“No, sir. I can see that, sir. But like you said, Ship appreciates it. And Ship takes care of us, sir. Sometimes it feels like it’s us and Ship against everyone else.” Self-conscious. Embarrassed.

“I know,” I said. “That’s why I haven’t tried to stop it.” I took a breath. “So, are you all right with this, right now?”

“Yes, sir,” Twelve said. Still embarrassed. But sincere.

I closed my eyes, and leaned my head against her shoulder, and she wrapped both arms around me. It wasn’t the same, it wasn’t me holding myself, though I could feel not only Twelve’s uniform jacket against my cheek, but the weight of my own head against her shoulder. I reached for it, for as much as I could have, Twelve’s embarrassment, yes, but also concern for me. The other Kalrs moving about the ship. Not the same. It couldn’t be the same.

We were both silent a moment, and then Twelve said, for Ship, “I suppose I can’t blame Sword of Atagaris for caring about its captain. I would have expected better taste, though, from a Sword.”

The Swords were so arrogant, so sure they were better than the Mercies and the Justices. But some things you just can’t help. “Ship,” I said, aloud, “Twelve’s arm is getting uncomfortable. And I have to get ready to receive Horticulturist Basnaaid.” We disengaged, Twelve stepping back, and I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. “Medic.” Medic was down the corridor, but I knew she would hear me. “I’m not receiving Horticulturist Basnaaid like this. I’m going back to my quarters.” I would need to wash my face, and dress, and make sure there was tea and food to offer her, even if I was certain she would refuse it.

“Can she have come all this way,” asked Twelve, asked Ship, “merely to tell you how much she hates you?”

“If so,” I replied, “I will listen without arguing. She has every right, after all.”

My shoulder, still encased in its corrective, wouldn’t fit inside my shirt, although with some careful maneuvering I could get my arm inside a uniform jacket. Twelve wouldn’t tolerate the idea of my meeting Horticulturist Basnaaid shirtless, jacket or not, and grimly slit the back of a shirtsleeve. “Five will understand when I explain, sir,” she said, though with some private fear that perhaps she might not. Five was still back in the Undergarden, helping to get things secured so no one would be hurt when the gravity went back on.