"What's for dinner?" Sigurd asked, throwing his bag onto the lower bunk, and sending a look of extreme disgust after it. "Feldner kept us in session for weeks."

"You have your choice of any number of delightful substances in a cup," Hyuga responded, slurping his own as he sat at his terminal, the keyboard across his lap and socked feet on the rail of Kahr's bunk. "Although I would advise the beige to the taupe, as the latter is a bit more substance-like than the other."

"You're assuming," Sigurd said, scowling at the labels on two cups of instant soup, "I know the difference between beige and taupe."

Hyuga snorted, tapping idly at his keys. "Of course you do, my dear boy, I have to share a closet with you."

"And oh, it's such a trauma." Sigurd flung off his uniform tunic, heaving a sigh of relief to be finally out of the constricting thing. "What are you working on?"

"Gear design specs," Hyuga said, through a mouthful of noodle. "I thought of something today, wanted to come back and look."

Sigurd leaned over Hyuga's shoulder, peering at the familiar specs for the animalistic gears. "You re-routed that generator?"

Hyuga set his cup on the monitor, and tapped a few keys to pivot the designs for Sigurd's inspection. "Enabling the composite single-gear function I wanted. Not sure how to prevent conflicting motor commands, though." He stretched, luxuriously, his glasses slipping down his nose. "Your dinner's ready."

"Yum," Sigurd said, without enthusiasm, turning regretfully away from the nice three inches of Hyuga's belly that showed as he arched back, and tending to the water-heater. "When's Racquel getting back?"

"Thirdday at 3:40. And quit whining. She's going to be too busy for a while to worry about cooking for you. I rather suspect she'll have her hands full with the new arrival." Hyuga blinked. Sigurd was staring off into space, teakettle poised above the soup-cup. "Sig?"

"Hmm?" Sigurd blinked, shook himself, and looked at the kettle in surprise. "Oh, right." He filled the cup carefully and put the kettle back on the heater, stirring his soup thoughtfully. "Boy, isn't it?"

"That's what Jesiah said, but why ask me, he's been crowing it to anyone who'll stand still long enough. That and how fast the reproduction center gave them the permit for birthing. You'd think no one had produced a high-DNA embryo before."

"Well, he's a father. He should have a right to be proud." Sigurd sat down on his bunk, sipping his soup carefully. Hyuga frowned. Sigurd said the oddest things, at times.

"I think by the time I came along my father had rather lost his enthusiasm." Hyuga's lip twisted wryly. "There were quite enough of us."

Sigurd had gone silent. Hyuga so rarely spoke of his family, and Sigurd did not encourage it, thinking it must be painful. Of course, Sigurd's family had died in the plague too, but the high fever had damaged his memory and he couldn't recall anything before waking up in Jugend's med center. He didn't know what was worse, remembering the deaths of one's entire family, or forgetting them. Although sometimes, like when Racquel would tilt her head and smile at nothing, hand over her belly and murmur to her unborn child--

"Ah well," Hyuga stood, shaking out his short hair and stretching, his spine popping. "All in the past, now. How's the soup?"

Sigurd let the spoon fall back in the cup. "Beige," he said.