Misato humored her, and when the hurt passed, she even preferred Jenny this way. This was far preferable to her more morose moods. Banks of ceiling-high fish tanks surrounded them, suffusing their table in cool light, wobbly yellow and green lines undulating over their plates and cups. The waiter had disappeared long ago, not bothering to return since they had already paid the bill and were now just finishing off a massive tower of sushi rolls.

“What would you say to them?” Misato had asked her, nursing her white wine.

“Oh! Hmm . . . no . . . oh! Yes!” Jenny adopted a prophet’s posture, shoulders back, hand outstretched to her invisible followers. “Humanity will live among the stars, my glorious children, but not in your time or the time after. But fear not! You will be reborn, reincarnated into their bodies so that you may one day live in a dreamer’s dream. So for now, pull your heads out of your asses and live your damned lives already.”

They both dissolved into laughter, Jenny’s so raucous she dropped a spicy tuna roll into her lap.

“Shit. Still good.”

With her newly dyed fuchsia hair and fuchsia lips, Jenny looked at home among the exotic fish. Misato admired her above her wineglass, content just to listen. Just to watch.

“I could see doing it,” she then said thoughtfully.

“Doing what?” Jenny asked.

“Joining a cult,” Misato replied. The lights in the restaurant dimmed another notch, and Jenny wagged her eyebrows suggestively. Mood lighting. “They’re a part of deep belief. How are scientists any different?”

“Well, for one, you can actually test your theories and see if they work. Have you ever tried teleporting to a comet? Not so easy.” Smirking, Jenny snatched another roll with her silver chopsticks.

“But maybe we could. One day. Teleport to a comet, I mean. It only hurts us if we stop daring to wonder.” Misato was getting sleepy, and she wanted to crawl into bed soon with her two cats. “One hundred years ago a stable colony on Io was unthinkable. Now look at us.”

“Sure, sure. You dream big,” Jenny allowed. “But you dream smart. Colonies are useful, aimless trips on comets considerably less so.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” She fidgeted, restless, and downed the last of her wine. “It might be nice to just sit and look and have nowhere to be and nowhere really to go.”

That’s how she pictured Rayan, sailing along on a comet of his own, taking a long and lazy tour of the stars. She had loved him, in an abstract way, in the way a teacher can love a pupil. Before the Foxfire, and maybe even after it, she saw so much of herself in him. He had a relentless, open mind and a thirst for understanding that rivaled her own.