He took a long pull of his Guinness. “This requires thought. Much thought.”

“I had half a year to study symbology in the Aldrin. And read up on all you types. It was like living in a swanky hotel; plenty of time to think.”

He nodded. “I liked real well. Luxury living.”

“Those towels in the cabins were so fluffy, I had trouble closing my suitcase.”

He looked startled, saw the joke, snickered. “Witty lady.” Then he leaned over and kissed her.

She knew the old sensation: a ruby serotonin flood, with a bubbly dopamine chaser. Time for a new guy… Kane is far away… and I don’t measure my progress by guys, anyway. It’s life I’m eager for, not just guys. So…

The thought was a revelation, shaped into a sentence. So… “In most of my dreams, this is where I wake up.”

6.

Rachel woke up in muggy darkness and remembered it all, breathing patiently, and decided that, yes, it had been a dream. Convincing, crisp and detailed and colorful, but—yes, obviously a dream. She did not do things like that.

Inventory time, eyes closed. She had felt badly about how she slipped away from Luna without seeing Kane, for a parting talk. She had indeed had the great fun of a passionate frolic, for two days running, when she told him about the whole orbitfall event. But she wasn’t up for Unity—as it was termed these odd days—with anybody, not then, not now.

That might come later—much later. With life-span extended—or protracted, as some had it—you could perfectly delay personal stuff until you had the arc of your career launched. She felt she was still on a long, rough upward slope in her life. Going hard, not sure where.

Kane didn’t buy that. He was a dear, sweet gentleman, and knew when to not bother being a gentleman. But not yet, no. And who knew?—someone might show up who wouldn’t take all this thinking. Someone she would just know about.

She sighed, blinked at the dark room, rolled over to grab the pillow—and felt a long, muscled arm. Opened her eyes.

Him. No dream. His musk clung in her nostrils.

She went rigid. Sometimes the light at the end of the tunnel of love was the headbeam of an oncoming train. The brilliance didn’t so much illuminate as bring things glaringly into view.

She considered. Yes, she had too many times woken up on the wrong side of the bed in the morning—only to realize that it was because she was waking up on the side of… no one.

And Vayl Zuminski was charming, in his glinting, rough-cut-diamond way. Plus, she was something of an incurable romantic and didn’t think the man-woman dance was a contest on the rabbit level. They had indeed made a connection.

He grunted, opened an eye. “Oh.”

“Yes. Any memories about how we got here?”

A crusty smile. “Several. Very pleasant.”

“I didn’t intend…”

“Not I, either. For those given to excess, abstinence much easier than moderation.”