Half the Crew

“You booked both of us.”

“There were only two appointments left.”

Sana set the breakfast bowls in the sink. On the wall display, the ship's announcement repeated without sound. Half the adult complement. Artificial origin. Further information to follow.

“You could have asked.”

“Would you have said yes?”

“I don't know.”

“That's why I booked it. We can decide when we get there.”

She looked at him. He rubbed at a spot on the table with his thumb.

“It's a scan,” he said. “It doesn't hurt.”

“I'm not worried about the scan.”

Their daughter called from the next room, asking where her blue socks were. Sana answered automatically. Second drawer, underneath the winter things.

“If it's me,” she said, “what happens after?”

“Nothing.”

“Then why are you awake?”

He had been awake all night. She had felt him move away from her and had pretended to sleep so he could come back without explaining.

“I want to stop wondering.”

Their daughter appeared with one blue sock and one green. He bent to straighten the heel of the green one.

“We have to go,” the girl said.

Sana picked up her school bag. At the door she turned back.

“Go to yours if you want. Cancel mine.”

He opened his mouth, then looked toward their daughter.

Sana waited while he canceled it. She could see how much effort it took him not to ask her again.