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2461
Out in the wilderness, a child perches alone in a tree. He’s on a mission.
He’s quiet, his eyes fixed on the flow of the river below him. The cold wind whistles in his ears as it rushes past him, ruffling his hair and clothes, and he suppresses a shiver. He’s been stationed in his lookout spot for over an hour, watching and waiting, but he isn’t going to let a little chill dissuade him. He’s got an assignment to finish.
Something rustles in the brush, and his head snaps in the direction of the sound. He holds his breath as three massive bears, one adult and two cubs, lumber out of the trees and onto the riverbank. The adult steps forward, surveying their surroundings, while the cubs splash into the water gleefully. They rumble and roughhouse while their mother dips her head towards the river, looking for any signs of movement underneath.
The Kodiak brown bear was thought to have gone extinct a decade ago, as reported by Fédération when the last breeding pair died in captivity. But here they are, hunting for salmon deep in the forests of Celius.
Survivors, the boy thinks. Just like me.
He watches the bears trod through the river, their fur glistening. They cross to the other side and disappear back into the forest, likely to look for a more fruitful fishing spot. It’s only after they’re gone that Kodiak exhales, his grip on the bark loosening. This is the fourth time he’d successfully tracked them down since he first stumbled across the pod while exploring by the river, and the first time he’s seen the cubs since their tepid winter turned to spring. He’d been worried they wouldn’t have enough food for the cubs to thrive, but they seem healthy enough. Perhaps they’ll survive long enough to make it to another winter.
His stakeout completed, Kodiak starts to clamber down the branches of the white pine he’d been perched in, needles scraping his face as he squeezes between its boughs. He makes it to the lowest branch and jumps to the forest floor, wiping the resin on his hands off onto his pants after he finds his balance. The sun is still high in the sky; he should be able to hike a bit further north before having to find shelter for the night. He’s never stayed out long enough to have to camp overnight before, but he isn’t worried; he’s been studying survival techniques, following the guidelines they use at the cosmology academies. He looks up at the gray-blue sky, wondering if there’s any spacefarers floating in distant satellites above his head. Maybe one day he’ll be up there with them.
He takes a moment to make sure the bears are well and truly gone—he’s not dumb enough to become a potential threat to a mother bear—then starts to walk, following the bend of the river. He takes in the noises around him: the rush of the water, the twittering of birds, the way the dirt crunches under his feet. He loves the forest. If he’s careful, he thinks he could probably survive for at least a week out here before someone finds him. Maybe longer, if the weather stays clear.
He’s thinking about his plan as he weaves through a dense swathe of trees and into a clearing—and then he freezes. Two men stand on the riverbank, one holding a net while the other trains a gun on Kodiak. They both relax when they catch sight of him, but it’s short-lived.
“Shit, kid, again?” The one with the gun says. “Does Maia even know you’re missing yet?” Kodiak is silent. The other man tosses his net over his shoulder, crossing his arms. “You’re lucky we’re the ones who found you, and not Ulan.”
Kodiak quietly agrees. Last time he ran away, Ulan had run across him foraging in the area around his house and shot him for trespassing. He hadn’t been allowed to step foot out of the orphanage for nearly two months, partially so his leg could heal and partially because he was grounded for getting himself into that situation in the first place. He doesn’t think this man will shoot him—he recognizes him as one of the fishers from the market who drops off their orders, and one of the few people who takes the time to chat with Maia when he stops by—but he also knows he’s not going to let him get away. Dammit.
The man—Kodiak thinks his name is Zheng—sighs, slinging the rifle onto his back. “How about this. If you promise not to run away from us, we’ll let you help us fish and then take you back once we’re done for the day, instead of taking you back right now. Deal?”
Kodiak pretends to take a moment to consider it, even though he was on board the moment Zheng had said he’d let him help. He’d been relying on his knowledge of edible plants to help him survive in the wilderness, but if he knew how to fish…
“Deal,” Kodiak says.
“Alright, then. We’ve got a lot of work to do before sunset, so let’s get going.” Zheng and his companion start walking downstream, and Kodiak is quick to follow them.
They manage to catch a handful of herrings before it gets too dark, Kodiak mostly helping them by determining which fish are big enough to keep and which they should release back into the river. He’s quiet and attentive as Zheng shows him how to properly string a rod and attach bait, committing the knowledge to his memory. Once the day is over, he’s too excited about his newly acquired skills to be upset about being caught. As they approach town, however, dread starts to sink in, and for a moment he considers turning around and running again, but he knows Zheng is watching and won’t hesitate to chase after him.
When they arrive at the orphanage, Maia is standing on the porch with her arms crossed. She looks exhausted, but she smiles at Zheng when he raises a hand in greeting.
“Look who I found wandering the woods,” Zheng says, nudging Kodiak up the stairs. Kodiak scowls at him, but walks up to stand in front of Maia begrudgingly. She squats down to his level, taking his face in her hands.
“Nine hours. This is a new record for you, rybka,” she says, licking her thumb and rubbing a bit of dirt off his cheek. “Anything you want to say to me?”
Kodiak stares down at his feet. “No.”
Zheng snorts. “She’s quite the little grouse, isn’t she? Why do none of your boys give you this much trouble?”
Kodiak blinks back angry tears, feeling oddly betrayed by Zheng’s casual othering. His clenched fists shake at his sides, and Maia frowns, her brow furrowed.
“They send most of my intrepid ones up to Ceres,” Maia replies, still looking at Kodiak, “but sometimes they overlook them.” She stands up, touching Kodiak’s shoulder gently. “Go join Aysha in the kitchen, it’s your turn to clean. You can eat once you’re finished.”
Kodiak steps around her quickly, unable to listen to their conversation any longer. Zheng says something that he can’t hear as he leaves, and Maia just sighs in reply. Kodiak slams the door behind him, not caring about the lecture he’ll get about it later.
When he arrives in the kitchen, Aysha is standing by the table wringing out a wet rag. She looks up when Kodiak enters, her eyes widening. “Whoa. Did you fall down a hill or something?”
Kodiak snatches the rag from her hand and throws it against the wall, his chest heaving. Aysha yelps indignantly as water splatters against her face. “Stop it! Ugh, what is wrong with you—”
“Why can’t girls be spacefarers?” Kodiak blurts out, interrupting her. Aysha stares at him. “They don’t even test us. How do they know we can’t be spacefarers?”
“I don’t know. Maybe girls just aren’t good enough, or something,” Aysha says, crossing her arms.
“No, I would be a great spacefarer,” Kodiak insists. “I’m good at math and science, and I’m the fastest person in our whole orphanage, and I know how to survive in the wilderness. I could do it!”
“Why do you even care?”
“Because it’s not fair!” Kodiak starts pacing in angry circles. “Fédération has girl spacefarers, why can’t Dimokratía?”
“Because Dimokratía is better than Fédération,” Aysha says, but it’s hesitant, sounding like she’s repeating something she’s been told rather than something she actually believes. “Why do you even want to go to space, anyways? There’s nothing up there.”
“There’s nothing down here, either,” Kodiak mumbles.
“If you wanna be Fédération so bad, maybe you should go there. See for yourself if they welcome Dimokratían détritus like us,” Aysha snaps, walking over and snatching the rag from the floor.
Kodiak bristles. “I would never betray Dimokratía. I just don’t want to be stuck here forever. Don’t you?”
“It doesn’t matter, does it?” Aysha says. “We don’t have a choice.”
“Why not? Why can’t we have a choice?” Kodiak stares out the window, his heart clenching in his chest. “It’s not fair. I hate Celius. I hate being a girl. We shouldn’t have to be if we don’t want to.” When he looks back, Aysha is staring at him, and suddenly he gets the sense that he’s said the wrong thing. “Don’t—don’t you hate it too?”
“No,” Aysha says, looking at him strangely. Like he’s really, really said something wrong.
“You don’t ever feel wrong?” He’s suddenly desperate to explain himself, to get Aysha to understand. “Like you weren’t meant to be here? That you weren’t meant to be—to be you?”
Aysha curls into herself, frowning uncomfortably. “Who else are you supposed to be?”
“I’m supposed to be a spacefarer,” Kodiak says. “Up there, with… with all the other boys.”
Aysha shakes her head, her eyes wide and frantic. “No. You can’t say that,” and then she says his name, the name they gave him when he was left at the orphanage as a baby, and Kodiak has the hysterical urge to cover his ears and scream. He opens his mouth to say something, anything, to make sense of what he’s feeling, but then Aysha gasps, her expression suddenly turning fearful as she stares at something behind him. He turns to see Maia standing in the doorway, and his stomach drops to the floor.
“Aysha, go get ready for bed.” Aysha gives Kodiak a wide-eyed look, then scampers out of the room, glancing back at them before she disappears into the hallway. Maia looks at Kodiak, and Kodiak wills himself not to cry as she motions for him to sit at the table. He stares down at his hands as she sits down across from him. It’s quiet for a moment, and Kodiak braces himself as Maia takes a breath.
“Rybka. Look at me.”
He does, surprised by the softness of her voice. She doesn’t look angry—in fact, she looks almost sad. “You want to be a spacefarer? Is that why you keep running away?”
“Spacefarers have to be able to survive on their own,” Kodiak mumbles. “I’m training.”
“And what happens when you get hurt, and no one is there to help you?” Maia shakes her head. “I understand that you’re not happy here, but you are putting yourself in danger. If you get sick, or injured—”
“I’d rather die than stay in Celius!” Kodiak blurts out, banging his hands on the table. Maia’s eyes widen, and he quickly shoves his hands back into his lap.
Maia sighs. “You don't mean that—” and then she says his name, his wrong name, and this time Kodiak does cover his ears, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain of hearing it. Maia says something, her voice muffled, but Kodiak just shakes his head.
“That’s not me,” he gasps, the words sounding strange through his plugged ears. “That’s not my name. Stop it, stop it, stop it—”
He feels close to tears again, and he’s ashamed of himself for being so fragile. He forces himself to open his eyes, and sees Maia staring back at him worriedly, her mouth moving as she tries to speak to him. Her hands are raised in a placating gesture, and after he manages to take a breath without choking on it, Kodiak slowly uncovers his ears.
“—alm down, little one.” Kodiak blinks, furiously rubbing away the few tears that slip onto his cheeks. Maia clasps her hands in front of her on the table. “I won’t call you that anymore. Okay?” Kodiak nods, and Maia nods back. “Alright. Tell me your name.”
Kodiak stares at her. “What?”
“You said that was not your name. What is it, then?” The words are matter-of-fact, but genuine; she's not making fun of him. Kodiak searches her face for any hint of anger, but all he sees is solemn curiosity.
“Kodiak,” he says softly. “My name is Kodiak.”
Maia is quiet for a moment, her face unreadable, but then she nods. “That is a strong name.”
Kodiak wipes his eyes, straightening his shoulders with a sniff. “Thank you.”
“Kodiak,” Maia starts, and the rightness of being addressed that way sends warmth throughout Kodiak’s body, “if I tell you to stop running away, will you?”
He answers immediately. “No.”
Maia exhales. “How about if I let you accompany Zheng on more fishing trips? Will you stop trying then?”
He takes a second to consider it. As exciting as the idea is, he knows it won’t satisfy him for long. “No.”
Maia looks at him for a long moment, her expression even more exhausted than before. “You know, it’s not easy, being a spacefarer. More people fail than succeed.”
“I could do it,” Kodiak insists. “I know I could.”
“That is what I’m afraid of,” Maia murmurs, more to herself than to Kodiak. She leans back in her chair, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. “Alright. This will not be easy, but we can try.”
Kodiak narrows his eyes, confused. Maia sits up again, a focused calm on her face. “A story for you, yes? Suppose a newly orphaned little boy has been sent to my orphanage, but we do not have space for him. We think he deserves a chance at the academy before he gets thrown onto the streets. He’s a bit older than the usual new recruits, but he’s talented and obedient, already very independent after surviving on his own after his parents died. A perfect fit for the Ceres Academy. It would be a waste of his potential to not allow him to try.”
It takes Kodiak a moment to catch on. “You mean—really?”
“I can’t promise anything,” Maia warns, “but the Ceres cosmology recruiter owes me a favor, so I will see what he can do.” Kodiak just stares at her, speechless, and Maia smiles, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “If you do go, you must swear something to me.”
“Yes, anything,” Kodiak says quickly.
Maia leans forward, and Kodiak does too, his heart pounding. “If you go, you must not break. You will succeed. Do you promise?”
“Yes, I promise,” Kodiak vows. “I’ll make you proud. I’ll make all of Dimokratía proud.”
For a second, Maia’s face falls, the sad, tired look she’d had returning, but it’s gone as quickly as it came. “Good. Go grab your dinner and get to bed. We’ll talk about this more as soon as I contact the academy.”
Kodiak nods, pushing back in his chair and running over to grab the meal pack from the counter. He goes to leave, eager to tuck himself away and start making plans for his new life, but he pauses in the doorway, spinning around to face Maia. She looks at him curiously as he holds his fist to his chest.
“Thank you,” Kodiak says solemnly, bowing deeply.
Maia scoffs and flaps her hand at him. “Go! Get your rest, little bear, I won’t tell you again.”
Kodiak nods and scampers out of the room, smiling giddily. He’s going to be a spacefarer. He’s going to be a spacefarer.
For the first time in his life, everything feels right.
—
2471
Being a spacefarer sort of fucking sucks.
Kodiak loves it, of course—the science fascinates him, and the physical training transforms his body into exactly how he wants it to look. As his class size dwindles, he finds comradery with his fellow cadets comes easier when everyone is as passionate about succeeding as he is.
The hard parts are the bruises and sprains that feel like they never heal, the terrible food, the friends who get sick and then never return, the side-effects of owning a uterus that even hormones and blockers can’t always prevent, the hiding of those side-effects. The hiding, in general.
For his own safety, he hasn’t been open about his gender identity at Ceres. It’s easier for him to act like the testosterone he injects is to help him keep up with all the other cadets who’ve been training and using performance enhancers before even starting puberty. Only three people know the truth: the Ceres recruiter, who forged his paperwork; his nurse, who gets him the hormones he needs; and Celius Li Qiang, his best friend and greatest rival. It almost feels like a conspiracy.
There’s words for people like him—dated terms, more derogatory than not. Fédération has supposedly moved past things like that, but Kodiak has heard the kinds of things their “tolerant” society says about Dimokratíans. At least in Dimokratía, people are willing to turn a blind eye. Most people. Not many at the academy would, so Kodiak keeps it to himself.
The competitive nature of the academy had heightened exponentially in the last year; the Cusk Corporation had sent a spacefarer up to Titan to try and start a human colony, and despite it being a “collaboration” between the two countries, everyone knew it was a Fédération project and would always be seen as such. Dimokratía has been scrambling to come up with their own spearheaded mission to one-up them ever since. The fervor had mostly died off once the Titan encampment went dark, the Cusk offspring they sent presumed dead, but the pressure to be one of the top candidates for the next mission remained. Any sign of weakness would be taken and abused by everyone around him, and Kodiak couldn’t afford that. Not when he was so close to making it.
But, well. He is still a teenage boy.
The door to the dorm slides open with a whoosh, and Kodiak looks up as Li Qiang walks in. “Hey.”
“Hey,” Kodiak replies. “Your checkup went well?”
“Yup. I’m healthy as a horse,” Li Qiang says, flexing his bicep as he walks over to Kodiak’s bunk.
“Good. I was a little worried, after I beat you so hard at the nav sim on Monday…”
“Oh, fuck off,” Li Qiang says, shoving Kodiak and flopping down next to him on the bed. Their bodies have to press together shoulder to calves to fit, and Kodiak settles into the warmth easily. “You barely beat me. Just because you can type faster doesn’t mean you’re better.”
“If that’s what you want to tell yourself,” Kodiak murmurs, looking back down at his notes.
“Yeah, because I’m right.”
Kodiak just hums, taking a moment to write something on his tablet. It’s quiet for a bit, Kodiak immersed in his notes while Li Qiang rests. This is a familiar scene; ever since they were placed in the same dorm at age ten, the two of them have spent most of their free time together, talking or studying or sparring. They’ve stuck together as their class number dwindled from one-hundred fifty to twenty-five to ten, an unspoken agreement to not let the competition drive them apart.
Sometimes Kodiak will talk about Celius, describing their home to Li Qiang since he was too young to remember anything about it before he was recruited. Kodiak misses their township some days; becoming a spacefarer has been his life’s goal, but he misses the peaceful feeling that comes from living amongst the trees. He finds no such peace in their cold, industrial academy. Sometimes Kodiak considers visiting on his breaks, but as the years went by and he’d been gone for longer and longer, it stopped feeling like a possibility.
I’ll go back when I’ve made Dimokratía proud, he thinks. After I’ve done something to deserve it.
Li Qiang sighs and leans into Kodiak’s space, pulling him out of his thoughts. “Hey. Take a break, will you?”
Kodiak glares at him, but sets down his tablet. “We have another sim tomorrow. I still have to memorize these flight patterns—”
“You know the flight patterns, Ko. We’ve been studying for this all week,” Li Qiang refutes.
“Sokolov will give us something unexpected, he always does. We have to be prepared.”
“Is it really unexpected if he does it every time?”
Kodiak huffs, and Li Qiang laughs, putting his hand on Kodiak’s arm. “It’s our afternoon off, we should be doing something fun.”
Kodiak glances at Li Qiang’s hand, raising an eyebrow. “Like what?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Li Qiang says, his head lolling onto Kodiak’s shoulder. “What could we possibly do, with hours to waste in our empty dorm…”
“Um.” Kodiak’s eyebrows draw together. “I still need to go over last week’s lab results.”
Li Qiang rolls his eyes. “You’re a scientific prodigy, Kodiak. You do not need to study.”
Kodiak bristles. “I am not a prodigy. I’ve worked very hard to learn what I know.”
“Uh-huh.”
“So have you.”
“Sure.”
“What do you want to do?”
Li Qiang gives him a look. “You know, for someone so intelligent, you’re really dense sometimes.”
Kodiak opens his mouth to protest, but quickly snaps it shut again as Li Qiang sits up and smoothly slides his leg over Kodiak’s hips, straddling him with a smirk on his face. “Oh.”
“Yeah, oh. C’mere,” Li Qiang breathes, taking Kodiak’s face in his hands and pressing their lips together. Kodiak inhales, closing his eyes and gripping the front of Li Qiang’s shirt.
This—thing between them is new. Li Qiang had initiated it by casually leaning over and kissing Kodiak in the middle of a conversation about meteor redirection tactics a few weeks ago. It hadn’t been a surprise; Kodiak had been feeling the tension between them for months, but he hadn’t known what to do about it until Li Qiang had made the first move. He still doesn’t quite know what to do about it. Being with Li Qiang feels comfortable, and right, but part of him is constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Kodiak’s mind is still whirring when Li Qiang pulls back with a sigh, looking down at him with his brow pinched. “Hey. Where are you?”
“What?”
“You’re stuck up here,” Li Qiang says, tapping Kodiak’s forehead, and Kodiak smacks his hand away, frowning. “Can you relax for, like, one second?”
Kodiak sits up, and Li Qiang rolls off him with an annoyed hey as he stubbornly scoots away from him, picking his tablet back up. “No, actually, I can’t. I have work to do.”
“Kodiak,” Li Qiang says, exasperated. Kodiak says nothing, pretending to read his notes. “Are you serious?”
“Just because you don’t care about the sim tomorrow doesn’t mean I don’t, either.”
“Where did I say that I don’t care?” Li Qiang throws his hand up in the air. “You’ll never get anywhere if you don’t relax every so often, Ko.”
“I cannot afford to lose my place here,” Kodiak argues, dropping his tablet again.
“And you think I can?” Li Qiang scoffs. “You’re not the only one who has had to fight to get to where we are, Kodiak. None of us want to be sent to the military, we want to go to space.”
“You have less to lose than I do,” Kodiak bites out. “If anyone finds out, that I’m—” He takes a deep breath, unable to say the words. “They’ll kick me out, won’t even qualify me for civil service. I’ll be sent back to Celius, a failure.”
“And what about me, huh? You think I don’t care about being a failure, either?” Li Qiang tries to meet Kodiak’s eyes, but he keeps them fixed on his own trembling hands. “I have worked my whole life to become a spacefarer. This is the only thing I have ever known, and you think that somehow I care less than you just because I want to, what, spend time with you?”
“I did not say that—”
“But you fucking implied it,” Li Qiang snaps. “I thought you were my friend, Kodiak. I thought you cared about me.”
Kodiak looks up then, his heart clenching in his chest. “I do care about you.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” Li Qiang mutters, crossing his arms over his chest. He looks hurt, and Kodiak swallows, guilt sticking in his throat.
“Li,” Kodiak starts, but Li Qiang shakes his head, getting up from the bed jerkily. Kodiak watches him pace the length of the room, his hands flexing at his sides, and flinches when he abruptly whirls around to face him.
“How bad do you want it?”
“What do you—”
“A spot, on the next mission,” Li Qiang says. “How bad?”
Kodiak stares at him. “Are you really asking me that?”
“What if—” Li Qiang starts, his voice hoarse. “What if we left?”
Kodiak’s eyes widen, taken aback. “What?”
“After next week, there’ll only be five of us remaining,” Li Qiang says, something wild in his eyes. “What if we just—leave? Defect? Run away to Celius?”
“And get court-martialed?” Kodiak asks incredulously.
Li Qiang waves his hand. “They wouldn’t care enough about us to do that.”
“You want to risk it?” Kodiak challenges. “You really want to throw everything away, for, what, a meaningless life in a poor province? A life that I specifically ran away from, that you were taken from?” He holds his hands to his chest. “I have fought every day to escape that, to make our country proud, and you’re asking me if I want to go back?”
“What happens if you get a spot?” Li Qiang snaps. “All spacefarers are required to have full-body medical exams and genetic sequencing before they launch. If they find out—”
Kodiak feels sick. “It doesn’t matter. I would be the best, it wouldn’t matter.”
“You don’t know that—”
“Neither do you!” Kodiak explodes. “I know the risks of what I’m doing, and I’m not going to give it up just because you are scared. We’ve worked our whole lives for this opportunity, Li Qiang, you just said you don’t want to fail, why would you throw it all away?”
“Because I don’t want to do it without you!” Li Qiang shouts.
Kodiak stares at him, frozen. Li Qiang covers his face with his hands, breathing deeply. The room is so quiet that Kodiak thinks he can hear their hearts beating, echoing in the empty air between them.
Slowly, Li Qiang uncovers his face. His eyes are glittering, and Kodiak blinks furiously against the pressure behind his own eyes.
“It doesn’t matter who gets the spot. Either way, we will be alone. Both of us. Win or lose,” Li Qiang says miserably. “Is it so wrong of me to not want to lose you? Leaving is the only way we get a choice.”
Kodiak swallows. “Li—”
“Kodiak, don’t.”
“Li,” he starts again, and Li Qiang laughs, hysteric and helpless. “In the end, only two people will be left.”
“Yeah, Ko.”
“It has to be me,” Kodiak says. “And I want it to be you, too.”
“I’m going to beat you,” Li Qiang whispers.
“Sure.”
“And I’ll send you a reel from space every single day.”
“Who says I’ll watch them?”
“You’re such an ass.”
“I know.”
Li Qiang drops down heavily on his bunk on the other side of the room, his fist pressed to his mouth. Kodiak watches him, the heat from their argument gone and leaving an empty cold in its place.
“We never had this conversation,” Kodiak says quietly. “Okay? We never had any intention of leaving.”
“Yeah. Okay.” Li Qiang looks up at the ceiling, blinking rapidly. It’s silent for a moment. “Kodiak?”
“Yeah?”
“Tell me about the trees again?”
Kodiak takes a deep breath, and starts to talk.
—
18,280
“You know, you’re quite a Dimokratían stereotype,” Ambrose says.
Kodiak looks up at him from his spot on the floor of 06, drawn away from his task of repairing a hole in one of his jumpsuits. Ambrose is sitting backwards in his chair, watching Kodiak with a soft look in his eyes. Kodiak tilts his head curiously. “Oh? How so?”
“You’re all serious, rough-and-tumble masculine, straight out of one of those cosmology cadet propaganda reels they have on the net.” Ambrose says, gesturing with his hands as he speaks. It’s a quirk that Kodiak is surprised wasn’t trained out of him during his life as a Fédération aristocrat. He finds it endearing, and he’s sure his own gaze is softening as he watches Ambrose talk.
“They filmed me for a few of those, actually,” Kodiak says, returning to his needle and thread, but he can’t help but glance up to see Ambrose’s reaction.
“You’re not serious,” Ambrose says, his mouth dropping open.
“No, I’m not.” Kodiak grins as Ambrose makes a face at him. “Everyone in the academy was too busy with training to have time for photo ops. Most of the soldiers in those reels are hired models.”
“That makes sense.”
Kodiak hums. “Are you into that, then? ‘Rough-and-tumble’ men like me?”
“I’m into everyone,” Ambrose says easily. “You’re not usually the type I go for, though.”
“Should I be flattered?” Kodiak asks, biting his lip in concentration as he carefully ties a knot in the thread.
“Well, it’s not like I have much of a choice, do I?” Ambrose teases. He leans over to get a closer look at Kodiak’s stitching. “You know Rover can fix that for you.”
“I know. I like working with my hands.”
Ambrose is quiet for a moment, watching as Kodiak gently pulls the thread across the gash in the jumpsuit’s arm. Kodiak doesn’t mind the audience; after the bombshell of the reality of their existence dropped, he’s been clinging to Ambrose’s company like a lifeline. These quiet moments they spend together are a balm to Kodiak’s grief.
Ambrose breaks the silence after a few minutes have passed. “Did they teach you to sew at the academy? It doesn’t seem like something they would do.”
“Cadets are taught to sew, yes. Being able to mend your own clothes and supplies is important for surviving in the wilderness,” Kodiak explains. “But I did not learn this skill at Ceres.”
Ambrose is quiet again, and when Kodiak glances up, he is looking at him expectantly. “Ah. I am avoiding the question.”
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Ambrose says, and Kodiak knows he means it. “But I like getting to know you.”
“Thank you,” Kodiak says, touched. “I can tell you, but there is a lot to explain. It seems that previous Kodiaks did not tell previous Ambroses much about my upbringing.”
“I know you lived at an orphanage until you were taken to Ceres and trained there,” Ambrose says, his brow knitting together. “Is there more that I’m missing?”
“Yes.” Kodiak takes a deep breath. He’d considered, for a moment, leaving Ambrose in the dark for a little bit longer, but he finds he’s tired of hiding. He’s been living in silent terror his entire life—lives—and he’s grown sick of it. Especially now, when his own death feels near and certain. Why not live in peace for the rest of it?
Ambrose waits as Kodiak gathers the words in Fédération, using the repetitive motion of pulling the needle and thread through fabric to calm his mind.
“I was not recruited to train at Ceres at age four, like the rest of my peers. I was seven years old when I arrived,” Kodiak starts. He can see the questions already starting to form in Ambrose’s mind, but he doesn’t interrupt. “I was excluded from the earlier testing, but our caretaker managed to have me considered again, because she saw my potential. I suspect it was also because I was a little szelma who kept running away and she wanted to be rid of me, but I was grateful regardless.” He pulls the needle through again and again, following the motions Maia had taught him so many years ago. Thousands of years, now. “She was the one who taught me to mend. These stitches are hers.”
“They’re beautifully done,” Ambrose says gently. “She taught you well.”
Kodiak smiles sadly. “Yes. She did.”
“It sounds like she cared about you.”
“She wanted us to survive.” Kodiak runs his thumb over the darning. “I was… different from everyone else in Celius. I did not understand why. I did not have the words for it, not for a long time. Perhaps it would have been different if I had been raised in Fédération, but I was not. I think she saw the difference in me before I was capable of recognizing it.”
He sets down his sewing then, his hands shaking too much to keep a straight stitch. Ambrose notices, and slides out of his chair and onto the floor, positioning himself across from Kodiak. Equal ground. The gesture makes Kodiak want to cry.
“I know how you feel, about labels. About their power. And I know that you feel they do more harm than good. But I have not always found that to be true.” His eyes flick to Ambrose’s nervously, expecting to see anger or confusion on his face, but his expression is open, listening intently. Kodiak swallows around the lump of anxiety in his throat and continues. “It is—different, in Dimokratía. We do not have the freedom to express who we are, not in the way you are able to. If you feel differently from the way you are born, you are not rejected, but you are not treated the same, either. It is easier to ignore if there is no name for it, so when you do finally find the words, it is… freeing. Do you understand?”
“I think I do,” Ambrose says softly.
“I am proud of the man I have become. Uniquely proud, because I had to fight for it.” Kodiak pauses for a moment. “I do not know how to describe my difference in Fédération. In Dimokratía, we are sometimes called, ah, gender transformed..?”
He sees when it clicks in Ambrose’s mind. “Gender expansive is how most people describe it in Fédération,” he says. “I know some people still like to identify as transgender, even though it’s an older term.”
“I am transgender, then,” Kodiak says, the word settling in his chest comfortably. “I would likely have been expelled from the academy if anyone found out. If there were others like me, I did not know. We had to protect ourselves. I had to protect myself. But I am not ashamed of it.”
“You shouldn’t be.” Ambrose takes Kodiak’s hands into his own. “Thank you for telling me. You didn’t have to, I wouldn’t have judged you regardless.”
“I know,” Kodiak replies softly. “I doubt you ever would have known otherwise, without seeing my body. I am quite manly, aren’t I?”
Ambrose rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “Yes, you are so very manly.”
“You’re only the third person I’ve told,” Kodiak admits suddenly. “Maia knew, as did a few of the staff at the academy, and so did… so did Li Qiang.”
“Your friend, from the pool bash,” Ambrose says slowly. “He was mentioned in the recordings.”
“He was the only one I trusted to know.” Kodiak pushes down the grief he feels when he thinks of him. “I ruined his life when I got the spot on this mission, but part of me is glad I saved him from this fate. It makes up for all he did to protect me when we were cadets.”
“I’m glad you had him,” Ambrose replies. Kodiak nods, inhaling shakily. Ambrose rubs his thumb along his knuckles, and it’s such a small gesture but it makes Kodiak want to cry nonetheless. He squeezes Ambrose’s hands instead, giving him a wobbly smile. Ambrose smiles back.
“Well,” Kodiak starts, “now that I’ve told you my deepest secret, I think it’s your turn to share something.”
“Lords, where do I start?” Ambrose replies, leaning back with an exaggerated huff. “Well, you already know I’m a test tube baby…”
As Ambrose describes the strange circumstances of his birth, Kodiak takes in the feeling of their knees touching, the way Ambrose inhabits his space like they’ve been doing this for years, the steady calm spreading through his body. He’s hurtling through space, trapped on a ship he’s going to die in, but in this moment, Kodiak feels more free than he ever has.
He hopes the next Kodiak gets to feel this, too.
—
Year Five
It’s a warm evening on Minerva. Big Sister has just finished setting in the sky, and Kodiak is on his knees fiddling with the water reclaimer when Ambrose comes up behind him, putting a hand on his shoulder.
“Hey. You already put the kids to bed?” Kodiak asks, looking up at his partner.
“Mhm. They fought valiantly against it, but Daddy always wins,” Ambrose says with a grin. Kodiak rolls his eyes and leans up to kiss him. Ambrose sighs into it, cupping Kodiak’s cheek for a moment before pulling away. “You coming to bed?”
“In a minute. I’ll get this leak patched, then I’ll head in.”
“Don’t take too long, or OS will start nagging you,”
“It is not ‘nagging’ to encourage healthy sleeping habits,” OS chimes in from where Rover is puttering around the reclaimer.
“We’re parents. Healthy sleep won’t exist until they’re out of the single digits,” Ambrose replies.
“I’ll be there soon,” Kodiak interrupts before Ambrose and OS can get into it. Ambrose nods, kissing Kodiak’s temple before he disappears into their room.
Kodiak works in silence, pulling apart the reclaimer’s internal mechanisms and smoothing a polycarbon seal over a busted pipe. He tells OS to make a note to print a replacement for the pipe tomorrow, and is about to get up to head into their bedroom when he hears a noise behind him. A noise that sounds suspiciously like tiny feet padding across the ground.
“Is there someone spying on me back there?” Kodiak murmurs, and smiles when he hears a surprised squeak. “Spies who stay hidden lose Real Chair privileges at breakfast…”
“No! I’m sorry!” Yarrow comes tumbling out from behind the building. “It’s just me, Daddy!”
“Why are you up, rybka? Dad just put you down,” Kodiak asks, taking Yarrow’s hand and pulling him towards him.
“Couldn’t sleep,” Yarrow mumbles. “Dad told us the really boring story about the guy who stole fire again and I didn’t like it.”
Kodiak hums, gathering Yarrow into his lap. He settles against his chest, his hands clutching Kodiak’s shirt. “What’s wrong with Prometheus? He was a hero.”
“A boring hero,” Yarrow says. “Who cares about fire?”
“I do. Fire is a strange, beautiful thing.” Kodiak looks up at the stars. “I would’ve stolen it from the gods, too.”
“Okay, Dad,” Yarrow says, sounding about as exasperated as a five-year-old can be. “Can you tell me a story? A good one.”
“Depends. Will you stay in bed if I do?” Yarrow is quiet. “Yarrow…”
“Okay, okay, I will.”
“Good.” Kodiak pulls Yarrow closer, smiling as he nestles into his chest. “What would you like to hear?”
“Can you tell me about Earth?”
Kodiak swallows. “Oh. Little one, I don’t think—”
“Please?”
Kodiak looks at Yarrow, his big, sleepy eyes gazing up at him imploringly, and he knows he isn’t strong enough to resist. He sighs.
“Okay. Just this once.” Kodiak clears his throat. “Thousands of years ago, deep in the forests of Celius, there were three little bears. Everyone in the world thought they were gone forever, but they endured. They were survivors.”
“Like you and me?” Yarrow mumbles sleepily.
“Yes,” Kodiak says. He looks at the sky again, thinks of everything he did to get to this moment. He’s sitting on an exoplanet thousands of lightyears from home, his son in his arms, and more at peace than he’s ever felt. He presses a kiss into Yarrow’s hair.
“Like you and me.”