Turns had passed. I stood in the crowded street outside the longhouse. All of the encampment pressed in around me. Workers had left both ranch and field. Kee from the new encampment arrived. Imabelai was pressed close to me. She stood respectfully quiet, a stranger in strange circumstances. Around us, the wails and whimpers of my people waxed and waned. Lamet opened the door and stepped out. The voices hushed. He held a common shovel in his right hand. He raised it above his head and commanded absolute silence.

“Thusa dead,” he called loudly. “He ask no GUF. Thusa say, plant me in field; field Thusa love.” Then, Lamet called out in their old language, “Roa'h dow eden!”

Lamet lowered his arm and beckoned me inside the longhouse. Imabelai followed. Jisse came to me and wrapped her arms around my waist. She buried her face in my clothing and wept. The large room was packed with weeping Kee. The women embraced one another, supported one another. Dawee and Samsa knelt on the far side of the bed, their hands on an ornately woven shawl that covered the body of my dear friend.

Between sobs, Jisse asked me haltingly, “Jeez . . . you carry . . . Thusa to . . . roa'h?”

I bent and kissed the top of Jisse's head. “Yes, of course,” I answered. “You know I will.”

The Roa'h was a flower patch near the wall between the encampment and the ranch. It was a small park with benches for sitting and a stone-cobbled walkway that ran through the center from one end to the other. Longer than it was wide, it was spacious and pleasant, surrounded by small fruit trees, with regularly spaced stands for watering and feeding the birds and squirrels. I entered the garden and was impressed by the design of flowers, red and white, Thusa's favorites. His small cold body had been no burden on our walk to the garden, and I was more than happy to offer one last favor to my friend.

A small dug hole was before me, earth to one side. Twelve older Kee stood nearby and two of them took the body from my arms. Reverently, they laid my friend on a blanket red as blood. Kee pressed into the garden, careful to stand only in the plots of well-tended grass. Some climbed into the trees but most of the people packed together beyond the garden border, where medium-sized Spruce grew sporadically. The crowd spoke to itself in noisy whispers and Imabelai took my hand. Men spoke in the old language, women sang old songs. Thusa's body was interred. Many people left, then. Some lingered.

I was one of the last to leave. I knelt before the grave with an empty heart. Some of the elders stood at a distance, huddled and whispering among themselves. Surprisingly and, to my comfort, Imabelai stayed with me throughout the entire sad affair. I felt grateful for her support in my sorrow although I was uncertain that any of it held meaning for her personally. I was mildly surprised when she knelt with me and spoke softly.

“I was very young,” she said, “but I remember the burial of my father and brother.” I turned to her and she added, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder, “I am sorry for your loss.”

From beside, came a snort I recognized immediately. I looked up to see Ava. She looked between the two of us as if we had wounded her with harsh words. She turned away from us and I noticed she carried a whitewashed cross. It had been crafted from a single plank of wood. Ave took a border stone and drove the cross into the earth at the head of the fresh grave, then turned without looking at us and walked stiffly away.

I returned to my quarters, Imabelai retired to hers. I languished in sorrow's cold grip for several turns. I had removed my top and sandals and stretched out on my bed. That did not last very long before I found myself up and pacing through my rooms. My new wood paneling should have cheered me but it did not. I brooded and paced, my thoughts half-lived before the flood of new and more worrisome thoughts. My node alerted me to the presence of someone at my door. I walked to it and opened it manually. Imabelai stood before me dressed in her penitent's gown. The sheer material exposed the firmness of her breasts, her erect nipples sought release from the garment in a fashion that aroused me. She stepped in and embraced me, pressing her breasts into my chest. The door closed automatically with a small hissing noise.

In all of my life after my adoption, in all of my many revolutions in the fleet, sex had never been an issue. For one, there were no women. Secondly, I was occupied with the Seed Ship and the Kee. Yet, on that singular occasion, I was swept along in a mighty wave of desperate need. Before I could bat an eye, I found myself in bed with my sister.

She touched me and drew me in. Imabelai's atomic flesh sheathed me in a separate reality. It was a reality in which I could neither walk nor crawl. There was no sense of direction, no up or down. I was afloat in a burning rhythmic tide that overflowed and held me fast. Pain and joy were fused within me and I knew not what to do with them. I knew only that I could not turn loose of them. I was blind and deaf, and so I focused on my ragged breathing. I found my voice and screamed. I found release and fell back. The ceiling was a strange sight as I tried to still my beating heart. For a vestigial organ, it assailed me savagely. I blinked. I swallowed. My breathing slowed.

When I had gulped down the last ragged breath, I turned my head to the side and looked into the face of my sister. Her skin seemed like a soft light in the darkness of my room. Her eyes were open as she rolled to me, draping my body with an arm and a leg. She kissed my cheek and closed her eyes. I felt at peace. We laid just so for the longest time. The only noise was my own breathing, slow and calm. Thoughts swirled above me never reaching down to make contact. There were unformed questions. I could not ask them. I turned my head to the small table at the side of my bed and noticed the pendant I had tossed there earlier. Then a thought came down and a question settled. What would father think?

I faced the ceiling, closed my eyes, and asked softly, “Is it wrong that brother and sister lay together?”

I felt stupid. I sensed I had crossed a line and spoken offensively. I feared that my insecurity had spoiled the beauty of our time together. Even with my eyes pressed closed, I could feel the motions of her body as if they were scolding accusations. She raised her head from my shoulder. I could feel her looking at me. She rolled away and sat up. I turned my head and looked up. She looked at me not with contempt, not with scolding or accusation in her eyes but with concerned sympathy.

“You are aware,” she asked, her voice calm and quiet, “that we are from different planets, different species?”

Imabelai spent the remainder of her time with us working among the Kee. She did not return to my room and I walked beside her with outward joy but inside of me lurked a bitter shadow of guilt. She had given me such a wonderful gift and I had ruined the moment. She enjoyed her work among the Kee people. They, in turn, adored her as did I. How could we not? The turn came for her departure. We embraced. She turned without final words and entered the shuttle. I watched the hatch and door slide shut, heard the craft launch away. Then, I took a seat by the closed door as the void engulfed me.