering outside the doors, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. He turns his head when Ambrose calls out to him, and raises one hand in greeting. He’s back to solemnity and rigidity, but he seems to relax minutely when Ambrose leads them through the doors.

Tashi waves at them from across the wide space, easily dwarfed by the Hyperion training mock-up behind them. They’re giving Kodiak his first tour to get him accustomed to the ship’s systems and construction—the real Hyperion is still being prepped deeper in the building—and to try and catch him up to speed on all the training he’s missed out on. Technically, Ambrose didn’t have to come, considering that he’s been working on the ship for months, but he’s tagging along for the sake of comradery.

Tashi leads the two of them through the ship’s bay doors, giving Kodiak a rundown of the schematics as they walk. Kodiak nods seriously the whole time, a picture of attention; Ambrose, on the other hand, meanders a few paces behind, half-listening to Tashi’s spiel while his mind wanders. He’d spent all his time in training picturing Li Qiang occupying the ship with him, and now he’s reworking it to fit Kodiak in instead. He can already picture having to maneuver around his broad shoulders in the lab, listening to his deep, accented voice describe the radiation readouts, sitting in silence on their flimsy kitchen chairs as they suck down their meal packets.

(He wonders if he could convince Kodiak to let him have all the manicotti packets. Maybe he’ll end up really, really liking lentils and they can trade.)

They’re only halfway through the tour when Tashi’s bracelet rings out with three quick, urgent beeps, and they look down at it with a frown. “Ah. Sorry, I need to take this call. Why don’t the two of you go ahead and spend some time in here together? Explore on your own and get used to each other’s company,” they say. “I’ll come find you once we’re ready to go over the airlock and decomp procedures.”

“Sure, Tashi, thanks,” Ambrose says. Tashi disappears down the walkway, and Ambrose turns to face Kodiak. “So, what do you think?”

“It’s a ship,” Kodiak says.

“Enlightening.” He spreads his arms, stretching to touch one of the walls. “It’s also our home for the next seven months, so I’d hope you like it.”

Kodiak’s expression warps strangely, his eyes tracing the smooth polycarb that makes up the ship’s interior. “I would not call this a home.”

“Well, what would you call it?”

“A ship.”

“Okay, sure.” Ambrose runs his hand along one of the wall panels. “A home is a place you live in. We’ll be living here, so it’s a home.”

Kodiak turns away without replying. Ambrose frowns a little, but doesn’t push it.

While Kodiak pokes around the ship by himself, Ambrose looks out one of the viewports in the hallway. During training sims, they project videos of the stars on the windows to mimic the actual view outside during spaceflight, but when the ship is powered down like it is now, all he sees is the hangar. On the other side is the academy training ship, the Eos, and Ambrose can see cadets crowded around it, likely getting tours of their own. Ambrose remembers when that used to be him, and now he’s on the mock-up of a real ship for a real mission. If little Ambrose could see him now.

“What is this?” Kodiak asks behind him. Ambrose turns to see him in the botany lab, inspecting the tray of flowers Ambrose has been tenderly cultivating for the past few months.

“They’re for our botany experiments on Titan,” Ambrose replies, joining him at the table. “Minerva’s already got the algae greenhouses up and running, so we’re bringing these up to see the effect the environment has on plants from Earth.”

“I see,” Kodiak murmurs, reaching out and gently stroking the petals of one of the asters. Ambrose is quiet, letting him have his moment; flowering plants have become less and less prevalent in their lifetime, and Ambrose understands the raw feeling of touching a piece of Earth that has survived despite the ravages of humanity.

“Are there flowers in Celius?” Ambrose asks.

“Some,” Kodiak replies. “The wild chamomile was just beginning to wither when I arrived. Not much lasts through the winter.”

“Not much lasts out here, either, in all seasons.” Ambrose runs his thumb over one of the flower’s leaves. “It’s nice to have the reminder that beautiful things like this can still thrive somewhere on Earth.”

“Or on a climate-controlled spaceship.”

“That too.”

There’s a faraway look in Kodiak’s eyes. Ambrose wonders if it was wrong to bring up his hometown. He straightens, glancing around to find something he can change the subject to. He looks down the hallway, remembers their conversation at the gym the previous morning. Bingo.

“I’m thinking,” Ambrose says, crossing the hallway over to the crew quarters, “that we can have our races from here to the med bay. I think twenty laps across the ship would be equivalent to the track lengths we’ve been running.”

Kodiak looks up from the flowers, his head tilting. He slowly walks over to stand beside him, a contemplative expression on his face as he studies the hallway himself. “Are you sure it’s the same?”

An idea blooms in Ambrose’s mind. “Well. There’s only one way to find out.”

Kodiak nods sagely, his eyes sparkling. “Would be remiss of us not to check.”

They glance at each other, their eyes connecting for a beat, and then they take off running. The sound of their footsteps bounce around the confined space, tinny and cacophonous, and Ambrose can hear the walls rattling as they dash past the kitchen area. Kodiak nearly slips on the smooth floor when the hallway starts to curve, cursing colorfully, and laughter pours out of Ambrose unbidden. When he looks behind him, Kodiak is smiling, too, and Ambrose’s stomach flips.

They’ve nearly made it to the opposite side of the ship when Tashi’s head pops through the bay doors, and Ambrose skitters to a sudden stop, Kodiak bumping into him from behind and almost sending them sprawling. He grabs onto Ambrose’s shoulders and hauls him upright before he can fall, and Ambrose, mortifyingly, shudders at the warmth of his hands. They straighten quickly, and Ambrose shakes off the feeling as Kodiak’s hands fall away from him.

“What are you two doing?” Tashi asks, bewildered.

“Um,” Ambrose says, for once not knowing how to explain himself. Kodiak is rigid next to him, also seemingly at a loss. “We were. Running?”

Tashi gives him an unimpressed look. “Please don’t damage the one replica of the ship we have for you to train on.”

“Okay, but, that would be great practice for us in case we needed to fix something on the real ship.” Tashi narrows their eyes, and Ambrose bites his lip. “Right. Copy that, Captain.”

Tashi sighs, muttering something like “teenagers” under their breath before disappearing. Ambrose glances at Kodiak with wide eyes, and Kodiak stares back at him, grimacing nervously. Somewhere behind them, a pipe squeaks, and Ambrose can’t help it—he bursts out laughing, folding at the waist as he cackles.

“Oh my God,” Kodiak says, but he’s smiling, hanging his head defeatedly. Ambrose gives in to gravity and falls to his hands and knees, giggling as he slides onto the floor on his stomach. Kodiak huffs, gentle and amused. “What are you doing.”

“Laying on the floor,” Ambrose sing-songs. “Join me.”

“No thanks.” He sits down instead, his legs crossed, and Ambrose twists his head to look at him, his face pressing into the cool polycarb walkway. There’s a ruddy flush on Kodiak’s cheeks and a half-smile on his lips as he leans back on his hands. Happiness, Ambrose thinks, is a good look on him. He has the sudden desire to put that expression on his face more often.

Ambrose rolls onto his back, his shoulder bumping Kodiak’s knee, and he goes still, turning his head away and disappointingly hiding his face from view. Ambrose sighs, folding his hands over his stomach and selfishly relishing in the small point of contact. He’s waiting for Kodiak to scoff and pull away, tell him that they’re wasting time, but he’s quiet, the sound of his slow, even breathing strangely soothing. Ambrose closes his eyes, allowing himself to rest in the stillness.

“Think we should get up and do our jobs?” Ambrose murmurs after a minute has passed.

Kodiak doesn’t respond for a moment. Ambrose peeks one eye open, and sees that he’s facing forward again, his eyes closed, too.

“Just a few more minutes,” Kodiak says softly. Ambrose hums in agreement.

In the hushed calm of the training vessel, it’s easy to imagine it’s just the two of them here, flying through space towards Titan with only each other’s quiet company. Ambrose is finding he doesn’t dread the prospect of it quite so much anymore.

6 DAYS UNTIL LAUNCH

Kodiak beats Ambrose when they race next. The triumphant smile on his face when he turns to look at Ambrose is so big and brilliant that Ambrose can’t find it in him to even pretend to be upset.

5 DAYS UNTIL LAUNCH

Cassandra Cusk’s office is a room Ambrose has learned he doesn’t want to spend much time in. After Minerva left and the next mission to send more colonists to Titan started being organized, Ambrose became the subject of more and more of his mother’s attention. As the head of Cusk Corp, she often only had time for five-minute check-ins over reel, but once he was selected for the mission, their in-person interactions increased exponentially. Now, with the chaos of Li Qiang’s disappearance wreaking havoc on the perceived security of their technology, they only meet face-to-face. Her office is irrevocably associated with crises, now and forever.

Ambrose tries not to feel resentful that it took an emergency for his mother to spend time with him. He’d fought for her attention his entire life, and now that he has it, it still doesn’t feel like enough.

His mother’s nails click on the tablet in front of her, her expression blank as she responds to whatever message she received before Ambrose had walked in. He’s sitting in a chair across the desk from her, trying not to fidget too much as he waits for her to finish. Eve is sitting in the back of the room tapping on her own tablet, and one of his mother’s assistants is standing beside her desk, their foot tapping on the floor. Ambrose is valiantly pretending that the overlap of noises isn’t giving him a headache.

He’s been sleeping worse and worse, still constantly plagued by nightmares, which had only been made worse when he found out that mission control had been unable to receive comms from Titan for days now. A freak solar storm is how they’d described it, bad enough that even their satellites orbiting Mars couldn’t get a strong enough signal out. They’d assured him that they’d let him know as soon as they got a connection with her again, and Ambrose is hoping it’s sooner rather than later. He’s relied on their calls more than he realized, and now, when he needs to speak to her the most he’s completely unable to, and it’s left him feeling untethered. He misses her deeply, the type of wound that can’t heal at a distance.

His mother sighs, and Ambrose’s eyes refocus as she brushes her hair off her shoulders, her gaze finally lifting to where Ambrose is sitting. “Sorry, darling. You understand how busy this week has been.”

“It’s okay, Mom,” Ambrose replies.

She smiles at him, and it’s just as fake as the one she directs towards the cameras. “Everything’s been going well? Tashi has been updating me on your training; they speak very highly of your dedication.”

Ambrose manages to muster up a bit of pride at that. “Everything’s going great, yeah. I think we’ll be well prepared to launch next week.”

“I have no doubt.” She folds her hands on the desk, tilting her head down. “Well, then, tell me what you’ve learned.”

“Oh. About Kodiak?” His mother nods. “Well, um. He’s lived in Celius for the past few months. He did a few different jobs in his town, he’s mentioned working in emergency services.” He bites his lip. “Uh. He’s good at swimming?”

“That’s it?” His mother asks, raising her eyebrows. “He hasn’t said anything about Celius Li Qiang, or the academy?”

“Not really. He doesn’t really like to talk about it, so I don’t want to ask.” Ambrose hears how childish that sounds as soon as he says it, and he suppresses the urge to shrink into his chair when his mother frowns.

“He doesn’t trust you, then?”

“I don’t think he trusts anyone, really, not even the Dimokratíans. He hasn’t spoken to any of them since he got here.”

“Interesting.” The aide at her side types something rapid-fire into their tablet, likely meant for the security council, and Ambrose suddenly regrets saying anything at all. It feels wrong to expose Kodiak’s private business like this. He can feel the dissonance here, caught between the desire to protect his sister and the mission, and his equal desire to protect Kodiak from their governments’ scrutiny. The discord jars him. He doesn’t know when he started caring about Kodiak so much.

Probably around the time you started day-dreaming about his hands, his mind supplies. Ambrose forces that thought away, willing his expression to remain neutral.

“Anything else?” His mother asks, clearly expecting him to speak more.

“No, nothing. He’s not very talkative.” He knows that won’t satisfy her. His goals are skewed differently than hers; he wants the mission to go through, regardless of what it takes to get there, even at the risk of his own safety, while she wants to protect him and Minerva and humanity’s future, regardless of who it hurts to keep them safe. He can only hope that the outcome will be the same either way.

“I suppose that’s to be expected,” his mother sighs. “Our own investigation hasn’t been very revealing. As far as we know, Kodiak Celius has nothing to do with the disappearance, and he’s been cooperative with Cusk Corp’s investigators, as well as with both Fédération’s and Dimokratía’s. He is remarkably clean.”

Ambrose inwardly lets out a sigh of relief at that. “Do you want to hear my opinion? Just since I’ve been getting to know him and everything.”

“Of course, darling.”

“I think we can trust him,” Ambrose says, swallowing when his mother’s eyes narrow. “He’s incredibly skilled, he’s dedicated to the mission, and it seems like all he really wants is to do is his duty. If he was going to sabotage, wouldn’t he have done so already?”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not,” his mother replies. “I wouldn’t say anything definitive until Li Qiang turns up and we can truly get to the bottom of what happened.”

“But that won’t affect the launch, right? He’ll come up with me even if Li Qiang isn’t found?”

“We’ll have to see,” his mother says sympathetically. “So far we haven’t found a reason to cancel, but things could change quickly and without warning. Keep doing your job, and we’ll do ours.”

Ambrose feels vaguely nauseous at that. “What will we do if the launch is canceled? Minerva has no way to get off Titan without the Hyperion.”

“You don’t need to worry about that.”

“Mom, please. I just need to know if there’s a plan,” Ambrose asks desperately.

His mother gives him a look. “We have one, we always do.”

“Well, what is it? Is there anything I can do? I can help, if you need.”

“Ambrose. Don’t overstep.” His mother’s voice is sharp. “You have your assignment. Focus on that.”

“But Minerva—”

“Your sister knew what she was signing up for when she was chosen for her mission. You need to stop thinking about her and focus on your own responsibilities,” she snaps. Ambrose flinches, shrinking back into his seat. He feels like a child again, constantly begging for her approval and never getting it. In a way, he still is. He hates that she can do that to him. “I have another meeting in two minutes, so you’d best be on your way.” Ambrose nods, and his mother smiles at him tightly. “Go and make all of us proud, my darling.”

“I will, Mom,” Ambrose says hollowly.

She’s already looked away by the time he stands up. He walks out, Eve on his heels, and pretends there aren’t tears building behind his eyes.

Their last training of the day—a rundown of how to run their geology experiments once they’re on Titan, something that Kodiak is surprisingly passionate about—ends early. Ambrose, still feeling off-kilter from his meeting with his mother and not wanting to be alone, turns to Kodiak and asks if he wants to go for a walk. To his surprise, he agrees.

It’s late in the day, the sun just starting to turn amber-gold as it approaches the horizon. Their shadows are long and warped as they walk in silence down the near-deserted academy hallways; students and professors are usually in their own residences or at the dining hall at this time of day. Ambrose is glad for the peace and quiet. He’s grown quite tired of putting on a mask.

He can feel Kodiak’s eyes on him as they walk. He’s been doing a lot of that lately—observing Ambrose when he thinks he's not paying attention. Ambrose wonders what he’s searching for. Wonders what he sees when he looks at him.

“Are you… alright?” Kodiak asks.

Ambrose startles, looking up at him. “Oh, yes. I mean. No, not really, actually. Long day, I guess.”

Kodiak nods slowly. “You did not seem very focused.”

He doesn’t mean it as an insult, Ambrose knows, but it rubs him the wrong way all the same. “Yeah, well. I can’t be on my A game all the time. Sorry.”

“I’m not upset,” Kodiak mutters, though the huff in his voice says otherwise. “I was just… noticing.”

And just like that, Ambrose feels guilty. Kodiak has been nothing but amenable since their truce on the first day of training, and now Ambrose is taking out his frustration on him. He takes a deep breath. “I know. Thank you, for checking on me. I appreciate it.”

Kodiak nods, still looking at Ambrose with a little line between his eyebrows. He doesn’t say anything further, and Ambrose, for once, doesn’t mind his distaste for small talk.

Their route takes them around to the other side of the building, past a row of windows where the border fence is in view. Ambrose’s heart sinks when he sees the huddled throngs of refugees in the distance, the landscape dotted with dust-swept tents. Kodiak slows to a stop, staring out the window. “Why aren’t they letting them in?”

“The shelters are full. Have been for months.” Ambrose folds his arms over his chest. “There have been more people than usual coming lately, because, well. You know what’s happening in Brasilia.”

“Yes.” Kodiak works his jaw, something hard in his eyes. “The Cusk Corporation cannot do anything about it?”

“They’ve built areas of refuge. It’s…difficult, politically, for them to do anything, since Cusk Corp is supposed to be acting in the interests of both countries. Admitting refugees means acknowledging that Dimokratía is a place they need protection from.” Kodiak hums, his face blank, and Ambrose desperately wishes he could tell what he was thinking. “There’s organizations locally that help them, and student groups at Cusk Academy that advocate to the board to allow refugee students to enroll with special scholarships. It’s not perfect, but people are trying.”

“Is it enough?” Kodiak asks.

Ambrose stares down at the crowds, his stomach turning. “No. No, it’s not.”

Maybe it’s the angry remnants of his conversation with his mother, or his lack of sleep, or his own disdain with the state of the world, or a combination of it all, but he can’t stand defending any of it any longer. “I hate it, actually. It’s ridiculous that we get to live in this state-of-the-art facility while they suffer out there.” His breath shudders. “Do you know how many children die just from exposure? They’re people, too, regardless of where they came from. It’s not fair that they’re denied safety just because they weren’t born in Fédération.”

When he looks at Kodiak, he’s staring at him, shock clear on his face. “What? You didn’t think I was that brainwashed, did you?”

“Well. Perhaps a little,” Kodiak says.

“I might have been raised a Cusk, but I’m not that sheltered. I’m well-aware of the part my family plays in their suffering.” Ambrose wraps his arms tighter around himself. “I couldn’t tell you the number of times I’ve wished my mother would stop putting money into military technology and give it to people who actually need it. My… friend, Sri, they’re in a group that helps organize funds for people who are denied refugee status but can’t pay the fee to get in through commercial channels. I’ve given them money before, but I can’t do it as much as I’d like. If it ever got out that a Cusk was helping Dimokratían immigrants enter the country, it’d be a media scandal. I’d be kicked out of the academy, and my mother could very well disown me.” He takes a deep, shaky breath. “Even if I could help more, it still wouldn’t be enough. It’s never enough. Nothing ever will be.”

Kodiak is quiet for a moment. “Maybe. But you are better than your mother, for trying at all. That is worth something.”

“I hope it is,” Ambrose whispers.

Outside, the wind howls, and Kodiak’s eyes flick between Ambrose and the border wall in the distance. “You know I did not have to return to Celius after I was dismissed.”

Ambrose looks at him. “Yeah, it was in your file. You could’ve stayed at the academy or entered the military, right?”

“Yes. It was a privilege to have a choice; my peers who left before me were given assignments that they could not refuse, and none that came with the influence of being a government official.” Kodiak folds his arms behind his back. “I know what they wanted me to choose. So I did the opposite.”

“Why?” Ambrose asks. “You would’ve been better off in those positions.”

“This may come as a surprise to you, but I am not brainwashed, either,” Kodiak replies drily. “I know my government is corrupt. I am no help to my people when I continue to support the cycles of violence against them.” He exhales slowly. “The choice was small. But it mattered to me.”

Ambrose rolls that around in his mind for a moment. The Dimokratían cosmology academies have been endlessly criticized for their involuntary recruitment of children. Kodiak, just like Li Qiang and all their peers, had no choice but to train to be a spacefarer. They were groomed for it, every bit of their life dictated by what they could offer their government. Ambrose doesn’t have to ask him to know how it must have felt to finally be free from it. He feels almost guilty that he’s been forced back, yet again because of things he had no control over, but part of him is glad that it was Kodiak, after all. He has a hard time picturing doing this without him.

Ambrose steps closer to him, bumping their shoulders together, and Kodiak looks at him, gentle and curious. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“The vulnerability.”

“Hm. We will never speak of this again,” Kodiak says firmly, but there’s a teasing sparkle in his eye.

“Oh, of course not. Can’t have it getting out that Kodiak Celius is a big softie deep down. Your reputation will be in shambles.”

“You say that as though my reputation was not destroyed the moment I started being associated with you.”

Ambrose rears his head back, affronted. “Lords, you’re mean to me. Are you asking to be jettisoned out the airlock?”

“You shouldn’t have told me your plan to murder me. Now I’m never going near the airlock with you,” Kodiak replies, crossing his arms.

“Good thing I’m actually going to murder you by poisoning your meal packets.”

“You just told me again. You’re not very good at this.”

“It’s not like I make a habit of murdering people. Excuse me for my inexperience.”

Kodiak laughs, and the sound is so unexpectedly bright that Ambrose is momentarily rendered speechless. He’s utterly captivated by the sound, his stomach swooping embarrassingly, and can’t keep himself from staring at the soft curve of Kodiak’s smile.

Shit, he thinks. Oh no.

“I need to go,” Ambrose blurts out. “I have, um. Dinner plans.”

“Oh. Okay,” Kodiak says, and maybe Ambrose is imagining it but he sounds—disappointed?

“We can walk back to the dorms together, though,” Ambrose says quickly, caught between the desire to keep spending time with Kodiak and the need to get his feelings in check.

“Okay,” Kodiak says again, his tone a touch more pleased. Ambrose tries not to think about what that could mean.

As they walk, Ambrose realizes his mother would want to know what Kodiak just told him. Openly admitting that he thinks the Dimokratían government is corrupt is exactly the kind of thing they’re hoping to find, no matter what the context happens to be. The longer he considers it, however, the more he thinks that she has no right to hear it. He told Ambrose in confidence, because… because he trusts him.

Oh. Kodiak trusts him.

Ambrose swallows around the lump in his throat, trying—and failing—not to read into it.

4 DAYS UNTIL LAUNCH

“Are you doing anything after this?”

Kodiak, in his spot next to him on the track, raises an eyebrow. “We have a meeting at 11:00.”

“That’s three hours from now. Do you want to go out for coffee? You haven’t been out to the city yet, right? Did you want to go take a tour while you’re here? I could show you around if you want.”

Kodiak blinks, clearly taking a moment to process the rapid-fire questions. “Am I… allowed?”

“Sure, you’ll be with me.” Kodiak looks at him doubtfully. “You’re not a prisoner, Kodiak, you can go outside.”

“I have not felt very welcome here. Forgive me for being hesitant.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Ambrose says, and he means it. “Let me make it up to you?” Kodiak shifts on his feet a little, still looking hesitant. “How about this: if I win today, you go into the city with me.”

That seems to intrigue him. “And if I win?”

“We go drink the shitty cafeteria coffee instead and you regret not taking my offer for the rest of your life.”

Kodiak rolls his eyes. “So dramatic. We don’t even have coffee in Dimokratía, you know.”

Ambrose blinks. “Really?”

“No.”

Now it’s Ambrose’s turn to roll his eyes. “You don’t have to agree, I know it isn’t mission relevant—one might even call it friend-making—but this might be the only time you get to be in Fédération, and the coffee in Mari is pretty good, so—”

“I’ll go.”

“You—really?” Kodiak narrows his eyes at him. “I mean—great! Cool, cool, cool.”

“Cool,” Kodiak echoes. Ambrose beams at him, and Kodiak’s eyes dart to the side. “Are we racing?”

“Oh, right.” Ambrose gets into his starting stance. “Ready, set—”

Kodiak dashes off before he says “go”. Ambrose sputters and sprints forward. “Hey! Not fair!”

Despite his head start, Ambrose catches up with him almost immediately. As per usual, they’re evenly matched, and as they’re approaching their final lap it’s unclear who will pull ahead in the end. Kodiak is ahead of him by mere centimeters, but Ambrose can’t quite push hard enough to get past him. Disappointment rises in his chest as he considers that he might lose, a feeling that he instantly compartmentalizes in favor of running even harder.

Then, only three meters from the end, Kodiak slows down. It’s such a small decrease in speed that Ambrose barely processes it before he’s stepping past him and over the finish line. He stumbles to a stop, his breath stuttering in his chest, and whirls around to face Kodiak. “I won.”

Kodiak raises an eyebrow. “Congratulations.”

Ambrose squints at him, his hands on his hips. Kodiak tilts his head. “What?”

“Nothing,” Ambrose says. “Just—didn’t expect it.”

Kodiak hums innocently, already turning away to stretch his legs out. Ambrose watches him, something warm and giddy curling in his stomach that feels dangerously close to affection. He forces himself to tear his eyes away before the feeling solidifies into something more real, leaning over to start his own stretches.

They agree to meet at Kodiak’s room at 09:00, and Kodiak’s door opens at exactly 08:57, startling Ambrose out of his forced-casual lean against the wall beside it. He straightens to greet him, a smile curling onto his face as Kodiak faces him. He’s fresh from the shower, his hair wet and pooling at his shoulders, making it look even darker and shinier than usual. It’s the first time Ambrose has seen him without it tied back. He hopes he’ll leave it down more often.

Kodiak glances around as they walk through the building to get to the rail station, a hint of trepidation in his expression as they weave through throngs of academy students. The visiting Dimokratíans had specifically been housed in a lesser-used part of the academy to avoid the inevitable curiosity and scrutiny by the local population, and now Ambrose sees why that was so necessary. People try to stop and talk to them near constantly, obviously eager to meet a Dimokratían spacefarer, but Ambrose is quick to deflect any attention off Kodiak and keep them moving.

“You’d think none of them have ever met someone from out of town before,” Ambrose mutters after ushering away a particularly chatty second-year. The corners of Kodiak’s mouth turn up slightly, but he’s still tense, his hands clenched into tight fists at his side. Ambrose feels a little guilty for parading him around in public like this, but he knows as soon as they’re on the train they’ll stop getting mobbed.

“We should be able to get off campus without too many people recognizing us,” Ambrose says, eyeing a pair of landkeepers stationed by the exit and guiding Kodiak as far away from them as possible. “Students are allowed to go into the city without prior approval on the weekends, so we’ll blend right in.” Once they’re out the door without being seen, he holds a card out to Kodiak. “Here.”

Kodiak looks at it apprehensively. “What is this?”

“Minerva’s onyx card. We can get a private car on the light rail if we both have one.”

“How does it get us a private car?”

“Cusk cardholders get special privileges,” Ambrose says, and Kodiak wrinkles his nose. “Don’t give me that look. I know, I’m spoiled, we’ve been over this. Look, it’s either this or getting hounded by every person we bump into in a shared car with no way to escape. We’re basically micro-celebrities.”

Kodiak scowls, but he takes the card from Ambrose’s pinched fingers with a huff.

They arrive at the academy’s rail station and tap their cards against the ID reader. Kodiak blinks a little when Minerva’s face pops up after scanning his, and he glances back at Ambrose, something curious in his eyes. Their faces are remarkably similar, and even Ambrose takes a moment to look at her photo, his chest aching, before leaning forward and tapping his card, replacing Minerva’s face with his own.

The gates open up into their own private queueing area, bypassing the crowds of people waiting further down the platform. The morning light filters through the high glass ceiling of the station, hints of dusty blue sky peeking through the clouds. Chatter echoes through the open space, intermingling with the rolling hum of arriving trains. Kodiak leans over the edge of the platform, looking down at the rails with interest. Ambrose remembers that engineering was one of the specialties in Kodiak’s file, and starts talking about what he knows about Fédération’s maglev train system, grinning when Kodiak corrects his intentionally incorrect math about high-speed travel. When their train arrives, they walk into their empty car and settle into a comfortable silence as they shoot off towards the city. Kodiak studies the desert landscape with subdued interest, turning his head to look every time Ambrose points at something he sees out the window.

They get to their stop after a quick ten-minute journey, stepping out of the train and onto the downtown platform. “Now,” Ambrose says, “if any landkeepers come by asking for ID, let me handle it.”

Kodiak narrows his eyes. “I thought we were allowed to be here.”

“I mean, we probably should have asked first, but we’re adults who can make our own decisions, aren’t we?”

Ambrose strides forward, and Kodiak freezes for a moment before catching up, his expression pinched and angry. “If you risk my spot on the mission by doing this, Ambrose, I swear—”

“We’re not going to get in trouble. We’re meant to be bonding, so if anything they’ll be proud of us for taking the initiative.”

Kodiak grumbles unintelligibly, probably cursing Ambrose out in Dimokratían, but he sticks by his side as they ascend the stairs from the station and step into the light. The annoyance melts off his face, his eyes widening as he looks up at the buildings towering over them. From afar, Mari’s city center is an unimpressive cluster of high-rises, but up close, the intricacies of the structures come into sharper detail, the outer walls embossed with ventilating panels and curved windows specifically designed with the city’s arid climate in mind. The glass shimmers in the bright sunlight, casting sparkles on the ground that dance in the heat. Ambrose lets him stare for a moment before guiding him to the sidewalk shelters to protect them from the sharp wind as they walk.

Downtown Mari is an eclectic mix of 25th century apartments and storefronts and shiny Cusk-branded skyscrapers, with remnants of the city’s ancient history scattered amongst the newer developments. They walk past the occasional fenced-off archaeological site, clusters of structures thousands of years old and somehow still standing after centuries of international conflict. Ambrose stops whenever they come across one, pretending to be interested despite taking field trips to visit them dozens of times, just to give Kodiak an excuse to look around. He translates some of the more archaic language on the plaques for him, Kodiak nodding seriously and listening to Ambrose so intently that you’d think they were in a mission briefing.

Ambrose can’t help watching Kodiak’s curious, unguarded expression as he examines each site. It’s so different from the Kodiak he’s seen in their trainings and meetings, the one with walls so thick and so high that Ambrose couldn’t imagine breaking through them. Ambrose already misses this version of Kodiak, who asks him about the significance of the people mentioned on the plaques, and makes fun of him when he waxes poetic about a pastry shop they pass by, and complains when he makes them run across the street to beat the crosswalk countdown. Ambrose thinks, delusionally, that maybe in another life, one without their world’s endless cold war, they’d be normal teenagers, exploring the city without the weight of the entire planet on their shoulders.

They weave through the streets and the throngs of bustling Mari citizens, away from the city center and towards the edges of the district. As they walk, the buildings start to thin out, and so do the crowds. A few kids playing football in the street wave enthusiastically at them as they pass, excited by their academy uniforms, and Ambrose salutes them goofily.

“I bet they don’t even know we’re the ones going to Titan,” Ambrose comments with a grin once they walk away. “They’ll see us on the news and freak out.”

Kodiak doesn’t reply, but he’s frowning in a way that Ambrose is starting to understand is just the face he makes when he’s thinking about something. They run across another group of kids playing in the street, and this time, Kodiak waves when Ambrose does, a little tense and awkward, and Ambrose can’t help but smile at how endearing it is. He hopes he never gets used to being in the spotlight.

Their destination comes into view only after a few minutes. “Here we are!” Ambrose declares, ushering Kodiak towards a small, unassuming building on the corner of the street. An electronic chime sounds when they enter, tinkling merrily in the small, plant-filled space. Behind the counter, a middle-aged woman with warm brown eyes and scarf wrapped around her head looks up when they walk in, her face lighting up.

“Ambrose!” She says delightedly, coming around the counter to greet him. “I was starting to think you might not come by before you left!”

“Sorry, Nadiyya,” Ambrose says, taking her hands into his own. “I’ve been so busy getting ready, you know how it is.”

“It’s alright, habibi, I’m just glad to see you,” Nadiyya replies, patting his cheek. She glances behind him, where Kodiak is standing stiffly by the door, and lowers her voice. “And you’ve brought someone new this time, hm? You and Sri broke up again?”

Kodiak’s brow furrows in confusion, and Ambrose waves his hand, flustered. “No, no, he’s just a friend.” He turns to face Kodiak, gesturing towards him with a flourish. “Kodiak, this is Nadiyya, she runs this shop. Nadiyya, this is Kodiak, my partner for the Titan mission.”

“Oh!” Nadiyya gasps. “You’re Dimokratían, then?”

“Yes,” Kodiak replies gruffly. Ambrose stares at him pointedly, and Kodiak’s jaw twitches a little. “Ah. Nice to meet you.”

“Lovely to meet you too, Kodiak,” Nadiyya says warmly, a hint of laughter in her voice. “What can I get for the both of you?”

“Qahwa? Kodiak’s been drinking the terrible academy coffee all week, so I wanted to introduce him to the good stuff,” Ambrose says.

“I’ll make a fresh batch just for you,” Nadiyya replies, pinching Ambrose’s chin between her thumb and index finger. She goes back behind the counter, and Ambrose turns to Kodiak, gesturing his head towards the tables set up along the window.

“She was not speaking the Fédération I am familiar with,” Kodiak comments after sliding into his seat.

“Nadiyya’s family has lived in Mari for centuries, so their dialect is very local. A lot of the people you’ll meet in this part of town speak it,” Ambrose explains. “You probably learned the version of Fédération they speak in the capital.”

“Hm. Is that what you speak?”

“Sort of? I was surrounded by a lot of different people who spoke a lot of different dialects when I was first learning to talk, so it’s all kind of a mish-mash in my head. I’ve mostly assimilated to the formal dialect, though.” Ambrose leans his head on his hand. “What about you?”

“I am unsure. I also grew up around many different adults, so I suppose mine, too, is a ‘mish-mash’.” Kodiak folds his arms on the table. “Do you know any Dimokratían?”

“Not as much as I should,” Ambrose says apologetically. “I know a lot of scientific terms, and things like, pryvit, mene zvut, ya kosmonavt. Tilʹky osnovy.”

“Your accent is awful,” Kodiak says. “And you talk like a five year-old.”

“Hey, I don’t get much practice!”

“It grates the ears.”

“Rude, Kodiak, you are being rude.”

Kodiak grins at him. “Dytyna.”

“Oi.”

Nadiyya chooses that moment to walk over with their dallah and cups, setting them down in front of them. “Here you are, boys. It’s still hot, so give it a minute to settle.”

“Thank you,” Ambrose says, smiling at her. Kodiak echoes his thanks, cupping the bell-shaped mug in his hands. Nadiyya gives Ambrose a look as she slides a plate of candied fruit onto the table, her meaning coming across quite clearly: are you sure you’re not on a date? Ambrose flushes, breaking eye contact with her sheepishly, and Nadiyya chuckles quietly, patting him on the shoulder before retreating back behind the counter.

Kodiak doesn’t seem to notice their unspoken conversation, picking up one of the fruits and popping it into his mouth. Ambrose lifts the dallah and pours a serving into each of the cups, picking up his and inhaling deeply. Kodiak does the same, humming appreciatively.

Ambrose takes a long drink of his coffee, closing his eyes and sighing in approval. “So good. I haven’t had the time to come here for so long, but I couldn’t leave Earth without having some proper coffee one last time.”

“Haven’t had any dates lately?” Kodiak says innocently.

Ambrose squints at him. “This might be my secret date spot. But, uh, don’t tell anyone I’ve dated that. They all think they’re the only person I brought here.”

Kodiak chuckles. “Just when I was starting to feel special.”

“Kodiak Celius, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re teasing me.”

Kodiak takes a sip of his drink, his eyes glittering over the rim of the mug. Ambrose feels struck by this image of him: sunlight hits the side of his face and curls over his eye and nose, bringing out the warm brown of his irises. He’s leaning back in his seat, easy and relaxed, his body free of the tension he’d been carrying since he arrived. His hands, strong and callused, hold his cup with a delicate reverence, his thumb running over the engravings gently. In this moment, his rough exterior gives way to a softness that Ambrose knows he’s privileged to be able to witness. A stray lock of hair falls into his face, and Ambrose resists the urge to reach out and tuck it behind his ear. Lords, he’s beautiful.

“You’re staring.”

Ambrose jolts, his cup nearly slipping out of his hands. He quickly lifts it to his lips, taking a gulp that scalds his tongue in an attempt to cover up his inelegance. Kodiak watches him with a bemused look on his face.

“Sorry. Spaced out,” Ambrose says once he’s recovered. Kodiak just hums, taking a drink from his own mug. Ambrose pointedly averts his gaze from his throat when he swallows. “Um. I was just thinking about how I started coming here just after Minerva left, and I’m taking you to the same place before we go and join her. Didn’t make the connection until after we got here.”

Kodiak tilts his head, his posture shifting into something more attentive, and Ambrose, suddenly nervous, starts to ramble. “After Minerva went to Titan, I, well. I was a bit of a wreck. I’d never been without her, not once since the moment I was born, and suddenly we were on two different planets. I was so lonely that I thought I was going to go insane. One day, I decided to skip class and explore the city, and that’s when I found Nadiyya’s cafe. She welcomed me in, served me the best coffee I’ve tasted in my life, and let me stay past closing just because she could tell I needed a space like this to decompress in.” He glances around at the warm yellow walls and the plants hanging from the ceiling, smiling faintly. “This shop has been in her family through generations, it’s survived pandemics and wars and natural disasters, and it’s always been cared for with so much love. Everything about it is so secure and comforting, so I kept coming back. This whole neighborhood feels more like home to me than the academy at this point. I’m not a Cusk here. I’m just Ambrose.”

Kodiak is quiet for a moment, and when he speaks, his voice is soft. “It reminds me of my village in Celius.”

“Oh?” Ambrose sits up.

“Yes,” Kodiak says, looking down at his hands. “My birthplace is very small. Everyone knows everyone, so it is not uncommon to walk into a shop and be greeted by name by every person there. I was only there for a short while, but I stopped being a stranger by the end of my first week.” He nods towards the counter. “She reminds me of the people there.”

“Do you miss it?”

Another long moment of silence. “Yes. I do. I thought… I thought my life had ended when Li Qiang defeated me. I was ashamed. I didn’t know how to live without my duty to my country. I was… not a very nice person to be around the first few weeks, but my community took me in regardless. They were kind to me when I did not deserve it.” He exhales. “Li Qiang used to talk about going back to our birthplace together, and it felt wrong to be there without him. So I am glad I am here now. I will make Celius proud, for both of us.”

Oh, Kodiak. Ambrose’s chest aches. “You really don’t know what happened to him, do you?”

“No. I don’t.” Kodiak takes a deep breath, his hands gripping his cup a little tighter. “I wish I did. He wanted this honor just as much as I did, and I cannot imagine him deserting after all the work he did to get here. I am afraid he was taken away from it by force, but I was also not with him these last few months. I do not know what he may have been thinking.” He moves the cup to his mouth, and, finding it empty, sets it back on the table. “I… I am here for him, just as much as I am here for me.”

“I’m sorry,” Ambrose says softly. “It must hurt, to have someone close to you disappear without a trace. Lords know I’d be a wreck if it was Minerva.”

Kodiak nods. “It is difficult. I will manage.”

There’s a distant look in his eyes. Ambrose wants to reach over and take his hand, but he doesn’t want to scare him off, so he refrains. Instead, he takes the dallah and refills Kodiak’s cup, and then his own. He lifts his cup into the air. “To Li Qiang and Minerva. For their safety, and their belief in the mission.”

Kodiak blinks, a heartbreaking expression of shock on his face, but he lifts his own cup, setting his jaw as he does so. They tap the rims together with a clink and take a drink in unison. Kodiak’s hands are shaking, and Ambrose averts his gaze out the window next to them to give him some privacy.

It’s quiet for a while, both of them drinking their coffee peacefully with the gentle background hum of the wind whistling outside and Nadiyya puttering around in the back of the store. Ambrose feels calmer than he has in weeks, his thoughts floating through his brain without getting caught in spirals like they usually do. When he glances at Kodiak, he seems more relaxed, too, breathing in the steam from his cup where it’s clutched close to his chest.

Ambrose’s bracelet beeps and he looks down to see a reminder that their meeting is starting in thirty minutes. He sighs, setting his cup down. “We should probably head out. It’ll be DEFCON 1 in mission control if both of us go missing for even five minutes.”

Kodiak nods, lifting his drink to his mouth and tipping his head back to finish it off. They push back their chairs, and Nadiyya comes out from behind the counter, wiping her hands on her apron. “Going already?”

“We’ve got important spacefarer business to attend to, unfortunately,” Ambrose says apologetically. He really wishes they didn't have to leave. “Let me pay for the coffee, here—”

“Don’t you dare, Ambrose, it’s on the house.” Ambrose opens his mouth to protest, but Nadiyya clicks her tongue, opening her arms. Ambrose sighs and steps into her embrace, a lump forming in his throat when he remembers he won’t be seeing her for a long, long time. Nadiyya pats his cheek when they pull back, smiling at him fondly, and then turns to Kodiak, reaching for his hands. He freezes for a moment, clearly taken aback, before slowly slipping his hands into hers. “Take care of him, would you? I don’t know what trouble you could get into way out in the solar system, but Ambrose’ll be the one to find it.”

“Hey,” Ambrose protests half-heartedly.

Kodiak, still looking a little thrown, nods, and Nadiyya smiles at him too before letting go. “Be safe, both of you.”

“We will, Nadiyya, just for you,” Ambrose replies, his voice just a little teary.

He waves as they head out the door, and exhales tremulously once they’re on the street and walking back to the train station. It’s hitting him harder than he thought it would, the knowledge that he’ll be leaving Earth behind. He didn’t realize how much he’d miss once he’s gone.

“We should come back,” Kodiak says suddenly. Ambrose looks at him, surprised. “After the mission. Celebrate our safe return, with your sister.”

“I mean, great idea, but we very well may be sick of each other by that point,” Ambrose replies softly, a little too touched by the suggestion for it to land as the quip he intends it to be. “I’m sure you’ll run screaming all the way back to Dimokratía as soon as we land.”

“Don’t give me reason to run, then,” Kodiak replies, smiling sharply.

On the remainder of the walk back, Ambrose keeps his hands shoved in his pockets lest he do something stupid, like reach out and take Kodiak’s.

3 DAYS UNTIL LAUNCH

Hi, Minnie. It’s Ambrose.

Um. I hope you don’t mind the long audio message. Mish-Con finally gave in and let me record something for you so you can get an update from me the second you have a connection again. Comms team says the solar storm is still preventing real-time calls from reaching you, so this is what I gotta do. I mean, obviously you know that, since you haven’t been in touch with us all week. Sucky timing, right? It’ll be nice when we’re finally on the Hyperion and headed to you, and the radio waves won’t have to travel as far. I can’t wait.

I guess I should give you some updates? I don’t know what they’ve been sending you about the mission so far, but everything’s going great. Trajectory is lining up to be near perfect, so we won’t have to do any manual nav, and the Dimokratían mission team actually had some pretty great ideas about the best way to drop down to Titan from the orbiter as close to your base as possible without risking damage. They think we can shave down the distance from our landing spot by at least twenty kilometers. So we’ll be with you even sooner, and fuel-efficiently at that. Woohoo!

The Dimokratíans are pretty cool. Kodiak especially. Kodiak Celius, that is. Not that you know of any other Kodiaks. Pretty unique name, right? I asked him about it, and he said that he was named after the Kodiak bear, and I said I thought it was really beautiful to be named after an extinct animal, because that means you’re keeping their memory alive, and he looked at me like I was the world’s biggest idiot and told me that there are still Kodiak bears in Dimokratía, particularly in Celius, which is probably why the orphanage gave him that name when he got left there. I asked him if he’s ever seen a bear in person, and he said yes, and when I said I haven’t he called me a stuck-up city boy. So. I guess that sums up our relationship pretty well.

I think you’ll like him. You’re both wicked smart and have the same dry wit, and you both seem to love making fun of me for my strong feelings about how to brew tea, so I’m anticipating a lot of two-against-one situations in our habitat. I won’t mind, as long as you get along. He’ll probably be pretty standoffish at first, so maybe if you bond over teasing me he’ll open up quicker. I don’t mind being the emotional sacrificial lamb, as long as it means you like him. I don’t want to have left you waiting for two years and then bring you someone you can’t get along with. Hopefully my own glowing recommendations will help garner some trust between the two of you.

…I don’t know what Mom has been telling you about the mission, and Kodiak. Hopefully nothing she hasn’t been telling me, too. As your person on the ground, I’m telling you everything is fine. It felt a little doomed in the beginning, but we’ve recovered as best as anyone could in a situation like this, I think. Kodiak is the best replacement I could’ve asked for. I trust him. I hope that’s enough.

I miss you, Minnie.

Oh! Petra Ibarra is in a new reel that you’d die over, it’s about this whole scandal in the 2200s when a famous pianist had an affair with a duchess of Franco-Spanish Union? The pianist’s portrait is in a museum in Thebes, apparently the director saw it and decided they wanted to tell her story. Maybe we can go once we’re back, if Dimokratía and Fédération have made up enough to let people travel between the countries again. Or maybe we can get Kodiak to smuggle us in.

Just kidding. He’d never agree to that.

Anyways. Be safe. I love you. Talk to you soon, okay?

2 DAYS UNTIL LAUNCH

Ambrose wakes up to breaking news flashing on his bracelet. When he reads the headline, his stomach drops.

Dimokratían Secretary of Defense missing after explosions heard in Brasilia. Fédération authorities have not yet released a statement.

He knew the situation in Brasilia was bad, but not artillery-bad. An attack like that could lead to war. War would cancel their mission, indefinitely or forever.

He can’t help but think of his mother, of how her space travel operations have always been secondary to her military-weaponry empire, and he has to take a moment to try and keep himself from screaming until he loses his voice.

He does scream, just a little. It barely helps.

Anxiety follows him through his morning routine, and he only manages to force down half of his breakfast before he feels too queasy to finish. When he walks into the gym Kodiak is there, just like he always is, but he looks tense, his jaw tight as he stretches his arms above his head. Ambrose can only manage a nod when Kodiak greets him, entering his own stretches next to him with a steadying exhale.

They’re both quiet as they run, their thoughts clearly elsewhere, and eventually Ambrose decides he’s had enough of it. He’d fallen asleep last night with a plan in his mind, and he refuses to let the news ruin it for him.

“Hey,” Ambrose says, catching up to Kodiak on the track. “Dinner at mine tonight? I’m making manicotti.”

Kodiak tilts his head a little. “You can cook?”

“Ha, ha. Yes or no?”

“Yes,” Kodiak answers quickly, like he's afraid of the offer being rescinded, and Ambrose beams at him. “But, ah. What is, ‘mani-cotti’?” He says the name like two separate words, which Ambrose finds incredibly endearing.

“Find out at 19:00!” Ambrose says, sprinting past him, and cackles when Kodiak huffs indignantly and races to catch up. Ambrose feels a spark of relief at the normalcy of it, and the thought of impending war drifts from his mind.

Kodiak knocks on the door to Ambrose’s room at seven o’clock on the hour, and Ambrose calls for him to come in from his spot in front of the stove. Kodiak’s eyebrows immediately raise when he walks in and lays eyes on the calamity of dishes on the counter. “Wow.”

“No sass allowed in my kitchen,” Ambrose says, and Kodiak just snorts, coming around the kitchen island to stand next to him. He peers into the pot Ambrose is stirring. “Tomato sauce. I already cooked and stuffed the pasta,” Ambrose says, gesturing to a pan full of manicotti shells next to the stove, “and then all I need to do is add some more cheese and bake it.”

“I see,” Kodiak says. “And you needed this many bowls to do all that?”

Ambrose fixes him with a look, shooing him towards the stools on the other side of the island, and Kodiak retreats without complaint. Ambrose switches off the heat on the sauce and sprinkles some more spices into it, folding them in gently. Kodiak watches with interest as Ambrose lifts the pot over the dish.

“Minerva made this for me one last time before she left for Titan,” Ambrose explains, carefully pouring the sauce over the pasta. “I thought I would continue the tradition for us, too.”

“Thank you for including me,” Kodiak says, so sincerely that Ambrose almost thinks he’s circled all the way back around to sarcasm, but when he looks up, Kodiak has a soft, genuine expression on his face. Ambrose swallows, nearly pouring half the sauce onto the counter on accident.

“Yeah. Of course,” Ambrose replies, wincing when his voice cracks. “I mean, I can’t believe you’ve never had anything like this before. Food in Dimokratía must be boring.”

“The academy only cared about nutrition, so rations there were rarely appetizing,” Kodiak says, “but I ate very well in the months I spent back in Celius. Lots of babushkas there, eager to force food onto ‘handsome young men’ like me.”

Ambrose grins. “Is that a direct quote, or are you extrapolating to pad your ego?”

“My ego needs no padding.”

“Suuuuure.”

“Anyways,” Kodiak says pointedly as Ambrose snickers, “there is no Dimokratían food like this that I have had before, but my knowledge is limited.”

“Well, I’m glad I can be the one to introduce you to the glory of cheesy pasta and tomato sauce,” Ambrose replies, taking a handful of grated cheese and sprinkling it on top of the sauce. “It’s one of life’s greatest pleasures. I’m going to miss homemade meals while we’re up in space.”

Kodiak is quiet for a moment, watching as Ambrose picks up the pan and places it in the oven. He sets the timer, then leans his elbows on the counter across from Kodiak. “What’ll you miss from Earth after we leave?”

Kodiak furrows his brow. “Why does it matter? I am already aware of what I won’t have while we’re in space.”

Ambrose shrugs. “Humor me.”

Kodiak exhales. “The trees. And fresh berries. Snow.”

“Good choices,” Ambrose says, nodding. “I’ve never actually gone far enough north to see snow. What’s it like?”

“Cold.”

“Oh, wow, it’s cold. Never would’ve guessed.”

Kodiak grins; smiles seem to come more easily to him lately. “So very cold. And peaceful. It snowed a few times while I was back in Celius. The whole world goes quiet after fresh snowfall.”

“Wow,” Ambrose says again, this time with real amazement. “It’s always been so loud in Mari. The winds never seem to stop.”

“Yes,” Kodiak agrees. “I do not like the desert. I will not miss it.”

“Good thing we’re not trying to colonize Mars, then. I’m a little glad that attempt failed back in the twenty-third century.” Kodiak hums. “Alright, next question: what do you want to do when we get back to Earth?”

Kodiak tilts his head a little. “What do you mean?”

“We’ll only be on the mission for two years. Once we’re back, what will you do?” Ambrose crosses his arms and leans forward on the counter. “I think I’ll probably stay on the Titan project and help train the next set of spacefarers who’ll be settling there. Might write a book or something.”

Kodiak frowns, his expression suddenly closed-off. “I don’t know. I have never had a reason to think about my life beyond this mission.”

Ambrose, not for the first time, feels an intense dislike of the Dimokratían government. “There’s nothing you’ve ever wanted to do? No hobbies you never had time for? Play football? Learn to paint? Raise goats?”

Kodiak hesitates. “You cannot laugh.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“I’ve always wanted to knit,” Kodiak admits quietly, his face pink.

“Why would I laugh at that? That’s a great hobby.” Kodiak smiles a small, pleased smile, and oh, Ambrose is in danger. He swallows hard against the swell of affection in his throat. “Would they really not allow you to do that at the academy?”

“Hobbies are distractions,” Kodiak says, the words tinged with disdain—for his upbringing, or for his own desires, Ambrose can’t tell. “Succeeding was the only thing that mattered.”

“I’d argue that hobbies matter. They’re necessary for your psychological well-being.”

“Take it up with Admiral Solokov. I only did as I was ordered.”

Ambrose rests his chin in his hand. “How about this: when we get back to Earth two years from now, I’ll get you some yarn and needles, and you can make me a sweater.”

“Mm. Socks?”

“Deal.”

They grin at each other. Kodiak’s smile never fails to leave Ambrose breathless, and when it’s combined with how he looks now, leaning on the counter with his hair loose around his shoulders and that sweet look in his eyes, it feels nearly lethal.

He can’t help but feel incredibly pleased at how readily Kodiak accepts that the two of them will have an “after”. It’s easy to imagine Kodiak in his space permanently, moving around the kitchen and teasing him for his messiness long beyond their mission. He’s surprised by how much he wants it. He’s known him barely a week, and already a life without Kodiak feels foreign, wrong, nigh unacceptable. He can only hope that the next two years won’t be the only time they get together.

The timer beeps, drawing Ambrose out of his pathetic yearning, and he hops up to pull the manicotti out of the oven. Kodiak leans forward to look at the dish, his eyes wide. “Good God.”

“I know, right?” Ambrose puts the oven mitts on the counter, his chest puffed up with pride. It looks perfect. “You’re supposed to let it cool for a few minutes, but I’m always too impatient for that.” He scoops out a big portion onto a plate and holds it out to Kodiak. “Here.”

Kodiak takes the plate with reverence, and Ambrose smiles helplessly as he picks up his fork and takes a bite. His eyes get even wider, if possible. “Fuck.”

Ambrose hops on his feet giddily. “It’s good?”

Kodiak makes an unintelligible pleased noise, which Ambrose takes as an affirmative. He takes another huge bite as Ambrose gets a serving for himself. Ambrose lifts the fork to his mouth, and lets out a satisfied groan, his eyes closing. “Lords, that’s delicious. I could eat this for every meal.”

Kodiak nods enthusiastically. It’s quiet for a moment as they both dig into their meals, with only the occasional sound of forks scraping against plates. It’s peaceful, and oddly domestic, and Ambrose hopes every dinner they share on their mission will feel like this. He hopes that maybe, possibly, he’d be open to continuing the tradition in their “after”, too.

“Do you think we could smuggle this onboard?” Kodiak asks, his mouth full and his plate empty, and Ambrose throws back his head and laughs.

1 DAY UNTIL LAUNCH

There’s a spark in the air when Ambrose and Kodiak meet up the next day. Their routine morning run ends with light-hearted smack talk, and their bodies drift towards each other as they head to their first launch prep meeting together, their arms bumping occasionally as they walk. Eve gives them their agenda for the day at the end of the meeting, and has to tell them to shut up several times before they finally pay attention and listen to her. Ambrose files the schedule into his mind—a visit to the Hyperion, then their full-body medical scans and neural mapping, followed by a one-on-one meeting with his mother—then immediately reengages Kodiak into an argument about the merits of vacuum-sealed food over freeze-dried. Eve seemingly gives up on getting them to listen to her and neglects to tell them about the launch-day schedule, instead waving them off to go meet Tashi before they’re late.

Ambrose is nearly skipping as they walk down the halls to get to the hangars, aware that he’s chatting Kodiak’s ear off, but Kodiak doesn’t seem to mind, listening to him intently and interjecting whenever he has an opinion about what he’s saying. It’s easy and comfortable, like they’ve known each other for years instead of a mere seven days. Ambrose of a week ago would have never believed that the two of them were capable of holding a sustained conversation, and he feels inordinately proud of how far they’ve come.

Tashi greets them tiredly when they arrive. As the week wore on, they’ve shown up to their trainings more and more exhausted, and Ambrose is starting to worry about them a little. He’s caught them looking at the two of them with an odd, weary look on their face more than once. He knows they’ve taken on more work since Kodiak took Li Qiang’s place, and he’s glad that once they’re gone, Tashi will get a well-deserved break.

When they reach the Hyperion’s hangar, they fall into hushed awe at the sight of the ship, the real ship, hovering in the center of the room. It’s a magnificent piece of engineering. The hull curves smoothly to create its disk-like appearance, the stainless steel exterior is devoid of imperfections, sanded and polished until it shines. Gold accents break up the swathes of white paint that cover it, and the name of the ship is written across its side, glittering in the hangar’s cool work lights.

They can’t board the ship, not until it’s been moved to the launch pad, so they walk on the catwalks installed around it instead. The viewing windows are big enough that he can catch glimpses of the interior, the layout perfectly matching their training mock-up. Ambrose’s heart pounds as he takes in the real thing, a giddy sort of nervousness sprouting in his chest. Their mission feels more real now that their ship is in front of them, ready and waiting for them to step onboard in the morning.

Kodiak leans towards him. “The gold is nice,” he murmurs. “Too bad we will only see it on spacewalks.”

“If we get bored enough, maybe we can ask our Rover to print us some gold filament to decorate our cabin with,” Ambrose suggests. “We should be allowed to make the space ours, right?”

Kodiak grins. “Already thinking of ways to waste our resources?”

“We’ve got enough polycarb onboard to last us decades. We can waste a little for some plastic animal figures or a wreath or something.”

“We could always melt them back down if we needed it,” Kodiak muses, and Ambrose gasps in mock offense.

“You would destroy my artwork? Kodiak, how dare you?”

“If we needed it,” Kodiak protests.

Ambrose is about to make another teasing remark when Tashi stops in front of them, their brow pinched as they look down at their bracelet. They swear under their breath, and Ambrose and Kodiak glance at each other as they quickly type something and then look up at the two of them. “I hate to do this again, but there’s a call I need to take. Will you be alright getting out of the building by yourselves?”

“Yeah, of course. That’s no problem, Tashi,” Ambrose assuages.

Tashi smiles thinly, their expression still deeply tense. “Let’s head out, then.”

They follow Tashi down the catwalk stairs and out of the hangar, the doors sealing shut behind them with a hiss. Tashi quickly departs, scrolling through their bracelet agitatedly, and Ambrose puts his hands on his hips as he watches them go.

“That feel weird at all to you?” Ambrose asks.

Kodiak shrugs. “A little. But we have all been unduly stressed this week.”

“You’ve never said a truer thing,” Ambrose replies. He checks his own bracelet, wondering if bad news is about to pop up in his inbox, but it remains empty. “Guess we’d better get going, huh? We’re expected at the med wing soon.”

Kodiak hums in agreement, and they start to walk back the way they came, meandering down the hall in comfortable silence and peering into the windows that look into where all the different Cusk Corp space exploration projects are being built. Most of what they see are satellites and deep-space telescopes, all intended for unmanned missions. Kodiak inspects them with curiosity nonetheless, and Ambrose is happy to let him look, feeling a strange sort of trepidation the closer they get to the exit.

Eventually, they walk past the hangar where the Coordinated Endeavor is being built. It’s the next mission Cusk Corp is preparing to launch, and Ambrose knows very little about it, only that they plan to use the ship to bring humanity beyond their solar system to settle on exoplanets several light-years away. The success of a mission like that feels unattainable, but that won’t stop his mother from trying anyways.

He doesn’t stop to look, suddenly resolute on continuing onwards, but Kodiak does, abruptly turning to face the windows. “Wait.”

“What is it?”

Kodiak stares into the hanger, a strange look on his face. “What’s that ship?”

“The Coordinated Endeavor. They’re building it to explore exoplanets.” Ambrose crosses his arms. “It’ll be a few years until that mission is ready to launch, the success of the Titan project has been the Cusk Corp’s main focus.”

“A few years?” Kodiak cocks his head. “It looks finished.”

Ambrose glances at the Endeavor, his eyes tracing the ship’s barbell shape. Strangely enough, he feels a tug in his chest at the sight of it, the pervasive dread he’d been feeling all week creeping into his skin again. He didn’t realize he was avoiding looking at it until now. “Oh. I suppose it is.”

“Can we go in?”

Ambrose raises his eyebrows, but Kodiak doesn’t see, his gaze fixed on the ship. “No. We don’t have clearance.” Kodiak’s fists are shaking at his sides. “Kodiak, are you okay?”

“I…” Kodiak blinks, his hands flexing, and then going still. Ambrose recognizes the process of calming oneself down. “I am. I apologize. I just… I had a strange feeling, for a moment there.”

“Well. We should move on, we have to go all the way across the complex to get to pre-launch medical.” Ambrose tears his eyes away from the hangar and keeps walking, his breathing getting strangely quick and heavy the longer he thinks about the Endeavor. After a moment, Kodiak follows him, his steps rushed as he catches up to Ambrose.

“You feel it too, don’t you,” Kodiak hisses. “There’s something wrong.”

Ambrose bristles, whirling around and grabbing Kodiak by the arm. “If there’s anything wrong, it’s because of you and your government. Don’t project your guilt onto me.”

Kodiak wrenches his bicep out of Ambrose’s grasp, a flicker of hurt flashing onto his face before he covers it with a scowl. “You cannot blame me for this. There is something they are not telling me, and I’m guessing they’re not telling you either.”

Ambrose feels sick. “What? Like the whereabouts of your missing best friend?”

“Do you still think I am involved?” Kodiak shakes his head. “I told you, I do not know.”

“And if I don’t believe you?” He doesn’t know why he’s saying this. He does believe him, but fear is clouding his mind so heavily that the only words he can hear anymore are his mother’s. This time, the hurt anchors itself firmly in Kodiak’s eyes, and Ambrose wants to apologize but he’s so damn afraid.

“Think about it, Ambrose,” Kodiak insists, his voice taking a desperate edge. “We haven’t been allowed to talk to Minerva all week.”

“There’s—there’s a solar storm, they’re not cutting us off on purpose.” Kodiak gives him a look, an unspoken you’re smarter than that in it, and Ambrose swallows. “What, so, do you think she’s dead? My sister is dead and no one wants to tell me?” He asks, his voice caught between disbelief and utter hysterics.

“I do not know, Ambrose, that is the point,” Kodiak says. “They are keeping information from us, keeping us from speaking to our mission partner. We are being kept out of the loop deliberately.”

“What do you expect us to do? We can’t just ask if they’re keeping secrets from us, they won’t tell us shit about anything.” Ambrose knows he’s being difficult, but he cannot, will not, accept that Minerva is dead. He can’t have gotten so close just to lose her again.

“We can look at the mission control reports. If there is something going on that we are not told about, that is where we will find it,” Kodiak replies.

Ambrose shakes his head. “We can’t access those reports without clearance. They’ll want to know why we need to see them.”

“What if we access the database externally? The Hyperion, it is connected to the mission control systems. It will be able to receive that data without raising any alarms.”

Ambrose takes a deep breath, and musters the strength to meet Kodiak’s eyes. “We’ll have to sneak in to get close enough to connect to a dataport. Kodiak, if we’re caught doing this, the launch is off.”

Kodiak holds his gaze. “If we launch without knowing, who knows what will happen to us?”

“Alright. Alright, let’s go,” Ambrose says, steeling himself. Kodiak nods curtly.

As they circle back around to the Hyperion’s hangar, Ambrose half-expects everyone they pass to stop them and ask them what they’re doing. No one does, barely sparing them a glance as they walk by, but Ambrose feels ready to shake apart regardless. They’ve nearly made it back when they’re startled by the sound of two sharp chimes over the comm system, ringing through the open hallway ominously. Engineers start exiting the hangars in a flood, all of them heading the same direction down the hall, and Ambrose and Kodiak quickly step back against the wall to get out of their way.

“Do you know what that sound meant?” Kodiak murmurs, his eyes narrowed.

“All-hands-on-deck call for a situation in the building, I think. Everyone on the clock has to respond.” Kodiak glances around, concerned. “We should be okay. If it was an emergency, they’d use the alarms.”

“Convenient,” Kodiak says slowly.

“I’m trying not to think about it,” Ambrose mutters.

Once the hall is clear, they proceed forward. The doors are sealed, but when Ambrose taps his card against the access portal, it opens for them. They slip inside, glancing around the space to make sure they’re alone before sprinting to the data table on the opposite side of the room. Ambrose connects his bracelet to the terminal, initiating a code that will allow him to bypass the usual access requirements, and feels an uneasy mix of relief and apprehension when the connection is successful. Behind him, Kodiak keeps his eye on the doors, hovering in front of him protectively.

“Alright, I’ve got the uplink,” Ambrose says. Data starts popping up on the holotable, and Kodiak leans in to look, the heat of his body making Ambrose shiver. He swallows and taps through the files, scanning for anything unusual. “Here’s our mission file. It looks like the same brief that we got…” His brow furrows, his eye catching on an unfamiliar name. “Wait. They mislabeled the directive. It says the success of the ‘Kronos’ project instead of ‘Titan’.”

“Search the rest of the files for ‘Kronos’,” Kodiak replies. Ambrose does, his eyes widening when he gets dozens of results.

“What is… what?” Ambrose shakes his head. “This makes no sense, this isn’t our mission. This is for the Coordinated Endeavor exoplanet project. Why does it have our launch date? We’re supposed to be the only ship scheduled for tomorrow.”

“I don’t know, but apparently they’re both taking off tomorrow,” Kodiak says, his voice grim. “It seems we have been being kept in the dark.”

“But that makes no sense!” Ambrose says, running his hands through his hair agitatedly. “Why would there be two ships launching? How is there a whole separate mission that both of us know nothing about?”

“Because you’re not supposed to know.”

Ambrose and Kodiak whirl around. Standing across the room is Celius Li Qiang, a grim look on his face. He’s wearing a navy blue, nondescript jumpsuit, and his dark hair has been cropped short, a stark difference from the messy head of curls in his cadet photo. There’s a heavy bag thrown over one of his shoulders, and his hand flexes around the strap.

Kodiak makes a choked noise, taking an aborted step forward. “Li? What are you doing here? Where have you been?” His voice cracks. “I-I thought they killed you!”

Ambrose glances at Kodiak, wide-eyed. He’d never mentioned that theory.

Li Qiang smiles wearily. “I missed you too, Ko. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you I was okay, I couldn’t risk any of my transmissions being intercepted.” He nods at Ambrose. “It’s nice to finally meet you in person, Ambrose. Sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused you this week.”

“I get the sense that the trouble isn’t over yet,” Ambrose replies cautiously.

“Explain yourself, Li Qiang,” Kodiak demands. He’s trembling with anger, and when Ambrose puts a hand on his shoulder, he shrugs it off.

“Please. What’s going on?” Ambrose asks, his voice tinged with desperation.

“You’re right. There’s something they’re not telling you about your mission. Clearly, you’ve figured out that much at this point; I’ve known about it since the beginning,” Li Qiang says. “I attended a small academy ceremony a couple weeks after I won the pool bash. It was mostly government and military officials, getting drunk and talking shit about Fédération. Except they had one special guest, who came specifically to talk to me: Devon Mujaba.”

Ambrose can’t help it—he laughs. “Don’t tell me you abandoned the mission for a Heartspeak Boy.”

Li Qiang inclines his head. “I guess I did, in a way. If he told you what he told me, you would have, too.”

“Get on with it,” Kodiak grinds out.

“Mujaba pulled me into a blind room, one that the military uses when they want to discuss information without lice or cameras,” Li Qiang continues. “He explained to me there that the mission I was going on was a red herring of sorts. In reality, there were two missions: one to Titan, and one to the end of the galaxy. I would be manning both of them.” He nods to Ambrose. “You would, too.”

“That makes no sense,” Ambrose interrupts. “We’ve been training for the Titan mission for months. We can’t just get on a different ship with different mission parameters, that’s a recipe for disaster.”

“But you have trained for the other mission. We all have,” Li Qiang says. “Ever wondered why the training vessel at the academies changed right before the Titan mission launched?”

“The Aurora,” Kodiak curses. “Crishet. I knew it felt familiar. We’ve been training with a copy of the Endeavor at the academy for the last two years.”

Ambrose feels sick. “The training ship at Cusk Academy is called the Eos.”

Aurora and Eos, Roman and Greek goddesses of the dawn. Hyperion was their father. The pieces start to fall into place in Ambrose's mind. “They’ve been planning this all along.”

“Both missions are scheduled to launch tomorrow. How are we supposed to be on two ships at the same time?” Kodiak asks.

“They made you take a blood test when you arrived, yes? And tonight, while they do your medical exam, they’re making maps of your brains. They’re not doing that to protect your memories. They’re doing it to transfer them,” Li Qiang says. “They’re cloning you. Your minds will be uploaded to twenty clones tonight, prepped and ready to be placed on the Endeavor. They will be woken in pairs every few thousand years, to maintain the ship as it travels to its exoplanet destination. Once they have exhausted their use, they will be executed. Over and over.”

Ambrose thinks he might actually puke, now. “No. No, you’re lying. My mother wouldn’t do that to me.”

Even as he says it, he knows that isn’t true. His mother would do anything for the success of her legacy. She has started wars for it.

“This is demented,” Kodiak chokes out. “They can’t do this to us without our knowledge.”

“They can, and they will if something doesn’t prevent the launch tomorrow.” Li Qiang straightens, his grip on his bag tightening. “The Endeavor wasn’t supposed to launch until a month after the Hyperion did, but they moved it up due to… recent events. They must have suspected that I found out, somehow.” His expression turns apologetic. “You weren’t even supposed to be here when this happened, and I’m sorry for that.”

Ambrose buries his face in his hands. “Oh lords, it really was all a conspiracy. Shit.”

“Sorry, Ambrose,” Li Qiang says. “I wasn’t sure if I could trust you.”

“No, yeah, I get it,” Ambrose says, his voice muffled. “I just—fuck.”

“What are you here to do?” Kodiak asks.

“Put a stop to it,” Li Qiang says with a wry grin. “You have about thirty minutes to get out of here before bombs start going off.”

“What—bombs?” Ambrose shakes his head. “No, no, wait. You can’t do that. The Hyperion and the Endeavor are in the same building, you’ll compromise both ships.”

“Yes, we will.”

Ambrose starts trembling. “What about Minerva? If you destroy the Hyperion, it will take years to build another ship that can get to Saturn. Minerva won’t be able to survive that long, she’ll die alone on Titan if no one goes to help her. If we only sabotage the Endeavor, or the—the clones—”

“I’m sorry, Ambrose, but that’s not possible.”

“Make it possible!” Ambrose shouts. “We have to go on that mission. We have to save Minerva, we can’t just leave her there.”

“Do you really think the launch would go through, after everything that’s happened? The Dimokratían secretary of defense was just killed. War is brewing, I’m surprised the bombs haven’t started dropping already.” Li Qiang’s voice is cold, mocking. “Minerva’s not the only one running out of time.”

“Stop. Stop,” Ambrose shakes his head, the movement jerky and erratic. “We have to make this work. We can leverage this somehow, we have to. I can talk to my mother—”

“We don’t have time for negotiations,” Li Qiang interrupts, and Ambrose wants to scream. “I’m sorry, Ambrose, but Minerva will die. It’s a sacrifice that has to be made.”

Something in Ambrose snaps—the stress of the last week, and now this—and he can’t take it anymore. “My sister is not your SACRIFICE!” He lurches towards Li Qiang, who quickly stumbles backwards, his eyes wide. Before he can reach him, Kodiak throws his arms around Ambrose’s waist, dragging him back. Ambrose sags, the fight leaving him as quickly as it came, and Kodiak stumbles forward to keep him upright, letting out a small, distressed noise.

“What happens after you go through with this, Li Qiang?” Kodiak asks, his voice beginning to tremble. “Fédération will blame Dimokratía, they will blame me! They will never let me go to space after this!” His voice breaks. “You cannot ruin my life again. I won’t let you.”

“I am saving you, Kodiak!” Li Qiang shouts. “We both gave our entire lives to our country, and for what? To be sent like lambs to the slaughter, over and over?” He shakes his head. “No, Kodiak. I won’t let them do that to us. I won’t let them do that to you.”

“What gives you any right to decide? You should have talked to me—”

“Would you have listened?” Li Qiang snaps. “Last I checked, you didn’t want anything to do with me!”

“Of course I would have listened,” Kodiak says, his voice anguished. Ambrose can feel him shaking where his arms are wrapped around his chest. “I have spent the last six months wishing I could just talk to you. Do you really think I would stop caring, after everything?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Li Qiang insists. “None of it matters anymore.”

“No. Li Qiang—” Kodiak starts, but he’s interrupted by the doors hissing open. Li Qiang turns quickly, and Ambrose braces himself for gunfire from landkeepers, but instead, it’s Sri slipping into the room, their expression tight and stressed. They run up beside Li Qiang, and Ambrose’s mind goes blank, shock and rage and grief wiping any other thoughts away. He slips out of Kodiak’s arms, his fists shaking at his sides.

“Li Qiang, we have to go,” Sri says quickly. They’re staring at Ambrose as they say it, and Ambrose stares back, his body blaring white-hot.

“Sri,” he chokes out. “Sri, what the fuck are you doing.”

“I’m sorry, Ambrose,” Sri says, and they sound devastated, but Ambrose doesn’t care. He doesn’t care.

“My sister,” Ambrose says, his voice trembling with anger. “You’re going to kill my sister, Sri, you can’t do this.”

“I wouldn’t if I didn’t have to,” Sri insists. “We can’t let humanity poison the galaxy any further, we have to put an end to this.”

“I don’t care,” Ambrose cries. “Why didn’t you tell me? How could you do this to Minerva? How could you do this to me?”

“I’m sorry,” Sri says again, like it means anything at all.

“How long have you known, Sri?” They’re silent. “Sri, how long have you fucking known.”

“Three months.”

“Three—” Ambrose laughs, high and hysteric. “And you didn’t think even once that maybe you should give me a heads up?”

“I couldn’t! If you had just chosen to drop out when I told you to—”

“Are you fucking serious—”

“We don’t have time for this!” Li Qiang barks sharply. “Sri, please tell me Anya is ready.”

Ambrose speaks up before they can answer. “How many people are involved in this? Do you have some sort of spaceship-destroying bomb squad infiltrating the building right now?” They both just stare at him, and he laughs again. “This can’t be happening. Do you even know how many people are going to die because of this?”

“Everyone who works in this building has been evacuated—”

“I mean you. They will kill you,” Ambrose says desperately. Kodiak makes a wounded noise, and Li Qiang’s eyes snap to him, his expression falling. “Li Qiang. Sri. Please. You can’t do this.”

“Listen to him, Li Qiang. You have to stop,” Kodiak begs. “There must be another way.”

“It’s too late,” Li Qiang says. “It’s already done.”

“Li. Please.”

Li Qiang’s expression is empty. “It’s over, Kodiak.”

Kodiak makes a noise caught between a sob and a scream, right as an alarm blares. The lights flash and then dim, the building echoing with the shriek of the evacuation tone. The four of them freeze, looking up as the emergency lights bathe them in an orange-red glow.

“Time to go,” Sri says hurriedly.

“Sri,” Ambrose says, but they don’t look at him.

Li Qiang looks at Kodiak. “I’m doing this for us.”

“Eat shit,” Kodiak spits.

Li Qiang smiles a little. “Bye, Ko.”

He nods at Sri, and they run from the room, gone before either of them can say a word.

Ambrose can barely think, barely breathe. He’s floating outside his body. You left me alone. Save me, little brother. There’s a ringing in his ears, and he can’t breathe.

You left me alone. You left me alone. You left me alone—

There’s a hand around his wrist. Ambrose jolts back to himself, and looks up to see Kodiak staring back at him. He looks scared, and it’s so unlike him that Ambrose gets ahold of himself, slipping his hand into Kodiak’s fully and entwining their fingers.

“What do we do?” Kodiak asks, sounding lost. “I-I don’t—I don’t know what to do.”

“I don’t know if there’s anything we can do,” Ambrose admits hoarsely. “It’s too late to stop them.”

“God, Li Qiang,” Kodiak whispers, his voice trembling. Ambrose squeezes his hand, hoping it brings him at least a little bit of comfort.

“We need to warn Minerva, if we can get ahold of her,” Ambrose says. “That’s something we can do. But we need to get out of here first.”

Kodiak nods, setting his jaw even as unshed tears glitter in his eyes. “Let’s go.”

They sprint to the doors. The hall is empty, the alarms echoing through the building eerily, but Ambrose can hear shouting coming from deeper in the building. He grips Kodiak’s hand tighter, and they share a glance, both of them shaky and terrified. They step out together, their hands grasped tightly between them, and they start to run.

They’ve only made it a handful of meters when someone darts out of an adjoining hallway in front of them, and Kodiak pulls Ambrose back just as a spray of gunfire erupts from the hall. Ambrose ducks instinctively, pulling Kodiak against the wall and holding him tight against his body. Kodiak breathes harshly into his ear, but it’s not loud enough to drown out the sound of a singular ringing scream in front of them. When Ambrose looks up, he sees a landkeeper standing over a motionless body dressed in the same dark clothing that Li Qiang and Sri had been wearing. Kodiak makes an agonized, choked noise, clamping down on his hand so hard that it hurts, and Ambrose knows exactly what he’s thinking, because he’s thinking it too.

“It’s not him,” Ambrose whispers, even though he doesn’t know. “It’s not him.”

The landkeeper turns to look at them. Kodiak reacts so quickly that Ambrose almost doesn’t see him move; one moment, he’s tucked against Ambrose’s side, and the next he’s barreling into the landkeeper, knocking them off their feet and sending their gun skittering across the floor. Ambrose stumbles back onto his feet, his eyes wide, and then Kodiak is next to him again, linking their hands and dragging him down the hall. They only get a few paces away before gunfire goes off behind them, and Ambrose flinches so hard that he nearly trips, but he keeps running.

Ambrose takes the lead again, ducking down a hallway leading away from the hangars and spotting an elevator that’s been powered down as part of emergency protocol. Ambrose fumbles for his onyx card and taps it against the access panel, and it comes back online, the doors opening smoothly. They dart inside, and Ambrose slams his hand on the panel to take them to the lower floors, sucking in deep, shuddering breaths.

Kodiak’s hand slips out of his and he collapses against the wall, sliding down until he’s sitting. His breathing is short and desperate, and when Ambrose turns to look at him, he’s crying, tears streaking down his cheeks as his chest heaves erratically. Ambrose moves without thinking, kneeling down in front of him and cupping Kodiak’s jaw in both hands.

“Kodiak, hey, hey, hey,” Ambrose whispers. “C’mon, breathe with me, sweetheart.”

Kodiak gasps, his body shuddering. Ambrose strokes his cheek, inhaling and exhaling slowly, nodding encouragingly when Kodiak copies him. “Ambrose—”

“Shh, shh, it’s okay.” Kodiak shakes his head, sobbing brokenly. “Just breathe, okay? I’ve got you.”

Kodiak manages one deep breath, his lips trembling. “Wh-why didn’t he tell me?” He asks, almost choking on the words. “I would’ve listened, I-I would’ve tried to help him.”

“I don’t know,” Ambrose says, his own voice clogged with tears. “I wish I could understand it.”

“He was right,” Kodiak sobs. “I gave everything to Dimokratía, I did everything I was supposed to. And as soon as they’re done using me, they’re going to—to discard my life like it’s worthless.”

“It’s not,” Ambrose insists, willing him to believe it. “You are worth so much, Kodiak. You’re worth more than all of them combined.”

“I don’t know what to do.” Kodiak is shaking, and Ambrose slides forward until their knees press together. “I don’t know who I am anymore.”

“You’re Kodiak Celius,” Ambrose says fiercely. “And you’re my friend.”

Kodiak’s breath stutters, and he looks at him with wide, startled eyes. “Your friend?”

“Yes. My most aggravating, hard-assed, beautiful friend, whether you like it or not.” Ambrose moves his hand to the nape of Kodiak’s neck and squeezes gently, and he shivers. “We’re going to find a way to fix this.”

Kodiak shakes his head, tired and weary. “How?”

“I don’t know,” Ambrose admits. “I wish I did. But we have to warn Minerva, before anything else.”

“Okay,” Kodiak breathes out. “Okay.”

“Hey,” Ambrose says, stroking Kodiak’s cheek. “I’m glad you’re here with me.”

“I am too,” Kodiak whispers. Ambrose smiles at him, and leans forward until their foreheads are touching, closing his eyes as he does. Kodiak reaches up and grips Ambrose’s shoulders, exhaling shakily.

The elevator hums around them, and they breathe.

Mission Control is deserted when they arrive, the building dark and empty. Emergency alerts had started popping up on Ambrose’s bracelet in the elevator, warning all academy students and staff to evacuate the campus. He’d also received several messages from Eve and the mission leads, telling him to report to the Cusk’s satellite panic room as soon as possible, and he’s sure they’re all going ballistic over his radio silence. He knows as soon as they can scramble together enough resources to locate them on the facial recognition sensors, they’ll be escorted out of the building by landkeepers, so they have to be quick.

Ambrose can still hear the shriek of alarms in the distance, the red lights flashing in the hangars visible through the windows in the bullpen. Kodiak’s hand is wrapped tightly in his, his eyes red and puffy, but he’s stopped trembling, his mouth set in a firm line as he tries to access one of the computers.

“They’ve locked everything down,” he says, frowning as another error message appears on the screen.

“Let me try to get in.” Ambrose reluctantly lets go of Kodiak’s hand and pulls up the command terminal, quickly typing out the same lines of code he used to access the databases from the Hyperion. The screen blinks once and then opens to the home screen, and Ambrose sighs in relief. “Guess they didn’t catch on that anyone broke in with all the chaos earlier.”

Kodiak leans in next to him as he pulls up the Earth-Titan communication software, his hand on Ambrose’s shoulder as he plugs in the comm code for Minerva’s computer on base. Ambrose feels steadied by the firm pressure of his fingers as he executes the command. Connecting… connecting… connecting…

“What are you going to say to her?” Kodiak asks quietly. He leaves out the possibility that they can’t get into contact with Minerva at all, which Ambrose appreciates. He knows he couldn’t handle that right now.

Ambrose takes a deep breath. “I… I don’t know. I don’t think there’s an easy way to break the news. I’m going to have to focus more on not crying, honestly.”

“It’s okay if you do. I can take over,” Kodiak says softly.

“Thank you,” Ambrose says, glancing back at him with a small smile.

The computer beeps, and Ambrose whips his head back around to look at the screen. Connection successful.

Minerva’s face fills the screen. She looks the same as ever—her wavy brown hair is tied back behind her head, the sleeves of her jumpsuit wrapped around her waist and her arms folded across her chest as she stands in front of the camera. There’s a line between her eyebrows that smooths out as soon as the call connects, a smile replacing her concerned frown.

“Ambrose! Thank the lords, little brother, I’ve been trying to contact you all day,” she says, relieved. Ambrose just stares at her, his mouth opening but no words come out. The smile slowly falls from her face. “Ambrose?”

“Minnie,” Ambrose says, the word coming out a sob.

“Oh, Ambrose.” Minerva’s face is creased with worry. “Talk to me, please. Is this about the mission? Mom told me it was going to be delayed further.”

Ambrose shakes his head, trembling, but the words get caught in his throat. Kodiak lays a hand on his back, a quiet pillar of support, and Ambrose takes a deep, shuddering breath.

“Minnie. The mission is—it’s not happening,” Ambrose starts. “It’s been sabotaged.”

“What? Ambrose, what are you talking about?”

“It’s too much to explain, I-I don’t know if I can. But the Hyperion is going to be destroyed, and we have no other way to get to you. I’m so sorry.” He blinks rapidly as tears start to fall from his eyes. “I-I think even if it wasn’t, Mom was going to cancel the mission anyways. War is going to break out any minute, and I don’t even know if she was planning on having it go through, not since last week, I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore.”

Minerva stares at him, her expression unreadable. “Okay. Are you safe?”

“I—what?”

“Are you safe?” Minerva repeats. “I don’t know what’s going on, but clearly something’s happening that’s putting you in danger. Are you okay?”

“I mean, I’m probably not safe, but, that doesn’t matter, Minerva, you’re stuck on Titan indefinitely,” Ambrose says desperately.

“Ambrose. I need you to try not to worry about me right now, and focus on keeping yourself alive and unharmed. Okay?” Ambrose takes a deep breath and nods. “You know, I started thinking something was wrong when Mom first told me you were too busy with your training to have our usual calls. She has no idea that you used to skip class to make sure you didn’t miss a single one.”

Ambrose laughs wetly. “Don’t tell her. She still thinks I’m a perfect student.”

“I wouldn’t dare.” Minerva tries to smile, but it doesn’t hold, concern taking over her features again. “You weren’t authorized to make this call, were you?” Ambrose shakes his head. “Okay. How much time do we have?”

Ambrose glances at Kodiak, and he grimaces. “Five minutes? Ten? I don’t know what kind of damage the bombs will do, so our signal may cut out once they detonate.”

Minerva’s eyebrows raise at the mention of bombs. “Please don’t tell me you’re risking your life by talking to me.”

“We’re not in the building anymore, it’s fine,” Ambrose reassures her. “Oh, and this is Kodiak. My mission partner. Sorry, I should’ve introduced you sooner.”

“Hello,” Kodiak says awkwardly, raising his hand.

Minerva nods at him slowly, clearly confused. “What happened to Li Qiang?”

“He’s the one sabotaging the mission.” Minerva’s eyebrows raise even higher. “Long story, I told you. Have they really not been telling you anything about this?”

“Only that you wouldn’t be launching tomorrow, but clearly they lied to me about the reason. Seems like they didn’t want me to know what was really going on,” Minerva says, her eyes narrowing. “Alright, the mission's sabotaged, Fédération and Dimokratía are going to war again, and Mom has been lying to both of us. Anything else?”

“Remember Mom’s exoplanet mission?” Minerva nods. “So, um. She was planning on cloning me and Kodiak and sending our clones on the mission. Without our knowledge.”

Minerva closes her eyes. “Fucking hell.”

“Yeah. That’s why they’re blowing up the building.”

“Alright. Lords. Ambrose, are you okay?” Minerva asks.

“Fuck, no, I’m not, but I really can’t think about that right now,” Ambrose says shakily. “I need to make sure we can help you somehow.”

“I’ll be okay. Honestly, if you’re right about the war, I’m safer up here than you are on Earth,” Minerva says. “The algae greenhouses are flourishing, so I’ll still have food, and I can be crafty about repairs. I’ll be alright for a while.”

“A while isn’t forever.” Minerva’s mouth thins. “If there really is going to be war, there won’t be any time or resources left to build another ship.”

“There’s always the possibility of getting an unmanned craft with supplies sent here. If my mission has to be extended, so be it,” Minerva says, determined, and Ambrose could cry from how brave she is.

“But you’ll be alone,” Ambrose says, unable to keep the wobble from his voice.

“I won’t. I’ve got you looking out for me.” Minerva smiles at him, and Ambrose does cry then, scrubbing his hand across his face as the tears roll down his cheeks. Kodiak rubs his back soothingly.

“I miss you, Minnie,” Ambrose sniffs.

“I miss you too, little brother,” Minerva says, the slightest tremor in the words. “Please be safe.”

“I will, I—”

There’s an ear-rattling BOOM, and Ambrose is knocked off balance, falling into Kodiak and collapsing onto the floor on top of him. Dust rains down from the ceiling as the room shakes, and Ambrose scrambles to cover his head with his hands. He presses his face into Kodiak’s chest, his breathing sharp and fast, and he feels one of Kodiak’s arms wrap around his back, his hand gripping the fabric of his shirt.

The shaking slows to a tremble, and then ceases entirely, and Ambrose slowly lifts his head. Kodiak props himself up on his elbows, his eyes searching Ambrose’s face. “Are you okay?”

“Y-yeah, I think so. Are you?” Kodiak nods, and Ambrose rolls off him and looks up at the computer. The screen has gone black, Minerva gone, and Ambrose’s breath hitches. “Fuck.”

“She’s okay,” Kodiak says. “More importantly, we need to stay alive if we’re going to help her.”

“Yeah,” Ambrose breathes out.

Kodiak gets up on shaky legs and offers his hand to Ambrose to pull him up. They walk out of the communications room and to the bullpen, where they can see the flaming ball of destruction that used to be the hangars through the windows. Ambrose’s chest tightens as he watches smoke unfurl into the sky, and swallows hard against the nausea that rises in his throat when it sinks in that their chances of getting off the planet are well and truly gone, now.

Kodiak’s hand covers his mouth. “Fuck.”

“Fuck,” Ambrose echoes. They watch in silence, the sound of alarms and falling rubble muffled in their distant viewpoint. Ambrose feels strangely numb to the horror of it all. It feels impossible to even process it when his life’s purpose is in ruins in front of him.

There’s another loud boom, smaller than the last, and the both of them flinch away as the windows rattle. Ambrose steps forward to look, his heart racing, and sees another section of the building up in flames.

“Lords, they blew up the lab wing, too,” Ambrose says.

“That must’ve been where they were making our clones,” Kodiak says, his voice grim. Ambrose has to fight back another wave of nausea at the reminder.

“Fuck, I didn’t even consider that we were in the same building as them.” Ambrose wraps his arms around his stomach. “I was worried the mission might go wrong, but I never could’ve imagined it would be as horrific as this.”

“I don’t blame Li Qiang for trying to help us,” Kodiak says quietly. “I just wish he had gone about it differently.”

Ambrose can hear his devastation in every word, and his heart aches. He reaches over and takes Kodiak’s hand, and when he looks at him, Ambrose can see tears shining in his eyes. He tugs him closer until he can wrap his arm around his waist, and Kodiak sinks into him, pressing his face into Ambrose’s hair and inhaling shakily. He wraps his arm around Ambrose’s shoulders, and Ambrose feels steadier with him close, less likely to fall to pieces as long as their arms are around each other.

“I think the plan must have been to cancel our mission and launch the Endeavor instead from the moment that Li Qiang disappeared,” Ambrose says quietly. “I guess that takes priority over me and Minerva in my mother’s mind.”

“She shouldn’t have done this to you,” Kodiak says, his voice low and furious. Ambrose squeezes his waist, a gentle thanks for being angry on his behalf.

“Yeah, well. My mother has never been very caring or nurturing. She probably thought she’d be doing me a favor, continuing my legacy or whatever.” Ambrose exhales. “If nothing else, it’s good that our clones have been spared from her cruelty.”

Kodiak sighs. “Maybe. But there must have been another way to stop this.”

“When you’re raised in a war-torn world, I suppose violence feels like the only option,” Ambrose says ruefully. “Asking my mother to change her mind certainly wouldn’t have worked.”

“I wish it didn’t have to be that way,” Kodiak murmurs.

“Yeah. Me too.” Outside, the fire swells, the smoke thick enough to start blotting out the sun. “Do you think Tashi knew?”

Kodiak hums. “Most likely. They had been acting strangely all week.”

“Sorry for getting upset with you about the data being wrong that first day. They probably did tamper with it.”

“You wanted to believe that they were acting in our best interests. I don’t blame you for that.”

“I’m too trusting for my own good,” Ambrose sighs. “I felt off the whole week, but I didn’t want to confront it. I should’ve known something wasn’t right.”

“It’s not your fault.” Ambrose makes a noncommittal noise. “I mean it, Ambrose. It’s not your fault that people in power chose to hurt you.”

Ambrose swallows down the tears rising in his throat, and lifts his free hand and entwines his fingers with Kodiak’s, rubbing his thumb along his knuckles. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Kodiak says quietly.

“This might be the absolute worst timing,” Ambrose says, “but I really like you, Kodiak.”

Kodiak huffs, but Ambrose can hear laughter in it. “I like you too, Ambrose.”

“Awesome.” He turns his head a little, pressing his cheek to Kodiak’s shoulder. “I’m sorry you don’t get to go to space. You deserve it more than all of us.”

“I’ll live,” Kodiak murmurs. “I have everything I need right here.”

Ambrose laughs. “If I knew you were such a flirt, I would’ve tried to seduce you earlier.”

“Mm. Seduction seems to be your default setting to me,” Kodiak replies. He kisses Ambrose’s hairline, and Ambrose sighs, leaning into it.

“You’re mostly right. I would’ve wanted to romance you properly, though. I didn’t want it to happen like this.”

“I would’ve hated it,” Kodiak admits quietly. “I’m not good at romance.”

“Oh, even better. I love a challenge,” Ambrose replies. Kodiak chuckles, pressing another kiss to Ambrose’s head. “You’re doing a great job right now, for what it’s worth.”

“Thank you.” Kodiak takes a deep breath. “It feels easy, with you. Like I’ve done this before. I can’t explain it.”

Something in his voice makes Ambrose look up at him. Kodiak’s expression is tense, unsure. “Ambrose, I—”

In the distance, the sound of gunfire. They turn away from each other, slowly slipping out of each other’s arms and stepping forward to look out the window. Ambrose’s heart freezes in his chest when he sees warbots rolling alongside platoons of soldiers, headed towards the destroyed hangars. “They’re bringing out warbots to hunt them down? Lords, this isn’t good.”

Kodiak shakes his head, his mouth set in a firm line. “We should get out of here before they run across us.”

“Great idea,” Ambrose says shakily. “Do you think they—”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence.

Ambrose hears it before he sees it. Kodiak does, too, and he’s turning towards him, his eyes blown wide with panic as the bomb, hidden beneath a desk, beeps three times and then goes silent. The last thing Ambrose does—the last thing he ever does—is throw his arms around Kodiak, his hands pressing into his hair as it detonates.

The world is hot and bright, and then it’s nothing at all.