back,” Adanaho said.
“Nature calls?” I replied.
“No.”
“Oh…well, find privacy and peace then.”
To my surprise, she went to join the Queen Mother, who’d folded up her wings, but remained staring in the direction of the setting sun.
Adanaho sat cross legged and appeared to hold something in her hands as she bowed her head. The Queen Mother’s own head tilted just a little, her antennae moving ever so slowly, as if entranced by the captain’s soft, slow words of supplication. The Professor was listening too—I could see him alert. Like before, I was too far away to make out what was being said. And, I suddenly realized, I was a little bit jealous that the captain felt perfectly fine sharing her prayer with the mantes, but not with me. A tiny spark of anger flared, and quickly died as I realized that maybe she was just doing what I’d done with the Professor many times: giving the mantes a demonstration, so that maybe the Queen Mother might enjoy a degree of understanding.
Though I couldn’t be sure what progress Adanaho hoped to make, which I hadn’t been able to make with the Professor or his students in all the years of trying back on Purgatory.
Eventually the sky faded from blue to purple, and from purple to black. Adanaho returned, and I was already in my bag, my one-piece rolled up under my head for a pillow. I averted my eyes as the captain stripped, rolled her one-piece up for a pillow, then slipped into her own bag.
I didn’t stay awake long enough to see what arrangements the Professor and the Queen Mother had made between them.
Sometime in the night I felt a hand nudging my shoulder.
“What’s happening?” I said. “Is something wrong?”
“I can’t sleep, Chief,” Adanaho said. “There’s a hole in my bag and it got damp inside, and I am freezing.”
My eyes popped open. I could barely make out the black silhouette of her shoulders and head against the perfect expanse of stars that stretched across the night sky. Clear sky meant frigid temperatures, and I could feel the cold night air on my face. I reached out and felt Adanaho’s hand in mine. Her fingers were icy.
Not even thinking about it, I unzipped my bag and beckoned her in. She slid down beside me and zipped the bag up to our chins. Not designed for comfort, as an emergency bag it could hold two in a pinch—and I certainly was glad for it, as the captain felt dangerously cold, her body shuddering next to me.
“Ma’am,” I said, “why didn’t you come earlier? You’re a popsicle.”
“I feel like a popsicle,” she said, her nose stuffed.
“Here,” I said, and closed my arms around her. Despite the frigidity of her skin, it was smooth, and womanly, and all of a sudden I realized I hadn’t lain in bed with a girl since before I’d joined the Fleet, and that had been a long, long time ago.
“You’ll have to forgive me,” I said, clearing my throat.
“For what?” She said. And then, because of the impossibly close quarters of the bag, she said, “Oh. I get it.”
I felt a rush of blood to my face.
“It’s okay, Chief,” she said, sensing my mortal embarrassment.
“I hope you’re not married,” I said. “Explaining to your husband how you spent the night naked in a sleeping bag with another man who was unable to contain his…ahhh, excitement , could be problematic.”
“No, I am not married,” she said, laughing a bit. Then began to cough.
I suddenly realized that pneumonia could kill as easily as low temperatures, and held her tighter. She squirmed in my grasp and was suddenly face to face with me, her nose like a cold, damp button in the nape of my neck. She coughed a few more times, snuffling, and clung tightly to me. I rubbed my hands vigorously along her bare back to try and accelerate the process of warming. Gradually, her body relaxed. I then heard a small, quiet snore.
I shifted and repositioned my rolled-up smock so that her head rested on it, not mine, crooked an elbow
“Nature calls?” I replied.
“No.”
“Oh…well, find privacy and peace then.”
To my surprise, she went to join the Queen Mother, who’d folded up her wings, but remained staring in the direction of the setting sun.
Adanaho sat cross legged and appeared to hold something in her hands as she bowed her head. The Queen Mother’s own head tilted just a little, her antennae moving ever so slowly, as if entranced by the captain’s soft, slow words of supplication. The Professor was listening too—I could see him alert. Like before, I was too far away to make out what was being said. And, I suddenly realized, I was a little bit jealous that the captain felt perfectly fine sharing her prayer with the mantes, but not with me. A tiny spark of anger flared, and quickly died as I realized that maybe she was just doing what I’d done with the Professor many times: giving the mantes a demonstration, so that maybe the Queen Mother might enjoy a degree of understanding.
Though I couldn’t be sure what progress Adanaho hoped to make, which I hadn’t been able to make with the Professor or his students in all the years of trying back on Purgatory.
Eventually the sky faded from blue to purple, and from purple to black. Adanaho returned, and I was already in my bag, my one-piece rolled up under my head for a pillow. I averted my eyes as the captain stripped, rolled her one-piece up for a pillow, then slipped into her own bag.
I didn’t stay awake long enough to see what arrangements the Professor and the Queen Mother had made between them.
Sometime in the night I felt a hand nudging my shoulder.
“What’s happening?” I said. “Is something wrong?”
“I can’t sleep, Chief,” Adanaho said. “There’s a hole in my bag and it got damp inside, and I am freezing.”
My eyes popped open. I could barely make out the black silhouette of her shoulders and head against the perfect expanse of stars that stretched across the night sky. Clear sky meant frigid temperatures, and I could feel the cold night air on my face. I reached out and felt Adanaho’s hand in mine. Her fingers were icy.
Not even thinking about it, I unzipped my bag and beckoned her in. She slid down beside me and zipped the bag up to our chins. Not designed for comfort, as an emergency bag it could hold two in a pinch—and I certainly was glad for it, as the captain felt dangerously cold, her body shuddering next to me.
“Ma’am,” I said, “why didn’t you come earlier? You’re a popsicle.”
“I feel like a popsicle,” she said, her nose stuffed.
“Here,” I said, and closed my arms around her. Despite the frigidity of her skin, it was smooth, and womanly, and all of a sudden I realized I hadn’t lain in bed with a girl since before I’d joined the Fleet, and that had been a long, long time ago.
“You’ll have to forgive me,” I said, clearing my throat.
“For what?” She said. And then, because of the impossibly close quarters of the bag, she said, “Oh. I get it.”
I felt a rush of blood to my face.
“It’s okay, Chief,” she said, sensing my mortal embarrassment.
“I hope you’re not married,” I said. “Explaining to your husband how you spent the night naked in a sleeping bag with another man who was unable to contain his…ahhh, excitement , could be problematic.”
“No, I am not married,” she said, laughing a bit. Then began to cough.
I suddenly realized that pneumonia could kill as easily as low temperatures, and held her tighter. She squirmed in my grasp and was suddenly face to face with me, her nose like a cold, damp button in the nape of my neck. She coughed a few more times, snuffling, and clung tightly to me. I rubbed my hands vigorously along her bare back to try and accelerate the process of warming. Gradually, her body relaxed. I then heard a small, quiet snore.
I shifted and repositioned my rolled-up smock so that her head rested on it, not mine, crooked an elbow
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