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We’re here.

We’re alive.

That doesn’t mean our troubles are over.

In fact, they are only beginning.

Lana and Silas could still have their happily ever after. Just because he didn’t make the best first impression doesn’t mean they don’t have something special between them. Opposites attract and all that. But… if Lana is using me to cover for her at lunch, then… things will only get worse before they get better.

Not that I can cast any stones from my glass house.

I only want one person, and not only is he not the man I’ve been partnered with, he’s the most off-limits man here.

* * *

So for the next several weeks, I take Lana’s advice to stay busy. Every minute I’m not eating, sleeping, or bathing, I’m pouring over soil reports.

I hunker down with a tablet and dig through countless files full of early samples from the Mars surface. Fascinating. For the most part the readouts look like dry, useless topsoil. But buried in the more detailed samples, I find evidence of organic matter I’ve never seen before. Could be nutrients or minerals, or maybe it’s a sign of microscopic life. It fuels my imagination, and makes me feel like I’ll have purpose when we land.

That, I’ve come to realize, is one of the problems with being on this ship. A lack of purpose. For me. For most of us. Until we land on Mars, we’re in limbo unless we’re crew. As my grandmother would say, the devil finds work for idle hands. She didn’t believe in an actual devil, but she did believe that having purpose keeps most humans out of trouble.,

For me, it’s just the distraction I need.

Even if it is solitary work that mostly no one else is interested in.

* * *

I try talking to Robert about the fascinating deviations of soil I’m discovering just from the reports, but the poor guy can’t even pretend to stay interested. I don’t blame him; it takes a particular type of person to get jazzed about dirt.

And honestly, Robert and I rarely see each other. As each day passes, I think we both realize the missing chemistry between us will never be found. Neither of us has come out and said it. I’m too scared to. Maybe he is too. It’s not like we can change things. He’s gone most days well into the evening. I spend most of my time staring at a computer screen and making notes. The threat of intimacy is all but gone--a nice relief--though I wonder if it will only make things more awkward when we land and try to start this society in earnest.

Every night I shed all these worries in my bath and let myself dream of Marek, engaging in my most forbidden thoughts. The shower next door is usually running, and I let my imagination create a vivid reality from what my body remembers of his, picturing in as much detail as I can what Marek might be doing just a few feet away.

Lana makes a habit of coming over more evenings than she doesn’t. She says she needs “quality girl time” but I suspect it's mostly to avoid Silas. Some nights we watch movies, play cards and drink. Lately, we each have a book to read or a small project to work on, and we just share space with each other while listening to music. I enjoy her company, and she keeps my thoughts away from Marek. Well… mostly.

“What has got you so distracted, mon ami?” she asks one night, leaning over my shoulder to study my tablet.

Shit.

I freeze, hoping I can keep the blush from my cheeks. What am I supposed to say… that though Marek and I have found a way to completely avoid each other, he still sends me daily reports that make my little Botanist heart happy? That I pour over them again and again? That I’m obsessed with gleaning every bit of insight I can into his brilliant mind from the notes he makes in the margins?

Oh Zae. Get it together.

“It’s… plant stuff.”

“Aha.” Lana nods knowingly, but says nothing more.

I put down the tablet and sigh. I need to get over him. Already, I ask Metis his location before I go anywhere so I can steer clear. Or is it so I can imagine where he is and what he’s doing more clearly? I move almost exclusively between Ivan’s restaurant and my desk. Marek’s almost always on the bridge or in his room--the two places I’m forbidden. For better. And worse.

My next words come tumbling out. “What do you think about it?” I ask. “The rules? The forced pairings?”

Lana taps her nails against the wall. “On the one hand. C’est horrible. Absolument horrible. On the other hand. Break ups. Divorces. Affairs. I’ve seen these things ruin lives. And we don’t have many lives left to ruin, do we?”

I should feel bad.

But I don’t.

It’s not enough.