Page 59 of Signed, Sealed, Seduced
She considers this for a moment. “Now I can’t imagine being anywhere else. Doing anything else.” She looks up at me, her expression uncharacteristically serious. “Being with anyone else.”
The lift arrives at the observation deck, but I make no move to exit. Instead, I draw her closer, one hand cradling her face with a gentleness that still surprises me given the violence these same hands have enacted.
“Nor can I,” I admit, the words barely above a whisper.
Her smile returns, softer now. “Good. Because I’ve got plans for this place. Big plans. Starting with repainting the eastern corridor. That obsidian-on-obsidian look is so last century.”
I sigh, the sound more performative than genuine. “The eastern corridor has historical significance. The coloration represents—”
“—the blood of your enemies and the void of space, I know,” she finishes for me. “But hear me out: what if we added just a touch of blue? For contrast?”
“Absolutely not,” I state firmly, though we both know this is merely the opening round of a negotiation she will ultimately win.
“We’ll discuss it later,” she promises, patting my chest consolingly. “After you see what I brought for dinner.”
We step onto the observation deck, and I find it has been transformed. The austere space now contains a low table set with an eclectic mix of Zaterran crystal and what Suki calls “picnic supplies.” Cushions are arranged on the floor rather than the formal seating I would expect.
“What is this?” I ask, though I recognize the setup from her descriptions of human casual dining.
“This,” she announces proudly, “is a proper date night. Earth-style. Or as close as I could manage with what we have available.” She turns to Rusty. “Hit the lights, please.”
The droid complies, dimming the overhead illumination until only the soft glow of scattered luminescent crystals remains. Beyond the viewport, the twin moons of Zater Reach begin their alignment, casting prismatic light through the nebula gases.
“Perfect timing,” Suki breathes, her face illuminated by the spectral display. “Come on, sit down. I’ve got something special.”
I lower myself to the cushions with as much dignity as possible, still finding the casual posture strange despite years of Suki’s influence. She kneels beside me, directing Rusty to unveil the meal.
“I present,” she announces with theatrical flair, “authentic pizza. Or as authentic as I could make it with Zaterran ingredients and a lot of creative substitution.”
The droid removes a covering to reveal a circular food item that bears only a passing resemblance to the “pizza” Suki has described with such longing. This version appears to contain crystallized fungi from the agricultural dome, protein cultivated from the hydroponics lab, and what might be the cheese-like substance produced by the milk-beasts recently imported from Venturis.
“It looks...” I search for a diplomatic description.
“Weird, I know,” she admits cheerfully. “But trust me. The kitchen staff thought I was insane, but we figured it out eventually.”
Trust me. Two simple words that have become the foundation of so much between us. From that first moment when she revealed the beacon’s true purpose, to each innovation she has introduced to my world, she has asked for my trust. And I have given it, against centuries of training and instinct.
I accept a portion of the unusual food, watching her expression as I take the first bite. Her anticipation is palpable, her desire for my approval so transparent it creates an unfamiliar pressure in my chest.
The flavors are strange—sharper than Zaterran cuisine, with an aggressive blend of spices that would never occur in ourtraditional preparations. Yet there is something compelling about it, a complexity that mirrors its creator.
“Well?” she prompts, her own portion untouched as she awaits my verdict.
“It is... unexpected,” I begin cautiously. “Bold. Somewhat chaotic in its composition, yet the elements work together in a way that defies conventional wisdom.”
Her smile blooms slowly. “So... you like it?”
“I find it suits me,” I admit, taking another bite to confirm my assessment. “Much like its creator.”
Her laughter rings out, echoing in the vast space. “That might be the most backhanded compliment I’ve ever received, but I’ll take it.” She finally tastes her creation, her expression turning thoughtful. “Huh. Not bad, actually. The crystal fungi work better than I expected as a mushroom substitute.”
We eat in companionable silence for a time, watching as the moons’ alignment reaches its peak. The nebula gases refract the light in waves of color that wash over the observation deck, bathing us in ethereal hues that shift from crimson to violet to a blue so deep it borders on black.
“It’s beautiful,” Suki murmurs, setting aside her plate to move closer to the viewport. “Every time I think I’ve seen all the wonders this place has to offer, something new takes my breath away.”
I join her, standing close enough that our shoulders touch. “The phenomenon occurs once every seven years. The last time, I watched it alone.”
She glances up at me, understanding in her eyes. “And the time before that?”
