like bees—bees must be essential. But what about ladybugs?
Surely one could not import ladybugs without importing aphids as well. No one in their right mind would introduce aphids into a closed environment intended to be agriculturally self-sufficient. If no noxious insects existed, but the ecologists were trying to establish songbirds, what did the songbirds eat? Did anything eat the songbirds?
J.D. drifted off into complexity, and sleep.
Victoria tapped lightly on Stephen Thomas's door.
'Come in.'
The scent of sandalwood surrounded her. Stephen Thomas often brought incense to campus in his allowance. The in-
cense stick glowed, a speck of pink light moving downward through the darkness. The sliding doors stood open to the courtyard, letting in the breeze and mixing the sandalwood with the spice of carnation. The pale white wash of reflected starlight silvered Stephen Thomas's gold hair and his face in quarter profile. He turned toward her.
'Your hair sparkles,' he said.
'And yours glows.' She let her kimono fall from her shoulders and slid into bed beside him. He wore nothing but the crystal at his throat, as black as obsidian. He rolled onto his side. The crystal slipped along the line of his collarbone, glinting in scarlet and azure.
'Where's Satoshi?' Stephen Thomas asked. 'You guys aren't mad at me, are you? Feral looked so downcast when he saw he'd be practically alone in the guesthouse ... '
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Victoria felt Stephen Thomas shrug in the darkness, beneath her hands.
'Satoshi's in the shower,' she said. 'He'll be here in a minute. I'm not mad at you, exactly, but, god, Stephen Thomas, your timing is lousy.'
She brushed her fingertips down his side and stroked the hard muscles of his thigh and wished Satoshi would hurry up.
Stephen Thomas drew her closer. His soft breath tickled her shoulder.
'I think it's damned nice of us,' Victoria said, 'to use your room tonight so we don't keep Feral Korzybski awake till morning!'
'What's the matter with my room?' Stephen Thomas said plaintively. His room was a joke among the partnership. He collected stuff the way a magnet collects steel shavings- Victoria's room was almost as Spartan as the fourth bedroom, and Satoshi's works in progress were always organized. Stephen Thomas kept a desk full of bits of equipment and printouts, a comer full of potted plants, and he never picked up his clothes until just before he did his laundry.
'Nothing,' Victoria said. 'I enjoy sleeping in a midden heap. But my room is right next to our guest, and we've never tested the soundproofing.'
Satoshi came in, toweling his hair. He launched himself across the room and came down flat on the bed beside Victoria. He smelled of fresh water and mint soap. A few droplets nicked off the ends of his hair and fell across Victoria's face. His skin was cool and just barely damp from the shower.
He leaned over her and kissed her. The cool droplets of water disappeared in the warmth of his lips and his tongue. Satoshi reached past her and took Stephen Thomas's hand. Their fingers intertwined, gold and silver in the dim light. Victoria reached up and joined her hand to theirs, adding ebony to the pattern. She hooked her leg over Satoshi's thighs, and as she turned toward him drew Stephen Thomas with her, closer against her back and side. His breath quickened and his long silky hair slipped across her shoulder. Mint and carnation and sandalwood and arousal surrounded them with a dizzying mix. Victoria and Satoshi and Stephen Thomas surrendered themselves to it, and to each other.
Victoria woke when the sun tube spilled light through the open wall of Stephen Thomas's bedroom. Stephen Thomas lay on the far side of the bed, stretched on his side, his hair curling down across his neck and shoulder, one hand draped across Satoshi's back. Satoshi sprawled in the middle of the bed, facedown, arms and legs flung every which way, his hair kinked in a wing from being slept on wet. Victoria watched her partners sleeping, wishing they could stay in bed all morning, in the midst of the comfortable clutter. The scent of sandalwood lingered.
Stephen Thomas yawned and turned over, stretching. He rubbed his eyes and blinked and yawned again, propped himself on his elbow, and looked at her across Satoshi. 'Satoshi snored softly.
'Good morning,' Stephen Thomas whispered.
'Good morning.' Victoria, too. kept her voice soft. 'Is that how weasels screw?'
He laughed.
'Shh, you'll wake Satoshi.'
They got up, creeping quietly away so Satoshi could wake up at his own pace. Stephen Thomas grabbed some clean clothes from the pile in the corner. Victoria had no idea how he always managed to look so good. When she referred to his room as a midden heap, she was only half joking.
After a shower, Victoria smoothed the new clothes in her closet but resisted the urge to wear them. They were party
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clothes, inappropriate for work. She put on her usual jeans and shirt and sandals, reflecting that back on earth, on almost any other campus, what she had on would be considered inappropriate for a professor.
Victoria smelled something burning. Something burning?
Stephen Thomas's incense—? She hurried into the hallway.
She stopped short. The smell of food, cooking, filled the apartment.
None of the three surviving members of the partnership was much of a cook. Merit had known how to cook. These days Victoria and Satoshi and Stephen Thomas ordered meals from the central kitchen when they had time to eat together.
Victoria drew a deep breath. Getting upset because someone had decided to make breakfast was silly. It was just that
the homey smell brought back memories.
Satoshi was the best cook among them, but Victoria knew from long acquaintance that Satoshi was not cooking breakfast. If he was even out of bed she would be surprised. That left Stephen Thomas.
'He can bum water' had always been a metaphorical phrase to Victoria, until Stephen Thomas once put water on for coffee, forgot about it, and melted a kettle all over the heating element.
The breakfast smelled much better than burning water or melting kettles. Stephen Thomas was always trying new things; maybe cooking lessons were his newest enthusiasm.
Victoria headed to the main room. At the stove. Feral Korzybski glanced over his shoulder.
'Morning,' he said. 'I wanted to make myself useful.'
He gestured to the set table, the skillet. 'You folks sure don't have much equipment.'
'We don't cook here very much,' she said. 'No time.'
'It's a hobby of mine,' he said. 'I think this wilt be edible.' He poked the edges of the big omelet, letting the uncooked egg run underneath to sizzle against the hot pan.
'Are you ready for tea?'
'Sure.'
He poured boiling water into her teapot.
'I talked to the database—'
'Arachne,' Victoria said.
STARFARERS 101
'Right, thanks. I talked to Arachne about what was available for people to cook. Strange selection.'
'Not if you consider how and where it's produced. We're beginning to grow things ourselves. But a lot of fresh stuff, and most everything that's processed, is from one of the colonies.'
Stephen Thomas sauntered barefoot into the main room.
He wore orange satin running shorts and a yellow silk lank top. Victoria tried to imagine the combination on anyone else, and failed.
