“You’re different,” Fulbreech said, almost as if he were musing to himself. He looked sad—as if he were telling her goodbye. “I want you to know,” he said slowly, “that I’m sorry. And that nothing I said to you was ever a lie, Grace—except for the thing about the comm systems. And the solar storm. I’m sorry for that; but I just wanted to keep you out of it. To protect you.” He looked tentative—earnest, in that way she had always turned away from. “But everything else was real.” Then he cleared his throat and looked away. “I wanted to say that. For you to know.”

“I know,” Park found herself saying. “I understand.”

He began to turn away. But Park felt an icy blade of shock at that moment, the sudden lightning strike of brutal certainty, and she thought, This will be the last time I see him like this, the two of us as we are.

And: I am human. Please let me still be human.

She leaned up and grabbed his collar, swinging him back around; Fulbreech flinched, as if expecting her to punch him. Park kissed him wordlessly, feeling that it was a kind of proof to herself, an affirmation of something she was too afraid to express clearly, even within the confines of her own mind. Her eyes stayed open, and so did his. She was aware of his warm breath mingling with hers. There was the feeling of being scalded—of thunder pounding through her body. I’m kissing him, Park thought, with a surge of that sunlit feeling again. This is a kiss. This is what people do. It’s still just for people.

Then Fulbreech was pulling away, following Sagara’s sharp admonition, and she banged her head on his chin as he spun around and hurried off down the hall again. He looked back only once.

Park watched him go. She knew the pain of that contact would stay with her long after the warmth of the kiss had faded. That, of all things, made sense to her.

Jimex was watching her quietly. “Are you all right?” he said.

Park shook her head and turned back to him, clear-eyed. “Of course,” she said. “Let’s go send our message.”

Together the two of them trotted down the corridor, Park stumbling a little from her still-numb limbs and the turbulence of the ship in flight. Sometimes the piercing pain lanced through her head again, and she was afraid to ask Jimex how bad the injury back there was. She didn’t want to know the answer—didn’t want to know if she was on the brink of falling apart. She gritted her teeth against the pain and said, “Something happened back there.”

“Yes,” Jimex said beside her. “You kissed Officer Fulbreech.”