"It's necessary," said Segundo.
"It is not necessary. We should be staying on the ship. Or at least I should. There's no reason for me to go. I don't have small children. Our only son isn't even on the ship anymore. I should be staying with you. I'm useless on that ship."
"You're not useless," said Segundo. "You have a talent for comforting others. These women need you, Rena, now more than ever. You can be a strength to them."
"I can just as easily be a strength to you."
He smiled. "And you always will be. But you can't be by my side through this. I won't be on the ship."
She turned her head away from him. She didn't want him speaking about the attack. She knew the particulars; he had told her the plan and the risks he would be taking, but she didn't want to think about it. To think about it was to imagine every possible thing that could go wrong.
He put his arm around her waist again. She turned back to him and saw that he was smiling at her gently. It was the smile he always gave her when he realized it was pointless to argue with her and he was conceding defeat. Only this time he couldn't concede. She couldn't stay. It would cause a panic. Other women would then insist on it, and those with children who wanted to be near their husbands would then be torn. Leaving would suddenly look like abandonment and not a command they were forced to obey.
Rena felt safe right then. Despite the docking, despite the hormigas or Formics or whatever they were called now, she felt safe with his arm around her. She had wanted to argue with him and to object again to the whole stupid affair, but his smile had burned away the fight in her.
There was a violent jolt as the WU-HU ship touched down, and several people screamed. The lights flickered. Rena put a hand to her mouth, stifling her own cry. Then it was over. The ship steadied, and for a moment all was quiet. Muffled noises then sounded on the other side of the docking hatch as someone secured a seal and pressurized the airlock.
The light above the hatch turned from red to green, and two sharp knocks clanged on the hatch. Bahzim opened the hatch, and an Asian man floated through. His uniform suggested that he was the captain, and Concepcion approached him and greeted him. Words were exchanged, though Rena couldn't hear. Concepcion then turned to everyone in the corridor and said, "Captain Doashang here has taken a great risk to dock with us, and we appreciate his kindness in taking you onto his ship until this matter is over. Please show him the same courtesy you have always shown me. Now let's do this quickly. Single file, keep the line moving."
The people closest to the hatch began to gather their things and move.
Rena suddenly felt panicked. It was happening. They were moving already. She hadn't said good-bye. This was too quick. She turned to Segundo. He was looking down at her. He put his hands on her arms and smiled in that disarming way again, the way that blocked out everything and everyone around her, that look of his that could silence all the world for her.
People around them were moving into position, getting into line.
Rena ignored them. There were a million things she wanted to say to him--nothing that hadn't been said already every day of their married lives, nothing that he didn't already know. But still she wanted to say them. Yet "love" suddenly felt like such a small word. It wasn't love that she felt for him. It was something much greater, something that she didn't have a word for.
He slid something into her hand. She looked down. It was two letters sealed in envelopes. Her name was written on one. The other was for Victor. Her tears came instantly. No, she was not taking letters. A letter is what husbands write to their wives when they don't think they're coming back. And he was coming back. This wasn't good-bye. She wouldn't even entertain the thought. She shook her head, pushed the letters back into his hand, and closed his fingers around them.
"You can read me that when this is over," she said. "And you can give that letter to our son someday."
He smiled but seemed a little hurt.
"I'll make you dinner," she said, wiping at her eyes. "Then we'll squeeze into a hammock, and you can read me every word. Nothing would make me happier."
"Aren't you curious to know what it says now?"
She put a hand on his cheek. "I already know what it says, mi cielo. And I feel the same way."
He nodded. His true smile returned. He put the letters back in his jacket. "I get to pick the hammock," he said. "A very small hammock. It may be crowded. You'll have to float very close."
She embraced him, holding him tight, wetting his shirt with her tears.
The line was moving. Half of the people were already gone.
"You better go," he told her.
She cleared her throat and composed herself. What was she doing crying like this? She took a deep breath and wiped at her eyes. This was absurd. She was overreacting. Everything was going to be fine. He took her bag and offered her his arm.
"I can carry my own bag, silly," she said. "It's weightless."
"Never deny a man his chivalry," said Segundo.
She shrugged, relenting, then linked her arm in his and let him escort her to the hatch.
When they reached the hatch, he gave her back her bag. The line never stopped moving. Their arms parted. She was going through; there was no time to stop. She looked back and saw him once before she was forced to turn a corner. A hand took hers and gently pulled her into the WU-HU ship. It was a female
member of the crew, young and Chinese and beautiful. "Huanying," the woman said. And then in English, "Welcome."