August 2, 2036

Aula looks out over the Keys. The sun's rising. Pink skies, white sand, green waters, red fish. A single day holds more colours than months on the Moon. The air is warm and smells like the sea. The sun's hot on her face already. Water sloshes against side of the boat. She can feel it sprinkling her arm and neck. A wind's already picking up. Earth's gravity makes her feel so heavy and adds to the jam of sensory input.

She opens her first beer of the day and takes a sip. It doesn't taste as nice as a bottle, but it's heavenly in comparison to what they had off-world.

The boat's engine cuts out. Ross stands up and grabs one of the fishing rods. Red beard, sunglasses, ratty old baseball hat. Harvey's husband looks like a sports fishermen from TV.

Aula takes another drink from her beer and looks back out over the water. "How deep is it?"

"About 250 feet."

Ross impales cuts of squid onto four separate hooks. He lifts the chicken rig up and inspects it. The hooks hang on a single line, each with their own sinker. Then he raises his fishing rod and flicks his wrist. The hooks splash into the water and vanish beneath the surface.

"Will you swing by for dinner?" He lets the line unspool freely. "Harvey makes a mean cajun snapper."

"I'll pass."

His eyes are invisible behind his sunglasses, but his head moves ever so slightly. The sun's starting to glitter over the water. Aula takes her aviators off the top of her head and slides them on, then takes another sip of beer. The Moon is a translucent crescent. They're doing body retrieval up there right now.

Ross finally puts his thumb on the reel handle. "I remember my dad used to fish for snook up the coast. They nearly died out some thirty years ago, though. The winter was so cold, only snook that lived around power stations survived. They still don't keep the season open for long."

"You don't talk about him much."

"We don't talk." He flicks the spool release and sets the rod into one of the boat's holders. "Not since I married Harvey. You know?"

"I know."

He sits down beside her. The boat gently rocks back and forth. "How's Earth life treating you?"

"It's kicking my ass. I never thought one G would...."

Her voice abruptly gums up. She looks down at her beer and runs her thumb along the tab. Ross keeps his head facing the fishing rod.

"I should be up there with the rest of them," she says thickly. "If Harv had just fucking listened to me...."

"The second he heard your voice, he was going back. That's just who he is."

Aula leans forward, elbows on her knees, and shakes her head.

He finally looks at her. "Is that why you're angry with him?"

"I'm not mad at him, Ross. I just don't want him seeing me like this."

"Like what?"

"Like some asshole who falls apart over a beer."

She throws her beer can against the floor. It ricochets back against her feet and pours out its remaining contents. She glares at the horizon. The water's deep blue now. The same deep blue she can see from the Moon. Each wavelet brings out a hundred nuances of colour.

The fishing rod starts to bend. Ross picks it up, flips the spool release again, and starts reeling in the line. She glances down at her boots. The boat's starting to smell of beer.

"Every accident from Soyez 1 to Columbia wiped the whole crew. We're the first survivors."

Ross puts his foot up against the side of the boat. When the rod starts bending into an arch, he lets the line go, then starts reeling again. "When I worked at Veteran Affairs, I saw more than my fair share of female soldiers worried about how their unit will view them. There's no right way to grieve here. Not for a man or woman. Not for anyone."

Aula watches the empty can roll back and forth.

The chicken rig suddenly surfaces with a splash. A pale red fish flops on the second hook. It would be easy to mistake it for a red snapper, but it's smaller and more slender.

"Look at that," Ross grunts and swings the whole rig onboard. "They ate all the bait."

He sets the rod back into its holder and grabs hold of the line above the hooks. The beeliner flops in the air, flicking them with salt water. He gently pulls it off the hook and holds it up for inspection.

"Couple of these will make a nice meal."

She stares at the beeliner. Its gills work uselessly in the air.

The corners of Ross' mouth draw back as he squints behind his sunglasses. "On second thought, this one's too small."

He lowers the beeliner back into the water. It floats limply beside his hand, then slowly begins to move. Then a snap of colour and it's gone.

Aula picks the can off the floor and turns it over in her hands. When she looks up, Ross is inspecting each hook on his fishing line.

"I could bring some steaks over."

"Sure," he says without turning around. "That'd be nice."