“You can’t drive this thing yourself?” Veronica scrambles up the tube.
“Nobody alive can stabilize two butterball thrusters,” Top says. “Not anymore. And yes, we need both, unless you want to pirouette out of here.”
“So what, we yell ‘turn right’ at each other?”
“Synch harness,” Top says shortly.
“Oh no. No no.”
But he makes her wear it anyway. She kick-starts her side as he snaps in and his body streams into hers: an itch, his full bladder, the tense knot between his shoulders. Maybe the patrol’s closer than she thought. Veronica wonders if he feels her uterus cramping.