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Hephaestus woke up. His eyes adjusted to dim blue Martian dusk flooding in from the skylight, and he sank back into a nest of pillows and cushions filled with outcrop-moss. He put his hand up to the low ceiling above him. The rough, yellow-white sandstone was still warm from the setting Promethean Desert sun. A pile of academic scrolls had been shoved into the corner of the bed. The sweet smell of roasting cucuta gourd came drifting in from a den a lightyear away.

Then a hand appeared at the cliff of Hephaestus's bed, and a human pulled himself up into the small compartment.

Captain Aubrey made himself comfortable, swinging a leg over Hephaestus's body, crawling on his elbows over the Martian, and apologizing profusely ("Whoops. Sorry, I'm just gonna—") like he had arrived late at the Olympus Mons Opera and was finding his seat. When he finally settled over the Martian—well, basically on top of him—Hephaestus blinked.

"How—" Hephaestus started.

"Everything in here makes a ton of sense," said the Terrestrial quietly, nodding at the Martian's bedroom. "Busts of old rectors, dozens of scrolls of last century's Academy debates?" He grinned down at him in the darkness of the bunk. "Rector Hephaestus, son of Crucibus. Always destined for greatness, huh?"

"How," started Hephaestus again, ignoring the familiarity, panic rising with his heart beat, "in the red heavens did you get into my quarters?"

Now it was the Terrestrial's turn to look confused.

"Actually, I..." He blinked right back at Hephaestus. "You know, I don't know. I just woke up here in this…home." He nearly hit his head on the sandstone. "Your childhood home, I guess. But I knew you were up here. So I figured..."

The Terrestrial put a hand on Hephaestus's chest, and Hephaestus inhaled. His hand was heavy, flat, and warm like the stone above. The other hand carefully moved a loc of white hair out of Hephaestus's eyes. Captain Aubrey's fingers grazed his cheekbone, his rector's collar, and his necklace of beaded basalt. The grin had faded from Captain Aubrey's lips as he considered the Martian’s features. And suddenly, Hephaestus's fingers wanted to study the pull tabs of Captain Aubrey's pockets, to trace a patch sewn to his arm. His palms itched to grasp Aubrey's wrist.

"But this makes no sense," said Hephaestus, frowning. 

The human shrugged the best he could while hunched in the bunk, sitting on Hephaestus's thighs.

"To be honest with you, Professor, I didn't think much of it," he whispered and sank down low against him, on his elbows, gaze close to Hephaestus's—mouth close to Hephaestus's. "I just showed up. I figured you'd be able to explain."

The Terrestrials exhale smelled of grain mint and fresh dunespring—herbs he was sure Captain Aubrey had never tasted. The revving whistle of the evening dune wren came from the above ground yard—a call he was sure Captain Aubrey had never heard. The distant aroma of cucuta gourd was too strong; Captain Aubrey's body too heavy on Hephaestus's. None of this made any sense. How...oh.

"Starless night," Hephaestus swore against Captain Aubrey's lips. "A plague."

The Cast of Binding!

They kissed, and Hephaestus exhaled, hands coming up the sides of the human invading his dream.

The flight suit material was thick and rough, and he felt the firmness—a very real, very warm firmness— of the strong body underneath it. He surged up into the lips of Captain Aubrey. He wrapped an arm around the Terrestrial's shoulder. The man shifted, bringing a thigh roughly between Hephaestus's. He groaned. Hephaestus resisted the urge to push his horns into the captain's shoulder, then and there, burrowing his head in pleasure. He would not embarrass himself before Captain Aubrey, even in a dream.

"Unstable magic," he gasped, mind's eye scanning through the Cast of Binding's constellation and asterisms. It was the ritual they had both undergone just days ago. "Unprecedented effects of the cast. Something has gone wrong." But he couldn’t help himself: he pressed his lips into Captain Aubrey's again. "Terribly wrong!"

"Oh, is that what it is?" murmured Captain Aubrey. He sounded distracted and drowsy—maybe from the rush of kissing.  He sat up and a triangle of black t-shirt bloomed as he unzipped his flight suit past the navel. "Well, I hope we can figure it out."

*****

"Letter from Earth for you, Professor!" called Xavyn. She popped into Professor Hephaestus’s study with her usual spray of black and brown feathers, and a smile on her beak.

It was half past midnight at Tharsis College—regular business hours for most Martians, but especially for scholars who needed to attend to important stargazing. Hephaestus had been lost in his work outlining minor asterisms of a microscopic civilization on Mimas, and his study had become cold with the dry chill of the Tharsis mountain range. The bronze busts of rectors past hung over the tome-filled room, candelabras throwing odd shadows on their black horns. Hephaestus looked up from his drafting table, conjured a casting wheel, and summoned a warming Cast of Sol over the room.

"A letter?" he asked the Vengorian.

"As the sun rises—A letter!" said Xavyn. His assistant half-hovered, half skipped across the room and held the letter out to him in her wing. "And you'll never guess who it's from."

Hephaestus took the message and looked down at neat Terrestrial print. Then both of his stomachs sank. 

There on the back, spelled out in round even letters of the English language:

"Ah," sniffed Hephaestus calmly and nonchalantly.

Hephaestus hummed in panic very quickly and very quietly.

"Xavyn," Hephaestus went on slowly and airily, as though he'd received the faculty observatory schedule, "given the unprecedented nature of interplanetary mail between Terrestria and Mars, I am curious as to how Captain Aubrey got my address."

"Oh. Um," said Xavyn. Her head retreated into her shoulders to an unnatural degree, and her nape puffed.

"Xavyn," said Hephaestus. 

"Oh, uh, professor—I—I didn't tell you?" She tittered. "Captain Aubrey and I have sorta been...pen pals! Since the retrieval mission! He's just so nice—and he wanted to ask you something, so, I kind of. Said I’d pass messages along to you?"

"Of course," said Hephaestus.

"I knew you wouldn't mind, Professor!" Xavyn said. "I know I'm from Venus, but it's so so so nice to see Martians and Terrestrial relations finally developing!  Unity in the solar system is important, you know? But—OH!—sun and stars, Captain Aubrey’s letters come in with the rest of the official communications from Earth! Andterrestrialcultureissofascinating—"

While Xavyn launched into a breathless summary of Captain Aubrey's missives, Hephaestus imagined the nature of these exchanges. They must have been the epistolary equivalent of two desert wrens screaming the news at one another at disorienting speed. Xavyn would send over a dense scroll expounding on every endless detail of her day, and Captain Aubrey would write back, punctuating with "wow!" and "gosh!" and "that's great!" Hephaestus pictured Captain Aubrey grinning over the Vengorian's scroll and chuckling in a break room full of Terrestrial astronauts. 

Cpt. Aubrey
Y'all, every time I get a letter from Xavyn, you know what I love to say after I'm done reading it?

Cpt. Aubrey
 …'You'll never guess what a little birdie told me!' 

Cpt. Aubrey:
Hah, innit that hilarious?!

He could see Captain Aubrey, handsome and good-natured, wheezing into a NASA coffee mug. 

Hephaestus shuddered.

"—So, hopefully," continued Xavyn, "because Captain Aubrey really likes this Earth sport so much, I'll get to go to an AMERICAN FOOTBALL GAME one day! Wouldn't that be cosmic? An AMERICAN FOOTBALL GAME."

"Without a doubt, Xavyn," said Hephaestus. He did not know why Xavyn was shouting.

"Right? Anyway, thanks for listening, Professor Hephaestus!" said Xavyn to Hephaestus, who had not been listening at all.

She waved a wing at him, retreated back to the door, and was gone.

Then Hephaestus took a deep breath and read the letter.

Hephaestus put the letter down. A cold, breaking terror like the oceans of Triton crackled in his stomachs.

"Clouds," Hephaestus swore. 

Then Hephaestus read the letter once more, and swore once more, now worriedly running a hand over a horn. Just days ago he had returned to Mars from an assignment given to him by the Martian High Council: to locate a Terrestrial who had been abducted from the Earth's Kennedy Lunar Station. The mission was simple enough—some simple spell sourcing, uncovering charmed artifacts, doing battle with an ancient guardian spirit...but had required that he be accompanied by a physician from Earth. Supposedly, this physician would provide "better care" to the retrieved Terrestrial than a cosmically trained Martian rector. This complication still frustrated Hephaestus and was the only reason he had been forced to meet the human known as Captain Thomas Aubrey, a NASA flight surgeon.

The captain was named a temporary ambassador to Mars, and all interplanetary duties required that rectors undergo The Cast of Binding with ambassadors—an arguably archaic and bureaucratic practice. Now, Hephaestus was left with the new and disastrous results.

He stood up and paced around his study. He briefly thought of writing to his brother, Hesperos, who had great knowledge on these things, but he ushered that idea away. No. Never. The teasing would be relentless. The busts of his forerectors looked down upon him with blank metal eyes, agreeing that he had indeed found himself on a cliff edge a half-hoof too narrow. 

Finally, he sat down at his stool and pushed aside his Miman constellation draft—not important right now—and wrote quickly on parchment, in Terrestrial English, in the fine black lines of a compressed ink stick.

He crossed through the many tables of curios and diagrams to the Martian armillary sphere at his study window. It shone a gleaming brown in the candle light like a massive, brass rattan ball. Hephaestus shifted a few rings, then adjusted the delticate orrery next to it.

"To Captain Thomas Aubrey," announced Hephaestus, and clearing his throat, added for good measure, "of Earth."

With a flourish, he dropped the letter into the sphere.

There was no burst of light or any sound, but the letter vanished. Hephaestus took a breath. Surely, it was a fluke. It was one, single, passionate dream—and a dozen days ago at that. More calm, he placed his hands behind his back and returned to his drafting table.  If his sphere was well-calibrated, his letter would already be on Captain Aubrey's doorstep.

*****

Hephaestus woke up. 

"Starless—"

His hands flew up to catch the stream of blood dripping from his nose and onto his black garments.

He noticed first the strange pale blue skies of Earth, and second, that he was in the backseat of a vehicle. He shifted in the seat. Far off, other Terrestrial vehicles were neatly lined up on a gray-black surface. A few people climbed out of these vehicles, chattering as they strolled up to a building labeled CINEMA 27. 

NOW PLAYING: 

RISKY BUSINESS. 

TRADING PLACES. 

STAR WARS EPISODE VI.

And finally, he caught his reflection in the rear view mirror: a Martian rector holding his nose, blood disappearing in the grey flowing lounging tunic that bared his chest. The air was warm and heavy and left a sheen of sweat glistening on rich brown skin.

"Hey Becky, sorry." The sound of someone running came muffled from outside. "I just grabbed some—"

The car door opened. Hephaestus saw the wad of brown paper napkins first, and then the blue flight suit, and then finally Tom Aubrey's wide green eyes peering into the backseat. 

"Oh," said Captain Aubrey upon seeing Hephaestus. He pointed, winced, and then nodded as if he remembered. "Right. The sexy dreams with Professor Hephaestus."

Tom sighed, climbed in, shut the door behind him, and handed Hephaestus the fist full of paper towels. Hephaestus stared at it. He rolled his eyes, snatched the paper, and stuffed it under his nose.

"I know this isn't as thrilling as our—" Captain Aubrey searched for the right word, blushing. "—intimate stay in that glacier lodge on Neptune, but what can you do? Not every dream is gonna be a winner." The captain drummed his knees. "Welcome to Beaumont, Professor Hephaestus."

This was their sixth psychic dalliance—no, their fifth. (No. Sixth?) It was a blur of Captain Aubrey’s embraces, a collage of bodily fluids, and with no end in sight. In his waking hours Hephaestus had raided the Tharsis apothecary for sorn horn and Moonwort—telepathy numbing agents. He had combed through every point in his astrological chart for an ill behaving star. He had reverse drafted the original plate of the Cast of Binding, the one Xavyn had used in her astrolabe for the diplomatic ritual that happened before their mission. He had found nothing out of the ordinary. 

And with each failed attempt, he could have enlightened Captain Aubrey on the matter, either via dream meeting or by letter—but chose not to. Embarrassing psychic trysts with Terrestrials did not happen to respectable rectors like Hephaestus. Silly cosmic shenanigans did not befall Martian scholars like him. And if they did, learnèd students of the stars like Hephaestus could use reason and research to parse a solution. And as far as Hephaestus was concerned, he would grasp a solution soon, move on, and let the captain live with this set of harmless, unexplained, salacious dreams. 

"This is how the precocious Dr. Thomas Aubrey spent his youth?" said Hephaestus, from behind a bundle of brown paper. "In the backseat of Terrestrial carriages, inducing his young lovers into spontaneous cases of epistaxis?"

"Okay, simmer down, it only happened once," said Captain Aubrey, crossing his arms, "and Becky Matthews was a real champ about it. Not sure why it’s the memory of the week though…" 

His arms did not stay crossed for long. The captain faced him in the cramped backseat, which was far too small for two grown rams. Or, that is, a grown ram and a grown human man. Hephaestus watched Captain Aubrey watch him. The Terrestrial's eyes wandered over his face, lingered on his lips, looked over Hephaestus's open tunic, and ended up back on his lips. Hephaestus discarded the paper towels and met the Terrestrial's gaze.

"You know, weird stuff like this, these dreams, just happens to me," said Captain Aubrey. And when Hephaestus didn't respond, he ducked his head and said: "It's stupid, but. I think it's because I was born on the Moon? I know that doesn't make sense, and I had a therapist tell me I should let that go."

Hephaestus hummed acknowledgement and watched Captain Aubrey open an ashtray.

"Abandon the idea that strange things happen to you because you were born on the Earth's Moon?" asked Hephaestus. He scoffed. "Terrestrials amaze me with their disregard for sound astrology."

"Sound astrology?"

"Yes, obviously," sniffed Hephaestus. "Horoscope science would dictate that you have a unique star chart: no other creature in this solar system has been born on Earth's moon. With your astrological fingerprint, odd events should happen to you."

Captain Aubrey put an elbow up on the headrest, grinning. "So there’s some magical reasoning behind this?"

"Of course," said Hephaestus. He noted the orange of Earth's setting sun. "But Terrestrial astrology is not very precise, so I do wonder....Your star chart...Your Terrestrial star chart."

"Yeah?"

"What is one's moon sign if they were born on the moon?"

Tom's laugh was sudden, full-bodied, and lasted for some time. It shook his shoulders. Hephaestus had no idea what the captain had found amusing about a rational astrological query, but Captain Aubrey repeated the last part of what Hephaestus said ("—'if they were born on the moon'—oh man, that's good.") and elbowed the Martian's arm.

Captain Aubrey was young for a Terrestrial, but the already deep creases around his eyes suggested he laughed frequently and smiled often. These appeared now, and though Hephaestus's own visage remained blank, something stirred in his stomachs at this observation. He reached up to cup the human's face, which stilled the laughter, and his palms scratched the beginnings of a beard. Hephaestus's thumb smoothed a crease out from the corner of Tom's eye. Tom looked up at him.

"I gotta say," said Tom into his palm. He squeezed Hephaestus's thigh. "At least it's not recurring nightmares."

While kissing Captain Aubrey, this time Hephaestus pulled the zipper of his flight suit down, pulling the garment back from broad shoulders, and helping the human shrug out of it. In his many years of life the Martian had yet to encounter a being so confounding. Emotions were a private thing—a secret to share only with a friend or a lover. A gift. That Tom seemed to give so freely was as startling as it was intoxicating.

Hephaestus felt reason turn away from him as the captain kissed his lips and down his neck and over his chest. Tom drew the cord tying Hephaestus’s shirt together and carefully helped pull the trousers from Hepahaestus’s hips. The humidity in the already warm car was increasing rapidly.

To the Terrestrial's credit, with every dream encounter, Tom seemed quite impressed by Hephaestus's Martian physiology—but not scandalized. The eroticism for him lay elsewhere, Hephaestus observed.  Tom looked down at Hephaestus's cock, which was as dark as his horns and flushed a deep red where taut skin stretched at the ridged head, and protruded from a crop of brown fur. It wasn't too different from humans. Anyway, it was stiff. Tom nodded.

"I think I have enough room—just a sec," said Captain Aubrey, suddenly turning away and busying himself with the driver's seat. He pulled at something beneath the seat and then shouldered the seat forward with a loud THUNK-CLICK.  Having made enough space, he positioned himself half on the backseat cushion, half on the floor of the vehicle, head at Hephaestus's waist.

"Becky Matthew's 1982 Nissan Sentra," he said, grinning up at Hephaestus winningly, "thing was practically a TARDIS."

Even though they were figments of Captain Aubrey’s memory, animated through celestial magic to provide a backdrop to this scene, a few movie-goers looked around to find the source of the sound of glass breaking. The sound occurred as Captain Aubrey took the Martian’s cock in his mouth, and the source was Hephaestus's horns cracking the window of Becky Matthew's parents’ economical compact sedan.

Later, Hephaestus could feel the edges of the dream unraveling and watched another group of movie-goers wander off into blurs of memory for the 6:40 showing of Star Wars. Hephaestus held the human, whose flight suit was tied around his waist, and let the captain lay back against his chest.

"I know you're not the real Hephaestus," said Tom, speaking to what was in fact Hephaestus's actual consciousness, "because of course this would only happen to me." Captain Aubrey slowly twisted one of the rings on Hephaestus's fingers. "And I have no idea how I'm gonna get out of this dream-loop. But I guess something in my unconscious mind finds you very beautiful. Uh—or sorry, handsome."

Hephaestus stared in amusement at the short blond hair under his nose. "I understand you. I mastered the English language many years ago. An adaptive tongue with intriguing contradictions...Hm. I find it especially interesting how it functions between—to map to your popular Terrestrial binary— ewes and rams. Yes, of course, not all descriptions of beauty in English are so rigid and discrete...and perhaps, on Mars, the many declensions we have for our many social, academic, and reproductive roles make Martian Standard rather taxing. But I wonder: have you too, like your mother tongue, gendered beauty, Captain Aubrey?"

Tom stopped playing with Hephaestus's ring.

"Well, you guys have sexual dimorphism too," Captain Aubrey pointed out. "It makes sense that languages reflect that."

A surprising debate partner. "True," said Hephaestus. "And we Martians have made remarkable progress toward androgyny in the last gross-dozen hectades. A quarter million Earth years," he added when he saw Captain Aubrey doing the math.

"I...Okay, well, it's 1998 on Earth, for us," Tom said, in the same tone he had used earlier to tell Hephaestus to simmer down, "for me. And even though we're living in the brave new future, English may have some catching up to do. But either way, that's fascinating. I'd love to learn Martian Standard."

"You haven't the articulatory organs," said Hephaestus.

Tom rolled his eyes.

"Fine. But I mean it. Hephaestus, you're stunning. No, really. Just..." He looked out at the dream sun disappearing behind an H.E.B. gas station sign. He was looking for the right word, and decided. "Very beautiful."

He did, in fact, mean this. And if Captain Aubrey knew the precise words in Martian Standard, he would've meant it too. Hephaestus was thankful that he didn't. He did not like to think about how such frankness would make him feel. In the backseat of the Terrestrial vehicle, it was something Tom would've told—must have told—Rebecca Matthews. Sweet, direct—

Honest.

Hephaestus met warm green eyes in the mirror. Guilt snarled like a Nova-eel in his stomach.

"Thank you," said Hephaestus.

Captain Aubrey chuckled. Then his smile fell.

"Oh no," he said, reaching around to run a thumb under Hephaestus's nose. 

Hephaestus looked down and saw a rivulet of dark violet on the human's parchment-like skin. "Aw shoot. Okay, stay calm—wow. I swear this only happened to Becky once. What the heck!"

*****

*****

"I really, really," Xavyn chirped, skipping and hopping to keep up with Hephaestus’s long strides, "really, think we’re on to something, Professor. I’d bet a nest full of runes on it. Could you imagine?! Captain Aubrey and I? Producing Academy-worthy research together?"

Hephaestus could. He picked up his pace.

There were the persistent dreams starring Captain Aubrey, but then there was the very real threat of junior librarian Xavyn and Captain Aubrey, apparently, co-authoring a groundbreaking paper on the effects of residual telepathic channels in Terrestrials after magical exposure. Their findings were thorough and compelling. The two of them had been infuriatingly industrious. 

Hephaestus’s last lecture had just finished and let out to a clear, dry orange afternoon. You could see far into the horizon on a day like this, all the way to the taupe looming giant of Olympus Mons. As they walked through a stream of Tharsis scholars and through the college’s garden of towering red succulents, Xavyn had given Hephaestus a lengthy report on her and Captain Aubrey’s most recent discoveries: They had cross-examined all of Captain Aubrey’s symptoms and concluded that the ailment was indeed telepathic. ("Well, that or a Moonwisp tagged along with him back to Earth. Rare, I know. But those mostly cause night terrors...") The cause of his symptoms was something Captain Aubrey had interacted with during his and Hephaestus’s retrieval mission. ("We haven’t ruled out spontaneous starcrossing though. Oh—Professor Hephaestus!!—Captain Aubrey has SUCH a weird star chart!") And finally, these weren’t hallucinations, visions, omens, or events occurring on the astral plane. They were in fact, just dreams. Harmless really. ("I knew I should’ve taken Professor Irawo’s class on dreams and magic. UGH.")

"The only thing is," said Xavyn, hanging in the air in the effortless, gravity-defying way Vengorians did, "Captain Aubrey has been oddly reticent on what his dreams are about. But I’ve been trying—Oof—"

Thud. She skipped into Hephaestus’s back. And with small squawks of distress, she became enveloped in his cape. 

Hephaestus had stopped short in the middle of the courtyard so quickly, and pivoted on the heel of his sundog boots so fiercely, that two graduate students had also gotten tangled in each other’s horns trying to avoid the rector. Hephaestus turned around and moved his straying, startled locs to frame his face again. He raised his chin, cool.

"Perhaps you shouldn’t pry, Xavyn," he said.

"I know, but it’s so strange," said Xavyn, standing back and pulling Hephaestus’s cape off her head. "Captain Aubrey is usually an open book—"

"Perhaps, Xavyn," Hephaestus continued, "Terrestrial social customs forbid the discussions of one’s dreams."

"Oh," said Xavyn, gasping. "Oh, well. Er, sun and stars, you’re right. I didn’t—"

"Perhaps," said Hephaestus, stepping forward, standing over the Vengorian, "your zealousness for discovery is pulling Captain Aubrey into orbit. Enlisting him into research he might not even wish to conduct. Delving into realms of the Terrestrial psyche that no man wishes to delve into. Have you not once considered that you’ve embroiled this human in a tedious and uncomfortable investigation?"

Hephaestus towered over her. Xavyn stared up at him with shining yellow eyes. Her beak trembled. 

And eventually, she could no longer hold it in: she laughed. 

"Pfft! Haha, wow! No, no—nope." Xavyn giggled. Hephaestus frowned. "Professor Hephaestus, no, of course Captain Aubrey wants to get to the bottom of this! Are you kidding? He’s the first sorn out of the sorn hole on this stuff! He loves research just as much as I do! I mean, he is a doctor."

She adjusted the bundle of scrolls in her wings and bounced away, but before she disappeared to the main terrace, burst into a fit of giggles once again.

"I may not know Terrestrial customs, but I’m pretty good at knowing when I’m annoying someone. Hah! Haha!!"

Hephaestus helplessly watched his assistant disappear into the black cloaks and scholar’s robes of the Tharsis student body, her chirruping laughter cutting through the low murmur of dry Martian conversation. 

So. The librarian and the physician’s missives were far from the frivolous screeching Hephaestus thought they’d be.

"Starless night and sandstorms," Hephaestus said. 

A passing botanist jumped at the colorful language.

*****

Hephaestus stepped out of the Cast of Doors and into the damp heat of a League City evening. The same fading sun rays that had warmed the dry stone of Hephaestus’s childhood cottage now filtered through the thick Texas air. The balminess was nothing compared to the infernal temperatures on Mars, but the moisture was oppressive. He began to sweat.

Captain Aubrey’s neighbors were research scientists and Space Center personnel—members of ground control, or contractors, or PhDs tinkering through odd, magicless hypotheses. From their apartment balconies and patios, they would not have been too surprised to see, at Tom Aubrey’s doorstep, a Cast of Doors or a Martian with impeccable posture. But they would have been surprised to know that the Martian standing there was minutes from a full mental breakdown.

All of this, Hephaestus thought, must be put to an end immediately. 

Hephaestus’s hand picked up the door knocker, but before it could rap against the wood, he heard a voice.

"Oh."

And for the first time since their retrieval mission, he laid eyes on Tom Aubrey in the waking daylight. 

A rush hit Hephaestus like a meteor. Somehow, there was more to see and to smell and to hear, a surge of detail to bear witness to. Damp and breathless from his exercise, with odd synthetic shoes scuffing the concrete, Captain Aubrey stepped out the stairwell and onto the landing. His chest was bare—in his hand was his T-shirt, sagging and useless. Hephaestus inhaled. On his neck, the dull aroma of human sweat. The pungent hints of freshly cut grass stuck to his ankles and calves. Hephaestus was sure that if he could bury his nose in Captain Aubrey’s short blonde hair, he’d pick up ozone. Maybe even air pollution. His eyes still roamed over the Terrestrial’s firm torso, adorned in light hair and paused on the captain’s shorts.

Shorts. No such garment existed on Mars. And for good reason: they should be illegal. They were making the horizon tilt.

A dozen’s dozen thoughts bubbled up in Hephaestus’s soul like the viscous contents of an alchemist’s cauldron. He swiftly crammed them into a black hole. He cleared his throat.

"Captain Aubrey," he said, sighing. "Good. You’ve arrived. I wish to speak to you about your most recent letter."

The Terrestrial did not make eye contact.

"Yes—of course," said Tom, he knelt down to untie his apartment key from his shoelaces. "Of course. Come on in. Let me just—sorry, whoops, if I could squeeze—Yeah, of course. Uh, it’s a bit of a mess right now," said Captain Aubrey, already toeing off his sneakers.

Hephaestus stepped out of the way and Tom Aubrey opened the door to his apartment.

Hephaestus hung up his traveling cape, and with a wave of a casting wheel, he removed his clefted boots, leaving both at the door. His bare hooves felt the strange blue carpet. It was a mostly normal abode, for a bachelor who spent half of his time on the Earth’s Moon. Neat enough, with an impressive number of framed photos—half of family and half of space and aircraft—and a flag Hephaestus could not place hung over the mantle. 

What was unusual was that the apartment was overflowing with Martian tomes and scrolls. Stacks on stacks of leather-bound manuscripts were piled on every surface, crammed between Earth books on Captain Aubrey’s bookshelves, sitting underneath Terrestrial mail. Some were on the carpet, open in a semicircle, and others were bookmarked on the kitchen counter in between a massive, open, half-eaten tub of Terrestrial tree nuts. Hephaestus tapped an open copy of Lavanthanus’s Appendices on The Race of Prometheus next to a—how in the red heavens did this Terrestrial get an armillary sphere? And nearly everywhere, on scraps of parchment and Terrestrial paper, Hephaestus recognized Xavyn’s shrill handwriting.

Captain Aubrey was in socks and shorts now, and glanced down at Hephaestus’s hooves. But he still did not look at Hephaestus's face. "Hey, can I get you anything? A glass of water?"

"No," said Hephaestus, and then immediately: "Captain Aubrey, I do not wish to alarm you. But your apartment is, without a doubt, currently the largest library of Martian literature on Earth. I’m sure this fact would startle both your government and the presiding bodies of Mars."

"I know, it’s bad," said the captain, ignoring Hephaestus and filling up two glasses of water. "I think the Martian High Council only approved two or three of these books being here, but Xavyn has her ways." He set the glasses on the counter and straightened up suddenly. "Uh. Please don’t report her."

"I will not," Hephaestus said. "I’m extremely proficient at keeping secrets."

Hephaestus turned away from Captain Aubrey. He was trying not to break into a million pieces. It was like the channel that had not closed between them was receiving a glut of new messages in real time, feasting on proximity. Even facing away, Hephaestus saw the angle of Captain Aubrey’s jaw, his wide light eyes, the smile he had seen in his dreams. One of Hephaestus’s stomachs was tight, while the other trembled. He busied himself with the armillary sphere, hands spreading out to conjure a casting wheel. The Cast of Searching: Seven hectades old. Two twelfths first gold. Hm. Stellar. 

"Since our retrieval mission, I’ve had this three month stint before I’m back up on the Lunar Station?" Captain Aubrey called. He emerged from his bedroom with a new shirt. It was emblazoned with a gold crest and the words United States Air Force Museum, Dayton, Ohio. "I guess I get, uh, a little crazy without anything to do." 

There was silence. Captain Aubrey swallowed audibly.

"But Professor, uh."

Captain Aubrey leaned in his bedroom doorway with a thousand-year old folio in his arms. He was frowning down at it, flipping slowly between two pages. And breathed out, steeling himself. He finally met Hephaestus’s gaze.

"So, as you probably know, Xavyn and I figured out what I’ve been dealing with," he said. Color rose in his cheeks. "And I think we can solve this without things getting too messy."

Hephaestus’s posture straightened. He eyed the captain.

"I didn’t give Xavyn the full lowdown on the dreams I was having, because they were, uh—" He coughed, and his tone became more military, more medical. "Professor Hephaestus, frankly, they were of an erotic nature. And extremely vivid. But my and Xavyn’s research led us to conclude that it might be an errant effect of the Cast of Binding. I obviously don’t know the next thing about casting or magic—you’re the expert here— but since that was one of the casts I was subjected to during our mission, and all of my symptoms align with known side effects of telepathic casts, and you’ve been a prominent feature in the dreams—we’re concluding that this is the source of the issue."

Captain Aubrey handed Hephaestus the folio and stood back, hands on his hips. 

Hephaestus flipped through the document. An ink-drawn diagram of a casting wheel versus an astrolabe plate, densely annotated. A curiously marked graph on asterism-zodiac topology. Several pages of text on the warping of stellar magic across the 5th and 6th dimensions. Hephaestus hummed and then nodded. He handed the text back to Captain Aubrey.

"You are," Hephaestus said, raising his horns, "correct."

"Really? You think so?"

"Undoubtedly," said Hephaestus.

Captain Aubrey scratched the back of his head.  "Okay. Well. I haven’t run any of this past Xavyn, but I have an idea—"

"—Yes. But of course," continued Hephaestus, "I’ve known this to be the source of the issue for some time."

Captain Aubrey blinked, arm still behind his head.

"...What?"

Hephaestus crossed to the coffee table which had several open scrolls. Constellations and asterism for The Cast of Binding. "Since our retrieval mission, I, too, have been plagued by dreams, Captain Aubrey. Explicit ones, where our unconscious minds were no doubt in conversation."

"You’ve—" started Tom, behind him. "What?"

"These dreams were obviously bothersome, Captain," said Hephaestus, "but I felt it was unimportant to trouble you in my own research to resolve the issue. It became readily apparent that our Martian-Terrestrial interaction produced some sort of error in the lifting of The Cast of Binding. Novel effects of a Martian-Terrestrial pair." He nodded at the folio in Captain Aubrey’s hand, clasping his hands behind his back. "So yes, you are correct. I applaud you and Xavyn in your investigation."

There was something inscrutable in Captain Aubrey’s eyes. Something Hephaestus had not seen in any dream. 

"You knew this entire time?" asked Tom.

"Yes," said Hephaestus. "From our very first encounter. I realized it immediate—"

"No. So you mean," said Captain Aubrey, shaking his head, "Over the course of the last few months, I’ve had 26 dreams with you in it." (Hm. Hephaestus thought. He’d never thought to keep count.) "Where we—where we were intimate. You had those same dreams?"

"Yes, said Hephaestus. 

"We had all of those dreams together? You and me?"

"Yes," said Hephaestus, frowning.

"And you never once thought to tell me you were experiencing them too?" As more realization dawned on Captain Aubrey, he looked the Martian up and down. He pointed with the 1000-year old Martian text. "This whole time! It was you?"

Hephaestus was growing increasingly impatient. And there was a cross tone in Captain Aubrey’s voice that was, confusedly, sending his heart racing. He needed to share his devised solution and vacate to the other side of the solar system.

"It was I," said Hephaestus.

Tom exhaled. "So you lied in your letter! You said you didn’t know what was wrong with me!"

"No, I omitted," said Hephaestus shortly, "because I have never heard of Martian ailments afflicting Terrestrials. But that is of no matter. I’m telling you now, face to face and in reality. Before, I had not deemed it necessary."

"I—Wh—Not deemed it necessary?" Captain Aubrey sputtered. "Professor! I thought I was going insane. For months! These dreams were all I could think about day and night! I mean, look at this place."

The apartment had enough Martian texts to rival Hephaestus’s study. Hephaestus looked down his nose at an open publication on the history of Martian and Terrestrial interactions. It sat next to a plastic cartridge from Blockbuster. This publication was, noticeably, the thinnest book in the room.

"And," Professor Hephaestus sighed, flipping a page to see his own father’s name, "you have received a foundational education in stellar magic."

"I’m sorry—Professor Hephaestus, but what on Earth is wrong with you?"

 Hephaestus’s posture could not have been more perpendicular.

"Nothing on Earth is wrong with me," he hissed. "A Martian rector merely does not involve Terrestrials in his magical investigations. The complicated degrees of casting magic—the endless mechanics of cosmic telepathy. Why, you’d have no idea. You should be grateful that I was able to resolve this matter at all."

"But Xavyn and I could’ve helped," Captain Aubrey said. "This could’ve taken half the time—I just." The Terrestrial stared down at his hands which were tensed into claws. "Oh my God. It’s just like the damned retrieval mission all over again."

Hephaestus allowed himself a smug grin. "Successfully resolved?"

"No," Captain Aubrey snapped, "a thousand times harder because you have such a massive ego!" 

It was the loudest Hephaestus had ever heard Captain Aubrey’s voice. (Well, outside of the erotic dreams, of course.) It brought the room to vibrating silence. 

"I’m sorry, can you just tell me now," said Captain Aubrey. "Is being this arrogant a Martian thing? Or just a you thing?"

"Neither," said Hephaestus swiftly. 

He lifted his palm. A bright, glowing casting wheel appeared above it.

"The Vengorian Cast of Rooms," he announced. 

Pinpricks of star coordinates flashed across the wheel’s firmament and the circle shimmered gold. Hephaestus reached into the center of the casting wheel, limb disappearing up to his brass gauntlets. And like a Promethean desert merchant displaying his mysterious wares, produced a series of vials which he placed on Captain Aubrey’s kitchen counter.

"You will be taking these drafts of moonwort brewed by the finest alchemist at the Royal Academy of Mars, Scholar Mkpuru," he said. "She adjusted them for Terrestrial consumption. I attempted to brew a draft myself, but I am humble enough to admit that alchemistry is not my expertise." 

The casting wheel vanished with the final vial. As Captain Aubrey picked up an oblong glass, Hephaestus walked to the door, hoping this would be the last time his hooves would touch a Terrestrial carpet. 

"The active component of the potions, Mercurian moonwort, will close your telepathic channels, if taken properly," said Hephaestus crisply, swinging his cape over his shoulders. "And now, Captain Aubrey, that I’ve seemed to upset you so thoroughly with a conclusion, you need no longer worry: I am taking my leave. You shall never have to speak to me again, either in your dreams or in reality."

He threw the door open to a wall of East Texas humidity. He was about to fling a casting wheel down at his boots, and exit the Terrestrial apartment with a flourish of locs and bravado—but paused with his hand on the doorknob.

Because something was wrong.

"Were my instructions unclear?" asked Hephaestus. "You seem less aggrieved." A terrible feeling creeped over Hephaestus’s shoulder. "And more…confused."

"...Yeah, well, I’m confused because," said Captain Aubrey, putting the bottle down, "because…this isn’t correct?" 

Hephaestus blinked.

"Huh?" Hephaestus said intelligently.

"This isn’t correct," repeated Captain Aubrey. "What you just said. This moonwort—no. No, I thought…I told you, Xavyn and I got to the bottom of it. Well, really, just Xavyn. I thought that’s why you were here. Moonwort won’t work."

Hephaestus closed the door.

Captain Aubrey crossed over to Hephaestus again, and opened the folio again. This time, he pulled from between two pages a scrap of paper with Xavyn’s handwriting—a letter. 

Hephaestus took the folio and letter, annoyed. Incorrect? How—? He walked away from the dim foyer and back to the carpeted living room to read the Vengorian’s letter. It had been written in Pecks, but magically translated to Terrestrial English.

Hephaestus flipped the parchment over, even though he already knew and met all three of Xavyn’s mothers and could care less about learning more about them at the moment. Then he glanced again at the asterism-zodiac graph and now, fully understood the noted entries—done in Xavyn’s neat beak. Then he read the letter again. And again. And again. 

Realization dawned on him, bright and piercing, like a blue Martian sunrise.

Why hadn’t he just asked Hesperos? Would the ridicule have been that unbearable? Why hadn’t he deigned to include Xavyn? Was she not the best research librarian sunward of Pluto? And why had he not told Captain Aubrey? Why on Earth—on Mars—did he care what a Terrestrial thought of him? He put the letter down on the kitchen counter, among the captain’s snacks and Olympus Mons dissertations. 

Because he was, at times, an exceptional idiot, he thought.

And by now whatever unconscious cosmic channels there were between him and the captain screamed to become conscious.

"Ah, y-yes," said Hephaestus. Red heavens, had he not closed the door? Why had the temperature risen? He swallowed. He took a breath and turned around to Captain Aubrey. "The logic here is. Is quite sound."

Captain Aubrey averted his gaze. 

Instead, the captain walked to the kitchen. He took one of the glasses of water sitting on the counter and downed it. He put it in the sink. Then, without asking, Captain Aubrey drank the next glass—Hephaestus’s. Hephaestus had mastered English in a few Terrestrial months when his family had lived on Earth during his father’s Academy-approved, anthropological field studies. In humans, the laryngeal prominence in the neck was called the Adam’s apple. Now, Hephaestus watched, entranced by cosmic magic that he could not name, as Captain Aubrey’s Adam’s apple bobbed with each swallow. The captain placed Hephaestus’s glass in the sink as well. He then went to his quarters.

And wordlessly, Hephaestus followed. 

In the bedroom, old maps and model ships replaced portraits and pictures of galaxies. The amount of Martian literature was somehow more dense here than in the den, stacked on and around the bedside table, overtaking the dresser. One half of Captain Aubrey’s bed was covered in a pile of scrolls. The curtains were drawn, throwing the room in the gray shade of twilight. When Captain Aubrey turned around, he stood close.

"I know I said we could solve this without things getting too messy," he said, "but I changed my mind."

"Hm," said Hephaestus. "Fair."

"And I’m kind of a ‘rip the bandaid off’ sort of guy." 

The hands grasped behind Hephaestus’s back wrung themselves. 

"Very—" But his voice tripped. "Very well. Rip aw—"

He finished the sentence on Captain Aubrey’s lips.

Whatever channel there was between them cracked at the seams, making the fur up Hephaestus’s legs bristle, drowning him in the feel of a souvenir cotton T-shirt, the stick of still damp running shorts, the scrape of stubble, the rush of breath, the soft press of human lips against his, the pull of Captain Aubrey’s arms. It was like the first time he spun a casting wheel, the moment when the stars collided between his fingers. Hephaestus suddenly felt every single one of the dizzying 23.5 degrees of Earth’s axial tilt. His tail kept flicking. He swayed.

"Hey, hey," said Captain Aubrey, pulling away. He steadied the Martian by the waist. Frustration receded to concern. "You okay?"

Hephaestus let out a shuddering breath. If he had learned anything, he knew that now was the time to finally tell Captain Aubrey the truth.

"I’m perfectly fine," he lied.

He pushed them both back into bed. 

There was the distressing crunch of millenia-old scrolls underneath them, but Hephaestus was too preoccupied by the Terrestrial in his arms to fling out an Aphran Cast of Frost (a protective cast) or an Aphran Cast of Calm (a cast of reversal). Maybe Xavyn had them rune-protected before she sent them through the armillary sphere. Hopefully they were duplicates. Who knew.

Captain Aubrey’s hand had slid down from his waist to grope hard at his trousers. The flicking of Hephaestus’s tail may or may not have been noticeable through the sorn-hide fabric. The burgeoning firmness of Captain Aubrey’s cock was definitely noticeable through the nylon fabric of his shorts. Captain Aubrey pulled Hephaestus down, pushing his erection into the Martian's thigh. A tendril of foreign, alien, sun-warm hormones creeped through Hephaestus like a solar flare.

"I thought," murmured Captain Aubrey whenever their lips broke apart, "I thought I was really losing it, Professor. Really going off the deep end. I thought I’d keep dreaming about you forever."

"There are worse fates to befall someone," said Hephaestus.

At this, Captain Aubrey laughed. But it was short and scathing: a bark. He held the Martian against him. "Wow. You really don’t feel sorry at all." He smiled—no, he was gritting his teeth. "Man."

Hephaestus wanted to kiss the annoyance off of his lips, to use his superior Martian strength to overpower him. No. Why should he be sorry? How could he be sorry? Mars had spent the last gross-dozen hectades keeping their ways from Terrestria—why should he have broken custom because of a freak cosmic occurrence. Enlighten Captain Aubrey to what?

He stooped to kiss the human again, and moved aside a rotulus older than the Roman empire, and then he saw it. Unfinished, and written in round even letters of the English language, buried beneath Martian texts, a letter:

The rest was blank. It, most likely, was going to be a letter where the Terrestrial entreated Hephaestus to this: a moment of conscious clearing passion. Hephaestus could see under it, another draft carved out with red and graffitied with revisions, complete with a crude diagram of astrological topology. Hephaestus suddenly thought of the pile of academic scrolls he had always shoved into the corner of the bed growing up. Furious study in hopes of one day becoming an admirable rector.

A plastic red pen rolled from the scroll onto Hephaestus's hand. Hephaestus picked it up and the channel of telepathy stilled for a moment.

"Captain Aubrey," Hephaestus said to the man on the bed, "I have acted foolishly."

Green eyes fixed on him suddenly, suspicious. The captain moved aside the locs of Hephaestus’s white hair that were pooling on his T-shirt.

"Yeah?" he asked. "Keep talking."

"The adverse effects of The Cast of Binding," said Hephaestus, "such mishaps do not betide a rector. We are masters of stellar magic." He placed the pen on the bedside table. "To admit to anyone that I was ensnared in an improbable telepathic channel with—" He revised. "To admit to anyone that I could not solve a problem like this—Yes. Captain, I have acted foolishly."

A moment passed. Captain Aubrey’s expression was still a frown.

"Tom," he said simply.

"Pardon?"

Tom, then, tipped Hephaestus to the side, slowly rolling the both of them over. Hephaestus held on to his shoulders. He looked up at the Terrestrial.

"Tom," said Tom quietly. He moved a loc of Hephaestus’s hair off from across the Martian’s nose. "Or Thomas if you have to be formal."

If the flow of their telepathic channel had stilled for a moment, it rebounded. All of the fury in the Terrestrial’s brow had faded, and was replaced by something Hephaestus felt to be more damning: amusement. Amusement at him. 

With Hephaestus’s last shreds of control, he managed: 

"Should I feel the need to be formal?" He regarded the man up and down. "The need might present itself."

Captain Aubrey ducked his head into Hephaestus’s shoulder to laugh.

"Christ almighty," Tom muttered, nose brushing Hephaestus’s, "you are some piece of work."

Tom found his lips again, more slowly this time. He cradled the side of Hephaestus’s head, mindful of his horns, nodding again and again into each kiss, flashing the tip of a soft pink tongue. Even on his back, Hephaestus felt keeled. Gravity might forget him; he could float into space. How could a simple Cast of Binding have gone so poorly? It was a particularly gentle swipe of tongues which did it: the dignity of being a Martian, a rector, and a serious scholar seeped out of Hephaestus in a moan.

And Hephaestus had thought that Moonwort would have cured this.

Whether Tom had been reading Lavanthanus’s Appendices on The Race of Prometheus in preparation for this moment, or simply because of his curiosity as a physician, Hephaestus did not know. But his newly gleaned knowledge of Martian erogenous zones became apparent when he pressed his lips hard against the base of Hephaestus's horns. Hephaestus stifled a groan—but could not quiet the fluttering of his tail. He thanked his lucky stars that this had somehow gone unnoticed.

"Wait," said Tom, noticing the soft pattering sound in the room, "is that you?"

"Ah," said Hephaestus.

Tom unceremoniously tilted Hephaestus's hip up, to the side, and Hephaestus sighed as he helped Tom shrug his sorn-hide trousers down. Together they exposed a thicket of brown fur and at Hephaestus's backside—an erratically flickering tail.

"Hm," said Hephaestus, extremely disappointed.

"26 dreams," commented Tom. "Never came up."

"Alas," said Hephaestus, "the Martian psyche has many facets and conceals many things, Thomas."

The trousers came off, along with Hephaestus's shirt, and Captain Aubrey's shorts were only partially lowered—caught at his knees, revealing his stiff cock—when he asked, carefully, "Can I...Uh, I know I don't have the articulatory organs to pronounce this. But do you like to be touched around your gaet? Or did I even say that correctly?"

He truly had been reading the Appendices. Few thoughts were being produced between Hephaestus's horns at the moment, and the sight of Tom's hairy thighs and cock were vivid details, and Hephaestus's own cock was flushed stiff, dark and red. Any coherent ideas were interrupted by a flickering tail or a wave of lust from Tom that flowed out a trembling telepathic channel. So Hephaestus simply said:

"Close enough."

Hephaestus searched his fur for the area beneath his scrotal pouch. An evolutionary feature which served the purpose of aiding arousal—and yes, through alchemical intervention—reproduction. But the evolutionary decisions of Hephaestus's ancestors at some point deprioritized this. Not everything had to be about reproduction.

Hephaestus watched the Terrestrial as he entered himself. Like the air before a rain, the channel between them grew heavy and sluggish. Tom's breath shallowed. He leaned over Hephaestus, close to his lips. Hephaestus grabbed his wrist and replaced his fingers with Tom's.

"Also never came up in a dream," Tom said. He kissed Hephaestus's lips, neck, horns, working in to the Martian and out. "There a reason you didn't want to share so much with me?"

"Thomas," said Hephaestus, "I do not know."

"You don't know?"

"No."

"Aw shoot," said Tom into Hephaestus’s neck, feigning surprise, "and here I thought you knew everything."

Hephaestus had no reply, but instead groaned when, with fingers still inside him, Tom took his cock in his mouth.

It felt like a dream was fading around him, the haze at the edge of his vision, the cosmic energy that is consciousness trickling from one plane to another like sand in an hour glass. Tom was in him and around him, yet there was the fullness of feeling a disentanglement setting in. A star exploded in Hephaestus then, deep inside.

He remembered now how it felt to walk out of a swirling portal, to take small steps on to Earth's moon, and to lay eyes on Thomas Aubrey for the first time, and knew that he buried what had occurred to him then, tossed a flame right back into the sun: Red heavens. Man is beautiful.

*****

And, all my dreams just disappeared

Like the smoke from a cigarette.

Hephaestus woke up.

The music had trickled in, piano and a woman’s voice, cutting through the drone of the ceiling fan which spun above him. There was the pop and sizzle of cooking and the smell of warming grain. Earth mornings were odd—red and blearing—more like the mid afternoons of Mars. But for the first morning in many mornings, Hephaestus had woken up from a slumber of nothingness. Sweet, blank sleep.

Dressed in his traveling garb, Hephaestus entered Captain Aubrey’s living room. He found the source of the song filling the apartment: a silver and gray box with a spinning black plate. Glorious, thought Hephaestus. As magical as an astrolabe. 

"Didn’t think you’d sleep in," said Captain Aubrey, turning away from the stove. He grabbed a flatbread from directly off of a burner and spooned a yellow mound onto it. "Thought Martians were nocturnal. How’d you sleep?"

"Well," said Hephaestus, and it was true. Something had closed between him and the Terrestrial. The sight of Captain Aubrey’s thighs this morning, for example, was evocative, but not demolishing.

Captain Aubrey placed a plate on the kitchen counter. 

"Vegetarian tacos. Had mine already. Even the eggs are plant based," said the captain. He sighed. "I know—very, very fancy. But you’re a Martian ambassador here, technically, so had to make sure you had a good first morning on Earth. There’s salsa in the fridge if you want any."

Hephaestus sat at the kitchen counter. "Thank you."

The tacos were warm, savory, fluffy and chewy—far from objectionable. They might even have been very good.

“Yup,” repeated Captain Aubrey, NASA coffee mug in hand, crossing his arms and leaning against his counter, “had to make sure you had a good first morning on Earth.”

Hephaestus nodded politely. The music went on in the background.

Captain Aubrey sighed, uncrossed his arms, and pushed forward the thin book on the history of Martian and Terrestrial interactions. The last twelve hours of Hephaestus’s life could have tripled the length of the book; the portion in Captain Aubrey’s bedroom was sure to be several dozen pages at least. Hephaestus took a small bite of the Terrestrial meal.

“But this isn’t your first morning on Earth,” said Captain Aubrey triumphantly. He flipped through several pages of the journal. “You spent several years here along with your father, mother, and brother! This whole thing was written by Crucibus! Professor Hephaestus!” He bit his lip and tapped the book. A disturbing look glinted in Tom Aubrey’s eyes. It was the same amusement Hephaestus had seen before, but with an edge. “You’re kind of an expert on Earth, aren’t you?”

Oh red heavens.

“I certainly am not,” said Hephaestus.

“These probably aren’t even your first tacos,” said Tom. “Shoot. I bet you can throw down tacos better than me.”

“Wh—they are, and I cannot,” said Hephaestus. This was appalling.

Captain Aubrey shrugged. “All I’m saying is maybe that has something to do with The Cast of Binding. You have a connection to the people of Earth. That fiddled with the telepathy.”

“My father’s studies have nothing to do with me, Captain Aubrey,” said Hephaestus. “It is merely a coincidence that I have spent time on your planet and have intimate knowledge of Terrestrial customs.”

“Uh huh,” muttered Captain Aubrey into his coffee, “and now? Of Terrestrials.” 

When Hephaestus had finished coughing because that last bite of taco went down the wrong way, he said: “If you are somehow implying that my familiarity with Terrestria caused the misalignment of The Cast of Binding, you are incorrect." He cleared his throat. "If anything, it was your star chart.”

“Ah,” Captain Aubrey nodded deeply, “I was born on the moon so magic freaks out on me.”

“In so many words,” said Hephaestus.

The Martian was done, so Captain Aubrey whisked away Hephaestus’s plate. “Someone should have told my mother never to become an astronaut,” he said, dropping the plate in the sink, “and to never get pregnant on the Moon. My dad was a doctor—he was more worried about potential birth defects, but no, no. Someone should’ve turned him on to the possibilities of magic distortion. Of course.” 

Hephaestus ignored this new and incredibly sarcastic side of Captain Aubrey and stood up.

“I also didn’t think you would stick around for breakfast,” said Captain Aubrey. “Figured you’d portal right up out of here.”

"The Cast of Doors can only be performed outdoors," replied Hephaestus. "And preferably in sight of the sun. But I shall conjure it now—as I take my leave."

"Right," said Captain Aubrey.

Captain Aubrey followed him to the door. Before opening it, Hephaestus raised his palm.

"The Aphran Cast of the Shifting Nebula," Hephaestus announced. 

A casting wheel appeared dotted with stars. Then, it was as though someone had thrown a stone into a pond—but the warping and rippling spread out across Captain Aubrey’s front door and walls. The distortion stilled, and Hephaestus opened the door to a damp morning.

 "An illusionary cast," said Hephaestus, turning to Captain Aubrey, casting wheel still on his palm, "to avoid alerting your neighbors to a Martian spending a night in your home." 

Captain Aubrey’s face lit up when he chuckled. "Professor, I appreciate that. I really do. Thank you."

Hephaestus stepped outside. The casting wheel continued to glow but new pinpricks of light sprinkled across the surface. Now, it burned white and stretched out from Hephaestus’s palm, growing larger and larger, picking up grass blades and dragging a wind chime in with a faint tinker of bells. Arid Martian air called Hephaestus on the other side. But the human behind him spoke:

"Hey, one last thing."

Hephaestus turned. Captain Aubrey leaned on the doorframe, half-filled NASA mug in his fingers, and a smile on his lips. 

"I had a great time, Hephaestus." He winked. ‘Don’t be a stranger."

*****

*****

A hand behind his back, Hephaestus slowly stepped through the cloud of stars. He selected three. They illuminated the lecture hall, throwing out a bright white light on the students in attendance. Hephaestus continued to pace.

"While the Miman microcolonies do indeed proclaim the feats of those organisms who can scurry and evade danger," said Hephaestus, "we must never mistake the narratives found in their zodiac, with the values of the myths themselves." He took a breath. "Can a scholar among you correctly identify a possible function of these coordinates?"

Professor Hephaestus’s voice echoed through the hall, fading on the rust-colored marble. The stage was in the round. As he walked the circumference, his eyes roamed over the many horns in attendance—some students, some intrigued faculty. But all were silent. Xavyn blinked up at him from her seat, the only Vengorian in attendance, short legs dangling above the floor. Some of the students had opened their maps, doing anything to avoid the glare of their professor.

A young scholar from Hallas Basin—a ewe Hephaestus hoped would apply for his apprenticeship and attempt the Solar Trials—stood. Hephaestus nodded.

"The asterisms of the Miman colonies could be used to hone transformative casts," she said briskly. "One might focus on the themes of evasion and retreat in the stories of the Milans, but truly they are tales of adaptation."

Hephaestus afforded a small—and he hoped—encouraging nod.

"An astute observation," said Hephaestus, "but incorrect."

The audience murmured. The young scholar inhaled, jaw setting, and seated herself. The lecture hall returned to silence and Hephaestus weaved through the sea of stars floating on stage, searching for the next attempt. And then, from behind him:

"Um, I think I got something," a voice said, "Professor?"

Hephaestus’s left ear tilted fast at the voice and Hephaestus spun around. His lips parted.

Captain Tom Aubrey, in a royal blue flight suit and wearing a friendly smile, was seated in the front row. He was raising his hand. There was something mischievous in his green eyes.

"Just a hunch."

Hephaestus gawked.

"Oh! Everyone just thought you were pausing for dramatic effect," said Xavyn later. "You know. Since you usually pause for dramatic effect."

Hephaestus walked alongside Xavyn as they wove in and out of the shadows of the college’s wide sandstone columned halls. 

"Are you quite sure?" asked Hephaestus, frowning. 

"Positive," chirped Xavyn.

"It was the thought," said Hephaestus, hesitating, "the fantasy of Captain Aubrey participating in my lecture! Correctly classifying the application of the Miman Nucleus constellation." His voice softened as he replayed the vision. "There he was, sand and azul, sitting in a pew."

"Well, you just visited him, didn’t you?" asked Xavyn. While Hephaestus did not tell Xavyn exactly what had occurred between him and Captain Aubrey, he had told her he’d visited the Terrestrial. Captain Aubrey would’ve shared the visit with her anyway. "And with all of your letters, he was probably just on your mind. Oh! Oooh! What’s the word I’m looking for? I know it in Pecks, but not in Martian Standard…"

"Perhaps you’re right," said Hephaestus, turning the corner to his study. "It was only for a moment, Xavyn. Yet it remains the longest my mind has ever wandered during a lect—"

Xavyn snapped her fingers several times—which Hephaestus always found inexplicable. She had wings.

"Oh—you had a DAYDREAM," cawed Xavyn. Her beak split in a smile. "Oh, for sure! I get those too. There was this one time—"★