He continued walking. Whenever anyone on Battlestar Galactica visited another planet, they never wore spacesuits or had any trouble breathing. What if Bettina didn’t die when she opened the airlock? What if Ceran only thought she was dead and then he kills himself and then Bettina has to kill herself because he’s dead and she’s lost her will to live, like Romeo and Juliet in space—and thus stupidly unoriginal.

What if she tries to die but can’t? Because she’s no longer human. Neither is Ceran. They’ve been experimented on for so many years, before and during their time in space, they’ve evolved into something else.

Roy winced. Even within the context of the total shit he’d written thus far this was lunacy. What were they then, mutants? What did that even mean? He supposed since he was the writer he could make it mean whatever he wanted. He was in charge of the situation. He just had to take charge.

Roy stopped walking, pressed his palms against the pier railing, and looked down into the dark water.

Maybe Bettina opens the airlock, expecting to die and possibly kill Ceran, and nothing happens. Nothing. They can both breathe and walk around and do everything as normal. They’ve been there so long their still-growing bodies have adapted and adjusted. Their keepers on Mars know this, know Ceran and Bettina don’t have to stay inside. They’ve been lying to them, keeping them trapped in the Mars space station to serve a purpose instead of letting them live their lives and roam free. Teenagers hated to be lied to. Roy and Wendy had told Shy they had to move to New York for Wendy’s big new job, which wasn’t really true. They’d decided to move and then she’d found the job. He still felt guilty about it.

Roy backed into a nearby bench, opened his laptop, and began to type.

Head Found!