Chapter 11

  LAND OF MAKE BELIEVE

  SPACE/2060 (ADAM 30 YRS OLD)

  Back on the Celeste Jenny stood by, watching as Adam entered their children’s bedroom, opened a book, and began reading to them half-heartedly. His voice was monotone, stripped of its usual enthusiasm.

  They had two children. Naze, a nine-year-old of mixed race, was their adopted daughter—the younger sister of Adam’s late ex-business partner and co-inventor, Sophia. Adam didn’t speak much about Sophia, but Jenny could sense the weight of their connection in the silences he left behind. She had met Sophia a few times over the years and found her likeable, even kind, yet a lingering jealousy—born from her own past with Adam—had kept them from ever becoming close.

  Their second child was Zack, a seven-year-old boy who bore a striking resemblance to Jenny, with his blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and fair skin. Both children were adorable—clever, athletic, good-natured, and strikingly beautiful. They were “Darwin Children”—not genetically designed, but naturally blessed with desirable traits. Zack certainly wasn’t engineered, though Jenny couldn’t say for sure about Naze. Adam assured her she wasn’t, though Naze wasn’t Jenny’s biological daughter. Still, Jenny loved her fiercely, as though she were her own.

  Adam reached for a book on the shelf, his fingers brushing the familiar grain of its worn spine. He could have chosen the digital version, easily downloaded onto one of his handheld devices, but she knew he preferred the weight of a real book in his hands—the texture of the pages, the quiet satisfaction of turning each leaf. She shared his fondness for the tangible, the irreplaceable charm of printed stories.

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  The book he selected was the best-selling Baz the Bee: The Polli-Nator—the children’s edition, of course.

  As Jenny watched Adam read to the kids, she sometimes wondered why she loved him so much. He wasn’t particularly good-looking, though he was the best lover she’d ever had. He wasn’t cruel to the children or unkind, but he lacked a certain warmth and often needed prompting to show affection. He sometimes seemed to miss their sadness altogether. Jenny attributed this to his autism.

  He could also be dismissive toward her, making her feel at times like a trophy or a possession meant for his pleasure. Yet he was affectionate too—often cuddling with her, whispering softly in the dim light of the ship.

  Still, his tenderness for his pet sometimes stung more than she cared to admit. The dog—stored in cryogenic stasis to conserve oxygen—received more visible affection from Adam than the children ever did. Jenny would be lying if she said it didn’t anger her. But she kept those feelings to herself. She would never take them out on the animal; she loved animals too. That shared love had once been one of the few things that bonded her and Adam.

  She watched as Adam closed the book. “Let’s say a little prayer,” he announced, his voice gruff but kind. “Bless this ship, bless this family, and our new life on Mars.”

  “Amen,” said Adam.

  Naze and Zack echoed him in unison, smiling sleepily, happy just to have their father’s attention. Adam wasn’t particularly religious, but it was something his parents had done with him when he was a child, and he thought it might comfort the children in the vast expanse of space they were travelling across.

  He kissed their foreheads as they rolled over to sleep. Jenny watched, a lump rising in her throat.

  Did he truly love them—or had he only done it because she was watching?