The station rumor was he took his position very seriously and was dauntingly forthright. Boston Twayblade certainly looked like a serious young man, even now that he was going on leave. When Scylla saw him earlier in the station’s gym, he had his white-blond hair tied back, but now that he was off duty the curls hung loose and well past his collar. He stood easily two meters tall, and that, combined with the uniqueness of his hair, was what made her look today. He stood by a holdall, talking to another young man—like herself, he had nothing to do but wait for the docking room doors to open. Then she realized he was looking right at her and she smiled coyly at getting caught staring. A tilt of his head asked her to come over, so she picked up her bag and went to join him.

“Any reason you’re watching me?” was his not unexpectedly blunt question.

“Your reputation precedes you. I apologize if I was staring,” Scylla explained. 

He nodded without judgment. “I’ve seen you sparring in the gym. You’ve had some training.”

“I boxed for a couple of years at school, before I joined the System. She was unable to tear her focus from his eyes. They were as pale blue as a milky opal and she momentarily swam in their ethereal depths.

“Did you compete?” 

“No. It was just a fitness thing. It still is. Oh, and a sanity thing. When you’re stationed on a different alien world every few months, your sanity can get…misshapen,” she added, earning a grin from him. The grin was not only alluring but lit up his whole face. Even the hardness in those unusually light blue eyes vanished briefly. Why hadn’t she heard of his smile’s beauty? 

“Combat training’s definitely good for your sanity. Your grey and green uniform designates you in an environmental department.”

“Habitation. I work in the Sustainability sector.”

“I’m not familiar with that sector.”

“Its primary objective is to research a planet’s flora and fauna to find ways to be as self-sustaining as possible, using natural edible resources, with the long-term target being to have surplus to export but minimal import needs.” 

There was a pause as he took that all in.

“Food,” he said, and she smiled again. He was quick-minded—most people required further explanation.

“Real food. Not nutri-food from a reproduction source, dispensed in your quarters on command, which is what I’m guessing you live off?”

“I’ve been to the station’s mess hall enough times to know my way without checking the layout map. The real food was good, but nutri-food’s handy when you’re busy. And gives you all you need nutritionally.” 

She understood that—a lot of people felt that way. Cooking was very much a dying art. “Your primary department’s Defense.” She gestured at his red and black uniform.

“I’m an Unarmed Combat Instructor. You never know what you’re going to come across on an alien world, better to be over-prepared than under. Your three months rotation is over? You’re going on leave too?”

“That’s right. We’ve got a month back home, then off to the next station on another planet.”

“We being?”

“I got stationed with my sister Lilah. I’m meeting her here, but she’s late, as usual. You’re from the Europa Quadrant? Brittanica grid?”

“We are,” he replied, glancing at his friend. “How did you know?”

“My secondary department’s Communications, Linguistics sector. I recognize your accent.”

“I can’t pinpoint yours.”

It made her smile, because it was a common occurrence. “I’m from the Oceania Quadrant.”

“We went snowboarding in that Quadrant a couple of rotations back,” Boston’s friend said, and her focus shifted to him. He was tall, but not in comparison with Boston, and his dark goatee and hair and deep brown eyes made the two men’s appearances strikingly opposite.

“Did you snowboard in New Zealand?” she asked. “Which Island?”

“We boarded both New Zealand North and New Zealand South. Are you familiar with either?”

“I don’t board. But I’m from New Zealand North.”

“The best place to board in the Quadrant, and you haven’t done it? You don’t know what you’re missing,” the bearded man said playfully, and then she saw his eyes focus past her. “I’m guessing that’s your sister.” 

Scylla turned to see Lilah making her way over, struggling a little with her two fully laden carryalls. Her dark auburn hair was up, but some had come loose in a disheveled way. She often managed to look disheveled somehow.

“What was the clue that she’s my sister?” she teased. Lilah was her twin.

“Strong family resemblance. Are you clones?”

“Human cloning is still illegal in the Oceania Quadrant,” both girls said in unison, amusing the men and not helping their case.

“Your primary department’s Defense. I’ve taken a class with you before,” Lilah told the bearded man as she gratefully dumped her bags.

“I’m a Weapons Instructor. I think you had dart gun training with me,” he said. “Do you both work in Habitation?”

“Same department, same sector. Don’t assume there is nothing divergent about us, though.”

“That’s true. Lilah’s way bossier then me,” Scylla teased, although there was more than a modicum of truth in the comment. The docking room doors opened—her sister had just made it in time. They gathered their luggage and made their way, with many others, to board the transit shuttle for the voyage home.

 It was going to be a thirty-seven-hour flight at twofold light speed (TLS) back to Earth. Scylla wasn’t looking forward to the trek, as light-speed travel made her feel out of synch with her surroundings. But she was looking forward to the destination, and maybe another chat with Boston. He and his friend chose seats behind the girls.