Visions of Ashley waving her crutch danced before Noa’s eyes. She woke up with a start. Her bed smelled stale. She closed her eyes, and let her mind focus on the hum of the engines. For a moment she had a sensation of stepping into sleep as though it was a deep dark pool—but then in the darkness the face of the woman in the corpse wagon took form, and the form stretched forward, reached toward Noa with waxy arms, her mouth opened, and …

Noa awoke, shaking, curled in on herself, and clutching a pillow. She looked across the bed. It was too large for one person aboard a spaceship—but the Ark was a colony ship—during the first voyage, even the Captain had a wife.

She took a deep breath, squeezed her hands into fists, and felt the absence of the last two fingers on her left hand. She felt tears prickle the corners of her eyes. She thought of Kenji, and Ashley, and the dead woman in the wagon and desperately wanted drugs to help her sleep. There was probably something in the sickbay … she shook her head. The crew would know. A crew this small, they were all going to know everything about everyone really soon. Having their commanding officer hooked on sleeping pills would not inspire confidence.

She wished James were here. Chavez had actually asked if Noa would be billeting with him. Her hand clenched on the covers. She missed him … she hadn’t slept without him since the camp. Rubbing her eyes, she sighed, thinking of some of the erotic dreams he’d inspired. Waking up to him after those had been awkward, but erotic dreams were better than nightmares.

Maybe he wasn’t asleep. She reached out with her mind … and before she could reprimand herself, she touched the ethernet. She blinked and gasped at the feeling of connection. It was just the local ethernet Ghost had promised to establish, but it still felt good. With her mind she saw little lights for each member of the crew and felt a wave of happiness. They were connected, if only to each other. She tried to access the ship’s functions—and found she still could not—baby steps, she reminded herself. Her mind flitted back to her crew, and to James. The light for his consciousness was white … he was awake. She reached out to it, and felt his reply in her mind. “I am here.”

“I think I’d like a snack,” she replied across the shared channel. “Meet you in the galley.” James was always up for a snack. She flung on the clothes she’d laid out on the chair beside her bed, and was out the door less than two minutes later.

She nearly bumped into 6T9. He was pacing the hallway, Oliver on his shoulder, a long power cable with an extension attached to his back. The other end was inserted into the wall. ‘Bots were so energy intensive. 6T9 gave her a smile. She nodded, though it was unnecessary, he was only a ‘bot and wouldn’t have cared. She turned to the lift, but before she’d even taken a step, James emerged from the sliding door. She blinked.

Over the ethernet, he said, “I was on my way to see you when you called.”

“Couldn’t sleep?” Noa said aloud, and stifled a yawn behind her hand.

“No,” he said, approaching her slowly, almost cautiously. His eyes went to 6T9. There was a line between his brows.

“Me either,” she said. “Kept thinking of everyone we left behind.” 6T9 wasn’t human. Speaking so plainly wouldn’t make him think less or more of her … or make him think at all.

James’s gaze returned to her. He lifted a hand toward her, but then dropped it. “We will reach the secret time gate. The Fleet will return to Luddeccea and end the genocide; we could not have saved them ourselves.”

It was the wrong thing to say. Noa’s heart sunk. By the time she brought the Fleet, Ashley could very well be dead. Kenji … well, she had no idea. The Fleet would save others, possibly millions, but not the people she knew, and not the ones she’d seen die already.

Pacing back toward them, 6T9 leaned close to Noa, putting Oliver’s drowsing drooling little noggin right next to her shoulder. The ‘bot whispered, “Whoever saves one life saves the world entire,” and gave a bright smile.

Noa’s breath caught at the words, and at the smell of Oliver’s sweaty little head. He smelled like toddler and hope. The words were heavy, but lightened her heart. He was right, and she was letting herself sink into a vortex of despair she’d never known before—not even during the Asteroid Wars of System 6. For all of them, she needed to pull herself out. She put a hand to her mouth, her vision got blurry, and she almost cried from relief. She’d just been delivered grace by a sex ‘bot—who would have thought?

“That is profound,” James murmured.

Lifting his chin, 6T9 nodded. “I have a proverbs and idioms app. Just like a pig in a poke.”

Noa’s lips parted. That made no sense.

One of James’s eyebrows shot up. “Are the idioms set to cycle randomly?”

“Yes, how did you know? Guess it takes one to know one!” said 6T9, walking away and gently shushing Oliver.

Noa laughed, and rubbed her temples.

“Not so profound, after all.” James sighed, looking after him.

Noa shook her head. “The words are still profound, even if the messenger is a sex ‘bot.” She looked up at James. He was watching the ‘bot walk away. The crease was still between his brows. She wasn’t hungry, but she said, “Want to get that snack?” She didn’t want him to leave.

“Actually, I needed to speak to you,” James said, his voice low and hushed. Leaning closer, he whispered, “Privately.”

Her eyes slid closed as his warm breath tickled her ear. She felt herself flush, but then her brain caught up with his words and the reality of the situation. He had already been on his way to her quarters when she’d contacted him, and it wasn’t a romantic visit, despite the hour. His caution, the concern in his eyes, said otherwise. She shouldn’t be disappointed.

“Right,” she said, “this way.”

She commanded the door to open, and it didn’t. With a huff, she found the open button and gave it a shove. The door slid away, and James followed her into the tiny space.

When he spoke, it was over the ethernet. “Can we have a truly private conversation, even here?”

Noa looked above their heads. Could they be private over Ghost’s ethernet? She suspected not. Her eyes went around the room. 6T9 was just outside the door; he might not listen on purpose, but she had no idea what his auditory abilities were. He might hear, and if anyone asked him to repeat what he’d heard, he’d doubtlessly tell them. And even if he didn’t … She looked to the intercom on the wall. The whole place was linked by the ancient communications system. You were supposed to touch a button to transmit, but still … Without a word, James lifted a hand. For the first time, she noticed he was carrying a roll of hard link.

Noa laughed. It was a brilliant idea. The direct connection would circumvent eavesdroppers of the electronic and physical variety—and even if someone burst into the room, they’d think they were just up to some kinky sex.

James tilted his head, and one eyebrow shot up. Noa motioned with her hand for an end of the cable. Plugging it into her port, she said across the well-used line, “If 6T9 saw this in your hand … ” She rolled her eyes, and said across the link, “He’d think we’re hard linking in all sorts of ways.”

As she said it, she felt a slight stir of disappointment in her chest. She didn’t let that slip through. She was lonely; and these past weeks … today … she hurt. It struck her that she desperately wanted contact, an embrace—her eyes fell to James’s slightly parted lips—or more. Why was she thinking this right now? She’d been alone with him before, even had more privacy. But they’d been on the run, not even as safe as they were here, and she’d been dying. Now she was like a spring that had been tightly coiled for weeks, and she was bursting free. But it still was not the time. She snapped her eyes back to his. He wasn’t saying anything; he was completely motionless. She wasn’t sure how a human could stand so still. It was obvious, though, that he hadn’t been amused by the joke.

“I’m sorry,” she said, crossing her arms, suddenly uncomfortable. “That was off color, I—”

“I am not offended,” James said. “The opposite.”

Noa felt her breath catch. James dropped his gaze to the floor. Across the hard link he said, “But there is something I must tell you—it could be important for all of us. It’s something I remembered, from the time before I landed on Luddeccea … ” He took a long breath. His head ticked to the side a few times. “It … it … came to me when I was unconscious.”

The stutter, the head tic. Noa put her hand on his arm without thinking. His eyes slid to it and then slid up to her face. Blue eyes on hers, his lips did not move as he whispered across the link, “I think it will be easier if I showed you.”

She nodded. And then the world went black.

James showed her everything: the walk through Gate 8, the darkness behind his eyes when he had listened to the transmission—and he translated the transmission for her, too. Noa’s avatar had stood quietly the whole time, arms crossed as they were in real life, as close to him as they were in real life.

When it was all over, they stood in the mental space between their minds. Noa looked up at him and said nothing for a long while. “It could have been a hallucination,” Noa’s avatar said.

“It wasn’t,” said James.

“A dream.”

“I don’t dream—I recycle memories, that’s all—and that’s what this was,” James’s avatar responded.

In the mindscape and the real world, Noa narrowed her eyes up at him. “So, this … ” she waved a hand and turned the scene to the interior of Gate 8. “Is your way of telling me you might be an alien?”

In the real world James’s head ticked. “I … I … ” His avatar ran a hand through his hair, and then chuckled mirthlessly. “I wish I could say that for certain.” He met the eyes of Noa’s avatar. In the darkness of the mindscape, they were nearly black. Her avatar still had the scar on her cheek, but her hand was whole. Her brow furrowed, and her mouth opened. Before she could speak, he said, “Noa, I know I’m wrapped up in the Archangel Project somehow … ”

“And I am, too,” Noa said.

He shook his head. “No, not like me. We both know the evidence points to me being the Archangel—”

“And I’m probably the Heretic.”

James’s avatar blinked.

She held up her wrist, and then scrunched her eyes at the sweep of dark brown perfect skin. “In real life, it has the tattoo … ” James looked down at her avatar’s wrist, and remembered the tattoo from the physical world in perfect detail. Running his hand down her avatar’s wrist, he left the tattoo behind. H0000616.

“The ‘H’ stands for ‘Heretic.’” Her lips stretched into a thin, bitter smile. “They never told me why.” The smile crumpled. She hissed, and he felt frustration, anger, and despair seep across the link.

“Noa … ” James stammered. “Something is wrong with me. The time before I woke up in the snow, it feels like a dream, less clear, hazy, as though I was a completely different person.” He closed his eyes. “Before I got to Gate 8 … I was a different person. I couldn’t have killed anyone.” He looked down to the ground. “I couldn’t have walked past a dead mother and child and not felt something, not tried to help.”

“You don’t know you didn’t feel anything!” Noa snapped. “It was the dream, the memory, something was wrong with your recall.”

“I can’t even smile, but I have all these abilities that I don’t even remember I have. Noa, something is wrong with me. I’m broken.”

“We’re both broken!” Noa said, throwing up her left hand. On her avatar it was whole … and two platinum bands were on her ring finger. Noa’s eyes widened as though she’d just noticed them. Her avatar pulled her hand close and suddenly they were surrounded by wraiths. A woman on a crutch holding out her hand, a corpse’s face frozen open in a scream, a guard beating a woman bent over a sewing machine. Long lines of women trudging between barracks, and Kenji throwing up his arms before a wall of fire. Noa’s memories, James realized—or her fears.

A hazy recollection came to him, of the man he’d been before, with another woman—her father had just died, her face streaked by tears. James’s other self hadn’t felt anything particular for that woman, but he’d felt for her loss. He had gathered her into his arms and pulled her close.

With his avatar and his real self he reached out and pulled both Noas to him. It felt awkward, like his arms didn’t belong to that man in the memory who’d comforted the woman so easily. Maybe his arms didn’t belong to that man. But as soon as he touched her, Noa practically melted against him, as though she belonged there. It was so right, it was overwhelming; he found he could say nothing. Noa was quiet too, but the wraiths receded.

He felt her take a deep breath. She didn’t pull away, and he didn’t let her go. Two bands on the ring finger of her left hand. She might be married. He felt as though she wasn’t for some reason … but he found he didn’t care either way. He dropped his cheek on the top of her head and pulled her tighter.

“See, both broken,” she said.

He rocked her, his hand trailing along her back. He could feel the tiny ridges of her spine. “There are too many coincidences, Noa.” The words came out of his avatar in a sigh. “We both know the same dead language, I found you in the snow using a frequency that should be secure. I knew your name, your age, your rank.”

She pulled back and looked up at him sharply. “And?”

He shook his head. “That’s too much, you have to find that odd.”

She pulled farther away, and his stomach fell. Looking away, Noa crossed her arms and shook her head. Her jaw hardened. “No.”

“Don’t tell me you don’t believe that there is an alien force at work,” James said, stepping toward her. She didn’t look at him. He persisted. “You saw what happened at Gate 8, not just in my memories, but in reality.”

“No,” she said again. The set of her jaw became even more stubborn. She glanced quickly at him but then away. “I still think you’re a hyper-augment, wrapped up in this madness for no other reason than I am. But it doesn’t matter.”

“Noa, you can’t be in denial anymore.”

Still not looking at him, she shook her head. “Doesn’t matter.”

James rolled his eyes. “The Luddeccean forces were shot down with technology you admit humans don’t have yet. You can’t ignore that.”

“I’m not ignoring it!” Noa snapped across the link. Her avatar turned to him, arms crossed. Lip curling, she said, “I’m saying. It. Doesn’t. Matter.”

James’s avatar’s jaw dropped. In real life, his jaw remained shut as though snarled in wire.

“I’m saying I don’t care.”

James blinked, in real life and in avatar form.

“You saved me,” Noa said. “You saved Oliver. You’re helping me save my whole damned planet. I don’t care who you are … or … or … ” she waved a hand. “Or what! If you’re an alien, well, you’ve treated me better than my own people.”

James eyes widened; he realized he hadn’t taken a breath in several long minutes.

“I don’t care.” She waved her hand again and shook her head. “What you are!”

His head ticked to the side in real life. A feeling hit him with such force he couldn’t even name it. Relief, gratitude, victory, and a seething desire for more, all wrapped up in a neuron and nano screaming explosion. It took him by surprise, and ripped through his mind with such intensity and speed it overwhelmed the applications that kept emotions from slipping across the link.

Noa gasped and rolled back on her feet.

In the dark mental mindscape, a huge metal door suddenly appeared, so large it would have stretched up to the bridge if it had been real. Before James could ask for an explanation, the door swung open with a clang, and Noa’s and his avatars were bathed in white light.

James gasped in wonder. Noa dropped her eyes, and then looked at him and shrugged. “That’s me … sometimes when you send emotions over the hard link I hallucinate. This one slipped.”

She wasn’t doing anything to hide it. He supposed a several-story door with white light pouring through was hard to disguise.

He looked back to her, suddenly embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to send you that.” It had been rude. And too much.

Her eyes stayed locked on his. “It’s really alright.”

He still felt ill at ease. Raising an eyebrow, he tried to make a joke of it. “Another odd coincidence?”

She didn’t say anything, but he thought he saw the corners of her lips curl up just slightly. A feeling slipped across the link, and it tugged him toward her before he’d even deciphered it. When they were standing so close there was no distance between them, his mind caught up with what his body already knew. She wanted him, too. He felt the familiar tug of longing swirled with something else. He felt like if this were it, if the ship were to disintegrate, if they never reached the Kannakah Cloud, he’d accomplished something, something enormous, and this moment meant as much as life itself. The door in Noa’s hallucination disappeared and there was only her and him and blinding white light. He lifted a hand to touch her cheek—in real life and to her avatar. Her eyes closed. Her lips parted slightly. And if he was an alien, he had some very human desires. His forehead fell onto hers. If he was alien … “I’d never hurt you, Noa. You must know that.”

Her hand caught his. “I know.” She let her assurance slip across the link and it filled him with relief. He sent the feeling back and the floor beneath them vanished in the mindscape.

For a moment they stood, the shared desire flaring across the hard link between them, and the white light of Noa’s hallucination turning to orange. Her more fragile body pressed against his, and electrons streamed between them. The hallucination, everything—it felt right. They were two nuclei about to fuse in the heart of a star, and he had never felt more human.