Blaine leaves Kurts rooms and pauses in the hall. Though he does need to do his work tonight, the urgency of that need has become somewhat abstract. Possibilities—or the possibility of possibilities—crack open in his mind, and the pulse of excitement grows restless in his gut.

The things he needs to do retreat as his desire kindles, not simply for the future possibility of Kurts touch, but for the sense that there must be even more to learn, things about which hes not had an inkling. Its all out there, as big as the stars. Its hard to know what precisely to do with himself, caught in the grip of it all.

At the very least, he decides to find a different route back to the quarters hes sharing with the Ambassador. He hasnt taken an opportunity to explore The Galactic Diamond on his own. The infotab provides him with a detailed interactive map that shows him where he is and offers him several different routes from his current position back to the guest wing. He examines each and finds one that goes through the Garden.

"Its where people go to make love in the evenings," Kurt had said.

If Blaine goes that way and walks through it, what will he see? His breath catches and he flushes warm with a strange melange of curiosity, arousal, potential—and then his skin prickles with the sudden shame of entertaining such an improper thought.

He should go straight back. He should turn his rig back on before anyone has the opportunity to notice its off. He should be dutiful and well prepared for the morning. He should put this growing interest in sexual education entirely from his mind. He learned from Kurt what he came to learn tonight. He satisfied both his curiosity and his goal. Theres nothing more for him to inquire about to improve his understanding now. He should be satisfied.

But hes not. He wants. He wants deep in his bones, deep in his balls it seems. Its more than he knew he could want anything.

And doesnt the Ambassador occasionally warn him of this? That indulging his curiosity too much will rouse intemperate desires and disruptive feelings? Such things will add little to his happiness ultimately. They will lead him to stray from the focus of his life. He thought he understood what she meant. He wonders if she truly understands what it is to want something in this manner. She never married, never would have had an experience like the one hes had, would never have known someone so compelling and beautiful to her own heart and eye.

Until now, Blaine has never had reason to doubt her wisdom or tutelage. He cannot imagine finding contentment for himself without this newly discovered sustenance. It seems as essential to his body as food and shelter, and the person he was before he stepped into The Galactic Diamonds airlock strikes him as a stagnant, malnourished sort of man, someone who was unsatisfied without even understanding that he was. The man he is right now fizzes with something new and vibrant. Hes alive.

Blaine takes the route to the Garden.

.

He stands outside the entrance to the Garden. Theres no door, just a broad open arch, framed by the graceful bend of cultivated trees. From their entwined branches hang clusters of bell-shaped flowers. They provide a soft rose tinted light and a delicate, seductive aroma. Beyond them, the Garden is deep with nighttime. The scent of it comes to Blaine, green and lush. Small bursts of golden light blossom, drift, and fade, lighting the pale stone pathways that wind off into sheltered groves and covered patios. He can hear the watery murmur of the stream in the distance. He hears nothing else immediately. Sees no one.

Blaine wonders if entering alone is appropriate; perhaps only lovers come together. He double checks the infotab. The paths through the Garden are a labyrinthine chaos. He can discern no pattern. Even with the guidance of the map, it would be easy to get lost. The ache in his heart and the warmth in his belly urges him to step forward. Perhaps getting lost isnt the worst thing that could happen to him.

His conscience urges caution, restraint, and a return to the familiar and the necessary. Attend to his duties first and always. His heartbeat flutters in his throat, rapid and anxious. At the threshold, Blaine hesitates. Then he blinks, lowers his gaze to the floor, and steps back.

Not tonight. He turns on his heel and makes his way toward an alternate route offered by the infotab. His heart still races as he taps his rig back on, and the barely audible hum of its startup provides a sense of reorientation if not relief. Regardless, he chastises himself for his cowardice, because thats what it feels like: hes given in to fear more than hes followed his duty. It twists unpleasantly in his chest, banishing the contentment left from his time with Kurt. Shame stings his eyes.

He turns a corner without paying much attention to the other people around him, doesnt even register the approaching footfalls behind him until a strong hand closes around his wrist and brings him up short.

"Mr. Anderson," Major Clarington says. "We need to talk."

.

Obediently Blaine follows the Major back to his quarters, but he does forcibly pull his wrist free of Hunters grip on the way. Inside Hunters quarters, Blaine stands—theres nowhere to sit in the spartan quarters but for a single stool that rests near a floating 3D tactical display. The floors are bare and the walls set to a uniform flat black. Blaine joins his hands behind himself and keeps his chin up. He doesnt lower his gaze, for he is not the Majors subordinate, and Blaines not inclined to be polite. Hunters abrupt treatment has Blaine simmering with irritation and a surprising amount of rebelliousness.

Major Clarington wastes no time on formalties. "Why did you turn your rig off?"

"Why are you even awake?" Blaine counters sharply—recklessly perhaps, but hes never been less in the mood for this kind of interrogation. "Shouldnt you be in maintenance mode?"

Hunters lip curls into a mild sneer of amusement. "Nice, but no. My tactical rig is operating on reserve power, that reduces my required downtime to just over an hour." He moves to the stool and straddles it, facing Blaine. "Now tell me why your rig was off. Its not reporting a malfunction."

"Personal reasons," Blaine replies. "Previous security details havent been that bothered," Blaine says. Which is not entirely true. Hes never turned his rig off on a mission, but nor has he ever been questioned on his behavior by their assigned military. "And arent you here primarily in an advisory capacity?"

"I cant keep you safe if you turn it off, Blaine." Hunter speaks slowly as if hes addressing a child.

"Safe?" Blaine asks. "You think Im in danger on this ship?"

"Perhaps," Hunter says. "Its my duty not to blindly trust our hosts, regardless of what the Ambassador might think of them."

"And theyve not earned your trust yet?"

"No."

"And what about me, Major. Dont you trust me?"

"Youre hiding something from me," Hunter says. "So, unless you want to tell me your reasons for shutting down your rig for over two hours, my trust in you at this moment remains provisional."

"I wont tell you."

"Then Ill have to order you to hand over your logs for the hour preceding your shut down."

"You dont have the authority to order me to do that, Major. I decline."

Hunter slides him an evaluating gaze. Then he stands and makes a gesture toward the 3D starfield hovering in the center of the room. "Let me show you something," Hunter says, and he steps amid the slowly moving star systems.

"What does this have to do—?"

"This is about trust, Mr. Anderson," Hunter says. "Ive been taking this opportunity to go back through various news reports, military analyses and records, and public statements from various officials regarding the conflict with the Charn. To get a better foundation for my analysis, you understand."

"Yes."

"When you read my report tonight, youll see where I mention an incident in the Pieris system." Hunter cups his palm beneath a nebula shrouded system around a red dwarf star, and the display rotates and enlarges it.

"All right."

"Approximately five cycles ago, an Elyssian Peregrine scout was ambushed on a reconnaissance mission in the system. A Charn cruiser escorted by two auxiliary frigates was destroyed and the Peregrine escaped to tell the tale."

"Lucky," Blaine says.

"No ones that lucky," Hunter says.

"Okay, so what are you saying?"

"There are some discrepancies in the reports as well. Theres something the Elyssians arent telling us."

Blaine frowns. Its hard to imagine the Councilor being deliberately dishonest. "What exactly are you worried about?"

"They may have other reasons for trying to involve us in this war."

"Given the casualty reports, I doubt that. So a scout got lucky—maybe it had an experimental weapons system? Maybe the Charn were overconfident or incompetent. Its improbable, yes, but not impossible."

Hunter makes a non-committal grunt and sweeps his hand through the display to reset it.

"I promise you that my reasons for deactivating my rig are entirely personal," Blaine says.

"But you were meeting with Master Hummel. Your last location check placed you in his quarters. He works closely with the Councilor, does he not?"

"Hes not part of her political advisory staff, he—"

"Kurt Hummel is a diversely skilled and intelligent man as well as the son of an influential politician. He may be other than what he seems."

"Youre paranoid."

"Youre being careless. I want to see your logs."

"No."

"Ill be speaking to the Ambassador about this in the morning. She does have the authority to order you to give me the information I require."

"Do as you wish," Blaine says dismissively, so that he doesnt betray his discomfort at the notion. He relaxes his stance and moves to the door. "I have more important things to attend to."

.

Back in his rooms, Blaine finds he has a message waiting on the infotab from Kurt: "How long ago was last summer for you?" it reads, and Blaine smiles: Kurt. The warmth of recent memory floods Blaines body in a dizzying rush, and banishes the unpleasantness of his exchange with the Major. Blaine slips off his boots and relaxes on his bed. Whether Hunter manages to force Blaine to turn over his logs or not, he cant take this new friendship away from Blaine—or confiscate Blaines experience of his evening with Kurt. He leans back into his pillows and answers Kurts message, "Five months."

.

But Major Clarington makes good on his word. In the morning, when Blaine makes it out to the living area of the Ambassadors quarters, precisely thirty minutes early to prepare for the day, Ambassador Dolloway is already waiting for him. She says nothing at first as Blaine attends to pouring her tea and plating a sugar glazed fruit pastry. But after he hands the plate to her, she settles back in her seat and sighs heavily. Blaine keeps his attention on balancing the tongs neatly along the edge of the basket. Hes rehearsed for this conversation in his mind, explaining that he cannot turn over his logs because an Elyssian citizens privacy would be violated if he did. Without evidence of a crime, and the consent of either Kurt or a mandate from an Elyssian legal authority, Apathean diplomatic law protects Kurt, even if it doesnt protect Blaine.

"Ive never had cause to take disciplinary action with you, Blaine," she says.

"Maam—" Blaine begins.

But the Ambassador raises a hand and cuts him off. "And I never wish to," she continues. "But you will take this conversation as a formal warning. If you turn your datarig off again without my express instruction or permission, while on this assignment, you will receive a note of correction on your permanent record."

"Yes, maam," Blaine says and his cheeks burn as hot as the tea in the Ambassadors cup. He straightens and looks ahead at the wall even as his stomach crumples. The weight of her disappointment combined with her leniency is a worse punishment than any order she could have given him. This he cannot argue against. He can only accept it.

"I grant you a great deal of freedom on these missions, Blaine. Youre young, and I have little desire to constrain what personal time you have, but we are both bound the rules here. I need you to respect that."

"Yes, maam," he says, and keeps his voice steady. He can feel the Ambassadors gaze on him, but he cant bear to look and see her disappointment.

"I wont be asking you to turn over your logs. I see no cause for that," she says as if reassuring him.

"Thank you," Blaine says.

Then she huffs an impatient breath. "Oh, come, boy, and sit down."

She hasnt called him boy since— Blaine cant recall easily. Its been a while. He obeys and sits, straight-backed with his head bowed in deference.

"Look at me, Blaine."

Reluctantly, he does, and finds the line of her mouth softened by a small smile.

"Youre enjoying the company of the young Master of Hospitality, arent you?"

Blaine presses his lips together and takes a deep breath before he answers. "Im learning a lot from our conversations."

"Im sure you are," the Ambassador says. "Hes very handsome."

Blaine feels his shock register on his face. "Maam?" he asks, and his voice breaks with nervousness. She cant know, can she? It seems impossible.

"Everything here is so appealing, and it looks so easy, doesnt it? To partake?"

All Blaine can do is stare at her in stunned silence.

"But mind yourself, Blaine. Be sure that anything you choose to enjoy here is something the loss of which you can bear. However lovely things are, there is always a cost. Be sure you understand what it is and whether you are willing to pay it, before you put yourself in its debt."

Its somewhat cryptic, but, with an inclination of his head to acknowledge, Blaine replies, "I do understand."

"I hope for your sake thats true," she says, and then she reaches to select another pastry for herself. "Now, give me your take on this Pieris incident thats got Major Clarington so worked up."

.

After the morning meetings, Blaine checks his days schedule. Lunch has been moved to the Garden, a change of venue from the previously scheduled promenade deck. Its to be an informal affair where theyll have the opportunity to meet with various representatives and citizens from the outer worlds.

The Apathean delegation enters at the upper level, onto the high plateau where Blaine glimpsed people dining on his first day. The tables overlook the wide waterfall. The stream runs under their feet, visible through a transparent floor, to the edge, where it tumbles down, free. Blaine is seated at a table with Councilor Wright and the directors of three mining expeditions to the fringes of Elyssian space. Their businesses are stalled, and theyve lost personnel and equipment.

A mild breeze ruffles the floral centerpiece on their table, and Blaine idly casts his gaze about for Kurt. Sam served breakfast this morning, and Blaines been assiduously taming his desire to see Kurt today. He can heed the Ambassadors advice that much. If he cannot comfortably endure a morning without even the sight of Kurt, then perhaps the friendship is unwise. So Blaine will learn to manage his expectations and his responses better.

But then he sees him, and all of his resolution to equanimity dissolves. Kurts dressed like a sunrise. Fitted trousers in a shiny flame orange and an open-necked, high-collared shirt in royal yellow. The sleeves are short, and wrap tightly about Kurts biceps. Streaks of turquoise blue highlight Kurts hair and a fine band of copper mesh circles his throat. Blaine is caught, just as hes been every other time hes laid eyes upon Kurt.

Only now, his body has knowledge and memory of Kurts. A glance at Kurts smiling lips, the way his hips swivel as he turns, the broad strength of his shoulders, the flex of his arms, the nimble twist of his fingers as he uncaps a bottle of sparkling water—it all brings a disorienting rush of blood to heat the surface of Blaines skin.

He breathes to calm himself and closes his eyes for a moment to find his balance. Then he does his best not to watch Kurt, as he makes his way around the Ambassadors table, filling glasses. Instead Blaine turns his attention to the Councilor. Shes interested in his views on government service and how he came to them. "Many Elyssians view the details of governance as something best relegated to the politicians and bureaucrats. Unless something goes wrong or theres a scandal, few concern themselves with the work of it," she says. "They dont consider it their business. Im interested to know how Apathea manages to cultivate such a high level of civic engagement and service."

So Blaine tells her stories of the model parliaments all children participate in at school and the prescribed public service all citizens enter when they reach the age of adolescence.

"Such service isnt voluntary?" Isabelle asks with a frown.

"No, Maam."

"Do you believe Apathean youth would choose to enter such service if it were not compulsory?"

"The majority would," Blaine replies. "There are always a few who resist, but the requirements arent onerous. It gives every citizen a sense of pride in their communities, a sense of connection and engagement. Everyones contribution matters."

"So each citizen is given the opportunity to feel that they share the work of government, in a sense? No one is separate from it?"

"Id say thats a fair assessment," Blaine says, and then he can no longer avoid looking at Kurt, for Kurt is at their table now, pouring sparkling water into the Councilors faceted crystal goblet. Blaine glances up and catches Kurts gaze and his warm smile.

Kurt moves closer and leans over Blaines shoulder to fill his glass. "Look up," Kurt murmurs.

Blaine does, expecting to see the honeycomb of structural supports and the flat glow of manufactured sunlight. Instead he sees a flawless expanse of deep indigo scattered with puffy vanilla-hued clouds. The colors are so immediately familiar they may as well be etched into his DNA. The sky is Apatheas. A longer look confirms it, for the bright glittering gem of Apatheas nearest sister planet, Ekratea shines above.

"How did you…?" Blaine asks. Hes never seen anything like this on a starship—nor even on a space station.

"The dome is customizable. Usually it shows the sky over the Capitol, but five months seemed too long a time to go without a glimpse of your own sky," Kurt says. "I asked a favor from a friend."

"You… you arranged this for me?" Blaine asks.

Kurt hums and inclines his head with a pleased widening of his smile. "Its not the real thing, obviously, but—"

"Its perfect," Blaine says.