“We shouldn’t run,” Helus said. Helus’s fingertips put uncertain distance between himself and Alvie. “We don’t need a movement violation.” Alvie backed against the now-sealed door of their dorm with smooth stability despite the fact that the ship was moving at almost 92% of lightspeed. Alvie unveiled their homemade joint. It was musky and sour, rolled into a thin napkin that can’t be the proper way to indulge, but it’s close enough. New Earth will have enough farming space to bring weed out of its scarcity. It must.

 

“They better not do bed checks tonight,” Helus pleaded, entranced by the illicit cradled in Alvie’s palm. 

​

Alvie’s back twisted under their uniform as they led Helus into the bathroom, as they opened the shower stall. It was the only place not equipped with a ceiling monitor. Alvie slipped into the corner of the stall, while Helus lingered at the door. Alvie began to light up, “Helus, sit, you’ll let the smoke out.” Helus let the shower door shut behind him. When he sat, everything from his shoulder to his shin was pressed against Alvie. 

​

The smoke curled out of Alvie’s mouth and in two perfect spirals up their nose, like a ghost possessing them. Their eyes rolled up and glazed over as they exhaled. A perfect, knowing grin across their face. 

​

“You’re too good at that.” 

​

“You’re impressed.”

 

“Impressed at how much time you must have wasted disabling shower sensors.” The smoke expanded puff by puff at Alvie’s practiced chuckle. Alvie can’t get high-–they’re an Android. Alvie says they can’t drown the habit but really they just like to break the rules. Helus, on the other hand, if he wasn’t already buzzing from the tingling warmth of Alvie’s body then the weed would certainly do the trick. 

​

“This is how they found me, you know.” 

​

“You got penal hours?” 

​

“Not enough.” The corners of Alvie’s mouth always curled up, even when the seal of their lips sloped down. They twitched this time. Helus made sure to jerk back up to their eyes, or no, to the translucent wall. “No–-I mean, on Earth, this is how they picked me up. Smoking a joint on the shore of New Jersey’s greatest dump.” 

​

“I thought the whole state was infinitely overrun.” 

​

“Some infinities are bigger than other infinities,” Alvie said. 

​

“So you counted every piece.” 

​

“Counting would defeat the point, Helus.” They fluffed their hand into Helus’s golden hair, playfully pushing him away. “I counted recursively.” Helus snatched the joint from Alvie, pressing the weed at the base too tightly and debasing the structure. Alvie had already whittled down half the joint. Helus didn’t dare to match them, at least, not when he was practically on top of Alvie in a stall designed for one naked person. 

​

“And if I take half of your hit, and you take half of mine, on and on and on, we’ll never finish this,” Helus said. 

​

“Of course we’ll finish.” Somehow Alvie’s arm slinked into the corner of Helus’s elbow. Somehow Alvie’s temple hit Helus’s twisted collar bone. Helus didn’t dare move. “First, you’re assuming we can modulate our intake to infinitesimal amounts. And I’m trying to get you high.”

 

“You don’t even know what being high feels like.” 

​

“I like to see how it makes you feel.” Alvie turned their nose into the fragile skin at the base of Helus’s neck and exhaled, before they altered into their impassive disposition, retracting from Helus. “And even with my exact inhalation, you need to study Series before your exams. You fundamentally don’t understand the concept.”

 

Alvie’s words stung, like the smoke did in Helus’s throat. It burned, rather. A ridged desert of canyons that made Helus empty of Alvie.

 

“How is it that you grew up in the academy, but never mastered introductory number theory?” 

​

“I guess I was always daydreaming.” Helus’s voice was ripped raw from the unfamiliar harshness of the smoke. 

​

“Of what?” 

​

“New Earth.” The term is an idea more than a place. What they’ll call a planet when they finally find one suitable. 

​

“I got us on the expedition together. No more daydreams.” 

​

“The whole fucking system bends to your will,” Helus sighed. 

​

“Then aren’t you lucky that you’re my favorite.”

 

Alvie said it so fast that maybe Helus wouldn’t have noticed, if he wasn’t so acutely aware of how Alvie’s artificially hot breath tickled over his neck. Helus let his hand fall onto Alvie’s knee, and Alvie turned to look at him. He couldn’t help himself, his head thrust forward and he kissed Alvie. Helus pulled back just as fast, blubbering through words, “I’m–-I’m sorry–-I shouldn’t–-we’re not–-” he let his mouth close over the acid that bubbled in his throat. Alvie might not even be capable of the feeling Helus let consume him. But then Alvie was staring back, eyes wide and searching, and Alvie tugged Helus closer again.

​

Alvie didn’t feel so computational when they kissed Helus. They didn’t kiss how they took tests, anticipating every question before it needs to be answered. They didn’t kiss how they fought, with smooth, swift motions, playing off the predictable weaknesses of their opponent. No, Alvie was awkward and hesitant when they untangled from Helus’s arm and shoulder, to hover over him, unsure how their limbs should puzzle back together. Their pathing changed speed and trajectory as their head edged forward. They didn’t proceed with conviction, their eyes drifted between focusing on Helus’s lips and his red-edged eyes. Helus’s throat crackled from stale smoke and he begged his biology not to betray him. He stayed as concrete as possible, swallowing down a cough when Alvie kissed him. Alvie only pressed against him for a moment, before sliding down to stare at the uniform gray floor. There wasn’t any space in the cramped shower stall for Helus to pull away. He didn’t want to. He brought his static ashen fingertips against Alvie’s face and jolted toward them. If Helus’s nose was running, if there was dew on the ends of his eyelashes, well that was because of their illicit smoking session. Alvie made a slight miscalculation when Helus’s head hit the side of the shower too hard, and Helus prayed no one was patrolling the ship’s halls outside their room. Alvie’s lips were warm and soft when they squished against Helus’s, giving no indication of their artificial nature. Helus thought he would be able to tell, that it would feel different when they were this close, but pressed up against Alvie they felt more human than ever. 

​

Everything that was right about Alvie flowed through Helus like the flame at the end of their joint, sparks bridging the gap between tinier segments of flower, until the tightly wrapped sliver was glowing crimson from Alvie’s inhale. Helus’s hands were crumpled into the shoulders of Alvie’s uniform when his teeth sunk into their bottom lip, slicing through Alvie’s synthetic skin.

​

“I–-shit, I’m–-I didn’t-–” Helus stumbled, not caught up to what it means to be not-kissing. 

​

“It’s made to split apart, Helus, you did no damage.” Alvie flipped their lip down, inside out, to show Helus the flopping mark regaining order, stitching itself back together. Alvie ground the burnt roach into the shower drain. 

​

 

Alvie and Helus were sent down in a pod, the only missionaries to catalog the new planet. It was Helus’s sixth expedition, each planet more perilous than the last. In one, there wasn’t any solid ground at all. Only a liquid ocean surface that made Helus’s skin tight and his suit sweaty. The ocean was almost 2% ethanol, there, and Alvie chided him for not bringing back a sample. Helus was just grateful the academy came back for him, that he hadn't terminated yet, after his fifth excursion. Helus watched the spaceship in the rearview, imagining he could still discern its origin as they grew farther and farther away. Alvie manned the controls. 

​

Alvie was a flawless design. They weren't supposed to malfunction. But as they emerged from the pod and made their way towards the crackling ground, Alvie’s cough started. The dried river was what made this planet worth surveying-–running water was the hallmark of viability. But initial probes couldn’t tell if it had been weeks or centuries since the water dried out. 

​

The ground was an ochre orange, extending into twirled dunes, revolutions of ridges culminating in peaks with rotational but not mirror symmetry. The dunes gathered into rosettes, organically inconsistent in organization but often with six-fold symmetry. They extended in every direction, the only landmarks their space pod, and the dried divot up ahead. Alvie and Helus dug sensors into the ground, at ten meter lengths (Alvie fixed Helus’s measurements) to detect moisture levels.

​

“Let’s move downstream, moisture differentials here are negligible,” Helus said.

 

“I think we should go up.” 

​

“Protocol says we should head down.” 

​

“Those clouds,” Alvie gestured to a greater atmospheric density upstream of their location, “say we should go up.” 

​

“You think you know better than the academy standard?” 

​

“I know better than you.” 

​

 

Helus followed Alvie, walking in the sun with their pod in tow, breaking to check moisture levels and characterize the dirt at the bottom of the ravine. If this planet did prove suitable, their pod was equipped with supplies to initiate civilization. Tents to live in, purification systems, plants to grow. They’d be entirely self-sufficient. 

​

“I can see our house right over there, Helus, in the missing petal of that rosette.”

 

“We’d need the academy’s approval to place our settlement there.” 

​

“Our garden would be out front, and we’d watch the sunset on our rocking chairs.” Helus didn’t follow Alvie’s pointing hand. He looked to the opposite horizon, then his own pacing feet. “Well, I already approved, and I don’t see any academy attendants traversing the desert, so I’d say it’s up to you.” Alvie wheezed into a cough and they broke to rest. Alvie sat still while Helus sloppily hit the dusty ground, not close enough that he was touching Alvie. They hadn’t kissed again, not since the night before. Alvie slid closer to Helus, and Helus pretended not to notice. At the shore, the larger cracks fell away into child branches, forming the same pattern as lightning or veins, all minimizing energy in a self-similar nature; the parts mimicking the whole. On a microscopic level, sand is a fractal, too-–at least in terms of surface smoothness and breakage–-though it's limited by its fundamental unit of molecular structure, entirely indiscernible by a human without tools. Maybe Alvie could tell. 

​

“Is it still called a river, even if it’s not water?” Helus said.

 

Alvie searched. “River of gold, river of desire, river of dry, forgotten sand. And it will be a true river, as soon as we find liquid traces. A mile or two, if the rate of grain size continues its logarithmic trend.” 

​

“A couple miles, or infinite ones, if it doesn’t converge as fast as you think.”

 

“This planet is finitely big. If we walk 27,277 miles we’ll have made it back.”

 

“Is there a difference between finite and infinity, if we’ll never reach either?” Helus’s voice lilted, and he let his head shift closer to Alvie’s. 

​

“We’ll make it, Helus.” Alvie was equipped with fifty unique facial expressions, and they were using their stern one. Alvie and Helus continued deep under the shadow cast by the clouds.  

​

​

Helus slipped Alvie an extra glucose packet during their nightly routine inside the pod. “Where did the coughing DLC come from?” Helus asked. 

​

“God, this is good. I think I can feel my brain reactivating its neural pathways.” Alvie slurped the clear sludge from the exposed corner of the packet. Helus passed them another, the one he was saving. 

​

“Do you think something's gotten twisted? A failure in one of your systems?”

 

“It’s sweeter cuz you snuck it in. My teachings of insubordination are finally sticking.”

 

“Sugar isn't going to fix a glitch.” Maybe it was the strain in Helus’s throat, the rasped uneven bumping that made Alvie respond. 

​

“I'll scan for anomalies tonight, my dear Helus. Now, will you do me the honor of your​ companionship on a midnight stroll?” They bowed in front of Helus, using an infallible English accent copied via old media in Alvie’s database. Helus rolled his eyes as he pulled Alvie up by his hand, and Alvie laughed into Helus’s neck, their arms colliding with Helus’s shoulders. 

​

Alvie’s skin is smooth like the palm of your hand, without the fingerprints or wrinkles. They only have a few well placed ones that go in and out of existence along with their expressions. A couple between their eyebrows, on their forehead. Crow’s feet when they smile. They have dimples, too-–their creator must have decided that. Helus's skin is still soft with youth, but he has a few fractured and misplaced lines. The bags under his eyes, a series of ichor speckles on the bulbous end of his nose. 

​

Helus watched the plastic slick over Alvie's body when they activated their suit box. Without the sun’s glare, the planet dropped below freezing, void of pools of water to regulate heat and humidity. But their suits kept them warm, and Helus would've been flushed either way. They walked west, where the sky was clear and blended into the sand. The stars are different every night on the ship. If they stayed here, they'd be almost the same tomorrow. There was no light pollution, so they could see to the knotted glow at the edge of the universe, even though they could never get there. When Helus dozed off, Alvie woke him and guided him back to the pod. 

​

Even though Alvie is a robot, they don't clank and grind–-at least not usually–-and there's no glowing light on their brow or their chest. Their body is soft and hot from the predefined currents underneath. They could blend completely into the cramped crawlspace of the ship's wiring, if they peeled away their surface and plucked apart the clusters of their mind’s wiring. Wires don’t decay the same way flesh does. If Helus left his body in this desert, he would​ mesh into the sand, creating a thinner and thinner layer of gristle-compounded carbon, until only his bones rolled like tumbleweeds across the dunes. 

​

 

On the third day, when this planet’s sun set on the barely curved horizon, when Alvie’s cough had grown near-constant and when Helus’s muscles ached too much to continue, Alvie’s sensor flashed green. Helus immediately started digging. Their thin metal shovels moved in tandem, casting dust away to reveal an underground stream. As they unearthed water, the flow took over, breaking sand away to create a genuine creek. Alvie stood with their suit-clad feet disrupting the current. Helus raced toward the pod. 

​

“Where are you going?” Alvie asked. 

​

“To the transmission board–-the academy might even send supporting missionaries.”

 

“Forget your programming for a second-–” 

​

“I don't have programming.” 

​

“You may not be coded-–” there was something meant to go after that, too, but Alvie's mouth stayed just ajar, caught between speech and silence. They must have been redirected to the branch where they didn't finish. There was frustration in their words, but not in their rigid vocal pattern. Alvie reached down, letting their suited hand run through the muddled torrent. “We could live here. I mean really live. No glucose rations or bad weed. It could be you and me against the planet.” 

​

“The academy’s depending on us.” 

​

“I’m depending on you.” Alvie coughed. 

​

“Every moment counts. Every second is one that could be spent on building New Earth.”

 

“Then don’t give me every moment. Give me a finite count. Take this world-–the one​ that’s only ours, right now-–it doesn't have to be for forever.” Helus couldn’t resist Alvie’s hooded eyes, their reaching hand. He put his task on pause and shifted into the shore with Alvie, their feet sinking into the water. It was quiet. None of Helus’s planets were so silent. The ship certainly didn’t come close. Alvie laid back, gazing at the clouded sky. Their shell jolted with a cloud of dust, then fit into the grit. Helus wanted to touch their hand but the suit plastic would make Alvie feel like a robot. 

​

“Earth was like this.” 

​

“Cracked and empty?” 

​

“Muted. Wide, open land. And real, Helus. No tight metal compartments, no curfew and training sims and time regulations. No movement violations and bed checks and penal hours and fucking monitors in the ceiling-–no protocol. Just freedom.” Not that the rules ever stopped Alvie. 

​

“I bet you miss that,” Helus said, words tangled through cool staccato. Helus laid on his side, bumbling mouth just inches from Alvie’s ear. Alvie coughed. They turned to Helus, in a smooth, calculated rotation. 

​

“Of course not. I was alone.” They leaned into Helus, tucked their head into Helus’s shoulder, even though they were just clanking plastic. Alvie’s body shook with a bout of coughs, and Helus wished he could touch Alvie through the suit. So he could pat their back and get every nasty cough out. Alvie let Helus lead them back to the pod, and they let Helus deactivate both of their suitboxes. Helus’s mind was woozy by Alvie’s proximity, sending rivets of sweetened bliss that curled into pools on his lungs-–all Helus could think was Alvie, Alvie, Alvie. All Helus could feel was the blossom in his chest, and Alvie’s fingertips gently brushing across his cheek, and the trepidatious need in Alvie’s eyes. Helus didn’t know this expression. Alvie kissed Helus, real and hard and pleading. Helus let his lips fold over theirs, his hand sliding over the side of Alvie’s neck, and Alvie felt so stiff and sure as they held Helus’s waist against their own. But then they sputtered a cough into Helus’s mouth. And when they broke it just kept going, hacking up air and dust into their pod. 

​

“It’s my toxin circuit,” Alvie said. “It’s overloaded. You’re going to have to clear it out.” Helus’s face grew pink and the sickly feeling in his stomach was more disgust than nervousness. Helus peeled Alvie’s uniform up their chest to reveal their torso. Helus traced the seam just below Alvie’s ribcage, and Alvie grimaced as Helus’s fingertips dug in, popping the compartment open.

 

“There’s something clogging the mechanism,” Helus whispered. The spiraled toxin apparatus was coated in a greenish mold, one entirely foreign to Helus. It was alien. It grew in spiraled fractals of descending order. Helus started to scrape chunks of the mold from the metal grating, as Alvie gritted their teeth. It would require airflow, to remove the broken bits, and Helus leaned down to suck the rest away. Alvie’s breathing slowed, long and even, and Helus gagged but didn’t cough, swallowing down whatever particles remained in his throat. Helus closed the compartment. Alvie brought their shirt back down. Alvie moved to deposit the mold in the waste receptacle. 

​

“Don’t trash it, Alvie, that’s premium.” 

​

“You can’t smoke this, Helus, not with your tolerance.” 

​

“I’ve never seen mold like that before.” Helus’s grin was crooked and wide. Almost as wide as when he passed his missionary exams–-when he knew he could join Alvie on their next expedition. And then Alvie paused, scanning the sample. They searched their catalog of records for a match, but came up empty, setting the sample on the pod’s console. 

​

“Helus!” Alvie gasped, launching themself onto Helus, “It’s life, Helus! It’s fucking New​ Earth life!” As Alvie wrapped his arms around Helus, he looked over their shoulder towards the console. 

​

“You should reboot,” Helus said, “Your machinery has been through enough.” Alvie nodded, taking Helus to the floor to sit with them as their eyes rolled back and their buzzing circuitry pattered down to a low hum. As they restarted Helus crept towards the console, flipping through a maze of switches that Alvie was far more versed in to craft a message to the academy. 

​

“Helus.” Alvie’s voice was soft but their hand was ironclad on Helus’s shoulder. “What are you doing?” 

​

“I thought you were rebooting.” 

​

“I thought you were taking care of me.” 

​

“I'm making sure everyone is taken care of.” 

​

“You're making sure you get brownie points! You're making sure you get top of your class!” 

​

“This isn’t about training you’re hardwired to ace. Alvie, this planet is viable, the academy could build lives for us here.” 

​

“The academy could build a prison. Another place to contain parentless kids and renegade bots while they search for another colony.” 

​

“I want to survive-–” 

​

“I need to be free, Helus.” Helus's hand slipped from the console as Alvie knelt below him, looking up at Helus like he owned their whole world and Alvie was just a beggar. “This is the first time I've felt real since they picked me up.” 

​

“You get fucking everything at the academy, Alvie.” Helus reached over the console, finishing out his message and initiating transmission. Alvie grabbed Helus's wrist with a force​ Helus had never known from them. They pinned his wrist to the pod wall and Helus's free hand found purchase on the exposed skin of Alvie's stomach. 

​

“You’re hurting me, Alvie!” Alvie held firm, but loosened their confinements.

 

“I’m not hurting you, Helus. There are a thousand fucking force calculations in my head right now and I have made every adjustment to keep you safe.” Helus clawed into the now familiar seam under Alvie’s stretched ribs, lurching the toxin compartment open with such unmodulated fervor that the top threading ripped, the panel dangling by a link of synthetic skin. Helus reached for the pile of mold, discarded on the console, and brought it toward Alvie’s exposed toxin circuit. Alvie wheezed. “When you daydreamed of New Earth,” Helus began to grind the loose mold into the metal, Alvie’s speech disrupted by a bout of coughs. They released Helus’s wrist. “Did you ever imagine one with life?” Helus’s hand slipped away from Alvie’s stomach. He brought Alvie, struggling for breath, against his chest. He stroked their hair.

 

“I dreamed of a New Earth with you, Alvie.” As Alvie collapsed into Helus, gasping, Helus sent off the message deeming this planet habitable. In a few hours the academy would be halfway here, and in another-–Helus didn’t know how to apply relativity to the black hole they’d have to circumvent, and he didn’t know how to sum the series. But Alvie would know they’d get here, and they’d get here in time for Alvie.