23/9

Abigail, Beth, Steve

In First Union Mound

In an apartment face sculpted from clay stone and processed wood pulp

The front door bearing the signatory of the Burning of the Kszach Kuros by the Railroad Worker’s Liberation Front

In a living room that smells like freshly printed paper, coffee, and ozone.

-----

Steve was only just getting started on the key safety regulations of combined entry-exit spacecraft orbital dynamics when Beth sidled in.

They moved quickly and stealthily, so that it was a surprise to both of them when they suddenly spoke up:

‘I see. I see.’

Steve looked them tiredly up and down. The outfit was new and, seemingly, unfamiliar. White top. V neck. Very low. Very. A necklace with a silver spiral dangled over soft skin. Denim jeanshorts. Fishnets over the legs, gartered above the shorts, nearly meeting the belly button. It was pierced. Their linearity regulator—a tall, eerily silent motorised chassis with swappable, currently smooth-wheeled tracks that made the lights flicker as it wheeled beneath them—loomed behind them like a disapproving father.

Abigail cleared her throat and looked somewhere polite. She had the impression that Beth had gotten all dressed up specifically for this moment. She let her eyes fall upon the regulator. She wasn’t up to date on her extraontologics, and she never could find the time to catch up on it; astrophysics alone got arcane enough, let alone when quantum theory began creeping in.

What she knew was, somewhere inside of it, inside a recursing labyrinth-fold of cooling chambers and matter locks, was a micro blackhole (or an array of really, really micro blackholes, in some models) that pulled on gravity in exactly the opposite ways Beth pulled on gravity. It was an accessibility device. It let them access the same strictly causal, three-dimensional fixed subjectivity the majority of their social circle inhabited.

‘Ah. Beth,’ Steve said. His surprise was entirely, and unconvincingly, feigned. ‘Any opinions on these? I mean, you look at point three here, then point forty-five, it’s like they’re talking about two entirely different things. The entire thing seems undercooked!’

Beth smiled with their mouth open and nodded.

‘We’re big on regulation in this household. And safety.’ They turned to Abigail, and their eyes, ever faintly, narrowed. Their head tilted. The sides of their lips curled upwards.

Abigail froze. It was like a spotlight had fallen on her.

‘Hiiii, Bee. Steve hasn’t offered you any drinks, has he?’

The nickname made Abigail’s gut curl up on instinct. But she understood the game, now, and the game was, the more of a rise Beth got out of her, the more Beth won. And Beth had been winning nonstop, ever since she’d met them.

‘Oh, no, no. Actually, I wasn’t even thirsty.’ She paused intently. She enunciated carefully. ‘Not until right now.’

She was certain Beth would like that one. Their lidded eyes widened, nearly imperceptibly. It was enough of a tell. They were taken aback.

Then they grinned. Abigail read glee, and something almost like pride.

Beth had first latched onto them for their overbearing seriousness. But now that she was in the game proper, herself, the tone shifted. She was in on the joke. She was a partner. Perhaps a dance was a better analogy, Abigail thought, now. Step back, foot bent. Turn.

Steve piped up: ‘Hey, it was your idea we get coffee later. I figured, a couple nut cakes might make the material science bits go down easier. But ah—’ he trailed off. It occurred to Abigail that Steve, who had lost hold of the thread of the conversation, was attempting to regain it. She felt a pang of guilt.

‘There’s time for coffee later, I’m sure,’ Beth said. They sauntered to the fridge, reached through the drinks section (organised marvellously, forming a cityscape of bottle shapes and colours; all Steve’s handiwork, Abigail was sure) and pulled out the husk of what resembled a giant, dead isopod, sculpted from glass. Transparent, faintly bluish liquid roiled inside. The ceiling lights fell and got caught in it, and turned it a shimmering green, now orange, now a pale red.

Steve flicked through his sheets. ‘Alright. Well, we can run by safety later. Mat science too. It was actually nav systems I wanted to—’

Tink, tink, and tink, fell three glasses onto the table.

‘Notice anything different about me of late, Bee?’ Beth said, cracking the isopod’s head to the side, and pouring the liquid from its neckhole in a steady, delicate stream into one glass, then the next, then theirs. Tiny trails of wispy steam rose from each glass.

Abigail’s mind raced. Different. Something different. They looked Beth up and down. Face? No. Torso, arms? Hands? Any new fingers? No, and no on legs, it wasn’t a physical thing; they scrolled rapidly through prior texts she had exchanged with Beth (no!), and then through conversations with Steve (no, no!), she checked her memory if Sophie had said anything relevant (the last thing she had said of Beth was something about their ladder climbing speed; that they’d once ‘climbed up a ladder so fast they won fifty VOMS. And this old guy, he started clapping, too!’ No! No, no! Also, what?)

Steve rolled his eyes so hard his entire head swayed back and forth alongside it. He nudged his head at Beth’s—chest?

New chest? Steel plating? Heart surgery? Boob enlargement or shrinkage? Boobs generally? A bug? An exciting bug landed on them?

‘Bethy over here got a big haul at a clothing swap,’ Steve filled in, grimly. It was enough that his explanation of orbital entry-exit holistic vehicle safety regulations was being blatantly talked over; that he was obliged to take part in Beth’s machinations, too, was a new indignity.

‘And yet—they didn’t find anything for me!’ He added.

‘I’m sorry, dude, but quintuple extra small bodysleeves aren’t gonna be in season til second winter. Especially not in burgundy! I warned you!’

Steve pointed his face away from them in exaggerated insult.

‘Oh!’ Abigail worked fast, to fill in the space left by her long silence. ‘Wow! They look so good on you! I love—’ she recalled Steve’s head nudging. ‘Your top!’

Beth’s smile widened; their eyes thinned; the lights in the room seemed to dim but for the ones directly above them.

Bingo, Abigail thought.

‘I thought of you when I got this top. I knew you’d like it.’ They sat down, and leant in close. Their pupils, framed between narrow eyelids, dense eyeliner, seemed to swim. It was like there was a light inside there, or rows of twirling halos; Abigail couldn’t get a sense of the colour.

They lifted the glass between thin fingers, and took a sip. Steam spiralled from their mouth. Tiny dots of moisture were left, glistening, gemlike, on their lower lip.

She looked away from them quickly. She was feeling them affix her, like with pins. Her eyes needed somewhere nice and neutral—quick—the wall—the photo of Steve with the comical french moustache drawn on his face—the low dangling necklace—

‘I wouldn’t recommend getting one yourself. It looks nice but it’s—heh. The fabric’s a little cheap. Spill any water on it and it’s totally see-through.’ They swivelled the necklace between a finger, raising it slightly, forcing Abigail’s eyes back up, to theirs.

Now they thought she was looking at their—chest—Abigail realised, with sinking horror. You idiot, Abigail, you idiot, she chorused. She had to say something flirtatious back, fast, but that didn’t suggest she was just gawking openly at—and this had to be clarified—literally their chest. She had to say something classy.

‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. We should—’ Don’t hesitate now. You have to march on. This is the dance, and if you back out now, you really will look like an idiot. Plunge, soldier. ‘Go shopping. And I can help you pick out. Some new tops.’

Beth’s smile widened. They swung back on the table, rested an elbow on it, laid their chin in their hand. The necklace swayed like a pendulum.

‘We shouuuld. What sort of tops? Any ideas?’

Steve peered through his schematics, page by page. He dropped them limply, and faintly exhaled. It was highly unethical, but the situation only called for it. It spoke only to his restraint he had waited this long.

‘Hey, Beth, can I talk to ya really quick?’

Beth’s focus slid from Abigail, down to him.

‘But Steve, I have to entertain the guest. You are entertained, aren’t you, Bee?’

Abigail nodded rigidly. ‘I’m entertained. I’m—I’m very entertained.’ She flashed Steve an apologetic nod. She had gone too far with this, maybe. He had been working on these plans for months now and—for reasons she couldn’t even imagine—seemed to regard her opinion on them highly.

‘But I’m entertained enough to wait a little.’

Beth shut their eyes and shrugged. They smirked at Steve, then lowered a hand for him to creep onto.

‘Right, Bethy—’

Was all Abigail heard as they raised him to their ear and his voice lowered to a whisper.

The room felt very silent. The scene was no longer hers, she realised, suddenly.

Beth chuckled. Then chortled. They shook their head.

‘Shut up, dude.’

Steve shook his head right back and continued whispering.

Beth tilted their head back and cackled. They covered their mouth and looked aside.

Steve continued to whisper. His face was completely deadpan. It was the exact expression he had worn to discuss orbital fuel calculations just some moments earlier.

It dawned on Abigail that Beth was beginning to blush. She hadn’t even been sure, until then, that was even a thing they could even do at all.

‘No, like—’ Beth leant into him close. They raised a finger up, and waggled it to emphasise their—argument?

Steve smirked. He shook his head once more. He leant in again, and Beth turned their head to hear him.

Beth scoffed. ‘Seriously, shut up shut up shut—’ Their eyes opened wide. They looked hard at Steve.

He nodded seriously.

Beth stood up. Their face was completely rose red. Abigail had never seen their eyes fully opened before. Their fingers closed around Steve in a soft fist.

‘I have to leave the room now.’ They raised Steve up. ‘Steve has to come with me. As well.’

Steve shook his head one final time. Expression still as ever. ‘C’mon, Beth, I gotta entertain the guest.’

Beth’s head turned down slowly to glare at him.

‘Ya gotta put me down. We’ll catch up, ‘kay?’

Beth’s teeth were visibly clenched. ‘Right. Haha. Well. I will go see myself out. For now.’

They set him down gently onto his schematics, flicked him lightly on the head with a finger, and fastwalked to the door.

‘See ya later,’ Steve called after them.

Beth went through the door, crossed to the other side, and paused. They leant back into the room.

‘Sooo um. Does that mean I’ll see you again, then? Haha.’ With their other hand, they twirled curls away from their eyes. ‘I mean. Whenever it works for you. I’m pretty free of late…’

‘Probably, Beth. We do live in the same house. And we are married several times over.’

Beth’s smile relaxed suddenly. They exhaled. They were still very red.

‘Hah! Oh, yeah. That was pretty fun. Hey, we should do that again.’

‘Always up for it, Bethy.’

Beth grinned, and giggled. They swept the curls back and forth. ‘Yeah, yeah. Uhm. Bye, everyone!’

They left. Their footsteps pattered, rapidly, down the hall.

Abigail was stunned. She wasn’t even sure how to process that. She regarded Steve with awe, and horror. Could he do that to just anyone? To Mickey? To her?

‘Well, anyhow,’ Steve said, reshuffling his papers. He looked up at Abigail. And finally flashed a grin.

‘They’re easy, right?’

-

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-

-

Scrapped bits

‘Oh, Bee, have you had husk juice?’

Husk juice. No innuendo. That was a sincere question. Husk juice? Abigail had drunk a lot of odd stuff since she first began dating Sophie; only here and there, at first, little souvenirs (accidental or otherwise). Now that her friendgroup had expanded exponentially in size and intergalactic coordinate, she was drinking something really weird almost every month. But no husk juice.

‘Not at all. Is it good?’

Beth pulled open the fridge (delightfully organised, distinct segments forming unique shapes, even colours; clearly Steve’s handiwork,) and took, with both hands, from the drinks section, what resembled a big, glass louse.

They produced two glasses—glanced silently at Steve, who rolled his eyes and nodded—produced a third.

‘You’ve never known me for bad taste, have you, Bee?’ Beth said, click, opening a crook on the louse’s ‘neck’, and slowly pouring a clear, shimmering liquid into one glass, then the second, then the third.

‘This is why you haven’t let me open that up,’ Steve muttered, watching the stream flow.

‘No, never,’ Abigail said. She went for something bold. She didn’t even go over it in her head for very long; it just made her chuckle inwardly, and she decided, well, good enough. ‘Why? Will I?’

Beth giggled. It was sonorous, and unexpectedly deep; it resonated from the very back of their throat.

It had taken Abigail a little while to ‘get’ Beth. Actually, there wasn’t that much to get at all, in the end; they were immensely, pleasantly sincere. That they enjoyed screwing with people (especially easy marks like herself—overthinkers who tied themselves into knots with the slightest provocation) was little contradiction.

It had thrown her off entirely. She had a tendency to peer through conversations, than at them; at the subtext on the other side. It hadn’t occurred to her that she would one day meet someone for whom there was practically no subtext at all.

It was any wonder she had bristled against them at first, aside all of that stuff with Sophie. She didn’t think of herself as a liar, persay, but everything she said—even thought—was so measured. She admired them.

It was also very attractive, she had to admit. She bristled against that, on some matter of principle. And she bristled at the fact that Beth had seemed aware that she found them hot before she had even realised it, and had been wielding it against her from day one.

Steve slurped through a straw very loudly. He exhaled peacefully.

‘Nice batch this year,’ he commented. ‘Really woody.’

Beth sipped from their glass, swirled it around, swallowed. They exhaled, basked in it for a moment, then nodded. ‘Timorous. Echoey.’

Abigail lifted her glass. She noticed the weight, first; it was solid, leaden. The liquid moved quickly, and the weight shifted with it. Too and fro. Filaments inside caught the light. Webwork facets. The soft orange ceiling lights fell through them and glinted suddenly—blue, now red, now pale green.

She gulped it. One big gulp. No hesitation. Take it in hard.

It was the coldest thing she had ever tasted. It was cold like getting a sudden cut, or bumping into the sharpest corner of a metal table. It fizzled in her throat, in her brain; it hissed, like it wanted out.

She hiccuped once.

‘It’s really woody. I agree.’

Steve beamed, and shot Beth a faint glance. He had won this round.

Beth threw their head back and cackled.

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Steve said, still smiling faintly. He wriggled for his sheets; Beth’s hand, on instinct, fell softly upon them. ‘Third sheet, Bethy, thanks. Alright, so, Abigail, what I really wanted you here for—’

‘What we really want you here for—’ Beth sang, flipping through the sheets, then placing them back on the table.

‘Nav system. Namely atmospheric layer transferral. There’s not a single system that does personal-thrust atmospheric entry and exit.’

Abigail nodded. Beth rested their head on their hands behind Steve, and mimed her.

‘Very few craft are capable of both, and the processes are so distinct, not to mention resource intensive, it only figures most navsys’ particularise one or the other. Especially atmospheric exit.’

Steve looked at her seriously. Now and then, he flicked through his sheets. Beth slowly, slowly downed their drink.

‘There’s a reasonable market for entry-exit craft out there but when it comes down to it, it’s just cheaper investing in single-use shuttles if you’re going to be making landfall somewhere without launch infrastructure. ’

Beth piped up fast, catching Steve before he’d even realised what happened.

‘You’re so smart, Bee.’

Abigail flushed. Her mouth flapped before she could stop it.

‘I’m not—I’m not, I just know a bit. I took a few courses…’ she trailed off, and clenched her mouth shut.