“Back to work with you,” Borton said, his face softening to a grin. “When the chairs are done, we can stop to eat.”
Bain shared grins with his teammates. The announcement made him feel good, and hungry and tired, too. He went back to his work. His mind wandered, despite how he concentrated. Bain had always known Spacers were different and those differences let them work in space without problems that hurt ordinary people. He just never knew how or why. Bain wondered if he had enough Spacer blood. He grinned at the mental image of Alan's envy if he, Bain, could move around freely while everyone else was stuck in the stasis chairs.
When they stopped to eat, Bain was surprised to see the first streaks of the long, summer sunset in the sky. Had they been working that long? He stood and stretched and twisted to get rid of the aches in his back from bending over so long. He stayed standing when Mistress Valgo came around with trays of sandwiches and squeeze bottles of drink. Bain ate half his sandwich before he stopped to taste it. He glanced around to make sure no one was looking, then peeled the slices of bread apart to check it. Someone was always yelling at him about playing with his food.
Three-grain bread, sharp green herb cheese and sour fruit spread. Bain supposed it could have been worse. They could be eating ship emergency rations, left over from three or four trips before. He'd heard Spacers kept the rations for last resort, and sometimes used the sticky mess to patch holes in the hull. He'd heard the drink rations were worse, and some Spacers used it for glue.
“My father said it was called fruit spread to cover a multitude of sins,” Captain Lin said from close by.
Bain peeked around a pile of empty supply crates and found Lin Fieran seated on a crate with Dr. Anyon. Her sandwich sat open on her lap and she looked at the filling with amusement and disgust twisting her face. Bain wondered when she had joined the workers. Had she seen him hard at work? Was she glad she had let him join the group?
“It lets them change the recipe whenever they want,” Anyon said, and grinned. That surprised Bain—he didn't think the man could smile. “Just take any fruit too bruised to eat, mush it, cook it until it goes brown, then hide the taste with a mountain of sweetener.”
“The object of the exercise is to obtain all possible nutrition from decaying fruit,” a new voice said.
Bain moved closer, trying to see who spoke. The voice sounded odd to him, rattling a little. It sounded like two people spoke in perfect unison.
“Ganfer, you don't understand,” Lin said with a chuckle. She looked upward as she spoke, and Bain raised his gaze too, looking for someone standing on top of the ship or a pile of crates. No one was there.
“I understand that a mountain of sweetening would negate any nutritional value and make the substance deadly—if not too sweet for even you to eat,” Ganfer responded, his voice even and calm. Bain suspected Ganfer teased Lin.
“There speaks the famous nanny-brain!” Anyon cried with a whoop of laughter. He laughed harder when Lin slapped the sandwich back together and took a huge bite, glaring at him over her bulging cheeks.
Bain moved closer, stepping out of the shadows, staring at the collar Lin wore. It was smooth and slim and copper brown, only a little darker than her space-tanned skin; three green lights on it flashed when Ganfer spoke. Bain understood now.
Ganfer was the ship-brain, the computer that ran the ship. Ship-brains were so smart that they could play games and hold conversations. He had heard stories about some ship-brains so old, so full of information, so complex they had personalities.
“Ganfer, one of these years—” Lin's voice came out a garbled mess. She swallowed hard, blushing when Anyon laughed louder. “One of these years,” she continued, “I'm going to get myself a nice, new, obedient brain that minds his own business.”
“You don't stop anywhere long enough for such an operation,” Ganfer responded, the green lights in Lin's collar blinking serenely.
“That wouldn't be any trouble to arrange,” she shot back, her voice a growl.
“You don't trust strangers beyond the cargo hold and landing struts, and none of your close friends have the training or technical know-how to handle a brain exchange.” A pause, while all the collar lights dimmed to a soft glow. “You're stuck with me for a while yet.”
“I suppose...” Lin exchanged a grin with Anyon. She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “What would you do with yourself if you could be free of me, eh?”
“I've considered the option,” the ship-brain said in slow, elegant tones. “I would be bored to illness.”
“He got you there,” Anyon said.
“Yes, he did.” Lin nodded, still smiling, but her gaze caught on Bain. “Hello, boy. Bain, right?”
“Yes, Ma'am.” Bain took a few steps closer. It was no good hiding now. He felt ashamed that he'd been caught eavesdropping, pride that she remembered his name, and fear he would be left behind.
“Bain has Spacer blood. I included him because I wanted someone among the passengers who wouldn't get sick on me,” she said to Anyon.
“My grandparents were Spacers,” Bain hurried to say.
“Blood breeds true.” Anyon smiled at Bain, surprising him. “It could be one person twenty generations back—you'd still have the Spacer gift.”
“I saw you working on the stasis chairs,” Lin said. “You have technical talent?”
“What little training the orphanage gives,” the doctor said, when Bain could only nod in answer.
Lin had seen and noticed him!
“I may be depending on you more than I said before.” Lin stood and gestured at her ship. “We have to prepare the computer chip connections to control the stasis chairs. I could use an extra hand on the bridge.” She slapped Anyon's shoulder, barely making the man flinch. “This giant does more damage than good—and he's more useful in the hold, overseeing the work there.”
“Captain?” Bain could hardly believe what she said, or breathe for excitement.
“The boy is terrified,” Ganfer said, a chuckle in his voice. “I can read his pulse, respiration and temperature. You aren't scowling and growling again, are you?”
“Listen, O Bucket of Bolts—” Lin paused, her face wrinkled in a dark scowl. Then the mask cracked into a bright smile and she burst out laughing. She laughed so hard that she leaned over, resting her hands on her thighs, shoulders shaking.
“Congratulations,” Anyon said, standing so he towered over Bain and Lin's shaking figure. “Ganfer likes you. He usually doesn't scold Lin in public unless he's taken a liking to you.”
“He has?” Bain gasped.
“Yes, indeed.” Lin caught her breath and wiped laugh tears from her face. Her eyes were bright, hair tousled, mouth still stretched in a wide grin. “Come along. We have much work to do before dawn launch. Done with your sandwich?”
“Yes, Ma'am.” Bain sketched a salute that made Lin burst out laughing again. He didn't think she was laughing at him. The sound made him feel good. He felt even better when Lin led him around to the front of the ship and they climbed up a chain link ladder, through the emergency hatch, onto the bridge of Sunsinger.
Chapter Six
Lin kept Bain so busy, he had no time to gawk. He was on a real spaceship bridge!
His first impression was of roundness and bright lights, clutter and cramped spaces. Then Lin sent him to his knees to unfasten plates in one wall. Bain bruised his fingers a little on the stiff clips holding the plates in place. He put the plates to one side and sat up. His nose barely cleared the round bank of control panels that enclosed the two pilot chairs.
“Fast fingers,” Lin said, stepping up behind him. “That task would take me twice as long.”
“Because you turn the clips the wrong way and think of twenty different jobs to do while you're down there,” Ganfer said. His voice lost some rattle, now that it came from the sensor dome in the ceiling. He sounded closer, more alive.
Lin grimaced and gestured for Bain to get down on his elbows by the plates ag
ain. He obeyed before he could take a good look at the bridge. He had a vague impression of blank screens on the front half of the bridge, where the chairs and control panels faced. Curtained alcoves and two hatches—outside, and to the access tube for the cargo hold—filled the other half of the curve. Every bit of space was filled with storage or equipment.
“Lucky for us, my father color coded all the connections before I was born,” Lin said, lying on her side so she could fit under the control panel next to Bain. She gestured at the rainbow of wires and crystal connectors and transponder boards. “The key should be on the backside of a panel.”
Bain nearly knocked over the stack in his hurry to find the color code key. He skinned his knuckles but hardly felt the pain. Lin nodded her thanks when he handed her the panel splashed with a rainbow of paint chips.
“This one.” She tapped the board with her nail, pointing out a color like the blue of the dawn sky after a night-long shower. Bain thought he could find that particular shade among the twenty different blue wires. It was the color of his mother's eyes.
Bain forgot his nervousness and curiosity when they got to work. He held up wires for Lin to clip and attach to adjunct boxes. He fetched tools for her from storage bins. It was easy working for Lin because she knew exactly what she wanted and knew the right words to say it. She worked in quiet, never lecturing like some teachers he had, and Bain liked that. He knew enough of the why in mechanical work—he preferred to watch and figure out the how for himself. Yet Lin always seemed to know when something escaped him, and she explained in short, ordinary words. Bain wished he had more teachers like her.
Then the work was done. Lin laughed and groaned as she sat up and told him to close the panels. When Bain finished and stood, he found her in the galley. The curtain was pulled to one side, revealing a compact cooking unit and a booth table with two padded benches. The straps along the wall and the safety belts on the benches made no sense, until he remembered free-fall.
“You're probably twice as hungry as me, and those sorry excuses for sandwiches didn't do me much good.” Lin pulled a dull brown pouch from the heater box and tossed it to him. She opened another for herself, then grinned when Bain just held the packet and looked at it. “Stories greatly exaggerate life on board. The bad taste of the food and the luxury of quarters.”
Bain nodded, tongue-tied again. He fumbled with the pouch, managing to tear it open without spilling the contents. A warm, meaty, spicy, bread smell gushed out at him with a billow of steam. He didn't even blush when Lin laughed at his surprise.
“It's best when it's hot,” she said. “Eat up—we have more work to do.”
The bread was dark and tasted strong, almost bitter, heavy with seeds and whole grain. Bain decided he liked it. The meat was stringy but tender, covered with a melting, mild cheese that stretched when he took a bite. The white, grainy sauce bit back at his tongue, making his eyes water and his nose run after only a few chews. He nodded thanks when Lin gave him a cup of milk. Bain gulped it all in two mouthfuls.
Lin finished before he did and went back to work. She asked Ganfer questions, using long engineering words Bain only half understood. Ganfer gave Lin a long string of numbers and technical words in response. It sounded like a foreign language to Bain. He supposed it had to do with ship functions and alterations in the hold and life support. He ignored their conversation and really studied the room now.
It made sense to him, now that he'd been working inside the ship's control systems. Control panels and seats for the operators filled the front half of the room—data and view screens on the wall in front—access panels and storage space in the wall under that—and curtained alcoves for living quarters in the rest of the space. Lin literally lived on the bridge of her ship. Everything else was engines and sensors and cargo space. All she needed to navigate, to run the ship, to eat and sleep and relax, was in easy reach. The bridge didn't look cluttered now. Bain thought of the ships in entertainment cube stories and he scorned them for their waste of space.
“Ready to work on life support?” Lin asked, breaking into Bain's thoughts. She gave him no time to respond, but caught him by his elbow and guided him through the hatch. Ten steps took them down the access tube into the cargo hold.
The hold had become a dormitory. Plastic panels covered the foam on the walls, floor and ceiling. Frames for the hammock nets lined one wall. Dr. Anyon and Master Valgo were on their knees in the middle of the floor, bolting down tables and benches. The technicians and other children carried in stasis chairs when Bain and Lin joined them.
“I've got a flaming nursery in my hold,” she muttered, pausing in the hatch. Bain glanced at her, surprised by the return of a tight rasp to her voice. Lin grinned at him. “Rule of survival—growl enough, and you never need to bite.” She tousled his hair like his mother used to do, then strode past him to join Anyon.
Bain didn't help Lin with the life support work. He wasn't disappointed, because the other children kept begging him in whispers to tell them about the bridge and the captain. Envy and curiosity made their eyes wide and bright. He told them what he could while they carried in stasis chairs, storage lockers and crates of food and blankets.
Then, his job changed to hanging the hammock nets, five to a row, and storing supplies. Two technicians wired the stasis chairs into place in three rows, with connector bars in the ceiling to augment and reinforce the stasis field.
Bain watched Lin as she worked on the life support equipment. Even when he couldn't hear her voice, her posture and gestures showed she knew exactly what needed to be done. Like all the best captains in the stories, she knew her ship inside out.
The last pieces of equipment came on board with the babies and Mistress Valgo. Bain grinned and some children let out tired cheers when they saw the cooking unit. The sanitary cabinet sat on the cart with it, but Bain doubted they cheered for that. Though, he did want to wash as much as he wanted something to drink.
He felt hot and sticky, gritty with dust. His eyes hurt, his back ached, he had scratches and bruises and cuts. Bain thought he never had such an interesting day in his life.
“They'll starve to death before it's working, and I'm not sending these children to bed hungry after all the work they did,” Lin said, her voice strong as she crossed the hold to join the technicians. “Bain.” She turned and surveyed the children scattered around the hold. She smiled when she found him. “Go to the bridge and get sandwich packets for everyone.”
Bain grinned and darted through the access tube. He imagined envy and awe on the faces of the other children. He hoped they envied him, sent to the bridge by the captain as if he knew his way around. Like crew.
When he reached the bridge, he came to a dead stop. Bain hadn't seen where Lin got the food packs before. He took a few hesitant steps toward the galley, then stopped. None of the doors and drawers had labels.
“The best plan is to ask,” Ganfer said. The silence was so deep, his voice startled Bain and the boy jumped backward. The ship-brain chuckled. “Always ask if you don't know.”
“Thanks.” Bain's voice cracked. He coughed to clear it. “Ah ... where do I find the food packs?”
“The tall cabinet on the left. The brown are too spicy. Take white for the littles and blue for the others.”
“You know everything, don't you?” Bain found the cabinet and counted silently as he pulled out the colored food packs.
“No. Not even when it comes to this ship.” Ganfer chuckled. “Knowing everything means knowing the future, too. I cannot predict accurately what will happen on board this ship. I can, however, put together all the facts and variables and calculate what could happen.” A moment of silence, then he said, softer, “Bain, close your mouth and heat the food. The other children are hungry.”
Bain hurried to obey. His thoughts spun in a whirlpool. His lessons about ship-brains never mentioned this. Ganfer sounded more real than some people he knew. Unless this was what it meant to have a personality?
<
br /> A pinging chime sounded. Bain reached for the door of the heater, but it was still running. The pinging went on, louder, harsh like warping metal on the verge of cracking.
Lin burst through the open hatch and darted around the control panel, nearly running into a chair. She slapped a few flashing red lights on the left panel. The pinging stopped on the verge of making Bain's ears hurt.
“Sunsinger,” she said, her voice catching a little.
“Lin, it's Cowrun.” The governor's voice sounded rough, like he had been shouting at someone.
“This better be good.” She bent at the hips and leaned over the console, resting on her elbows.
“No, it's extremely bad.” A pause. Bain heard the background babble of excited, angry voices. How many people could fit into the governor's office? “The Mashrami hit the eastern farms.”
“I can fit eight more bunks and children into the hold, but it won't be comfortable for anyone.”
“They're already on their way.”
“Hold a moment.” Lin stood straight and looked at Bain. “Get Anyon for me, will you? And come back with him.”
Bain hurried to obey. Lin's face showed no expression at all, just utter stillness like a razor-cat waiting for prey. Her voice was quiet and even. It frightened him, but not as much as the idea of a Mashrami attack.
He found Anyon next to the hatch, talking with Lucas, the technician. Bain tugged on his sleeve. The doctor took one look at Bain and his smile faded.
“Captain wants you,” Bain almost whispered. He stepped aside so Anyon could go through the tube first. Bain had to run to keep up with the man's long stride.
“Plague bombs,” Lin said when Anyon and Bain joined her. The flashing lights were off. She had finished talking with Cowrun. “They came in disguised as meteors, Cowrun thinks.”
Sunsinger Page 3
