BARRIERS

And so we close out this season of Terraform as fittingly as possible, with an excerpt from, well The Terraformers—an epic work of science fiction from journalist, writer, and fellow traveler Annalee Newitz. That we’d both be publishing books just a syllable apart within a season or two of each other might be reason enough to run an excerpt from their impressive new book; that it examines what might be called love in the time of terraforming is another altogether. Hope you enjoy it as much as we did. -the eds

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Four days later, they were on the western side of Maskwa. The Comfort Sea was far behind them, along with the privatized ferry system and reconfigurable gated island city. Misha and Sulfur spent most of the trip going over data and strategizing with Zest and Rocket for their upcoming Spider City meetings. Though they didn’t talk about what had happened on the beach, Sulfur no longer felt awkward about putting their arms around Misha to ride. What had been an uncomfortable position became a welcome embrace—and perhaps, Sulfur thought ruefully, it would be the only kind of physical intimacy they could ever have, given Ronnie’s constant surveillance of Misha’s sensor readings.

Wistful thoughts of lost sexual opportunities were swept aside as Zest flew out of the mountains, revealing the peak of downtown Spider with its ragged caldera. Sulfur always felt a rush of pure joy when they saw home after a long time away. From here, the lake was the size of a turquoise bead. Still, Sulfur could make out the city’s characteristic architecture: earthen mounds of every size and shape spilled down Spider’s lower slopes and into the grasslands surrounding it. Lava tubes made ridges between the mounds, legs for the arachnid whose abdomen was represented by Spider Mountain’s magma-swollen bulk. A few farms and hydropower generators were visible near the Eel, but for the most part the city was still subterranean. The mounds held homes, neighborhoods, and public spaces that connected to the street grid of tunnels carved by ancient lava surges and— more recently—by the Boring Fleet.

The Archaea had no need to hide from Verdance’s satellites anymore, but their urban planners had built below ground for so long that they never seriously considered abandoning the tradition. In meetings, they usually described this choice as pragmatic, but Sulfur knew there was a strong element of aesthetics too. Nobody who had grown up in Spider wanted to see buildings growing on top of the mountain, or in the tropical forests below. When people wanted to add a building, they borrowed earth from below and piled it into a mound above. Over the past few hundred years, developers had cleared the land around the old mountain with controlled burns, turning the city into an enormous ring of savanna encircling down- town. The domes, peaked ridges, pyramids, and rectangular shapes of its outer neighborhoods lay under a thick blanket of grasses and the occasional acacia or baobab tree.

After being away from home for almost six weeks, it was hard not to weep with relief. Sulfur slid their hand over Zest’s port and sent a message to the rest of the team. Anybody want to go for a swim before dinner? It prob- ably won’t be too crowded at this time of day.

Rocket, flying beside them, nodded. I could use a good scrubbing after all those nights outside.

Same, Zest sent. I’ve also been dreaming of those microgreens they put on the grab table last time I was in Spider City.

Zest banked left so she could land on a broad stone platform halfway up Spider’s slope. It was one of the few examples of external architecture on the mountain, and its main purpose was to provide a convenient entrance to the underground for people who flew here.

They were descending slowly enough that the air stilled and they could mouth talk. Rocket played a sound file of a rabbit making nom-nom sounds. “I suspect you won’t have much trouble finding sprouts.”

Misha groaned. “I’m so tired that I might just go to bed after our swim.”

“I’ll show you the way to my room if you need rest.” Sulfur squeezed Misha, trying not to worry about how easily exhausted he was after weeks of overextending himself in the planet’s sensor networks.

Rocket sent them a snatch of waaaa-waaaaa comedy horn notes and followed up with a private text to Sulfur. What’s going on? Are you hooking up with the H. sapiens?

They looked over at their friend and colleague, anodized metal carapace shimmering blue and purple as they descended in the air alongside Zest. I like him, they sent.

He has to go back to La Ronge in a couple of weeks. I know.

Remember how long it took you to get over Sandstone? Why are you always falling for people who are completely unavailable?

Who said anything about falling for?

Rocket emitted a snorting noise. How long have we been friends? Three hundred years? I know you.

Misha turned around to look at them. “What are you guys talking about in that encrypted stream?”

Sulfur leaned their cheek against his narrow back, padded with the thick riding cloak whose uses went beyond comfort. “You really don’t want to know.”

“I was warning Sulfur about chasing after unattainable goals.” Rocket’s voice was sharp with annoyance. “Do you know what I mean, Misha?”

The man was silent until they landed. As he dismounted from Zest, he faced Rocket, whose smooth face angled down to meet his gaze—the bot was at least a quarter meter taller than Misha. “I would never stand in the way of Sulfur’s goals.”

“Everybody is being extra creepy right now, so let’s drop it and go swimming.” Sulfur crooked a finger at Zest and walked to the portal in the mountain, which rolled open at their approach.

“It’s Zest!” the door yelled.

The cow’s head jerked up in surprise. “Is that Hellfire&Crisp?”

“You recognized me! I can’t believe you’re here. It’s been—what? Seven hundred years?”

Zest shook her head. “It’s been too long since I visited Spider City. How are you doing?”

“Did you know we married Jaguar?” “What? No!”

The entire team was through the door now and following the glow of LED strings upward toward the caldera. Hellfire&Crisp’s voices followed them, jumping out of speakers embedded in the walls.

“We swore we’d never get married, but it turned out to be the best de- cision we ever made.”

“Congratulations, Hellfire&Crisp. That’s really great.” Zest flicked an ear. “Are you still part of the ERT?”

“We were for a while, but now we’re helping Jaguar maintain the access control infrastructure for the whole city. We’re still racing, too—we can use drone bodies when we’re off work.”

They were nearly at the caldera level when Hellfire&Crisp abruptly left in a flurry of expletives about how nobody knows how to operate a simple valve in a lava tube.

Sulfur hadn’t realized how much they’d been craving the feel of clean, cool lake water. They had rinsed off in the ocean a few times on this trip, but it always left their skin gritty and hair salty. Stripping down to nothing, they dove in without a second glance. Rocket followed them out, hovering over the water and then dunking under, sluicing the dust out of their joints. Zest and Misha hung back, wading in tentatively. Sulfur watched the H. sapiens keep close to the cow, staying in range of her sensor-killing body. If only there were an easy way to block the feed he sent to Verdance that didn’t involve large jackets or bovines. As Sulfur dove, trying to reach the thin but impenetrable window to the ERT lab, they suddenly had an idea. Surreptitiously, they sent a request to a friend who worked in medical devices.

When they resurfaced, Rocket continued their earlier conversation using audio. “I’m sorry to throw compost in your recycling, but I want you to be happy.”

Sulfur floated between tropical humidity and cold mountain water. “I know. But I’m never going to settle down like Hellfire&Crisp. I like to travel. That’s my job. And when I stumble across somebody I like, I’m not going to hold back just because they live far away.”

“I’m not saying you have to settle down, but wouldn’t you be happier with a person whose body isn’t a living surveillance system owned by Ver- dance?”

Sulfur lost their float balance and flapped around in the water. “How did you know that?” “I worked with Destry, remember? After Ronnie murdered her parents, Verdance changed the templates on a bunch of life-forms, including people like Misha who can network with environmental sensors.”

“It’s not his fault how he was built.”

Misha and Zest were swimming toward them now, and Rocket touched Sulfur’s arm briefly to send. You’re right about that. Please be careful, though, OK? I’m here for you no matter what.

Sulfur grabbed the bot’s hand before they pulled it back. I know. And I’m going to be cautious.

The rest of the afternoon was taken up with plans for their next two weeks. Misha napped on a conference couch while the rest of the team set times to meet with the Council, arranged ERT transit breakouts, and got a room for Zest. During dinner with the ERT urban planners, everyone carefully avoided talking about how Misha would be staying in Sulfur’s quarters under Rattlesnake Mound. Finally, it was time for people to start their evening activities—some would be going to work, while others had recreation dates.

Sulfur and Misha peeled off to take a walk around the city. They held hands, occasionally sending each other texts directly through their inter- faces, but mostly enjoying pure physical contact without language.

As they got closer to the healthcare engineering center, Sulfur paused. I’ve asked my friend to create some experimental medical devices for us. Sulfur grinned. Do you mind stopping by the biofilm printers?

Why do you need a biofilm? Misha was confused.

Sulfur pushed him gently against the wall of the dusky tunnel, cupping his face in their hands and tasting his plump, pretty lips as they continued to send. Biofilms aren’t just for building semipermeable membranes anymore. You can use them for all kinds of situations. Like blocking signals.

His eyes widened. Wordlessly, he nodded. They continued strolling, pausing to pick up a paper-wrapped package at the printer and admire the lozenge-shaped windows emitting a deep orange light. Eventually they forked right, away from downtown, following a natural lava tube whose roof was open to the air. Sunset stained the sky purple, and high winds stippled the vault of atmosphere with thin, pink clouds.

Rattlesnake Mound was a cozy neighborhood of forty-two dwellings whose multicolored doors flanked a rectangular public space with a peaked roof. Vents let in filtered air, and the ceiling was streaked with glowing algae that gave everything in the room a greenish-yellow tinge. Tables and chairs were arranged neatly—somebody conscientious must have been on cleaning shift—and the open kitchen smelled like herb tea.

“This is where you live?” Misha spun slowly in the middle of the space, inhaling deeply. “Is that ginger tea?”

“Yeah. Cam likes to have it at night, and he usually leaves some out for the rest of us. Unfortunately you’re here too late in the year for his marmalade, which is everybody’s favorite dessert in spring.” Sulfur poured them both small cups of tea and led Misha to a bright orange door near the kitchen end of the mound.

Everything inside was as they’d left it. A small globe terrarium hung    in the square window, high in the wall, and their bed on the floor was piled with pillows and homemade quilts from friends at the spring festival. There was a dyed woven basket for clothes, and a chest of cubbies held neatly stacked remote sensing equipment along with a jumble of items they’d collected over the years: pleasing rocks and shells, dried flowers, me- mentos from harvest circle, and a bracelet that their beloved Sandstone had given them over a century ago. Thinking about Sandstone reminded them of what Rocket had said that afternoon in the lake. The bot wasn’t wrong, but they weren’t completely right either.

Sulfur was tingly and nervous, wondering whether the biofilms were a terrible idea—or would even work. Setting down the paper-wrapped package, they fiddled with the atmosphere controls to bring in more fresh air, with the proper gas mix for Archaea. It was nice to breathe freely again. Misha flopped on the bed and pulled his shirt over his head, revealing a slim brown torso dusted with dark hair. The breather in his septum refracted light for an instant as he faced them.

He was beautiful, but also strange—there was something unsettling about the small H. sapiens features on his face, his narrow chest with its two small nipples and short arms. It was as if he were slightly undeveloped, decanted before his time. Kneeling next to him on the mattress, Sulfur slowly unwrapped the parcel, which contained three rolls of biofilm, help- fully labeled sample 1, sample 2, and sample 3. 

In Sulfur’s experience, having sex didn’t involve a lot of elaborate preparation; one simply dove in, as they had with Ace in the club, growing feverish and unguarded with desire. But that could never happen with Misha. They had to plan carefully and use specially designed instruments, as if they were about to do a laboratory investigation. Which was, once Sulfur thought about it, actually kind of hot. Especially when Misha reached out a languid hand and tugged the tabs open on their coveralls. As the garment peeled apart and puddled around their waist, Misha ran warm hands over the Archaean’s upper body—their pale torso muscled and broad, with six dark purple nipples, three on either side of their rib cage.

“Let’s try some sample strips of biofilm right here.” Misha pointed to his chest. “That’s one of my main sensor arrays.”

“Alright.” Sulfur picked up the first roll. “Are you ready for our experiment to begin? We’ll be using . . . Sample One.”

He looked up at them, moving his arms away from his sides. “Put it on.” They tore a small square from the roll, light and slightly damp, and spread it gently over his right pectoral. Sulfur grinned at him and touched

his nipple lightly through the film. “Do you feel that?”

Moaning softly, Misha fought to collect himself. He pointed at the cubbies. “Get a signal reader.”

Misha lay still as Sulfur ran the finger-sized device over his chest, trying to connect to the devices under his skin; they were built to the same specs as the environmental sensors whose states he was constantly reading.

“Are you able to pick up any of the signal?” he asked. “No. I think Sample One might be all we need.”

He relaxed. “That was too easy.”

“You don’t want to try . . . Sample Two?” Sulfur raised an eyebrow and held up the next roll of biofilm. It had a slightly pearlescent sheen. Before he had a chance to reply, they ripped off another square and smoothed it on his other nipple, gently teasing it until he gasped. The biofilm was so thin that it didn’t feel like a barrier—more like he’d rubbed a moisturizer onto his skin—except once in a while when the material would wrinkle for a second and they would remember that there was a microbial textile between their bodies.

“You should . . .” he trailed off, touching Sulfur’s thigh. Their jumpsuit pants were growing uncomfortable as their petals became more swollen. “You really should test to see if Sample Two blocks signals too.”

They ran the sensor slowly over the pearlescent square, almost grazing Misha’s skin, and his breath skipped  as their  eyes  met.  Again, he made a visible effort to bring himself under control. “I’m very impressed with Spider City’s biofilms. Two for two.” Then his eyes narrowed. “I wonder   if I’ll be able to take some back to La Ronge. I could get off Ronnie’s radar sometimes.”

This was definitely not what Sulfur wanted to be thinking about. “I’m going to secure your entire body with the biofilm now.” They grabbed Sample 2 and tore off a big sheet. “Take off your pants and stand up.”

Misha’s face relaxed again and he stood up, releasing  the gripper  at  his waist with the swipe of one hand. It was briefly unnerving to see his aroused stamen without plush petals swollen around it, but Sulfur had al- ways been drawn to unknown landscapes. They gradually unrolled the biofilm against his body, pressing it gently against his skin, making sure  to linger anywhere it made him sigh. He helped them tuck it around his facial features and hair, where the film left a faint iridescence but was otherwise undetectable.

When he was fully encased, Sulfur stepped back to admire their handiwork. Their coveralls were unbearably tight, and they made no ceremony of stripping—in one sloppy gesture, they yanked the fabric off and threw it into a pile on the floor. The two hominins stood in the dwindling sunset light from the window, embracing and sensing each other’s heightening pleasure. Sulfur’s friend had thought of everything: the biofilm allowed the natural salty-musk flavor of skin to come through, and was pleasant to the tongue. Eventually the ache was too much, and they fell to their knees on the bed, their stamens throbbing against each other.

Misha ran his fingers down Sulfur’s rib cage, teasing their nipples, then reached for the damp length of their stamen. “I’m not sure—what you like to do?” he whispered. “I’ve never been with an Archaean before.”

“Bend over and I’ll show you.”

Misha knelt and they curled over his arched back, reaching around to touch his stamen as they guided their own inside him. He sucked in a breath and let it out out in a ragged sigh. It was almost too much, but Sulfur slowed down to enjoy the sensation of being inside another person again—the dalliance with Ace had been a delight, but this was much more. Their abdominal muscles bunched in an agony of anticipation and urgency.

As Sulfur lost control, rhythm getting rougher, Misha cried out in a voice that made him sound like any other  mammal. He was no longer an H. sapiens, but simply a body against Sulfur’s body. As the two under- ground creatures gave in to their shared sensations, Sulfur felt the bio-film slide under their fingers and was filled with elation that this feeling stopped at the edges of their bodies. No one had recorded it; no one would ever know. It was theirs alone.