We dodged the Parents through the old evac tunnels, then climbed an emergency ladder all the way to the roof. We were laughing and breathing heavily even before getting the hatch open and putting the filtration masks over our heads. Then we were outside, under the stars.

“How long do you think we have?” I asked him.

I could see the twinkle in his eye as he thought, and put a hand to his ear as though he could hear the banging of the Parents somewhere far below us. “Oh, about twenty minutes,” he declared at last.

“With what margin of error?”

His smirk got wider. “About twenty minutes, plus or minus,” he replied.

“I can see why you won’t be a Planner,” I said.

It was meant to be a light joke, but I saw unexpected hurt in his eyes for just a moment. Then it was gone, and his smirk was back. “Pure uncut cannon fodder, that’s me,” he said. “And what about you? I know you’re space-bound, with those zero-gee legs-”

“Shut up-” I teased, but secretly I was flattered.

“But let’s see what your full assignment is,” he finished. And before I could stop him, he’d grabbed my arm and rolled up my sleeve to see my genetic assignment tattoo.

“Navigator, huh,” he said. He was still trying to sound easy, but I could see him looking at me differently. Dammit, this is why I didn’t want him to know. “I was wrong,” he added. “They won’t let the likes of you breathe this dirty air for twenty whole minutes.”

“Then we’d better make the best of the time we do have,” I told him. And before I could think about it, I pulled off my mask, and I could taste the fumes in the air but I didn’t care, not then, and then I pulled off his mask, and then we were kissing.

He had been right the first time, it turned out. We had nearly twenty minutes alone before the Parents finally made their way up a maintenance hatch and came to take us home.