Matched

Juan & Clint

'This is bullshit. Why can't I be with the women?' Clint could feel Juan's anger pulsing through their bond. 'They're my friends. Just because I'm a man doesn't mean I should miss out. I don't want to be alone.'

'You're not alone. You have me.'

Juan's smile turned into a grimace. 'It's not the same.'

Leaning his elbows on the railing, the Rictorian looked out onto Zibon 8. Clint did the same, his shoulder pressed up against Juan's.

It was a nice day. The clouds were sparse and the sun was shining bright. Juan looked down and jerked backwards. 'I wonder when I'm going to get used to this—being in the clouds. How come it's so warm when it's so high? Why is it not more windy? How long did it take you to build this place?'

'So many questions.'

'It's such a great idea. Perhaps something we could one day emulate.' He looked at Clint in awe. 'You are remarkable.

'Don't underestimate yourself. You're just as remarkable.'

Juan snorted.

Clint hadn't really described his home to Juan in the short time he'd known him and it had been a complete shock when the Rictorian discovered that their civilisation was built in the sky. As much as it was alien for Juan, it was just as alien for Clint that the Rictorians should remain on the surface.

The Zibons had learnt long ago that the best way to minimise their impact on the planet and its precious creatures was to leave it untouched as much as possible. Centuries before, they'd decided to build high above, allowing nature to reclaim what they'd damaged so badly.

'Do you ever get to see them?' Juan said.

'What?'

'Your animals. Do you take like tours down there or something?'

'Only our nature scientists are allowed—and infrequently as possible. Otherwise we use drones.' He peered over the edge like Juan. There was water. There was land. But they were so high up nothing could be seen at an individual level.

'What about water? What about food?' Juan said, his forehead furrowed. 'I probably should have been asking this earlier. Not very curious, am I?'

'You're curious enough. We had ... other things to think about.'

Juan laughed. 'Or not think about.'

'In answer to your questions, we make our own food from stem cells. We assemble, then dissemble in dehydrated proton packets which we can recreate at will with our proton microwaves. As for our water, it's recycled.'

Juan frowned as he pondered. 'You mean you recook a packet of cells?'

'I suppose that's a good way of putting it.'

'And is this ... is this the technology you want to offer our people in exchange for women?'

'That's right. Among other things. We will give them almost anything. Almost. Not our weapons. Not our ability to space travel. That they'll have to work out themselves.'

'Because we can't be trusted, right?'

Clint didn't say anything.

'What if they refuse?' Juan said.

'I don't know.'

Juan gave an appreciative whistle as he looked back over the edge.

Clint pressed his hand against Juan's lower back. 'Do you think you'll be comfortable here?'