Lydia missed just about every word the android said. She tapped her foot on the floor and tugged at the hem of her best solid blue shirt until she couldn’t stand it any longer.

​

“Yeah, Verity, I heard you!” she whined, cutting in. “We’ve already been over it. A lot. Pretty-much-my-whole-life a lot.”

The android stopped talking, her blue lights for eyes simulating blinks by pulsing in and out. She leaned on her white hip panel and retorted, “Then repeat what I said, if you heard it all.”

​

Lydia sighed. She hadn’t heard. But it didn’t matter because she knew what had been said. Verity, her android, had prepared her for this moment all her life. All seventeen years. And there weren’t all that many other ways Lydia could spend her time on the ship, so the training had been thorough. Why the android felt like explaining it for a hundredth time, Lydia had no idea.

​

“In ninety seconds,” she spat, “you’ll take me through that door and into the acc pod where I’ll be drugged up so I can handle the quirks of the artificial atmosphere in the dome. The acclimatizing will take about fifteen minutes and then the door to Dome 4 will open and I’ll step into the biome, which, according to you will ‘steal away my heart to the simpler times of Earth,’ or something like that.”

​

Verity the android seemed unimpressed by Lydia’s dramatic impersonation of her. Lydia finished, “And then, I’ll meet the boy. And the test will begin.”

​

The blue lights didn’t blink.

​

 “I’m sorry to be snappy, Ver, I just want to do it already,” Lydia whispered passionately, touching the android’s cool arm. “You’ve prepared me. I’m ready!”

 

The lights watched her carefully. Then she lifted her arm like she was checking a wristwatch. “And that’s ninety seconds, so let’s jump to it!”

​

Lydia rolled her eyes and followed the android across the room she’d been raised in. “Enough with the watch thing! You used that joke already today. Don’t you recalibrate frequency of use for your favorite humanizing jokes? Let’s make it a thousand days before I see you look down at your dumb wrist like that. Deal?”

​

Verity then made a fist and rubbed her knuckles on the top of Lydia’s head, messing up her hair.

​

“If you say so, champ!” chimed the smooth feminine voice.

​

“Ugh!” Lydia snorted and stepped up to the door. If she ever met the maniac that made this android…

​

“Lidi,” Verity said quickly, her voice suddenly gentle. “I’m really proud of you.”

​

“Thanks Ver.” Lydia said, watching the door.

​

It opened.

​

Lydia took a deep breath. This was it. She would finally have the chance to prove what she’d learned.

​

She stepped forward, leaving the soft sofas and pleasant music of the Hab interior for a dim pod with a short ceiling and cold metal walls. The space was smaller even than her sleeproom. Only a small bench filled the area. A second door awaited on the other side and Lydia stared at the smooth metal of it. It seemed so tall, all of a sudden. Lydia had of course seen the pod before. Ver had showed it to her a few times over the years, but that door on the other side had never been opened. And unless this was all a trick, today it finally would.

​

The pod resealed and soft hissing filled the room.

​

“Find a chair and breathe liberally,” Verity said, crossing the space and standing with her back to that other door. Lydia sat in the middle of the couch, and inhaled. Immediately she began to feel light-headed. The pod around her seemed to be vibrating slightly.

“That’s the Hab rotating back,” Verity explained.

​

Lydia nodded, understanding. The Hab—where she spent all her time—was something like a large disc, she was told. The whole thing rotated inside the center of the ship so its door aligned with one of four domes that surrounded them. Four unique domes filled with simulated Terran biomes, flora and fauna included. Four new worlds that Lydia hadn’t been allowed to see. For seventeen years.

​

Until today.

​

“Now just relax while you acclimatize,” Verity instructed in a slightly muffled voice. Lydia leaned back in her chair, struggling to focus on any one thing. The room around her blurred and filled with white smoke and it felt like the whole pod was hovering up and down. Or spinning counterclockwise? Or… what was she just thinking about? She shook her head and tried to stay present. The drugs were strong.

​

Finally, the minutes passed, and a signal lit up above the far door. The blue light matched the blue on the android’s body perfectly. Lydia realized that the hissing had stopped, and she seemed to be coming out of the haze.

​

“Acclimatization is complete,” said Verity. “Are you certain you’re ready to begin the test?”

​

Lydia stood, holding the wall for balance. “I’m not gonna say it again, Ver.”

​

The sleek android nodded. “Then prepare to be desirable.”

​

In dramatic fashion, she waved her arms and the door slid open, revealing a short flight of stairs. Light was visible at the top. Instinctively, Lydia knew her life was about to change drastically. She leaned forward until she could see up the stairs into the dome.

​

She gasped.

​

The inside of Dome 4 was green. Green like she had never seen before. Green in a thousand variations. Green in all directions! She clambered up the steps, her mouth open.

​

“A forest!” She exclaimed, pausing at the top. Verity had hinted at what type of climates the four domes would contain—though she’d apparently been unable to give hard facts—and a forest was one of the possible options. There were plenty of types of Terran climates, but her ship had only four domes so… four climates.

​

But what great luck to get a forest! Lydia had expected something boring on the first go around.

​

In bewilderment, Lydia stepped into the space, her head on a swivel. Enormous trees towered over her. Lush green grass and shrubbery carpeted the rough ground, which sloped gently upward into the trees ahead. It was all so vibrant and visual! The air was alive with gentle sounds of rustling leaves and chirping birds. Sounds Lydia had only heard in the old vids of Earth.

​

She frowned when she turned around to look behind the hatch door she’d just come out of. The forest seemed to extend in that direction, but something was wrong. There was a fuzz in the air that distorted the space behind the pod. She was about to ask Verity when she remembered.

​

“The illusion,” she nodded. “On the inside of the dome. Of course. We’re at the edge of the dome.”

Verity stood beside her. “Exactly. It’s imperfect here, because we’re close enough to see the field.”

​

“There’s a field? What for?” Lydia asked, staring up at the fuzzy barrier. The buzzing field extended high above them and seemed to take the shape of the walls of the dome.

​

“Think it through,” prompted the android. She did this often. It was a method of teaching critical thinking skills.

​

“Um, fields are for protection, right?” Lydia thought out loud. “So, it runs along the dome wall to protect me from the… no. To protect itself.” She nodded, arriving at the answer. “To keep me away from the wall.”

​

“Correct. It’s to keep anything—you or the animals—from damaging the expensive sensors that project the illusion. It’s delicate tech, mounted on the entirety of the inside surface of the dome—so the field gives a powerful shock upon contact to keep things away. Otherwise all the birds would kill themselves flying into the wall. The illusion behind the field is very convincing. But one shock and they remember to stay away from the buzzing sound.”

​

Lydia craned her neck. “You can say that again.”

​

Standing this close to the edge of the dome, Lydia could see the buzzing field easily. But if she moved away from it and towards the center of the dome, it became harder to pick out and all she could see was the image on the walls and ceiling that made it look like there was more forest and sky. The only thing that interrupted the illusion was the field’s generator apparatus, a wiry web of thin black poles that were visible in between large sections of the blurry field. But these were far apart from each other and from the center of the dome, the whole structure would be hidden by the treetops. It would feel like a real Terran forest environment.

​

“Alright, follow me,” said Verity.

​

They started into the trees on a path that had been cleared for walking. Lydia reached out and touched leaves and branches as she went, in awe of everything. A little way into the trees and a simple, brown structure became visible through the leaves up ahead. Lydia knew this would be the mock dwelling where the test would happen. She knew the dwellings were placed somewhere in the center of each dome, which gave her an idea of the biome’s size. Probably, it was seventy-five yards in diameter or less. Already, there were enough trees above her and around her that she couldn’t see the dome wall anywhere. Lydia smiled and laughed. She knew her home in the Hab was a short walk away, but it felt like she’d actually been transported to a real planet. Dropped on the surface of some exciting living world a hundred light years away.

​

The trees opened up and the dwelling came into view. It was a small brown cabin with a slanted roof over an open porch. Three steps led up to a wooden door that was ajar. Lydia could hear someone inside.

​

“Alright Lidi,” whispered Ver behind her. Lydia turned to see that the android had begun to retreat back into the shadows. “You know what’s next! The boy is already here. He’s been waiting only a short while. I brought him in just before I put you in the acc pod.”

​

Lydia nodded.

​

“Instructions will be given as needed. I can’t wait to see you breeze through this one!” The android didn’t have a physical mouth on her head, but her tone of voice indicated she was trying to encourage Lydia.

​

“Thanks Ver. I’ll see you soon!” Lydia said, and the android’s smooth figure disappeared into the trees. Lydia took a nervous breath and approached the cabin.

​

“H—hello?” she asked outside the door. And then there he was.

​

Her suitor.

​

“Oh! Umm… hi!” said the boy, descending the steps to her level. He stopped on the soft soil and looked at Lydia.

​

He was taller than her by four or five inches. His shoulders were broad, and his muscles were toned, but modest. He had soft curls of a lighter brown than Lydia’s, and his smile was warm and calm. He had a small scar on his right cheekbone. He was attractive, but realistic. He looked about her age but Lydia felt very young all of a sudden.

​

“You’re umm… very appealing,” He stuttered awkwardly and then shook his head. “Pretty! You’re pretty!”

​

When Lydia didn’t react, he tried a combination. “…Pretty appealing?”

​

She just bit her lip and tugged at the hem of her shirt again. Her mouth refused to say the lines she’d practiced.

​

The boy rubbed the back of his neck, grimacing. “I’m sorry… I don’t know what to say to you…”

​

Lydia snickered softly, relaxing at the way he looked at her with that crooked smile. “I understand the feeling,” she said. “And you are very handsome.” Instantly she regretted how hard she’d pronounced the d and in a sudden rush of panic, she had a terrifying realization—she’d spent almost all her time in the vids studying agriculture. She’d been too embarrassed to watch anything on courtship and mating rituals with Verity always watching over her shoulder.

​

“My name is Ror,” he said, extending a hand to her. Lydia shook the hand like she’d seen done in the vids.

​

“I’m Lydia.”

​

“Lydia,” he tried gently. “It’s a nice name.”

​

Then Verity’s voice rung out from somewhere nearby. “Great, we’ve all met. Now get in here so I can give you the test!”

​

Lydia started and looked around, confused at the android’s voice.

​

Hadn’t she left already? Ror climbed the steps to the cabin and held the door open for Lydia to see inside. “Speaker,” he explained, pointing to a menacing black triangular device that stood on the floor inside and pointed up toward the ceiling of the cabin.

​

“Right,” she nodded.

​

Ror held the door with an outstretched arm. Lydia stepped past him and tried not to look at the muscles in his shoulder.

​

The rectangular cabin was minimal inside. A small table and two chairs, and a counter with a sink and faucet filled one end of it. A simple wood-framed bed covered with a deep red blanket filled the other end. Everything was made of wood but the sink and some knives and pans that were stacked on the counter. This fascinated Lydia since everything in the Hab was steel and plastic and glass—she’d rarely seen real wood. There were a few shelves on one wall that held cookware and supplies. And some fruits and vegetables were gathered in rough woven sacs and placed around the room.

​

When Ror let the door creak shut, the speaker came to life.

​

“Your test is simple,” Verity began. “In this simulation, a leaf cabbage crop has failed and you’re to replant it. Supplies are behind the cabin over by the garden. It will take about five days for the seeds to germinate and the moment they do, you pass the test.”

Lydia watched Ror out of the corner of her eye while she listened. He was leaned against the wall, with his arms crossed, and she kept tracing his outline with her eyes. Was this how it would feel to document a new creature on a new planet? She’d only met four boys in her life, and that was years ago when she was a child and Verity had brought them in to the Hab to play with her. But Ror was older and taller and… sharper. He was maturing. He’d reached the age when males began to look more man than boy. Everything about him was interesting to Lydia.

​

“And as you know,” Verity went on through the speaker, “there is a second objective: to determine your own compatibility. As the you both problem-solve together, you will make an emotional connection and confirm that a colony parented by the two of you would indeed thrive and provide Humanity with a good chance at survival. At the end of the test, you will be required to give consent to parent. You can of course deny this if the match has proven to be problematic… but remember that you’ve been paired for testing because biological and emotional parameters already indicate a high probability for love and connection. And in a real scenario, on a future home planet, refusal to parent would be permitted only in the rarest of circumstances. There simply isn’t enough human resource for you to be picky.”

​

There was a painful moment of silence and then Verity added in a playful voice, “But just have fun with it! Imagine you’re colonists in love, masters of a new generation of humanity. Matriarch and patriarch of a new world! It’s all so very exciting! Anyway, begin the test. Oh, and remember the rules of intimacy. We’ll be watching and rooting for you.” Then she concluded her speech with that characteristic Verity flare that made Lydia cringe. “I look at you, and I see the future!”

​

The speaker went silent and Lydia turned to Ror. “Well, I thought I was prepared for that… But stars it was still so uncomfortable.”

​

Ror chuckled and nodded. “We don’t have talk about it.”

​

“Agreed,” she said, and followed him out into the clearing.

​

As promised, they found the supplies behind the cabin by a small plot of arable land already prepped and furrowed. They gathered the seeds, fertilizer, and tools and discussed how to begin the task. Lydia suggested a method of planting she’d been taught and Ror suggested a system for coordinating their work. Neither objected to the other’s plan and so they began immediately.

 

​

---

​

​

Hours into the afternoon, they were working at the garden, and they’d made a lot of progress. Since they’d both been through agricultural training with an android, they knew what to do.

​

To the soundtrack of chirping birds and the rhythm of hand shovels cutting the soil, the afternoon had passed quickly. They were finishing up a furrow in the waning light. Lydia marveled again at the thoroughness of the illusion in Dome 4. The sun in the sky—well, the image of it projected on the ceiling—moved throughout the day, distorting the shadows in the trees just slowly enough that you could only tell something had changed if you looked away for a few minutes. Even the temperature had risen slightly as the afternoon developed. The forest smelled so much better than the Hab, and the vibrant green all around Lydia was just beautiful. It was all so incredibly sensory!

​

“So,” Lydia asked while she dug into the furrow with a tiny shovel she could wield in one hand, “What do you think we’ll eat tonight? I’m absolutely starving.”

​

“Me too!” said Ror, working in the soil near her. “I saw supplies in the cabin. I guess we just prepare whatever’s in there.”

​

Lydia bit her lip. “Has… has today been like your other tests?”

Ror looked up from his work. “This is my first time, actually. Why?”

​

“Oh,” she shrugged. “I uh, guess it’s just been really easy so far. I expected some sort of chaotic problem with the test or maybe a boy with an outlier personality or something. I don’t know… I just thought my first pairing would be more difficult.”

​

“Hmm,” Ror nodded. “The test hasn’t been dramatic enough for you. Well, you just wait till tonight when we fight each other for the bed. I will not be sleeping on the floor just because you’re a lady.”

​

Lydia paused, sensing in his voice that he was probably making a joke. But was he? She wasn’t completely sure. She grimaced. WHY had she not just studied courtship?! When she looked up to steal a glance at Ror, he gave her a sly smile and returned to digging in the soil.

​

Lydia’s breathing eased. Good. He’d said it sarcastically. Her instincts at conversation weren’t totally useless. Verity didn’t really use sarcasm, so Lydia had to learn it from the vids and she didn’t feel like she was totally naturally yet. It was all so overwhelming to be here in the dome with Ror, interacting with him in a place she’d never seen. Two huge firsts. She’d only had interaction days when she was a little girl, and Verity had always been right there, hovering over.

​

Lydia remembered those days well. The android would bring in another young boy and they’d play together in the Hab for a few hours, usually to a playtime prompt that had to do with farming and colonizing. And then the boy would be taken back to whatever part of the ship he lived in and Lydia would never see him again. Starting at age eleven, interaction days were discontinued. So, Ror was the first human Lydia had talked to in five years. And he was so pleasant, she kept trying to shake herself out of the daze. Ver had taught her to look for a lesson in everything… Lydia was convinced that any second the android would jump out and challenge her on something.

​

She turned. Ror was asking her a question.

​

“So how do you think we did?” He stood and stretched, resting a dirty shovel on his shoulder. Lydia thought she’d seen the gesture in a vid. She stood and together they surveyed the garden. They’d planted about half of the furrows—forty-seven cabbage plants—and Lydia thought they’d done sufficient work. She voiced as much.

​

“I guess we’ll know in a few days when they sprout, huh?” said Ror.

​

“I guess so.”

​

“Well, dinner then? It’s starting to get dark.”

​

After they took turns washing up in a private partition attached to the outside of the cabin, they went in to cook dinner. Together they followed a recipe Verity had left them and dressed some rehydrated meat stuffs with cabbage—very test-appropriate—and a sauce from a can that was neither disgusting nor delicious. At their little wooden table, they ate the food and talked and laughed. Ror had found the way Lydia held her fork and knife to be funny. Apparently, he’d never seen it done her way. But when he laughed at her, Lydia wasn’t embarrassed. She couldn’t say why, but she actually found it welcome. When Verity criticized the way she did things, it always stung. But the way that Ror smiled and teased her was… it was just… well she didn’t know what to call it. But she knew she liked it.

​

Stars, did she like it.

​

Suddenly it was late. The candles they’d lit in the tiny cabin had burned low and Ror began to clean the ceramic dishes they’d eaten on. Lydia sat for a moment in a daze, watching his hands scrub the plates in the sink. Then she jumped up, embarrassed, and helped him with the rest.

​

“Um, Ror?” She asked, drying her hands on a towel when they’d finished.

​

“Hmm?”

​

“I’ve decided to offer you the bed on the first night. I think a rotating system would work best. One night for each of us. And if the person who didn’t have it the night before needs a rest during the day, then—”

​

“Lydia.” Ror laughed. “I’m not making you sleep on the floor. That was a joke! You can have the bed. I don’t mind at all.”

“Oh. I, uh… I’m… also fine with the floor,” she stuttered.

​

“No,” he interrupted again, staring at her, the candlelight dancing shadows on the sharp outline of his jawbones. “You’re sleeping in the bed. You’re the lady.”

​

Lydia felt locked in his eyes, sinking softly into them like a pool of warm water.

​

Without another word, Ror pulled a blanket from a shelf and started to settle on the floor by the bed. Lydia blew out the candles on the table and stepped carefully over his body in the darkness. She climbed into the bed and tried to quiet her heartbeat. But it wouldn’t quit. She wanted to say it. She knew it was allowed—encouraged even. In the darkness, she stretched her arms and legs out under the blanket. There was plenty of room in the bed…

​

“Ror, get up here.” She blurted finally. “We’re being tested for compatibility. We can share the bed.”

​

Ror was still for a moment, and then scrambled to his feet.

​

“But remember the rules,” she whispered.

​

“Of course,” came the stiff reply, and then he jumped into the bed with her.

​

Lydia lay frozen in place, trying to calm her breathing. Everything about today had been a whirlwind of sensory information and emotion and now she was sharing a bed with a human boy. A boy who had been chosen for her based on her own preferences for appearance and personality. Her heart kept on thumping, and she was sure Ror could hear every beat. She probably wouldn’t sleep for hours.

​

“Lydia?”

​

She swallowed. “Hmm?”

​

“You think they told us both the same rules?”

​

She didn’t respond.

​

“Sorry,” he said quickly. “Too bold. I shouldn’t have asked… Forget I said anything.”

​

She waited a few seconds, and then recited in a tiny whisper.

​

“‘Responsible displays of affections are encouraged. Gentle physical touch: permitted. Kissing: permitted. Intercourse: forbidden.’” She held her breath in the agonizing quiet. “Those are the… main points I remember,” she added.

​

Ror shuffled and the whole bed moved slightly. “Good. That’s what I was told too. Glad we cleared it up.”

​

And then he shifted his whole body toward her in one smooth movement, so his legs and arms rested against hers. Lydia didn’t dare move.

​

She exhaled quietly.

​

It was a test of compatibility. They were supposed to probe a potential relationship. She’d been terrified by the part of her that enjoyed being with Ror. Brushing against him. But that was the inner Lydia she should be listening to. They needed to determine if the Lydia-Ror pair would be good for Humanity.

​

Finally, she let go and relaxed.

​

It wasn’t something she could explain but having his warm body there against hers calmed her. Stiff and solid like another wall of shelter, he blocked her into the corner of the room. It was safe and wonderful… Her eyes closed and she breathed easy. A long time later, when she was convinced Ror had gone to sleep, she rotated onto her side. Timing it with his exhales, she rested an arm on his chest.

​

Finally, she slept.

 

​

---

 

​

The sun was high on the dome on the third day of the test. Lydia and Ror had finished planting the rest of the furrows before the end of day two and had taken to strolling through the forest to explore the biome. They’d asked Ver through the speaker what they were allowed to do when the planting was finished and been told that their time was theirs to ‘test the pairing.’ Today, they’d awoken without any additional instructions, so they explored the dome, teaching each other what they already knew about the ways a forest grew and replenished itself. A few minutes ago, they’d found the dome wall and they were now walking along it in the space where the plants and trees avoided the field. It was just wide enough for them to walk side-by side.

​

They spoke over the soft humming of the apparatus.

​

“Here’s a question for you,” Lydia said, picking at twigs and leaves absentmindedly while they walked. “I’ve seen you make movements with your hands when you talk every once in a while. Why do you do that?”

​

Ror pulled from his teeth the blade of grass he’d been chewing on. For a moment, Lydia thought he seemed uncomfortable with the question. “I uh… do sign language.”

​

“Sign language?”

​

“It’s… it’s a language of hand signals.”

​

“Oh!” Lydia said. “I think I’ve heard of it in my studies. So that’s your interest, then? Sign language?”

​

“Interest?”

​

“Right,” she nodded. “Like mine is classical music.”

​

“What kind of music is that?”

​

“You don’t know! It’s a whole bunch of old-Earth music created by hand-crafted instruments. It’s what I do when Verity gives me personal time in the Hab. I listen through our archives of classical music.”

​

Ror nodded. “Right. Yes, sign language is my interest. Sometimes I do it without thinking.”

​

They walked on, the real forest to their left and the blurred simulation of a forest to their right.

​

“But what’s practical about a language of hand motions? Geneticists erased sensory defects long ago. I have my sight and hearing recalibrated every year by my android.”

​

Ror was quiet, and then teased, “Well, what’s practical about music made with instruments that don’t exist anymore?”

​

“Fine,” Lydia whined. “Interests don’t have to be practical, Mr. Always-has-a-point.”

​

Ror laughed and then Lydia gasped, which startled him.

​

“More lavender!” she squealed, pointing at the ground.

​

“Oh, yeah!” Ror said cheerily. “A new patch!”

​

He bent to pick a handful of the purple flowers and handed them to Lydia. They’d found the flowers growing in the forest on day one, and Lydia had been far too excited about the discovery. She didn’t know if it was the smell or the purple color, but she absolutely loved them and squealed in delight every time they stumbled upon another patch hidden in the shade of a tree. Ror had noticed and had started bringing some into the cabin each morning to place in the window. Lydia inserted the sprig above her ear, and they walked on, appreciating the peace and quiet. After a moment Lydia turned to Ror.

​

“Well, teach me something!” she said, poking Ror in the side. He surrendered that half-smile she loved so much. She still hadn’t figured out where she learned the motion, but she’d quickly discovered its power. Ror always did what she asked when she poked him like that.

​

“I suppose you can’t do too much damage with just the alphabet,” he grumbled, turning into the trees to sit on a fallen log. Lydia followed and sat up against him. She remembered how on Day One, being close to Ror had made her nervous. But now, it was where she felt the most comfortable.

​

Ror looked at her with a square face and did an impression of Verity.

​

“Now, may the lesson commence,” he mocked in a smooth and calculating voice.

​

Lydia laughed and looked up into his golden-brown eyes. She realized how close she was to him. How she was leaning into his shoulder. Basically supporting herself on him.

​

Ror held up his right hand in a fist but with the thumb on the side instead of crossing over the knuckles. “A. Do it with me.”

​

“I want to kiss you.”

​

“B—what?” Ror froze, his hand up.

 

Lydia was shocked the words had left her mouth… but she didn’t regret them. She felt the energy in her chest like the rhythm of a wild piece of music. She said it again. “I want to kiss you.”

 

Ror looked at her, motionless.

 

She explained, “It’s allowed in the rules of intimacy, and I think if we’re supposed to be testing our own compat—”

 

Ror kissed her.

​

He grabbed her face with both hands and pulled her toward him until their lips pressed together. The way he moved was gentle and calm, and she loved that. But it was somehow also aggressive and firm, and she loved that just as much. Finally, Ror let go of her face and his hands slid softly across her cheeks.

 

“Sorry for interrupting you,” he said quietly. Birds chirped in the trees overhead.

 

“It was very inconsiderate,” Lydia whispered back. She took a deep breath and tried to blink the heat out of her eyes.

​

Then she leaned in for another.

 

 

---

​

​

Day Four had been bliss. Lydia and Ror had simply to water the cabbage plants in the morning and again in the afternoon, and the rest of their time was theirs. Lydia couldn’t believe it had only been four days in the dome, because the way she went back and forth with Ror all day teasing, flirting, kissing—lots of kissing—she felt like they’d been together for years. Occasionally, something about the Hab would pop into her mind, and she would laugh to herself as she realized she had again forgotten it existed. To her, life was a perfect circle of Ror and food and sleep and Ror. She woke up wrapped in his arms, ate with him. Talked with him. Teased him. Kissed him whenever the stars she felt like it and then went to sleep in his arms again. He was her sun and moon, there when the darkness fled at the start of day, there when it returned to send them to sleep.

​

“Tomorrow may be the day, Lyd,” Ror said quietly. Her head rested on his chest, the blanket around them both. They laid together in the bed, breathing in and out of sync.

​

“I know,” she whispered. “We could always sneak out there right now and dig up all the seeds, so they don’t sprout.”

​

Ror sighed. “I have a feeling they would still end the test. And we’d fail.”

​

“Can’t you just not be right sometimes?” she whined.

​

Ror rubbed her cheek with his thumb in the darkness and she rubbed back into his hand.

But he said nothing.

​

It was late when Lydia finally slept.

 

​

---

​

​

In the morning, Lydia opened her eyes when Ror stirred. They shared a look, and then climbed quickly out of bed.

​

A ray of warm green and yellow light streamed through the canopy and in through the cabin window as usual. Yesterday’s lavender posed on the windowsill in the sunlight. Lydia rubbed the sleep from her eyes, pulled her hair into order, threw on her shoes, and bounded out the door.

​

She didn’t even have to walk up to the garden to see the tiny green sprouts. They were visible as soon as she rounded the cabin.

           

And someone else was there too.

           

“Well done Lydia and Ror!” said Verity. The android’s smooth white body panels glinted where the sunlight reached her through the canopy. And where the leaves cast shadows on her, she glowed. Blue in her arms and eyes and red in the lines that outlined her segments. She stood proudly beside the garden. Lydia didn’t know how long she’d been waiting there. “You’ve planted a good cabbage crop and the sprouts look delightfully healthy! I congratulate you both on a successful first test.”

           

“So now what?” Ror asked the android carefully.

           

“It is now time for you to give your assessment of your pairing,” Verity explained.

           

Lydia looked between them. “What are we supposed to do?”

           

“All you have to do now is say the phrase ‘I consent a child’ if you believe that you are compatible and that you would make successful parents to a human colony on a livable world. And you may add words of critique or commendation, if there is something you wish to share with your former partner.”

           

Former?

 

How Lydia already hated Verity’s stupid, descriptive way of talking.

 

“I consent a child,” she said forcefully, looking into Ror’s earthy eyes. She had so many other things she wanted to say, but they were feelings and desires, not statements. She didn’t know what words she would even use.

 

Suddenly, and to her surprise, a single tear slipped from Ror’s left eye and drew a line down his cheek. The boy was always aloof and filled with jokes. Lydia didn’t understand.

 

“I consent a child,” he said. He clenched his jaw and his fists and added quietly, “Lydia, thank you. You are a fine mother for a fine village. I have…” he paused and swallowed. “I have loved my time with you.”

 

Lydia didn’t know what to say. She had known the test would end, but oh how she’d been good at forgetting about it. Now, standing here… and… and Ror, with this sudden, strange outburst of emotion. And the fact that it was all over… she was hurt and confused. She didn’t know what to think or what to feel.

 

“Consent is recorded,” said Verity who suddenly took Lydia’s arm. “We will now return to the Hab.”

 

The android began to pull her away from the garden.

 

“Wait!”

 

Ror ran up to her. He held her in his arms and gave her a kiss. “Goodbye, Lyd,”

 

Verity kept pulling.

 

Stumbling, struggling to keep up, Lydia started to panic. She finally realized that these were her last seconds with Ror, and she hadn’t said a fraction of what she felt. She twisted, desperately failing to escape the android’s machine-strong grip and spat out fragments of all the swirling thoughts in her head.

 

“Ror! Thank you for teaching me the alphabet! I—I know you’ll be a fine father too! And—and I’ll find you when we land! I want it to be you! Ror! I want it to be—”

 

But they’d rounded the cabin and Verity was leading Lydia into the trees toward the hatch. Lydia fought the arm, grumbling. The android was basically dragging her through the trees.

 

“Ver, can’t I just tell him— I’m not— It’s just—”

 

No response.

 

Branches and leaves ripped at Lydia’s face as she struggled to keep Verity’s pace. She kept looking back through the trees, wondering why Ror didn’t chase after them. She thought she saw the color of his shirt through the trees, like he’d rounded the cabin to watch her leave. But why didn’t he chase her?

 

Suddenly, there was a sound. A crisp, electronic sound she hadn’t heard in five days—the tone of an opening door. Swiveling she saw they’d reached the hatch at the edge of the dome. Without a word, Verity pulled her through and led her down the ramp. The door shut behind them with a thud. Her eyes struggled to adjust in the dim light of the acc pod. Verity finally let go of her arm and she fell onto the row of seats.

 

“Stars, Ver! What was all that?!” Lydia shouted. “What is wrong with you?! We passed the test, didn’t we? You couldn’t give us two minutes to say goodbye?!”

 

The white smoke hissed into the room.

 

“It is expected to have a surge of emotion immediately following a test. Please breath slowly so you can be acclimatized for re-entry to the Hab.” Verity seemed unwilling to talk to Lydia and it scared her how inhuman the android appeared at that moment. Lydia blinked and held her head in her hands; she was already feeling dizzy from the smoke. She tried to listen as Verity’s smooth white face continued giving her instructions in a perfectly calm voice, “You will now be fully sedated in order to facilitate safer acclimatization. Please be advised, Lydia, that you may find it hard to adjust to the atmosphere in the Hab, and it may feel as if you need an increase of sleep. If so, remain calm. Your body must be taken care of. Let me handle it.”

 

And then Lydia blacked out.