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“Poor lad’s gonna get drenched. Bloodydamn, it smells kind in here.” I inhale the scent of stew.

Ava glows. “A bit of garlic found its way into the pot.”

“Garlic? How’d that sneak through Lambda? They stop hoarding the new freight?”

“No.” She goes back to stirring the pot. “One of the soldiers gave it to me.”

“Gave? Out of the goodness of his high heart?”

“And that’s not all.” She hikes up her skirt to show off two brilliant blue shoes. Not government-issue clogs. Real shoes of leather and quality rubber.

“Bloodydamn. What you give him in return?” I ask in shock.

“Nothing!” Ava scrunches her nose at the accusation.

“Men don’t give gifts for nothing.”

“I’m married.” She crosses her arms.

“Sorry. Forgot,” I say with bite. Her husband, Varon, is as good a man as I’ve ever met, and as absent a one. He, along with our two eldest brothers, Aengus and Dagan, volunteered for the Free Legions right after we entered the camp. Last we heard from them was from a Legion com bank on Phobos. Three of them crowded together to fit into the frame. Said they were sailing with the White Fleet toward Mercury. Seems just yesterday I was following Aengus through the vents of Lagalos to look for fungus to fill his still.

“Where’re the boys?” I ask.

“Liam’s at the infirmary.”

“Again?” A pang of pity goes through me.

“Another ear infection,” she says. “Could you go visit him in the morning? You know how much—”

“Course,” I interrupt. Liam, her second youngest, is just past six and has been blind from birth. He’s always been my favorite. Sweet little thing. “I’ll bring him some leftover candy if the other rats don’t gobble it up.”

“You spoil him.”

“Some lads oughta be spoiled.”

I find my niece, Ella, bundled up in her carriage by the table. She’s playing with a little mobile of one of her brother’s broken toys suspended above her. “How’s my little haemanthus blossom on this dreadful stormy eve?” I say, poking her nose. She giggles and grabs my finger, then tries to eat it. “She got a mouth on her.”

“I’ll feed her after dinner. You mind checkin’ Da’s diaper?”

My father sits in his chair watching the HC box I stole from a Lambda too drunk to mind his tent. His eyes are pearly and distant, reflecting the static of the dead channel that writhes on the screen.

“Lemme help you with that, Da,” I say. I change the channel till an image of a gravBike shooting over a Mercurian desert appears. Bad men pursue the roguish Blue hero, who looks not just a bit like Colloway xe Char.

“Is this all right?” I ask. Thunder rolls outside.

He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t even look at me, so I bite back the resentment and try to remember him as the man who used to take us to the deep mines. His rough hands would light the gas fire, and he’d whisper ghost stories of Golback the Dark Creeper or Old Shufflefoot in his hoarse voice. The flames from the fire would saw the air and he would boom out a hilarious laugh at our terrified faces.

I don’t recognize this man…this creature wearing my father’s skin. It just eats and shits and sits there watching the HC. Still, I shove the anger away, feeling guilty for it, and kiss him on the forehead. I tuck his blanket a little bit under his bearded chin and thank the Vale there’s no soil in his diaper.

There’s a clatter from the door as my sister’s young sons bowl into the house, drenched in mud and rain. Next comes our remaining brother, Tiran, smelling of smoke from the burning stacks. He’s the tallest in the family, but frighteningly thin. Most nights, he looks like a curled weed, hunched over the little books he writes for the children. Fills them with stories of castles and vales and flying knights. He whips his wet hair at us and tries to give Ava a hug. My sister shows off her shoes to her jealous boys with false modesty. They debate what one of the brighter blue colors on the tongues ought to be called while I set the dishes.

“Cerulean!” they decide. “Like Colloway xe Char’s tattoos.”

“Colloway xe Char. Colloway xe Char,” Tiran mocks.

“Warlock’s the best pilot in the worlds,” Conn says in indignation.

Tiran scoffs. “I’d take the Reaper in a starShell against Char in a ripWing any day.”