Page 78 of Blightfall

“No, it isn’t,” Dayan said. “Yes, it’s normal. We have three genders—male, female, and agendered. A lot of people shift from one to another as they grow up.”

“Is that what you did?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Dayan said. “It wasn’t really a big deal. I have sisters, and it was hard for my dad to switch from saying ‘my girls’ to ‘my kids,’ but after that no one really talked about it anymore.” Dayan looked back at me. “Is it not like that where you’re from?”

“No,” I said. “We’ve been actively fighting the Superiority for a century, so our society is very big on sticking with the role you’re supposed to play. There’s not a lot of room for forging your own identity.”

“That sounds miserable,” Dayan said.

Sometimes it was. Maybe that was the real reason I liked to accessorize. There weren’t a lot of acceptable ways to be different on Detritus.

We drifted in awkward silence for a moment. Alanik kept looking back at me like she wanted to say something, but she didn’t. Usually there was no stopping her from saying exactly what was on her mind.

“Are you okay, Alanik?” I asked.

“Of course I am,” Alanik said over her shoulder. “Why would you ask?”

“Just wondering if you were struck mute by the inappropriateness of my questions.”

“I am not mute,” Alanik said.

“That’s good,” I said. “It seemed like you wanted to say something.”

“I do,” Alanik said. “But I’m not sure how to ask it.”

“You ask a question by making a statement in the interrogative form,” Suki said helpfully.

“Very well,” Alanik said. “Is holding hands a gesture of comfort among humans?”

Huh. I didn’t know what I’d expected her to ask, but it wasn’t that. “Yeah, sometimes,” I said. “Like, if someone is crying, you might hold their hand to let them know you’re there for them.” I looked at Dayan. “Is that the same for your people?”

“Sure,” Dayan said. “Not everyone is a big hand-holder, but some people do.”

“What if no one is crying?” Alanik asked. “What does it mean then?”

I watched the way my paddle sent ripples through the water. My arms were starting to ache, but I wasn’t going to complain. “It depends on the context, I guess.” I had a pretty good idea where this was going, but I wanted to be sure. “Is there a context?”

Alanik squirmed in her seat. I never in a million years thought I would see Alanik uncomfortable. She always breezed right through everyone else’s discomfort.

“Did someone hold your hand?” I asked. The other canoe was even farther ahead of ours, now, so there was no chance of the boys hearing us, but I lowered my voice anyway. “Was it Arturo? You guys went into the coliseum alone.”

“Yes,” Alanik said. She was clearly trying to sound like this was not a big deal, but if that were true, she wouldn’t be asking about it.

I was not the expert on hand-holding, or any other kind of romantic gesture. I’d never even had a boyfriend. The guys I was interested in never seemed to like me back. But I still probably understood its cultural significance better than Alanik. “If no one was injured or crying, it was probably a gesture of affection, rather than comfort.”

“We were in danger,” Alanik said. “We could easily have been discovered.”

“Okay,” I said. “So maybe there was some comfort involved.”

“Would you hold Arturo’s hand in such a situation?” Alanik asked, looking at me sharply over her shoulder.

“No!” I probably shouldn’t have shouted, but I felt pretty emphatic about it. I lowered my voice again. “I’m not interested in Arturo!”

Alanik paused to consider this. “So, in that case, holding hands would not be an appropriate gesture of comfort between a flightleader and one of his pilots.”

“No,” I said. “Not unless they were romantically involved.” Oh, scud. “Not that I’m saying you are! I mean, I don’t know what you are.” I leaned forward in my seat. “Are you?”

“We are not,” Alanik said. “But the gesture indicates interest?” She seemed to be trying really hard to follow me.