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Folan was busy with the engines when the call came in. It was from Rityesa’s dad, so he didn’t answer through his implant and instead went in search of his partner.
He found her sitting cross-legged on her bunk, shirt pulled up around her breasts as she awkwardly fiddled with the implant in her side.
“Your dad’s calling,” Folan said. His back ached a little looking at how she was contorted.
“He can call back,” Yesa muttered. “Stupid enzyme implant is on the fritz again.”
“I can fix it,” Folan volunteered immediately. Yesa glared at him, but didn’t slap his hands away as he settled beside her and started to inspect her implant. “Should we look for a new one? This is the third time –“
“It’s fine.”
“These sensors are old, and they lose accuracy after a while –“
“It’s fine because I’m already on it. I’m not stupid. I don’t need you to save me, little prince.”
She sneered the name, like she always did. If Folan was his mother or the captain, he’d look down pointedly, to where he was still steadily fiddling with the enzyme implant. But Folan had been taught to treat a woman better than that – everybody, but especially a woman, because his dad said so – so he waited until Yesa was looking forward again to glance down. He knew this tech well enough.
“I don’t get to pick and choose what gets put in me,” Yesa said. “This isn’t some holocall interface. My implants actually matter. I’m not going for whatever is flashiest.”
That stung.
“Neither would I!” Folan protested. “But I know what’s on the market and I know how this stuff is made, and I just want to help!”
“I don’t need you to save me,” Yesa repeated through gritted teeth. She uncrossed her legs and stood, flicking the switch on her implant to re-engage it. Folan let his hands fall into his lap. He’d finished, after all, just before she stood.
“And I don’t want your – your tourism,” she spat. “I’ve had these since I was a kid, because I have to, and you – you just wanted to talk to people without getting out of bed!”
Folan wouldn’t react. He wouldn’t. Yesa’s dad was calling again, and his head was aching, and he wouldn’t say a word because she needed him not to.
“You always thought it was so cool, and that I look good with these, and that was all you wanted –“
She broke off with a deep, hacking cough. Folan sprang up, reaching for her back, but she twisted away. Somehow Yesa managed to snarl at him even through the cough. He figured she probably got enough practice, with him and her parents all hovering whenever she was around. Not that she was around any of them but Folan very often. A little stone of guilt settled in his gut.
“I didn’t think it was fair,” he muttered. “Learning all this stuff about cybernetic implants and then not actually having to live with the drawbacks. That felt more like tourism to me.”
She was spitting into the little bin she kept just for this now, but Folan knew she was listening. Yesa always did, no matter what she wanted people to think.
“I know it’s not the same,” he said. “But I wanted to at least pick things you’d think were useful. For the job, you know? So you’d let me come along.”
“I always let you come along,” Yesa said, her voice raspy and tired.
“Yeah, when we were kids,” Folan said. “But not – you don’t like people who aren’t useful messing up your jobs. So I’m like your secretary. I can take your calls and fake people’s voice to make other calls and that gets us work and then – you’ll let me stay.”
“You want to look after me that badly?”
The usual Rityesa was back, all wry condescension and quirked eyebrows. Folan relaxed slightly.
“I just figure I’m not much good at anything that isn’t helping you,” he said truthfully.
For a moment, he thought she’d argue, her lips pulling into a tiny, thoughtful frown. Then she snorted.
“Got that right, little prince.”