But he was also reluctant to start his day right away; and so he lay there in the darkness, probing lazily at the back of his own mind and waiting for something—anything—to happen. As far as he could tell, he had not dreamed. He was disappointed about that.
The star display on his ceiling was familiar, he realized idly; it was the night sky he had gazed at as a youth on Henry's farm—except there were more stars: this ceiling was showing him many of the faint stars not generally visible through Association's atmosphere. He speculated listlessly on whether this artificial sky included such faint stars in order to make the display more aesthetic ... it did not really seem very gaudy.
Night skies were almost identical on all the human worlds, he knew. The worlds inhabited by the human race were not far enough apart for the differences in their locations to make for major changes
in their starscapes, beyond the presence or absence of those worlds' own stars.
But there were differences nonetheless. He was able to pick out, in this instance, the bright light that was Association's sister planet, Harmony, as well as another, even brighter light that was—that represented, he corrected himself—Archangel, the great gas giant that shared Association's system, farther out from the star.
In every system in which he had ever watched the stars, the sky presented information that told just which system it was—and, often, evidences of the human presence ... artificial satellite, spacecraft. . . . Only when he watched the stars from a starship in transit had his view been unobstructed, clean and clear and pure.
Was this a standard starscape entered in the ship's settings, to be seen by anyone who might use this room—the notion came to him out of nowhere—or had this view been specifically set for his eyes?
It would make sense for a ship based in the port of Association's capital city to reproduce the night sky from that viewpoint, but it might well be that a variety of skies—of viewpoints—were available for the programming.
—Was someone programming his sky?
His eyes closed, involuntarily, and he sat up in the darkness he had created with his eyelids. His hands clawed at the controls in the panel next to the bed, but he was fumbling, unable to manipulate them in his haste and with his lids clenched shut. He stood up, still self-blinded, and stumbled to the small bathroom, throwing himself into the shower in the darkness, not bothering to take off the shorts he always slept in.
After a while, the feeling of sickness passed; until at last he was able to open his eyes and stop the water beating down on him. It was water of the planet, piped on board from the port's facilities, and it was inadequate to its task: he still felt soiled, dirty.
Dried, he returned to his bed and experimented with the ceiling display. He had never paid much notice to the ceiling settings during his previous trips in this ship, perhaps because on real trips he could look out of the ship, at the real starscape between planetary systems, whenever he wanted ... he was only interested in artificial skies when stuck on a planetary surface....
Besides, he usually had other things on his mind.
He felt better, now, to learn that only the single display was available. He lay there and watched it, wondering if it would rotate to imitate Association's movement, as the displays in other rooms he had slept in had done. In time he drifted into a light, restless sleep.
When he awoke again, he could feel a small, lurking presence in his head, a hint of a headache waiting to be born. It made him uneasy; headaches were often precursors of his blackouts—signals, his medician had warned him, of the bad effects of some stressful situation.
To take his mind off the threat, he tried to force it into consideration of the problems he had been working on before going to sleep ... and he began to realize there was a layer of irritation underlying his self-concern. Irritation over all the problems obstructing his course, irritation that his own mind and body should distract him from his task—even irritation that his unconscious mind had not, as he had hoped, solved any of his problems while he slept.
Recognizing his lack of focus, he dipped into his past training, and engaged in his breathing exercises; he had been introduced to them in Dahno's training program, and his workouts with Toni had reinforced that training. Within a short time he had turned himself around: the irritation, although not banished, had been embraced, used to get himself up and moving.
There was no food service in the ship, so Bleys made his way to the kitchen to find himself something to eat.
Ashore, he mused, moving down the corridor. He wondered how many people, these days, recognized that the term derived from the ancient days of ocean travel on Old Earth. Most of the Younger Worlds had their own oceans, but still. . . Nonetheless, it was clear that the mother planet's influence remained even in the language of her most distant children.
He was also one of few, he reflected as he entered the kitchen, who knew that such a room on an Old Earth ocean vessel had often been called a galley. Why had that term not been taken into space, when ashore had? It seemed haphazard, almost untidy, that some terms had emigrated while others had not... the person who guided a spaceship was not called a pilot anymore, he knew; to his mind the presently used term for that functionary, driver, was wildly inappropriate.
He put that train of thought aside to examine his choices in foodstuffs; and decided to settle for making himself a plate of toasted bread, cold chicken, cheese and fruit.
In a way, it made him feel more cheerful that he was getting his own breakfast. He had not had to do anything like that for a long time—where were the knives? Ah!
As his involvement with the Others' movement began to grow, back when he and Dahno still shared an apartment in Ecumeny, he had spent more and more of his time working with others, eating with others ... and even when he was alone, his time had been too precious to be wasted on domestic chores.
But in this particular time and place, he felt good about fending for himself, as if somehow he was contributing to solving the race's problems—and at that moment the knife he had been laboriously pushing through a hard block of cheese seemed to jump in his hand as the resistance of the dense foodstuff ended abruptly; and the severed end of cheese skidded off the plate to fall to the floor.
And that, he thought, had not happened to him since sometime during those years when he lived with Henry and his sons on their farm.
"Oops," he heard Toni say, behind him. He turned to look at her.
"There you are," he said. "I thought maybe you were still asleep in some other room."
"What were you thinking, just now?" she asked, ignoring his comment. "You had such a distant look."
"I was remembering the first meal I ate when I came to live with Henry," he said. "Goat cheese, bread and a stew that was mostly vegetables, with a little bit of rabbit meat."
"A lot of people believe plain food is blessed in the eyes of the Lord," she said.
"It was all the farm could provide," he said, not intending any irony.
"It's that way for a lot of people on Association, even today," she said. "On Harmony, too. And these arc good days, compared to those early years after the planets were first settled."
"On some of the other Younger Worlds, too," he said. He shook his head. "A lot of people have already suffered because of the decision to leave Old Earth."
He was conscious of her eyes on him, but he avoided looking directly into her gaze, and bent to pick up the cheese he had dropped. She got a treated cleaning cloth and wiped the floor surface; and then watched as, after starting to throw the fallen cheese away, he turned to the sink to rinse it off, before putting it on his plate.
"There are a lot of people who'd love to have that cheese," he said. "Even dirty."
"Something to drink?" she asked.
Back in the lounge that had been converted into an office for him, he put his plate and glass on his desk and pulled over a large, but light, float chair of the kind Others' ships always kept available for him. His finger reached out
for the control that would give him access to the databanks, but then hesitated.
He was sitting in the same position, a distant frown on his face, when Toni walked into the room, carrying her own plate and glass. When she saw his face she walked across the room to her own desk, and put her plate down; and began to eat while catching up on the communications that had come in overnight.
Some minutes later, she pressed the HUSH control on her console, and opened an interior comm channel.
"Bridge here. What can I do for you, Antonia Lu?"
"Why, Captain—I didn't expect you I thought you were out of the ship?"
"I came aboard last night," the deep female voice replied. "I couldn't stand it. And who else would be answering your call? The ship's nearly empty, since it's normal procedure for most of the crew to go ashore when repairs are in progress, which is the story we've given out."
"I know that's true," Toni said, "but it still surprised me to hear your voice."
"Someone has to do it, after all, and the First Officer is, I hope, sleeping—he was on watch for nearly twenty hours, since the few crew members left on board are working on the repairs and remodeling."
"They're actually repairing something? I thought that was only a story?"
"Well, it is," the captain said. "But the story won't look realistic if this ship doesn't send out discarded materials every now and then. We even have Cetan personnel coming aboard every day to do some of the work; but our crew is responsible for keeping them away from the areas where you and the First Elder might be seen. Now what can I do for you?"
"I'm afraid this puts me in an awkward position, Captain. I was hoping I could get a few bodies in here to help me move some furniture."
"Move furniture?"
"I'm afraid so. It's a matter of putting this lounge into a—a configuration that will facilitate our work." Toni knew it would be easier to explain what she wanted when she could simply point at things.
"Right now?" the captain asked.
"As soon as possible, at any rate, if it can be arranged."
"Give me a couple of minutes, please."
After the captain keyed off, Toni set the lounge's main door to stay open. In a few minutes the tall, stocky form of Captain Anita Broadus appeared in the doorway, followed by three crew members—two men and a woman; two of them appeared rumpled, as if they had just awakened, and one of the men was trying to stifle a yawn.
Upon seeing Bleys still apparently deep in thought, the captain turned her attention to Toni, who had walked across to meet her.
"Are we going to disturb the First Elder?" the captain asked— she was trying to whisper, Toni realized, but she was a large woman with a personality to match, and one used to command; even her whisper came out with a booming quality.
"No need to whisper, Captain," Toni said, using a normal tone of voice. "The First Elder is thinking, but we'd have to work pretty hard to disturb him."
The captain's nod seemed contrary to the skeptical look on her face.
"I appreciate your coming," Toni continued. "But I only meant for you to send someone—who's watching the bridge?"
"Oh, I woke the First Officer," the Captain said.
"Oh, no—I didn't mean for anything like that!" Toni said, her eyes widening. As she began to apologize, the captain interrupted her.
"Don't fret yourself over it," she said, her dark face lighting up with a broad smile. "That's what first officers are for! And John knows better than anyone we're down to a skeleton complement. Now tell me what you need."
Deciding that the best way to end everyone's inconvenience would be to put her project into action, Toni quickly explained her idea; within moments the tables and chairs not already being used by Bleys and Toni were being pushed aside, the entertainment consoles disconnected and unbolted from the floor—even the long bar was detached and pushed as far against the opposite wall of the lounge as it would go.
In less than fifteen minutes they had cleared an elongated open space down the longest axis of the lounge, its sides made up of two rows of easy chairs that faced the cleared space, as if awaiting an audience.
"Is this about what you had in mind, Antonia Lu?" the captain asked, handing a power wrench back to one of her crew. She had moved at least as much furniture as any of them.
"Yes it is, Captain," Toni said. "Thank you so much."
"Yes, thank you, Captain," Bleys said, his voice startling Toni as he moved quietly up behind them.
"I'm so sorry, First Elder—" the captain began; but Bleys stopped her with a raised hand and a smile.
"Please, Captain, don't be," he said. "I should be apologizing to you—I know our situation has created a lot of problems for you—" This time it was the captain's turn to interrupt.
"That's nonsense, sir," she said. "I think you know the crew of Favored of God is proud to do whatever it can to help you in your work." Her eyes were gleaming in her broad face, and her cheeks were bunched up in a great smile that showed large, gleaming white teeth.
Bleys was silent for a moment; then he spoke, more softly. "And you do it very well, too."
The captain gave a nod, a kind of sideways dip of her head. There was silence for a moment, before she turned back to Toni.
"And is there anything else we can do?"
"No, Captain—thank you so much!" Toni said.
The captain waved one hand vaguely toward her head, as if faking a salute; and then put on her professionalism again, gathering her people and striding out the door.
"I'm sorry we disturbed you," Toni said to Bleys. "I hoped you were so deep in thought you wouldn't notice, and I was guessing you'd work better if you had a walkway like the one you use back home."
"It's a good idea," Bleys said. "I'm certain I'll be using it—I'd thought about walking in the corridor, but.. ."
"You seemed to be thinking hard," Toni said. "Is there anything I can help with?"
"Well, I can't answer that yet," he replied. "It's just that a bell seemed to ring inside me, while we were speaking about the cheese; and so far I'm having trouble pinning down whatever my mind's trying to tell me."
"The cheese?"
"I'll explain when I know," he said; and he shrugged and returned to the chair he had been sitting in. "You never ate," she said, following him.
"I forgot," he said. He sat down and started in on his breakfast. In a moment, he looked back up at her. "Thank you," he said.
Within fifteen minutes he was pacing rapidly up and down the length of the cleared space, one hand lightly slapping the surface of the bar each time he reached the far end of the room and made his turn.
Toni sat at her desk, keeping an eye on the occasional communication being silently fed to her screen.
The silence stretched out, punctuated only by the light slap of hand on bar.
As noon approached, Toni was starting to contemplate the idea of interrupting Bleys in his pacing. She had had to do so in the past, and she hated it—she thought of his walking as a form of meditation, and believed it was good for him.
On this occasion, however, the word meditation did not really seem to fit the exercise; there was something more driven, more keyed-up, about this particular session.
In any case, Bleys soon broke off on his own accord, immediately after making one of his turns at the bar; and stopped, looking down the length of the lounge at her.
"How long have I been at this?" he asked finally, breaking the silence.
"Just over four hours," she said. "Are you all right?"
"I'm all right," he said. He took a step toward her; then stopped. His face bore a strange look—on other people, she thought, it might have been shame, perhaps mixed with chagrin.
"I really am all right," he went on. "My headache is gone and my head feels clear. But it appears my physical conditioning has suffered since we came to this planet."
"Hardly unexpected, considering what we've been through," she said. She surprised herself by giving out a sort of throa
ty snort, and grinned. "I was going to suggest we get back to our exercises, but thought it best to take another day of rest."
"You were right," he said. He looked around. "Do you think we could work out in this space?"
"Easily," she replied. "Your control is more than adequate to keep you from falling over the furniture." She cocked her head slightly, looking at him sharply.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
"I think I gave myself blisters."
"That shouldn't have happened," she said, frowning. She rose from her desk and walked toward him. "What are you doing differently?"
"Nothing—that I know of," he said.
"No, of course not," she said. "If you knew what you were doing wrong, you wouldn't do it. Can I assume you're wearing your normal footgear?"
"Yes."
"Sit down in that closest chair, and I'll call Kaj to come up."
"It's not that bad—" he began, but she interrupted him.
"There's no point in trying to tough it out," she said, looking stern. "Trying to do that will cause you to make unconscious adjustments, and your whole body will end up out of balance. You know that."
"I know," he said, holding up a hand to stop her. "I know. I meant it's not necessary to call Kaj here—I can go to the infirmary."
"It'd be best," she said, nodding. "The equipment there can take care of your feet better than handheld tools down here ... are you really up to it?"
Antagonist - Childe Cycle 11 Page 14