“Toly is the one who said you were scared of heights?” Now Lin did look away from the screens. Some stiffness left her face when Bain nodded. “There's always one in every crowd, isn't there?” She tapped a few more keys, then leaned back in her chair. “Ganfer, what's the boy's condition? Did the launch hurt him?”
A green light came on, shining from the sensor dome in the center of the ceiling. It flicked over Bain, scanning him from head to foot, then from foot to head.
“Excited, but calming,” the ship-brain responded, his voice so bland Bain almost laughed.
“I meant—”
“He suffered no stress or harm.” The light flashed over Bain again, warm on his skin. “He hit his elbow and knee when he ran up the tube, but few blood vessels were broken. There will be no bruising, just a little soreness that will fade in a few hours.”
“He can tell all that?” Bain stared up at the dome.
“Ganfer monitors everyone's physical condition from the moment they come on board,” Lin said. “He's so busy with that, I had more work than usual in the launch.”
“The boy can help,” Ganfer said. “He will be confined to the bridge until we hit free space.”
“That's true.” She nodded, frowning, and studied Bain. He didn't feel scared when she frowned at him like that. Lin wasn't angry, just thinking hard.
Lin unbuckled her safety strap. It hit the floor with a loud thud that should have hurt Bain's ears. Every sound came to his ears flat, dull and muffled. Lin got out of her chair. She held onto the control panel with one hand, her chair with the other, and pushed herself to her feet.
“Why didn't you just get into a hammock?” Lin asked. She took small steps and leaned against the chair, then the wall. “The nets were closer. It's more comfortable to lie flat during launch, instead of sitting up. Even for a Spacer,” she added with a wink. She reached the galley and lifted her arm. The movement was slow, like she was tired or her arm was too heavy.
“I knew it was safer up here.” Bain tried to shrug, but it felt like someone pressed down on his shoulders.
“Safer, huh?” Lin took two sealed cups from a cabinet and put them in the heater. “Ever had chocolate before?”
“No.” Bain wondered if it was a drink, like coffee, or a kind of fruit.
“You'll like it. It's a luxury, but you certainly earned it today.” She pressed the heater button and leaned back against the wall. “Get up if you want, but move carefully. We're still rising and fighting gravity. Slanted launches are easier, but they take longer.”
Bain pushed against his seat and stood. It felt like hands tried to push him down. His knees wobbled until he stiffened them. His feet tried to stay on the deck plates, like his shoes had glue on them. No wonder Lin took small, slow steps.
“Don't strain yourself,” she warned. The heater chimed. Lin opened it and pulled the lids off the cups. Steam mounded up over the tops of the cups in white, gushing clouds. She put the cups on the table, then lowered herself onto a bench at the table.
Bain joined her there, taking the other bench. He grinned when the pressure on his body eased. Lin closed her eyes, leaned back against the padded head-rest, and slowly lifted her cup. Bain watched her sip before he tried it.
Chocolate, Lin said. It tasted as deep dark brown as it looked. Bain held it in his mouth until it cooled a little. Sweet and spicy, smooth on his tongue, rich and thick and soothing as it trickled down his throat. He swallowed and took a bigger mouthful. It burned. Bain tried to breathe and not drown, and swallow—but he wanted the taste to last. He coughed, sending chocolate up his nose because he refused to open his mouth.
“Careful there.” Lin pounded his back and slid in next to him on the bench. She wiped sweating hair off his forehead while Bain took deep breaths. His throat tickled, threatening to make him cough again. He felt like an idiot.
“Chocolate is wonderful, but not something to die for,” Ganfer said, a drawl in his voice. Lin snorted and the sound turned into a laugh.
“When you're done—don't hurry—Ganfer can show you what to do.” Lin stood and picked up her cup and shuffled away from the table.
Bain tried to drink slowly, so he wouldn't burn his tongue. He tried to drink quickly enough that he didn't make Lin and Ganfer wait. He barely tasted the chocolate, but he knew he wanted more. Maybe, before he went back to join the others in the hold, Lin would give him another cup. Bain wondered if chocolate was Spacer food only, or if anyone was allowed to drink it.
Ganfer lit three screens full of colored vertical lines for Bain, when he returned to his chair to work. Each line had a number on it, representing a stasis chair in the hold. The top was green, the bottom red. When the red grew, the person in that chair was sick or hurt. Ganfer lit buttons and switches in front of Bain, to show him which ones to press to find what was wrong.
Bain's job was to read the information and decide if that person needed the stasis field changed, to make him sleep, or if she needed medical help. Anyon's chair would release him separately from the others, so he could help. If Bain wasn't sure what to do, or if he didn't understand the information, he could ask Ganfer and Lin.
Nothing happened. The lines stayed the same, no matter how hard Bain stared, watching for the smallest change. After half an hour, he started watching Lin work and studied the information on the screens.
He couldn't understand half the words Ganfer said. It sounded like a private language, but he thought it was just all technical words. Something about gravity points, speed and fuel consumption, sensor fields and defensive shields. Whenever he thought Lin might see him watching, he turned back to studying the screens.
The screens never changed. An hour passed. Bain thought the pressure of gravity got softer. His legs felt heavy. As heavy as his head. His eyes kept closing against his will.
“If the boy is to remain on the bridge,” Ganfer said, “he will need magnetic boots. I remember how you were as a child whenever we hit free-fall.”
“Let him have his fun,” Lin muttered.
Bain tried to open his mouth to ask what they were talking about. He tried to turn to Lin and say something, but his mouth wouldn't work. His eyes closed all the way, as if they were glued shut. He tried to lean back instead of falling forward onto the control panel, as he fell asleep.
Chapter Eight
Bain woke with the smell of chocolate tickling his nose. He opened his eyes, blinking hard when they itched and felt sticky-dry. His neck hurt and the room tilted.
He sat up—he had slouched to the left while he slept. The room straightened, but the ache didn't leave his neck. Bain moved his legs and they lifted a little, until his toes tapped the underside of the control panel. He pulled them down toward the floor and against the chair.
“Well, awake now, are you?” Lin said next to him.
Bain turned to his right and his whole body tried to lift from the chair. The belt held him down. Lin laughed and took a sip from the hole in the lid of her cup. A tiny puff of steam came from the hole and hung in the air, not moving until Lin brushed it away with her hand.
“Be careful. We're in free-fall. One wrong move and you could go bouncing off the walls like a ball. A very big, clumsy, yelping ball,” she added with another chuckle.
“I'm sorry,” Bain mumbled.
“For what?”
“Falling asleep when I was on duty.”
“Don't worry about it. Plenty of backups at work,” Lin gestured at a tiny screen on her far right. Bain nearly lifted himself from his chair again, trying to see. “I kept partial watch, and Anyon has a brain tap circuit. He keeps watch and can get free of stasis whenever he needs.”
“A brain what?” Bain's curiosity overrode his shame over falling asleep on duty.
“Brain tap circuit. An implant in the base of his brain stem. He controls electric signals coming from his brain, and can communicate with us by code.”
“Oh.” He considered this news. “Then you really didn't need me keep
ing watch on the other kids, did you?”
“Redundancy is the key to survival.” Lin turned back to the wall screens, studied them for a few seconds, then tapped a few control keys. Bain watched but couldn't figure out what she saw or why she touched those particular keys. Lin turned back to face him. “I meant it, when I said you were helping. You saved some of Ganfer's power. It showed me how well you follow orders, how quickly you can learn and how responsible you are.”
“Why is that important?” A tiny wave of anger rose in him, making his stomach hurt. “You're just going to dump us on Refuge and go on.”
“We're not safe by a long shot, Bain.” Her eyes looked hard and tired. Lin worked the controls again. She sighed. “We're a long, cold trip away from Refuge, and plenty of danger between us and landing. I need to know who on this ship can help me if we run into trouble.” Lin met his gaze for a few long seconds. The corner of her mouth curved up just a little. “You're a Spacer born, even if you aren't trained. There are precious few Spacers out here, and it's my duty to give you a chance to find your destiny.”
“But I'm an orphan. I'll never get to go to the right schools and take the classes I need to be crew. I don't know anybody to sponsor me to an academy or the Fleet or anything! I'll be stuck on a planet until I die.” Bain bit his lip to keep from crying. He was too old for that. He doubted Lin ever cried about anything.
“I never went to school to be a Spacer.” Lin pushed off her seat and slowly rose to the ceiling. She caught at the edge of the sensor dome, turned herself and pushed toward the galley, all in one small, neat move. “Try to learn all you can on this trip, Bain. Prove you know what you're doing. I'll stand as your sponsor, put in a good word with whatever school you want, or contact friends in the Fleet. I'll find training for you. That's a promise.”
“Training? On a ship?”
“That's the best way to learn.” Lin's solemn look turned sad and tired again. “With this war, our colonized worlds are too far apart to have good communication lines. It's too hard to protect so many. If you have enough ships watching one planet, four others are ignored. This war won't be over for many years. You'll have plenty of time to grow into a job as Spacer crew. We'll need you.”
“I thought you were a Free Trader.”
“I am.” Lin tilted her cup back and sucked it dry, then pushed it into the recycling slot. She shoved off from the wall and drifted in a straight line over to her chair.
“But you talk like you're part of the Fleet. Like I'll have to work for the Fleet when I grow up,” Bain said. He hated when he couldn't understand.
“I thought all boys wanted to join the Fleet.” Lin grabbed the back of her chair and slid back into the seat.
“Well—I guess so—I mean—” Bain sighed, feeling frustrated but wanting to laugh, too. “If you're a Free Trader you can't be part of the Fleet, can you?”
“Oh, I see. Orders and regulations and missions and rank and all that.” Lin smiled and nodded. “We're all Humans, right?” She waited until Bain nodded. “If we don't all work together and help where it's needed, then we help the Mashrami defeat us. We make it easy for them to attack us when we're divided into little, weak groups. I'm not a member of the Fleet—I'm a member of the Human race. We're all servants of Fi'in, brothers and sisters. Understand?”
“I guess so.” Bain nodded.
“Think on it.” Lin arched her back and stretched her arms to the ceiling. She let out a groan that turned into a laugh. “I know what the problem is. I'm making you think deep thoughts, and no food in your stomach to fuel the hard work your brain has to do. That chair certainly isn't the most comfortable spot for sleeping.” She rubbed her back, low by her hips. “I know from long, hard experience.”
Bain laughed. He wished Lin would let him stay on Sunsinger when the trip ended. He liked her and Ganfer. The little ship felt more like home than the orphanage. But Lin hadn't said anything about keeping him as crew. Bain swallowed hard and forced himself to keep smiling. How could someone laugh and want to cry, both at the same time?
“I couldn't move you to a bunk because we had a few jolts coming out of the gravity field,” Lin went on.
“I didn't feel anything.”
“That's because you're a born Spacer. You knew a little bouncing wasn't dangerous, so you didn't wake.” She reached over and unbuckled his safety strap. “Time for you to learn to navigate in free-fall.”
“Like flying—or swimming, right?”
“Only in stories.” Lin made a disgusted face. “Lack of gravity means there's nothing to hold you to the ground. You can't move if there's nothing to push against. You don't stop unless something is in your way. Understand? You can wave your arms and legs around in the air all you want. If you don't push off something solid, you won't go anywhere.” She smiled and stretched and rubbed at her eyes. “You can read the science texts on inertia and vectors and ratios later. Think you understand the basics?”
“I have to push off at the angle I want to go, or figure where to bounce to get somewhere. Like you did,” Bain added.
“Be prepared for lots of bumps until you learn to calculate how much push you need.” Lin gestured at the ceiling. “My father used to tack up pieces of blanket to save my shoulders and head, until I learned to navigate in free-fall. Use the ceiling for bouncing. There's no equipment to break if you hit too hard.”
“Excuse me?” Ganfer said. Red and blue and green and yellow lights flashed in the sensor dome. His sudden entry into the conversation startled Bain.
“Your head is harder than both of ours put together, O Bucket of Bolts.” Lin winked at Bain. “All right, Spacer. Time to test your wings.” She jerked her hand toward the ceiling, thumb up.
“Carefully,” Ganfer added.
Bain nodded, swallowed hard, and pushed his feet down. He bounced when he touched the deck plates. He pointed his arms to the ceiling and wanted to laugh—and the toes of his boots caught on the edge of the console. He felt a jerk. His body twisted sideways. Bain yelped and fluttered his arms, trying to find something to grab.
Lin caught his ankle and pulled him back down to his seat. Bain was afraid to look at her. It didn't matter if she was angry or laughed at him, because he had messed up.
“Always know where your whole body is, and watch for what's in the way,” Lin said. She turned his chair around so he faced empty air. “Try again.”
Bain pushed off the seat with his hands. As he lifted to the ceiling, he stretched out his arms and tried to find his target. A ball of silvery-blue metal poked out of the ceiling. Flat rings around it formed ridges. Bain thought he could get a grip on the ridges to change his angle when he bounced off.
He hit the ceiling hard enough to jar his wrists. His hands hit with a loud slapping sound. Bain bounced off.
“Help!” He grabbed at the ridges. His fingers slipped off one, then a second and a third. Bain clamped both hands hard around the ball, making his palms sting, but he caught and held on.
The swing of his feet changed direction when the inertia tried to carry him along. He felt a tug, like someone had a rope around his ankles. Bain squeezed his hands tight around the globe until his arms hurt.
“Well, you're halfway there.” Lin pushed off to float up next to him. “It's better to push with your legs and buffer the landing with your hands and arms. You'd better learn by pushing with your hands, though. You have strong legs. Probably all those errands they made you run,” she added with a grin.
She tugged his hands loose and turned him around. Her hands were hard, all bones and skin and tough muscle. But they were gentle, moving like her whole body did in free-fall; large tasks done with small movements. She turned him so his feet pointed at the galley.
“Now, straighten your body and be ready to bend when you land, to absorb the momentum. Push off with your hands—flexing your elbows halfway should do it. Ready. Go.” Lin pivoted so she faced down, and pushed off with one foot. She flew straight to the galley, caught hold
of the edge of the table, and slowly brought her feet down to the floor.
Bain took a deep breath and flexed his arms—only halfway, as Lin had said. He went down at an angle and bent his legs before he hit. Bain lifted his head and watched anxiously for something to grab onto before he bounced.
“Good,” Lin muttered. Bain saw a partial smile curve one corner of her mouth.
Don't mess up, he thought, clenching his jaw tight as he concentrated. Bain felt the floor with his toes. He bent his knees and twisted to the left, reaching for the edge of the table. He caught it and grinned in pure relief.
“Better.” Lin nodded and mirrored his grin. “Make breakfast, all right? We have lots of work to do.” She bounced off the ceiling with a spin and settled back into her chair. She buckled herself in with one hand. The other hand flew over the keys and buttons and flashing lights.
Bain stared at her for a few seconds, not quite sure how to feel. If he had done badly, she would have said so. He had landed well, hadn't bounced back. He didn't need help from Lin that time. She had said he did better.
Don't be stupid, he scolded himself. You're not a little kid. She won't get all excited just because you learned your lessons like you should.
Chapter Nine
Lin gave him chocolate with breakfast, so Bain did feel better. Then after breakfast, she told him to get tether lines from a storage bin under a blank view screen. Bain learned to walk in free-fall by leaning into the wall. Leaning made enough friction to hold him down when his steps tried to push him to the ceiling.
“There should be ten coils,” Lin said. “The bundles have different color bands. How many of each?”
“Six blue, two green, two yellow,” he said after taking a quick count.
“Good. Just pull the blue-banded ones out. That'll be more than enough.”
“Enough for what?” Bain pulled six coiled bundles out and put one leg through them to hold them down. He slid the bin shut and locked it again.
“To tether the other children to their bunks. Once we take them out of stasis, we can't let them bounce all over the cargo hold.”
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