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Kamyuhn normally hated it when Nozomi made them hold hands. It made her feel childish. But that's not fair, she's not a child. She grew up in war and learned to take care of herself. Futurans mature quickly. They're different than the children of the stars. Living with Nozomi makes her happy, sure. She likes it. But she's not a baby, she doesn't need coddling.
There was one day each year, though, when Kamyuhn would reach out and take Nozomi's hand. It was always right at the same spot, at the same time. They would turn a corner on a small, residential street. On the left side was a row of houses, just like the many other streets they had walked down. On the right side was a shaded park, surrounded by an imposing but elegant wrought-iron fence, an ornate gate marking its centre. When the gate came into view, Nozomi would tense up, and Kamyuhn would look at her, and see that expression on her face. Her big sister holding her breath, her lips pursed, dreading what was to come. Kamyuhn would reach for Nozomi's hand, and Nozomi would relax at her little sister's reassuring, gentle touch.
Nozomi had to do a lot of work to find the right date. The Artificial Satellite still counted time in Earth years, an astronomical relic of a galaxy and a century that nobody living had ever seen. And within its controlled environment, day and night were synced to the optimal biological rhythms of humans, not to the natural fluctuations of the planet, so its calendar had long ago drifted away from that used by the real Earth. But even that wouldn't have been much help, with Futurum's 349-day year and 9-year leap cycle adding even more layers of complication to date calculations. Nozomi had been good at math as a child, though, and coming up with all the formulas was a research project that had kept her occupied, at least. And it was important to her that this date be respected as precisely as possible.
The two of them would walk through the iron gate, hand in hand, down a paved pathway. Perfectly defined shadows splotched the ground, marking the soft tangles of leaves through which the artificial light poured down on them. The dancing shapes obscured the forms of the small headstones laid in neat rows, trailing far in each direction.
They would walk to the last row, at the end of the park, the other side of the elegant iron fence watching over them. Last row - "surname unknown". Turn left, and count the headstones until they reach plot 16. There it was.
Eva Mother to two daughters
Nozomi would always cry. She would gently let herself down to the grass, clutching at the ground and letting her tears water her mother's grave. Her mother, Eva, who loved and protected her, who sacrificed for her, who told her the truth, who treated her like a precious diamond in the ravaged minefield they lived in. Not the mother who turned her into a weapon, shooting stolen poisons into her veins. Not the mother who left Nozomi alone because she was a failed experiment.
Kamyuhn had spent too much of her life mourning. She was too young when Mommy and Daddy died. She didn't understand why they were taken away. And then her auntie Eva. She knew why Eva died, but at that point, she had so little energy left in her to mourn. So many people had been ripped out of her life, that auntie Eva, her new mother, almost just felt like yet another in a long line of corpses that were cursing her.
Seeing the grave was important for Kamyuhn. It would remind her what Eva meant to her, and what she meant to Eva. They had only had a short time together, and it was marked by conflict and fear. But Eva steadfastly believed that Kamyuhn was her beloved daughter, right up to the very end. Her love was the one and only thing that tethered Kamyuhn to her home planet and to her people. She would listen to the wind rustling and Nozomi's sobbing, studying the intricate folds in the foreign letters that marked auntie Eva's life and death. Sometimes she would cry, sometimes she would just let sadness wrap around her like warm sunlight.
There was no body beneath the plot; Eva had been reduced to barely more than a stain on the ground when Takumi held Nozomi's hand and curled her fingers around the detonator. There was nothing to bury of Eva, so this was as close as they could get to giving her a proper burial. Nevertheless, both Nozomi and Kamyuhn took care not to step on the grass where Eva's body would have been. This was the holy ground that commemorated their mother, the one person who had shown them love in an endless abyss. The grass was lovingly tended, with a small bouquet of carefully arranged flowers placed on top. The night before, Nozomi and Kamyuhn would assemble the bouquet together, so that Eva could feel both of their love in equal measure.
They would hug and cry together, softly letting themselves be overwhelmed by love and sorrow. They would stay until they felt that they had been wrung dry, never checking to see how long it took. And then they would turn and walk away, leaving their mother to her rest, hoping she could be satisfied that her two daughters were living a more peaceful life than she could have dreamed of.
They would go to the same little food stall for lunch afterwards, where Nozomi would order a rolled omelette, and Kamyuhn a green tea and two yakitori skewers. They always ordered one extra order of tea, the finest that was available, and drank it together after the meal. A third cup would be left sitting out until the tea grew cold. The three of them never got the chance to sit down to a family meal together. Every year, as Nozomi and Kamyuhn walked home, their tears dried and weary but satisfied smiles on their faces, they thanked their mother for the meal.