Chapter 3
The Match is more than selection — it is Design for Belonging?. It is a living covenant, built not on chance, but on the deep certainty that together, we are stronger, wiser, and more human than ever before
The only place the Match could be held was the waterfall park, so Marcus joined the throng, more at peace than he’d been in weeks.
From the low wall at one end the entire vista of the biosphere sprawled out before them, a fat, happy goddess in the sun.
The river wound in a deliberate S toward the thin blue ocean, dividing forest from terraced farms.
The wind blew cool and damp; following the singing crowd, Marcus spread his fingers, cupped his palm into the wind, letting it chill his sweaty skin, curl up his sleeve. The sunbaked goddess below teased his senses, scents of blossoms and dark soil adding a tingle in his mouth as he sucked it in.
And every psychedelic plant of Terra. I bet they planned the planting cycle down to the second, to make the whole park smell like this.
Fertility, fecundity, even without the Matching—Marcus let his feet carry him into the nearest dance—All these people will be fucking like rabbits.
Just coming off the high of launch, into this nature fuck fest…
He had to respect the manipulation of it, even as it swept over him.
The music swelled, and Demeter’s laughing voice joined them.
Form a circle, the order doesn’t matter, form a circle. Gather round, my friends.
It took time, a few thousand souls moving out into straggling lines, seeking out friends, stopping to dance.
And now the nerves were more evident. The laughter turned shrill, loud, the singing drunk on hormones, exhaling earth, and blowing mist. Marcus kept his expression neutral and polite, surrounded by laughter and song.
He understood the effect of the circle, as well.
A powerful shape, reassuring. As they spread out, the urge to hold hands was strong and many did.
The person to your left and right became allies, fellow conscripts facing the first battle.
As usual, the idea of being perceived in any kind of emotion curled Marcus inwards like a snail.
It will be fine. Cassius is a good man. A great man, he will have a lovely, brilliant Match. She’ll be lovely, and I will honor her as Cassius would.
His own happiness, well… He could be happy too. After all, this was his chance wasn’t it? To leave the system—
Calm down Cassius-it will be fine. Demeter’s voice in his ear was teasing, warm enough to settle him even as he rebelled.
“Are you saying that to everyone right now?” he murmured.
Something like. I am also telling you the order. Your match will be early, number 12.
Christ. Not long to get myself ready.
The music softened to something warm and gentle as Demeter spoke to them all.
Dearest explorers, she began and a cheer rose—Welcome to your Matching, a time of great joy, the beginning of a new human experiment to the last frontier: the human heart.
I will call you forward by name, and you and your Matched partners will meet in the center of our explorer family. Then we will celebrate, shout our joy to this beautiful mountain as we blaze a trail to the stars.
Cheers rose from every side, twining with rising music from Demeter’s system, something thrumming and joyful.
Let us begin. First, Principal Director Eleanor Basim… and Engineer third class Marcellus Janus.
Basim, holding onto her dignity by the skin of her teeth, came to the center of the circle with her hands clasped over her heart, half prayerful, half protective.
Engineer third class Janus had no such inhibition.
He strode forward on long Martian legs, a wide smile on his lined face.
When Basim offered her hand he raised it to his lips as gently as a flower.
They spoke briefly, heads cocked, listening to the AI.
They have accepted the Match!
Names rolled out, each met with cheers. The circle tightened, steps turning into a dance.
They have accepted the Match!
Marcus clapped and whistled with the rest, the emotion of the moment grinding his cynicism. It will be fine. She will be lovely, and clever and kind. I will take care of my brother’s Match.
And Captain Cassius Ahmet Sutherland.
Marcus had a moment of confusion—looked for Cass in the circle—then remembered. Wait. Had they called the other name first? In the center of the circle, the matched explorers were pointing somewhere beyond, all their backs to Marcus.
Another form approached, and he understood the rising tide of voices, the cheers growing from the Martian delegation, spreading as every soul shouted their approval. Impossible. Absolutely impossible. This wasn’t a sweet little dairy-maid from the vet service or a dedicated Farm Corps bureaucrat.
Cassius’s match was the Lion of Mars.
The two of you are the most perfectly matched on the ship, Demeter said. The likelihood of a false match is statistically insignificant.
Marcus flinched. Oh, if only she knew. A false match was happening right now.
To a man whose name was being chanted from all sides, amid cheers and wolf whistles.
Leonus Ares paced towards him, his steps hesitant, face slack with surprise.
Mist beaded his steel and black hair, the silver of his beard.
Even out of uniform, he towered, stern like the mountain at their back.
Marcus couldn’t breathe. How in the entire system of planets was that possible?
That Cassius would merit someone so important made sense.
A stickler for rules and regulation, he could understand.
But since when did Cassius like men? And why, for the love of God did it have to be this one?
Admiral “arrogant, with no regard for the people around him,” who’d cut Marcus to the quick.
Leonus Ares, are you willing to try a match with Cassius Sutherland?
“Yes,” Ares said in the sudden quiet. The cheers after echoed with whistles and laughs, the Lion of Mars admitting he was human! The man from the mural outside the Luna Moth café gazed at Marcus, impassive on the surface. But fear swam below, and a desperate pleading in his dark eyes.
Cassius, is this Match acceptable? Are you willing to try a match with Leonus Ares?
The park went silent again, anticipation vibrating the air around them.
“Yes.” The word came by itself, loud over even the distant rumble of the falls. Six weeks. I can do it. For Cassius. Marcus took the Lion’s hand, his gesture returned with the frantic grip of a drowning man.
They have accepted the Match!
The groups crowded around them, offering congratulations. More names began to roll out and Marcus pushed the well-wishers aside.
“Out,” he said, tugging Ares’s hand. “Now. Or I’m going to be sick.”
Leonus followed Sutherland on autopilot, his mind a blank.
What had he done? His body still rang from the shock of it.
Maybe because the first choice he’d been offered in a long time was also something he wanted.
Selfishly and immediately. He hadn’t taken even a moment to think, said yes like a child offered a sweet.
Now the weight of it struck him: he was Matched.
Alone by the wall, they shared a sigh of relief.
“Are you alright?” Sutherland asked.
“Much better, gratis.” He steadied himself. “A bit shocked, though.”
“You must be disappointed,” Sutherland said, with a brittle smile.
“Not at all,” Leo insisted. A new worry seized him. “Are you?”
“No.” A flash of mischief crossed Sutherland’s face. In this dim forest, hopped up on drugs and music and sexual tension—he looks like a fox, or a wicked sprite.
“I feel strange,” Leo said awkwardly. “You Terrans and your drugs.”
The last coherent thought as Cassius dragged him into a kiss.
The woods vanished; Leonus tumbled in the frozen vacuum of space—the only thing he could hold on to was General Sutherland’s wicked fox of a son, warm lips expertly parting Leo’s own.
His kisses were bossy and a little mean.
Perfect. Leo shoved their bodies together, muffling the troublesome Terran’s laughter by kissing him as hard as he could.
“Mother of God,” Cassius said, breathless. “Maybe the damn computer knows what she’s doing after all.”
It’s a pleasure to be right. You two are my finest work.
They leapt apart, and the chimes of her goodbye had a teasing, happy note.
Sutherland’s hands slid under Leo’s shirt, flatlining his thoughts, burrowing over his belly and under his pecs. They left shivering goosebumps in their wakes. I am going to lose control at this rate. He grabbed Cassius by both wrists.
“Every Matched pair was issued joint quarters,” he said. “They delayed building the rest of the ship to get them ready.”
“How… domestic,” Cassius murmured, nipping Leo’s chin. “Are there beds?”
“Let’s go. Now.”
Every Match aboard the Demeter is given more than a place to sleep — they are given a beginning. The living quarters are Crafted for Harmony?: spaces that grow with their occupants rhythms and needs. Here, love and purpose share the same space.
The short train ride sobered them both. When the doors opened at “Sea Town,” the salt air stopped him in his track.
The sea, something Martians only experienced in stories.
Even during the occupation of Terra, Leo had never seen a body of water larger than the olympian pool.
He dragged in a deep breath, trying to see in the gloom of the half built town.
“I hear the waves,” Leo said. They shared an excited smile.
“My favorite sound,” Cassius agreed. “Let’s go see!”
Above the worksite, white stucco houses climbed the curve of the hill, roofs bright as shells against the painted sky. The third door had their names on it.
Inside, the quarters were clean and spare: smooth stone floors, sea-colored light. A bottle waited on the table—Demeter’s idea of romance, maybe. Leo lifted it with a low laugh.
“This is from my collection! A 3044 Terran scotch. Worth more than I am.”
“Then I insist you pour it immediately,” Cassius said.
They sat on the terrace, staring at the sea, glasses in hand, watching the dome’s horizon fade to coral. Leonus had no words. Small yes, and if he squinted he could see the line of wall below, an artificial cliff. But staring beyond revealed the whole curve of the beach. Rolling waves and all.
“To surprises,” Cass offered. A personal toast, nothing about peace and the mission.
“Surprises,” Leo echoed, clinking glass to glass. The warmth of the whiskey met the warmth of the moment—unexpected, a little dizzying.
For a time, they only listened to the tide. Leo reached out, tentative, curling his arm around Cassius’s shoulder. Cassius’ arm circled his waist immediately; a squeeze startled out the truth.
“I’m happy it’s you.” Even without the drugs circling the park, a low thrum of arousal hummed in his blood.
The arm around him fired all his internal systems, fueled by relief, by the view, and the fucking heat of the man under his arms. Their eyes met a long tantalizing moment.
Understanding. We aren’t boys at our first parade-we know what we want.
Abruptly, Cass tilted his face up. “Then kiss me properly, Admiral.”
Leo did—slow, reverent, with the weight of years lost to duty. The kiss carried salt and smoke and something dangerously like hope.
“Admiral that was... something.”
“It was.” How could Cassius not hear his pulse? It was thunder in his ears, in his groin, fettered in the seam of his coverall, raw and selfish and true. He had spent half his life serving the system’s peace; tonight, for once, he’d wanted something only for himself. “And I want more.”
“Right. Good. Let’s go see if the beds are big enough.”