An eternity later

  The Greko hums through gate space, striking one gate after another. Each passage bathes the small cargo ship in a pulse of blue fire, electricity clawing at the hull.

  The shower hisses. Steam climbs toward the ceiling, pipes groaning under the strain of recycled water. Arthur leans against the metal wall, letting the heat rush over his face, memories loosening their grip.

  Arms wrap suddenly around him.

  He jumps—actually yelps—spinning around before he can stop himself.

  Relief floods him when he sees it’s Sarah. He pulls her in and kisses her deeply, pinning her gently against the shower wall.

  “You scared me,” he mutters against her lips. “I thought you were Varhee.” He kisses her neck, hands drifting over her bare skin.

  Sarah laughs softly. “Varhee would never. She doesn’t have the nerve to sneak into your shower.” Her arms slip around his neck, pulling him into another deep kiss.

  Arthur grins. “You never know. I’m incredibly handsome.”

  “You know,” he teases, “when I handed over permissions all those years ago, it wasn’t so you could scare the hell out of me.” His hand finds her breast.

  Her smile deepens as he kisses her neck. “But you are pretty good at dragging me in here without noticing.”

  She taps his chest. “It’s easy when you’re thinking about the past.” She leans in for a kiss. “We can’t stay in here forever. Tomorrow—instead of brooding—invite me to take a shower with you.”

  The shower stretches, bends—reality dissolves into white mist. Walls fade. The ship disappears.

  The White Void forms around them.

  Clothes settle onto their bodies as if remembering where they belong. Arthur crosses the shallow water and lifts the violin from the red couch, placing it on a small table with careful reverence.

  “Have you ever thought,” he says, “that we might be the only people in the universe who even know Beethoven exists?”

  Sarah folds her arms, her voice soft, threaded with sadness. “Sometimes I wish we could forget things. It would make everything… easier.”

  She nudges him playfully, a smile breaking through.

  Arthur looks at her—really looks—through the eyes of a man who has loved this woman longer than most civilizations survive.

  “How do you always know when I need that?” he asks, taking her hand.

  “Because you’re brooding again,” she says, amused. “The Void sulks when you do. So come on—give me that smile.”

  Arthur manages the smallest, safest smile imaginable. “Half a smile is all I have left. Don’t you think I should save it for later?”

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  She sighs dramatically. “Pity. Once you had three-quarters of a smile.”

  Arthur pulls a digital coin drive from his coat pocket. Its glow sputters.

  INTEGRITY — 47%

  “It’s damaged,” he says, real concern sharpening his voice.

  Sarah stiffens. “You’ve said that before. Dozens of times.” The worry bleeds into her tone.

  “Not like this,” Arthur replies. The fear is unmistakable.

  She looks away—toward the horizon. A bookshelf rises from the water as she approaches it. Her fingers drift across identical spines. A translucent interface blooms into the air at her touch.

  Soft piano and violin begin to play Elegy for the Arctic, fragile and trembling.

  The interface flickers—glitches—dies.

  She forces calm. “Do you think Valuun can help?” Her eyes betray her. “The Allui are known to give up.” The words are meant to comfort her. They don’t.

  “Maybe,” Arthur says, jaw tight. “But they have tech we can’t even pretend to understand.” He takes her hand, kisses it. “I still don’t know why they surrendered. They were winning.”

  Sarah paces, panic buried beneath every step. “And you’re trusting an alien doctor with your wife’s mind?”

  Arthur snaps without meaning to. “Trust? He melted steel with his tea. You were there.” He frowns. “He said he could help.”

  The water deepens beneath her feet, rising to her ankles. The Void reacts to every spike of fear.

  “You promised me—no surprises,” she says quietly, fighting to hold herself together.

  “This isn’t a surprise,” Arthur fires back. “It’s a deadline. And I don’t know what else to do.” He drops onto the red couch, sitting half on the violin, eyes shut, frustration eating at him.

  The Void groans. Colors bend. Music fractures into glitching shards. The water ripples, threatening to swallow the shelves whole.

  Arthur gestures around them. “See? Look at it.”

  Sarah’s voice breaks as tears fall. “You don’t know what he’ll ask. What if he rebuilds me and I forget them? Or forget you?”

  Arthur’s silence lasts just long enough to hurt.

  “No,” he says finally. “I don’t know what he’ll ask me to do.” His voice softens. “But if you forget them, I’ll tell you about them. Every story. Every laugh. Every tear.”

  He steps closer. “And if you forget me… I’ll introduce myself.” He pulls her into his arms.

  Sarah presses her forehead to his chest, barely a whisper. “You’d risk me?”

  Arthur lifts her chin and kisses her slowly, carefully.

  “I’d risk everything,” he breathes, “but not you.”

  ---

  The Greko approaches a failing jump gate — one no one has used for a very long time.

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