She expects Fouda to argue or posture, but he’s past all that. “We don’t have many people left. The mines—I’m not sure how much we can do.”
“Defuse as many as you can,” she repeats, adjusting her expectations. “Abel and I will take out a few, too. But now I need those relay codes.”
“Gamma four eight seven delta mu delta five five one eight zeta six pi phi sigma three—”
The string of letters and numbers catches her off guard; this must be something Fouda memorized by rote, something he’s spitting out with the last of his mental strength. I can’t record him! There’s no way I can remember this! Noemi momentarily panics, then realizes Abel’s getting every word.
When Fouda finally finishes, he says, “How long? We need the medicine now.”
“Abel and I need to clear at least one of the mines as a show of good faith,” Noemi answers. “As soon as we’ve done that, we’ll send passengers with help. All right?”
“All right.” Fouda’s weariness makes it clear he sees this as defeat, even though it’s going to save the few people he has left. “Fouda out.”
The tiny light between her and Abel goes dark. Her eyes have adjusted enough to the dim lighting to see his expression, though—thoughtful and uncertain at once. “What is it, Abel?”
“You bargained for everyone except yourself.” He shakes his head slowly. “You’re remarkable.”
“I bargained for you. That counts.”
Abel’s hand slides up her arm, curves around the back of her neck. The way he leans closer makes her realize he intends to kiss her. Her heart thumps crazily in her chest—
—but he drops his hand and pulls back. “I apologize.”
No denying it: Noemi feels cheated. “For what?”
“For acting on my romantic feelings.” Abel explains this as easily as he would the workings of the mag engines. “I don’t expect you to share them. But my momentary impulse may have made you feel awkward. I won’t make the same mistake again.”
Slowly Noemi says, “Oh, Abel—that’s all wrong—”
“What do you mean?”
She can’t come up with the words. Words aren’t important. Nothing matters except a truth she didn’t know until this moment.
Noemi puts her arms around Abel and brings her lips to his. When she kisses him, he tenses; at first she thinks she’s gotten it wrong somehow. But then he embraces her, brings her closer, kisses her back. She gives in to it, opening his mouth with her own.
The first time they kissed, she was floating in midair. Gravity holds them fast now, but somehow it feels the same, like she’s flying inside.
No, better. Last time she was only kissing Abel good-bye. It was an ending. This is a beginning.
When their mouths part, Noemi’s breathing hard. Abel’s expression looks more dazed and wary than elated. “We shouldn’t get caught up like this. Not in the middle of such a serious crisis.”
That’s what Captain Baz would tell them. That’s good military training. Noemi has never given less of a damn about military training in her life.
Then Abel continues, “But as you humans say—to hell with it.” And he kisses her again.
This time the kiss goes on much, much longer. Their tiny corner of the Osiris—their patch of this new world—feels like all there is to the entire universe. Noemi combs her fingers through his fair hair, leans against him so that he’ll feel her heartbeat through his chest; maybe it will feel like a heartbeat to him, too. He doesn’t have a heart or pulse of his own. She’ll share hers.
Finally, Abel breaks the kiss and folds her deeper in his embrace. Noemi buries her face in the curve of his shoulder.
Tentatively he asks, “Is it bad form to ask for romantic clarification?”
She laughs in his arms. “I don’t know. I don’t care. Ask away.”
“Would you describe yourself as ‘in love’ with me, or merely interested in exploring a romantic connection?” He sounds so earnest, so unsure. “Either alternative is extremely acceptable. But I’d like to know.”
“Probably? Maybe?” Noemi’s more confused than Abel could possibly be. She only knows that she couldn’t have gone one more second without kissing him. “When I went back to Genesis, my old life didn’t fit me anymore. Some of that was because we lost Esther, and some of it was because I was a pariah—”
“Pariah?”
“Skip it for now. Mostly my life didn’t fit because I changed on that trip. The idea I had about who I was going to be, and the kind of person I could care about—that didn’t apply anymore. Nobody understood that, but I knew you would. I wished I had you to lean on, and to talk to. I imagined what you would say about everything, and I wanted to hear it. Even if you were going on forever or being arrogant! I didn’t care.”
Abel says, “It is not arrogance if I am realistically assessing my abilities as superior, which generally they are.” Of course that’s the point he’d have trouble with. But she’s begun to smile, and so has he.
“I didn’t fall in love with you on the journey,” she says. “I don’t know if I’m in love with you now. But you’re probably the best person I’ve ever known. I care about you more than anyone else in this entire galaxy. I don’t know what comes after this, if anything even can. All I know is you’re the only person I can’t imagine living my whole life without.”
Noemi never feels like she’s said the right words, except maybe this time. The way Abel’s face lights up, the pure hope that’s shining from him—she must’ve gotten at least some of that right.
He kisses her one more time, but when their mouths break apart, he holds up one finger. “…We should probably do something about the mines.”
“Yes. Bombs.” She pulls back and shakes her head, trying to clear it. “Good idea.”
First they turn to one of the largest intact corridors in the ship, the one that will be most useful to both Remedy and the passengers.
In Genesis
