The voice of the attending physician—the best on Triton, Hiso had assured Iain—sounded worried. “It’s overreacting. I’m not sure it can handle the physiological stress. I’ll have to drug it again, and I don’t know how long I can sustain its functions under that treatment.”
“You blinded him,” Iain said, his voice rough. As Hiso turned to him in surprise, he coughed and said again, “You blinded him. You took away the only eyes he had. He doesn’t know where he is. Of course he’s afraid.”
“We can’t replace his eyes,” the doctor said sharply from below. “The optic nerves are absent—atrophied or removed. We can’t give him new ones.”
“Give him back the eyes he had,” Iain said. Hiso frowned, but Iain went on. “The leads from the ship. Reconnect them to his brain. Link them to a camera from the ship. If he can see, even a limited view, he won’t be so afraid.”
The doctor looked up at Hiso. “Pilot Kimura,” he said, “that’s several more hours of surgery to reimplant—”
“Do it,” Hiso said. “The longer we can keep this thing alive, the more we can learn.” He turned to Iain. “Thank you for your help.”
Iain fought back nausea. “It’s not you I’m helping.”
“Think of it that way,” Hiso said, “if it comforts you.” He smiled and turned back to watch the preparations for surgery below.
The young pilot on Iain’s other side flipped and shot out of the room. After a moment, hearing the sounds from the passageway outside, Iain turned away from the horror in the room below and followed him. The young man had managed to confine his retching to the refresher unit, and the system was containing it, but he floated limply beside it, looking utterly miserable.
Iain took hold beside him, pulled some absorbent paper from the dispenser by the refresher, and handed it to the young pilot. Not much more than a boy: late teens at the oldest, brown-skinned, with a close-cut cap of black hair. The boy nodded his thanks. “Forgive me. I didn’t think it would—look like that.”
“What did you think it would look like?” Iain kept his voice low, but he knew his anger was clear. That’s the price of what you’ve built here, he wanted to say. Of the city, the happy schoolchildren, the gardens, the concerts, everything you’ve shown me so proudly. That is the price.
“I didn’t expect it to look—human,” the boy said, his voice unsteady.
He understands that this is wrong. The thought stood clear in Iain’s mind. He said, still speaking quietly, “We don’t do such things, where I live.”
At that the boy lifted his chin and faced Iain. “It’s not my place to question,” he said. “I do my duty. I’m proud to.” He stuffed the soiled paper into a vacuum outlet, wiped his hand on his tunic, and held it out to Iain. “I’m named Gareth, of family Perrin.”
Iain took the hand firmly. “Sen Paolo—Iain. Is Madame Tereu a relative of yours?”
“My father’s cousin,” Gareth said, with a little obvious pride. “Pilot Kimura took notice of my test results after primary school, and here I am.” He closed the cover on the refresher and tugged his clothing straight. “Pilot Kimura says you have a ship like no other. I would—like very much to see it someday.”
“If you can get permission,” Iain said, “I’ll show it to you.”
“Thank you, Pilot,” Gareth said firmly. Then turned back toward the hatch. “I’d better get back in there. Kimura Hiso personally invited me to see this, as my cousin’s representative.”
Then he did you no favors. “Surely you’ve seen enough,” Iain said. “For now.”
“I’m not weak,” Gareth said evenly. “I can handle this. It was just the, the shock of it.”
“I know,” Iain said. “I was about to throw up myself.” He set his hand on Gareth’s shoulder. “We could take our leave for a while, brother. What’s the use of being a pilot, having your own ship, if you don’t use your freedom?”
He saw the longing for escape in Gareth’s face. The boy glanced back toward the observation room. Then met Iain’s eyes and shook his head. “I can’t. I’m attending the First Pilot.”
“Then I’ll hope to see you at my ship soon,” Iain said. “This evening, perhaps?”
The boy looked doubtful. “Perhaps.” He half bowed and turned away to return to his post.
But Iain lingered where he was, in the shadowy passageway. The vague idea forming in the back of his mind took a clearer shape. Hope. Action. Perhaps tonight, tomorrow, I can move.
Soon, Kimura Hiso.
THIRTEEN
DEEPSIDER HABITAT HESTIA
Linnea emerged from the narrow docking tube leading from Esayeh’s little jumpship and looked around in awe. The docking bay formed a ring around the equator of the cylindrical habitat, and across from the docking tubes, wide windows overlooked the interior of the huge space inside. She hung back, nervous at the sheer distance visible through the window. She’d never seen so large a volume enclosed and under pressure in zero gee. And this place was to be her home for—how long, Pilang did not seem to know. “There’s work for you there” was all she would say.
A small figure shot out of the tube past Linnea, soared across the docking bay, and swung to a stop at one edge of the window. “Eh, Lin, come and look at this!”
“Mick,” Hana said reprovingly as she floated out of the tube, “city manners. Don’t bump people.” Pilang followed her, laughing.
The girl stuck out her tongue at Hana and turned back to the glass. “Don’t need to tell me all that,” she said. “I was born here in Hestia, you know. My mother worked in the power plant, don’t know if she’s still here—”
Linnea launched herself carefully past Hana and Pilang and took a place beside Mick in front of the thick glass, anchoring herself with one hand to another of the handholds that ringed the window. She breathed carefully, trying to keep her perceptions under control. If she let herself think of the view in just the wrong way, it would flick to a different orientation, becoming a pit below her. . . . She pushed the thought away and gripped more tightly. “How big is that space?” Linnea asked. “I can’t tell. I can’t even really see it, with the trees and the haze, and the light so bright.”
“Everyone says that,” Mick said proudly. “I grew up here, till I was three thousand days. I can tell you a lot. That’s the park. Hundreds and hundreds of meters north to south, more’n two hundred across. Look at all the green. Those are real trees growing in there, did you know that? Real Earth trees. That stuff that looks like green smoke, those are leaves. Up close you can see. They’re all different, too. One of them grows apples, wild apples, free because it’s not a farm, we used to get into fights—”
“Mick,” Pilang said patiently, “it’s time we moved along. Did you get through to your oldfather?”
Mick’s thin face fell. “I forgot to say. He’s dead. Died about three hundred days ago.”
“I’m so sorry,” Linnea said, touching the girl’s shoulder in sympathy.
Hana was having none of it. “Dead?” she said sharply. “You talked Esayeh into giving you a jumpship lift all this way, and you knew there was no one here waiting for you?”
“I,” Mick said loftily, “take care of myself.” She turned upside down, the lengthening stubble of her black hair making an aureole around her head against the bright light from the habitat interior. “I got a job waiting for me, in the farms, in the culture rooms, pulling the calluses apart, putting up the seedlings in little bags. Takes little hands, I still got ’em. I used to do it when I was little, see, so they’ll take me back. It’s a start, and you get food, and there’s always someplace to sleep. So don’t go floating over me.”
Pilang joined them at the window. “Look, Mick,” she said, “you know how to find me—remember, it’s the Rosie and Jim Memorial Clinic at Ring Three. They can relay to me wherever I am, and they’ll know to help you if you need it. So if you fall into any trouble, you call.”
“Not me,” Mick said. “But I’ll remember.” She stuck
out a hand at Hana, pulled her in close, and kissed her cheek, did the same for Pilang, then Linnea. And at that moment Esayeh, the ship’s pilot, emerged from the docking tube, thin and gray in his plain coveralls, smiling faintly as he looked around at what must be, for him, the sights of home.
Mick launched herself at him and kissed him as well, as he clutched at her in startlement. “Thank you,” she said. “Can I call you oldfather? Because you saved my life, that way station was going to kill me, nothing ever happens there, I was going insane. ’Bye!”
Linnea watched as the girl vanished around the curve of the docking bay. When she turned to Hana, the younger woman rolled her eyes at Linnea. “Coming?”
Linnea looked at Esayeh. “Not now. I think Esayeh and I need to have a talk.” He’d been evading her, evading her questions, long enough.
Hana blinked at Linnea, then looked doubtfully at Pilang, who said firmly, “I entirely agree with you, Lin.”
“And then,” Linnea said, “I’d like a ride back to Triton.”
There was a silence, no one looking at her; then Esayeh said, “I don’t know when that will be possible. When it will be safe.”
Her voice sharp with disappointment, Linnea said, “You go there all the time.”
“I go when Pilang has reason to,” he said mildly. “The Tritoners tolerate my ship because they need our doctors. But otherwise, I stay away from Triton. When I’m docked there, I can’t even leave my ship.”
“Why not?”
He shrugged. “They’d arrest me. Ancient history, but they don’t forget.”
Behind him, Pilang snorted derisively.
Esayeh glanced at her, then nodded at Linnea. “Look. In exchange for answering your questions, I want seven more days of your time and attention.”
“For what?”
“Learning. I think you’ll like it. And at the end of it—we’ll see. It depends on what both of us learn.”
Linnea eyed him. “Is this some kind of test?”
“An opportunity,” Esayeh said, his expression serious.
“May I send a message to Triton? To Iain?”
“No,” Esayeh said. “You must promise not to try that. You could endanger many innocent lives if Kimura Hiso chose to lead one of his daring expeditions to rescue you. Which he would be quite likely to do.”
“And then,” Linnea said patiently, “after seven days, you’ll take me back to Triton.”
“I promise you I will return you to Triton, if you choose to go, as long as it’s safe,” Esayeh said. “The Cold Minds stir in-system sometimes, you know.”
Linnea studied him. Her increasing worry about Iain was a constant itch in the back of her mind—but the opportunity to find out more about these people and their history, a different perspective on the situation here—that could be valuable in itself. And if there was, as Esayeh hinted, something more—well, if he wanted her to spend a week under his eye, if that might lead to more answers, then she would have to try. She nodded sharply. “All right. I agree.”
“Seven days,” Pilang said. “Mind my words, Esayeh! I’m overdue for the loop out to Miranda as it is. Patients are waiting.”
“I’ll be here and ready,” Esayeh said, sounding aggrieved. “When do I not come back when you need me?”
“The first time it happens,” Pilang said, “will be enough for me. Watch and take care, old man.” She took him by the shoulders, pulled herself to him, and kissed him on the mouth.
“I’ll still be here tomorrow,” Esayeh said with dignity as she floated back from him, “but I don’t mind the kiss.”
Pilang snorted, and she and Hana moved off, trailing their travel bags. Linnea turned back to Esayeh. “Where can we talk safely?”
He swept a wide gesture. “Anywhere.”
“Really?”
“This isn’t Triton. No monitors here, except for pressure and air quality and such. Well, people listen in if they can, but that’s just gossip, nobody pays attention to it. . . . Come. We’ll take a turn in the park. It would be a shame not to see such a wonder for yourself after coming all this way.”
“All this way,” Linnea said suspiciously, “means—from Triton?”
“From your home, of course,” Esayeh said. “Those worlds far away. I’d like to hear about them, too. . . . Here’s a lock.” He swung them both into a small, chilly cubby, cranked the door on the docking-port side shut, pulled a lever. There was a hiss, and the pressure dropped slightly. Then he cranked open the inner door.
Light blazed in out of emptiness. Linnea swallowed hard, found a handhold right outside the opening, and swung around into the vast open space. She found herself facing a spongy surface completely covered with mats of a tiny-leaved creeping herb with a rich, complicated smell. She knew she ought to turn around, that Esayeh would be expecting her to admire the view, but she knew, she knew that if she thought of it just wrong—
She peered carefully over her shoulder.
Endless depths yawned below her back, and her grip on the handhold tightened convulsively. She studied the dense green mat of herbs intently, her mind spinning. In this bright sunny light, some were silvery green, some yellow-green; and some of the tiny leaves were edged with—
“Linnea,” Esayeh said wearily, “just turn around.”
She closed her eyes for a moment, took a deep, shuddering breath. Then, cautiously, she turned, keeping a tight grip on the handhold. Light, space, a vast arch overhead—over there—down. But no weight, nothing holding her up—No. Down. I am lying on a lawn. A flat lawn. She felt Esayeh’s warm hand on her shoulder, anchoring her.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ve never been in zero gee in—so much space. It’s not like being in a ship.” She laughed a little wildly. “In a ship, there’s nowhere to fall.”
“Look across,” Esayeh’s gentle voice said. “Not at the big lights, they’re too bright. Past them. See the treetops?”
“Mick was talking about the trees,” Linnea said. Two men holding hands scudded past, twenty meters away, out, down—
“Don’t watch the people,” Esayeh said patiently. “You’ll get dizzy. I came from Triton, I know what this is like at first.” He tugged loose a sprig of the herb, bruised it between finger and thumb, passed it to Linnea. “This is thyme.”
Linnea looked at it in confusion, then made the connection. “Oh. We have that, too.”
“Close your eyes,” Esayeh said. “Focus on the scent. . . . There. Now, look out again. This is the park. This surface we’re on—it’s not dirt, it anchors and waters the plants, but it can’t float free. This central ring is all plants and trees. North and south, toward the ends of the cylinder, look there. Maybe you can see the houses. Live here long enough, your turn comes up, you can live in the park for a while.”
“Was this—” Linnea frowned. “The design’s wrong. But I read stories, weren’t there habitats that spun, gave some gravity?”
“Close to Earth there were,” Esayeh said. “Long lost, of course, all of them.”
“Destroyed?”
“Oh, yes,” Esayeh said. “Broken down for metal by the Cold Minds. . . . Deepsiders don’t bother with spin. Too much engineering, they say, and for what? So you can raise goats, maybe, like the Tritoners? Rabbits, chickens, they don’t mind zero gee, and they taste good enough. And who wants to stick to the ground all their lives?” He swung away from the lock of the hatch. “Look. We’ll pull ourselves along the surface. I promise we won’t get separated from it. But I want to show you more.”
Linnea let him tug her loose from her hold, and they began a slow drift along the green surface toward a distant clump of trees and buildings near one end of the huge cylinder. “What is this place? How did the deepsiders build anything so big, this far out?”
“They didn’t,” Esayeh said. “This was supposed to be a collection tank for helium-3 coming up from Neptune. It was never used; plans changed when the Cold Minds rose.”
“So the deepsiders improvised,�
�� Linnea said. “Don’t waste, don’t want.”
“We have a saying like that, yes.” Esayeh smiled. “So deepsiders pushed this tank into a higher orbit around Neptune. The walls were double already, and we just built into them and then onto them, inside and out—workshops and sleep cubbies and food shops and machine shops and labs, everything we needed, bit by bit over the years. The docking ring was already there, we just repurposed it. When the last of us got booted off Triton, we made this our Triton, our center. The deepsider hearth. We go anywhere we want, but this is where everyone comes to live for a while, when they can. Whoops.” They had drifted a little too far from the surface, and Linnea gripped his hand tightly. “That’s a tree ahead,” she said nervously. A tree with a round green canopy of big leaves like hands, reaching toward them it seemed. She hoped it didn’t have spikes or something.
“Land with grace,” Esayeh announced, and caught a branch neatly with his free hand. Of course that made Linnea, attached to his other hand, spin on around the branch, leaves whipping in her face, until she could bring herself to a stop with a desperate grip on two big bunches of twigs. A couple of small children floating past giggled, then politely looked away.
“Sorry,” Esayeh said. He swept a gesture of welcome. “This, of course, is Acer macrophyllum. Dwarfed a bit, but the real thing.”
“The tree,” she said cautiously. “That’s the name of this tree? Or this kind of tree?”
“The species,” Esayeh said. He frowned at her. “Don’t they have trees in the Hidden Worlds?”
“Not where I grew up,” Linnea said.
“No trees at all!” He stared at her. “Where did you get your air?”
“The oceans,” she said. “Seaweed and little tiny things, plankton. We also had fish and mud. That was about it.”
Esayeh pursed his lips. “I can’t promise you any mud here. Fish and seaweed—we have some of those growing in tanks.”
“I don’t miss them that much,” Linnea said. She looked around—no one was in earshot. And there was no telling the next time that would happen, if it ever did. “Esayeh—”
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