★彡[ʀᴇᴅ ꜱᴘᴏᴛ]彡★

☾☉☉☉☽

There aren’t many places to dock a ship at Jupiter’s colony, because no one wants the ships there. What normal human being would want horrifying super-weapons regularly visiting their neighborhood?

We want them to like space. We want space to look irresistible—we could never afford to scare them away like that.

(But no matter how perfect we made it, it would always be turned down).

The colony looks like a resort (to appeal to them as much as possible): every home is identical, with pathways connecting each and every building. On Earth, a resort like this would be set above the waters, support beams planted down into the shallow seafloor. Here, everything is suspended in the air—there is no ground for the colony to be set upon. Glass floors—just simple rectangles or squares cut into the living rooms and bedrooms—give you a view of the gas clouds below: gorgeous swirls of whites, oranges, browns, and reds. Some visitors were delighted by it—for a day or two.

It was a fleeting fad. No true human would want to live in space.

Saturn is brave, fighting for something so moronic.

And Sao is brave for considering—even for a second—doing the same.

Sao arrives early, which is both bad and good. On one hand, he does not have to talk to Saturn (why would he want to), and on the other, he does not have to talk to Saturn (there is more time for his dread and regret to build).

Sao doesn’t know what he’s doing here.

Sao never knows what he’s doing, really.

He just drags himself along. It’s easier to follow someone else’s words than to give your own orders.

While waiting for Saturn, Sao strolls along floating bridge-ways. It’s nice (ignoring his nervousness). Oxygen generators hum softly, a peaceful ambience better than singing birds or chirping cicadas, and its warm like a summer vacation on Earth should be—how could anyone hate this? How could anyone want to leave?

…Did he like it enough to stay?

—No, is his immediate answer, refusing to continue that train of thought for as long as he doesn’t have to.

Sao, instead, focuses on the familiarity of Jupiter’s colony. Caju and him brought supplies for these floating bridge-ways, helped make them to the best of their ability, and then walked atop the winding paths together, appreciating it in its completion.

✦✧✩✧✦

Caju had grabbed Sao’s wrist and dragged him forward, and he had shaken Caju off. The infinite expanse of space surrounded them on every side. With no walls, it felt too open. Sao couldn’t do it. And Caju, untethered, went ahead of him, a pace too fast for Sao to match. And Sao wished Caju kept going. That Caju didn’t look back.

But Caju stopped and waited for him.

Why? Sao wasn’t worth it.

✦✧✩✧✦

—Hey.

There is no voice calling out to Sao, but there is an unmistakable presence demanding his attention. He freezes. There’s that ship—that horrifying space giant that could split the moon in two. That ship he would never fly in, that ship that made him nauseous for merely perceiving it.

 The Kraken Mare had arrived.

✦✧✩✧✦

Standing before Saturn feels just as scary as facing his all-powerful ship.

“You look like you think I’m about to kill you.”

Perhaps not with a weapon, but, well, yes.

“You’re sweating.” Sao wants to throw up. “Calm down, will you? I’m not gonna do anything.” Sao still wants to throw up.  Saturn shuffles. “Would a drink help?”

Sao does not have an answer.

Saturn sighs. “Let’s go inside.”

Being around Saturn is intrinsically humiliating, because he’s inhumanely good at what he does, and that level of perfection is intimidating and unobtainable. You know from one glance you will never be as impressive as him. Talking to someone like that is truly terrible.

And this is made even worse by the fact that Saturn, right now, is Sao’s enemy. He defected to his own made-up, one-man faction, rejecting Cosmos Administration, and by extension, Sao.

Having a friendly conversation on a colony Sao should be destroying? It felt like a deadly sin.

“Can you hold your liquor?” Saturn says. He does not ask “do you want a beer?” or gin, or vodka, or whiskey. He does not mention a brand. He figures Sao wouldn’t have a preference, so he makes the choice for him.

Sao shrugs, but what he really means is ‘yes, thank God’. If he got drunk fast, he’d avoid alcohol like the plague, scared of what he might say or do under the influence. He already regrets so much sober. Imagine how much worse it could get.

 Saturn pours pink sparkling wine into a glass and hands it off to Sao. It’s sweet, like Cupid.

“Don’t guilt-trip me,” Sao murmurs after taking a sip. Saturn leans forward, listening well; surely this is a hint to win the challenge. “Don’t try to convince me by telling me how awful I am for what I’m doing—what I’ve done. There’s no way to make me hate myself more than I already do.”

“You don’t need to tell me that,” Saturn responds with a roll of his eyes. “I know that just by looking at you.” Sao makes himself smaller, hugging his knees to his chest.

He sits on a couch, and Saturn on an armchair, diagonal from each other with a coffee table between them. The floor is glass—the standard for Jupiter’s Colony—and Sao does not wish to touch it. He is not afraid of heights, but he doesn’t want to feel above anything.

“Earth doesn’t want us,” Saturn says, beginning his pitch, “because they don’t like what’s different. Space doesn’t care and space doesn’t have the capacity to care. The stars and planets don’t care about you or your flaws. They can’t feel anger or disgust. They can’t judge you or shame you. You’re nothing but a speck to space.” And isn’t that comforting? No responsibilities, no appearances to uphold, no one like Pandora or Titan. “You’re insignificant, you’re nothing, and this is redundant, because you know this, and I don’t have to remind you.”

Saturn has no idea if this is working, because Sao’s expression has remained the same, as pathetic as always—

—Saturn stops, like he’s having an epiphany, and then he’s leaning back in his seat, like he’s stopped caring. Because he has. “…Actually? Your decision at the end of this doesn’t matter to me. Because if I convince you, you won’t destroy the colonies, and if I don’t convince you, I’ll destroy your ship before you realize what’s happening and you’ll be sent back as a failure. You lose either way. You know that, don’t you?”

No. This has not once crossed Sao’s mind (well, maybe it has, but he’s not truly processed it until this moment), and now that Saturn points it out, Sao reaches for the wine glass and chugs more of it down, as if that would make everything better.

“You can’t stop me, but I can stop you, so you might as well join the winning team.”

Sao is choking. He splutters, coughing up the wine. Pink drops hit the glass floor, and the pink drops that will stain the table aren’t worth worrying over since no one will use the table a second time.

“You good?” Saturn questions. Despite how snippy he is towards Sao, he still has a soul.

 Sao nods, embarrassed, and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“What about Caju?” Sao probes. “You’re trying so hard to convince me—what about him?”

“You can invite him.” Saturn doesn’t mind—maybe he should have offered Caju to join him before Sao.

“And Cupid?”

“Cupid won’t come.”

“But if he did?”

“…He’s allowed. I invited him long before you.”

Sao covers his eyes with his palms. Living in a dark void all alone would be a blessing (he doesn’t mean that, because a void would not have Caju). “What happens if I did? Stay with you in space?” He ponders aloud, and regrets considering it.

“Then you do whatever you want.”

“…It’s the easy choice, isn’t it?”  

Saturn cackles with laughter. “Yeah, easy for you. You don’t have to do anything but say you’re with me. I’m the one who’ll fight for us, rejecting the future everyone wants us to have. I’m the one who has to build us a new one.”

He isn’t sure what future to make, but he can figure it out. Somehow.

Saturn has no plans. And Sao doesn’t need to know.

He’s not confident, but Sao meets Saturn’s gaze. It feels abhorrent to be around someone better than him in every way, but Sao meets Saturn’s gaze. “I’ll stay with you,” Sao announces, sounding noncommittal, sounding as though his heart isn’t in it, “if Caju stays, too.”