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“Didn’t think they’d let you go so early,” Pyke said with all his usual irreverence. Rett opened his mouth to—what? Scold him? Ophelia had known Pyke even longer than Rett had and, if her engagement to Rex meant anything, even more patience than Rett did.
“I’m on break,” Ophelia said. She picked up one of Rett’s tools with a quick glance at him. When Rett didn’t protest, she brought it closer. Belatedly, Rett realized it was one of the ones Ziggy had quote-unquote upgraded.
“They do breaks now?” A plume of smoke went up from Pyke’s mouth. He turned on the too-big couch, which Rett had dragged into his workshop years ago specifically so that Pyke could luxuriate on it while Rett did all the hard work. Pyke preferred his own company, but he often found excuses to exist somewhere on Rett’s periphery. Rett had even installed a sunlamp for him, on a stand craning over the back of the couch because Pyke liked to spread out as far as he could go—Pyke had it on now, eyes half lidded as it warmed his bones. “That’s news to me.”
“Well, our last job together put me pretty high in the ranks,” Ophelia cautiously tapped at the screen with the scaled pad of one finger, “so I can afford to take breaks now.”
“So you’re playing hooky.” Rett could hear the grin in Pyke’s voice.
Ophelia glared at him. “I’m not playing hooky, Pyke.”
“That’s all well and good,” Rett interrupted, “but why are you two having this conversation in my workshop?”
They both turned to him, eyebrows raised. Ophelia was the first to speak, sounding apologetic.
“Ziggy’s playing games in the common area.” She put down the tool, the screen turning dark as it left her perfectly manicured fingers. “I’m not really a games person.”
“Ko and Pix are getting freaky in the gym,” Pyke said without an inch of shame, “don’t worry—Pix promised me she and Ko would wipe everything down afterwards.”
“In the gym?” Ophelia gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. As scandalized as she sounded, her eyes glittered. She didn’t even try fighting the grin. “How adventurous.”
“Are they getting freaky or did you see they were in there and just walk out?” Rett asked. Ko was startlingly self-conscious—she wouldn’t be taking off anything essential anywhere any of the crew could walk in and see her. Pixel didn’t have that problem in the least, but she was overly careful of boundaries to the point that even if Ko had given her the go-ahead, she probably would have taken Ko back to one of their rooms anyway.
“No, they’re just training,” Pyke said. His smile grew wider at Ophelia’s shocked gasp. “Pixel said she wanted to test out all the weird equipment and that I wasn’t allowed to tell her how anything worked, so I just left.”
“Pyke!”
“Not my fault you believed it,” Pyke said cheerfully—or what passed for cheerfully from him, which just meant that his eyes were beginning to crinkle around the edges with his smile and his shoulders bounced a little when he shrugged them.
“I’m just not here often enough to be able to tell what they would or wouldn’t do,” Ophelia sighed. Her heels clicked on the metal floor as she headed to the couch. She flopped down next to Pyke, carefully nudging the sun lamp so it shined on the both of them. She looked over at Pyke. “I know you.”
“Yeah.”
“But the rest of you are mysteries to me, for the most part,” Ophelia sent Rett a small, uncomfortable smile. “I want to know you all better, so here I am. I tried to understand Ziggy’s game, I really did, I just. . .”
“Some of his games get very,” Rett searched for the best word, “involved. I’m used to older stuff. Less complicated.”
“He showed me a shooting game the other week,” Pyke said, “and it’s got so much shit going on—I prefer the real thing.”
“Much less overhead,” Rett agreed, “he keeps tellin’ me I’ll be good at, uh, inventory management games? But to be honest with ya, I get ‘nough of that already. I think the Digi-Diary Pixel gave me is about at my limit for new tech.”
“No shot you’re really using that thing.” Pyke’s head came up off the couch.
“It’s not bad,” Rett said. He pulled his out of the compartment he had it stashed in and tossed it towards the couch. Pyke caught it easily, flicking open the compact-shaped diary and peering at the buttons and screen inside. “The mic could be better, but I haven’t gotten ‘round to fixin’ it up.”
“You’ll get there, big guy,” Pyke said. He clicked around, no doubt looking at the auto-generated transcripts of Rett’s memos. Ophelia inched towards him, peering at the screen.
“You don’t strike me as the sort to be tired of new technology,” Ophelia said with a careful disinterest in her voice. Was that her trying to be polite? Rett wasn’t entirely sure.
“Well, not new tech, no,” Rett answered anyway, “but new software—that trips me the fuck up. I know how to handle the ship, along with most analog tech. If I can’t fix something, then I can at least figure out what I don’t know, and most of the time that’s really all I gotta know before I can get a workaround. What Ziggy does with the Hypergrid, and all the software and hardware you need to actually access the Hypergrid—all that escapes me. I’m a simple man, I like simple tech.”
“I don’t know I’d call being able to repair actual spaceships simple.” Ophelia shook her head. “I’ll stick to shooting, thanks.”
“And spy shit.”
“Yes, Pyke, and spy shit.” Ophelia ran a hand comfortably through Pyke’s hair. His eyes fluttered shut at her touch, leaning his head ever-so-slightly towards her, and suddenly Rett felt lonely on his chair.
He sighed and heaved himself up out of his seat. Ophelia watched him walk over, but Pyke didn’t so much as twitch. Rett lowered himself into his usual spot on the other side of Pyke, feeling the couch compress beneath his weight. Pyke turned, his legs in Rett’s lap, his head on Ophelia’s, and suddenly they fit perfectly on the too-big couch Rett had bought for Pyke all those years ago.
For lack of anything else to do, Rett started massaging Pyke’s legs. He wasn’t in his usual get-up today; instead of his regular shirt and pants, he was in an ill-fitting gray tank top and biking shorts that were a little too skin tight for Rett’s sanity. He really had been planning on working out—probably hadn’t realized that Ko and Pixel were going to be in there, otherwise he would’ve worn normal clothing. Rett knew him. Pyke didn’t start grabbing the ugly shit out of his wardrobe until he was certain he wouldn’t be bothered.
Pyke sighed, moving his leg just enough for Rett to start working on a better spot. Pyke practically melted into the two of them.
He hadn’t grabbed anything ugly from his wardrobe in a long time. Not since he went to prison. Had kept his room pretty clean since then, too. It was only now, months and months and months down the line, that he was beginning to loosen up again.
Now Ophelia was here, unbeholden to any goddess of beauty. How long until she made herself well and truly comfortable? Would she walk around in sweatpants and a bra, like Ko? Would she take the time to do herself up every morning like Pixel and Pyke did? Would she roll out of bed and expect the world to take her as-is, like Ziggy? Or did she, like Rett, have a couple quick couple steps for upkeep before she headed out for the day?
Did she like coffee or tea? What breakfast foods did she prefer? Would she eat just about anything or did she need organic foods grown dirtside?
There were millions of details to find out about her. Rett didn’t know how she ticked, what animated her to move in the mornings, when the world was cold and unforgiving. He knew her from Pyke, which was to say very little at all, and he knew her from their two jobs, which was next to nothing.
If she kept coming back, on break or for jobs, then there would be ample time to find out. She wouldn’t remain a big mystery. She would become a part of the crew. Rett could honestly say, from the bottom of his heart, that he couldn’t wait for that day to come.