Free Marsbound by Joe Haldeman

expect—"
    "But I want to! That night meant as much to me, maybe more, and I want to treat you like a lover. I can't even wink at you, not really. Let alone hold your hand, or..."
    Or do it again, I realized. Even if we manufactured an opportunity. “Do you really think it's a secret? The Manchesters pretty obviously left to give us some privacy."
    "You haven't told anybody?"
    "No.” Not in so many words. But Elspeth and Kaimei gave me big grins that were pretty clear.
    "That's important. The ship runs on rumor as much as hydrogen. People will whisper; they'll know , but as long as you and I keep it private, my ... my authority isn't compromised."
    His authority. And a devilish part of me wanted to tell everybody. I'm a real woman—I'm fucking the captain. “I can see that."
    Somebody was coming down the ladder. He stood up.
    It was my mother, coffee cup in hand.
    "Oh ... hello, Paul.” Amazing how much she could communicate with two words.
    "Morning, Laura. See you later, Carmen.” He went up the ladder as soon as she let go.
    She watched his retreating ass with a little smile. Then she got a spoonful of coffee and poured hot water on it. “I was younger than you,” she said. “Seventeen, and no, it wasn't your father."
    "You didn't meet until graduate school,” I said inanely.
    "He's eleven years older?"
    "More like ten. He was born in February."
    She put some sugar in the coffee, not normal for her. “Don't get too attached to him. He has a life on Mars, and he'll have to stay there."
    "I might want to stay there, too.” Even as I said the words, I couldn't believe they'd come out of my mouth.
    "We all have the option, of course.” She touched my shoulder. “He's a nice man. Don't forget there are a billion of them back on Earth."
    She capped the coffee and swung up the ladder, back to her research station, without saying any motherly things like don't let him hurt you or don't let your father know, proving life is not a soap.
    Of course Dad would know, along with everybody else. If the pilot had fucked any other innocent young thing, I suppose I would know by breakfast.
    I didn't feel particularly young or innocent. If everyone knows, why not keep doing it? It wasn't as if I could get pregnant; with Delaze, I wouldn't start ovulating until after we'd landed on Mars, as he well knew. Even mighty space pilot sperm wouldn't live that long.
    * * * *
    After we reached the halfway mark, all of us young ones met our volunteer “Mars mentors,” people who weren't teachers or parents, but wanted to help us with our transition to their world.
    My guy was “Oz,” Dr. Oswald Penninger, a life scientist like Mother. He had a big smile and a salt-and-pepper beard.
    Conversation was awkward, with an eight-minute delay between “How are you?” and “Fine,” but we got used to it. It was kind of like really slow instant messaging. You ask a question and then do something else for a while, and he answers and then does something else for a while. We didn't normally use visual, unless there was something to show.
    He was like everybody's favorite uncle, acknowledging the difference in our ages but then treating me like an equal who didn't know quite as much. I grew to like him better than most of the people on board, which I suppose was predictable. He was sixty-three, an African-American from Georgia, exobiologist and artist. They didn't have paper for drawing, of course, but he did beautifully intricate work onscreen that galleries in Atlanta and Oslo printed and sold.
    Should an artist's pictures match his personality? Oz was a jolly plump man, given to sly wordplay and funny stories. But his art was dark and disturbing. He'd studied art in Norway for two years, and said his stuff was positively cheerful compared to the other people's in his studio. I'd have to see that to believe it.
    He zapped me the software that he uses for drawing, but I've never had much talent in that direction. He said he'll show me some