What was Captain Lin Fieran doing in the cemetery? He ducked down and hid behind the bushes at the head of his parents’ grave. Through a gap, he watched Lin walk slowly down the gravel path, coming closer.
Across the path sat the chapel. Not really a building, just a sloped roof and pillars on a raised platform, built of golden silver-speckled sandstone. It had benches inside in the shade, and a little computer so people could find the names of the people buried there.
When Bain was little, before his parents died, he had wondered why there was a chapel in the cemetery. Dead people didn't need it to pray in. His parents had explained to him long ago that when people died, they went to be with Fi'in and could talk with Fi'in face to face.
Then, after Bain's parents died, he understood. The chapel was for the ones left behind.
He watched Lin climb the short steps and go into the shadows of the chapel. She knelt at a bench, resting her elbows on the seat, and hid her face in her hands for a little while. Bain counted slowly to fifty. Then she stood and came down one step. She just stood there, looking at her feet. Then she smiled a little.
“You can come out. I don't bite, even if I do growl,” Lin said without lifting her head.
Bain's face got hot. He stood and pushed his way through the bushes, his steps slow.
“Your parents?” she asked, lifting her head. Lin's smile made him think she understood. He nodded, not quite trusting his voice yet.
“I always meant to visit Lenga before this,” Lin went on. “I have kin buried here.” She came down two more steps and leaned against the support pillar next to the steps. “Are you going to miss this place?”
“Yes, Ma'am.”
“They have you trained well, but I can see the rebel in you.” She smiled more, her stern face losing twenty years of age and experience. Despite the silver in her hair, she could have been a teen like him. “You want more than anything to go into space. I could see it in your eyes. Maybe you'll be so excited, you won't puke when we reach free-fall, or scream like a frightened baby when we reach a Knaught Point.”
“I won't get sick. I have Spacer blood,” he said, his shoulders straightening, chin lifting. Bain was proud of his ancestors, even if the other children made fun of him when he talked about his grandparents.
“I remember you telling me that.” Lin's voice went soft. She came down the last two steps and crossed the gravel path to stand in front of him. She touched his chin, turning his head a little so she could get a good look at his face. Bain tried not to flinch or stiffen at her touch. No one had been so gentle since his mother had died.
“Well, Bain Kern—yes, I remember your name, too.” Her smile had a touch of sadness. “I might just need to call on your Spacer blood to help me during our voyage. You can keep secrets, can't you?”
“Oh, yes Ma'am!” Bain winced when his voice broke.
“You have to understand what's going on, so you can help when the littles get scared. I'll need you to help keep the other children quiet and calm during our trip. You're being evacuated because the Mashrami are getting too close to Lenga. It's not safe here for anyone but the military.” She looked around, and Bain was startled to see tears in her eyes. “I don't think we'll ever see this place again.”
“They wouldn't destroy the cemetery, would they?” He thought of Mashrami digging up his parents’ graves.
“If they do, they hurt my kin and yours. I pray Fi'in that never happens. I couldn't bear it.”
“I wish I was in the Fleet. I'd fight the Mashrami and keep them away from here.”
“Sometimes, Bain, the smart choice is to get out of the way of trouble instead of standing up to it.” Lin turned so she faced the spaceport hidden beyond the hills. “We're getting off this planet. Maybe if people aren't here, the Mashrami won't attack it.”
“You think so?”
“I'm praying for that, very hard.”
Chapter Four
Bain came back to the dormitory to find it as busy as a whirlwind. Sixteen boys shared the room he slept in; eight sets of bunks with sixteen trunks, sixteen sets of towels, and sixteen folding chairs. Four boys had been chosen to go out on the first ship. The other boys either helped their friends pack or got in their way.
Shouted arguments and teasing and questions made Bain's ears hurt. Boys packed as fast as their enemies unloaded their bags for them. Bain stood in the doorway and watched. He was glad his bunk was next to the door. He had a chance to sneak in and pack without anyone seeing him. He didn't want any trouble, and he knew no one would help him if someone picked on him. He slipped through the door and went to his bunk. No one noticed him until he opened his trunk.
“What're you doing?” Toly Gaber demanded. He stomped through the rain of clothes and snatched the bag from Bain's hands. The bulky blond boy glared at him.
Bain stared back. Toly looked angry, so that meant he hadn't been chosen to go. Then Bain realized that he didn't have to be afraid of Toly anymore. Even if Toly beat up on him now, the bully wouldn't be on the ship. Bain might never see him again.
“Packing,” Bain said, snatching the bag back. He hoped the bully would be surprised he fought back, and not hit him. Bain knew even if Toly did hit him, he couldn't fight back. Fighting might get him left behind.
“Packing?” Alan joined them. He was Toly's friend but not as nasty. The red-head boy's blue eyes went wide. Some other boys noticed, and the ruckus in the dormitory quieted a little. “You can't pack—your name isn't on the list.”
“Captain Fieran said I could go.”
“Captain Fieran?” Toly sat on Bain's bunk, disbelief and envy wiping the usual nasty frown off his face. “I heard about her. She's a Free Trader. Her ship's older than anything in this sector.” He frowned again. “How do you know you're going?”
“I was there when she was talking to Governor Cowrun.”
“What'd you do to make her let you go?”
“You don't make a Spacer do anything,” another boy called from the back of the group. “She knew you had Spacer blood, didn't she?” He sounded jealous.
No one had ever been jealous of Bain before. It felt good, but strange.
“He's always lying about being a Spacer,” Toly said. He grabbed a shirt out of Bain's bag. “I say you can't go.”
“You have nothing to do with it,” a quiet, adult male voice said from the doorway.
Dr. Anyon leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching the boys. His summer tan was just a little darker brown than his one-piece uniform, just a little lighter than his coarse hair and unsmiling eyes.
“Sir?” Bain jammed the rest of his clothes into his bag and stood. Something had gone wrong. He just knew it.
Maybe Captain Fieran had changed her mind and decided to take all babies or all girls, or she decided Bain was an arrogant little boy she didn't want on her ship.
“Are you boys almost packed?” Anyon took two steps into the room. He glanced around at the open trunks and clothes scattered across bunks and floor. “We have eight hours until launch, and I need the boys who are leaving to help convert Sunsinger's hold into a dormitory. We leave the dining hall in fifteen minutes.” He turned to go, then looked over his shoulder, frowning. Bain felt sure Anyon frowned at him. “I don't want to hear anyone delayed you,” the man said. He glared at Toly, then stalked out of the room.
Silence reigned for three heartbeats. Bain moved first. While the other boys were paralyzed by guilty consciences, he hurried to finish packing, undisturbed. It didn't take long. Extra underwear, two shirts, his lesson disks, his other pair of pants, and the holograph picture disks of his dead parents. That was all he had in the whole universe.
* * * *
Dr. Anyon waited in the dining hall with the other children being evacuated. Carl and Emma Valgo, dormitory parents, were the only other adults. Bain remembered Captain Fieran's words about older children taking care of the littles. He hoped the girls would be selfish and insist on taking care of the babies by th
emselves. He didn't want to change diapers or hold bottles.
Twenty children. He was the oldest. Nine boys, eleven girls—four of them were babies and two were toddlers.
“Ready?” Anyon said. “Line up.”
The boys lined up first, by age and height, then the girls, with the Valgos at the end and Dr. Anyon at the front. The babies rode in a three-wheeled cart, with their gear piled around them. Then they marched to the space-port.
Chapter Five
Sunsinger was nearly hidden from view behind refitting gantries and towers and supply carts and larger, sleeker, newer ships. From his very first glimpse of the ship, Bain thought she was beautiful, despite the patchwork of generations of repairs covering her skin. The ceramic skin rippled in a rainbow of blue, white and violet, showing all the batches and formulas used to repair gashes or holes in her hull.
She was an old design, squatting low on the landing pad while newer ships perched high on stilt-like legs and fragile landing fins. Bain had studied Spacers; Sunsinger was a classic design that Spacers never changed because it worked the best. Spacers, especially Free Traders, knew ship design better than their own genetics.
Sunsinger was fat in her belly and behind for cargo hold and engines, tapering forward to a small bulb for the bridge or ‘brains’ of the ship, with a little dome on top. With her stubby atmosphere vanes extended, she looked like a fat ground-bird taking a nap after a dust bath. Despite her awkward look, Sunsinger and ships like her had an endurance and agility the bigger, faster, sleeker ships would never have.
Bain's lungs clenched and his heart pounded harder, and a tight sensation grew in his guts as he stared at the ship. Finally, he was going into space!
Mistress Valgo took the babies and the six youngest children with her to the port-master's office. Anyon and Master Valgo took the other ten children across the landing field to Sunsinger. Supply carts circled the ship, their cargo partially unloaded. There were no workers in sight. That meant the children would have to unload the supplies.
“Governor Cowrun can only spare four technicians,” Anyon said. “We will provide the work force to adapt Sunsinger's hold for passengers.”
Bain and the other children exchanged delighted looks. Not only would they ride on a real Free Trader ship, but they could do the work of real technicians, real crew. Bain knew it would be only lifting and carrying. The technicians and adults would do the detailed work like wiring and seals. He didn't care—anything that let him spend more time in a Spacer ship was a gift from Fi'in.
The big, metal grillwork loading ramp slanted down from halfway up the back of the ship. Two smaller cargo doors hung open. Power lines and sealer foam hoses ran through all three openings. A narrow clear space went up the middle of the ramp. Anyon and Master Valgo led the children up the ramp into the ship. No one had to warn them to be quiet and keep their hands to themselves.
Long, bright blue-white lights hung from the ceiling. The air in the hold reeked with the burning tang of decontaminating solution. The bare metal and ceramic ribs of the hold gleamed as if they were wet. Bain touched a wall when Anyon wasn't looking. The metal was dry. The solution had scoured and polished the metal clean, smooth and bright.
“Just what we need!” a technician called from on top of a chain link ladder. He climbed down, paused in the middle and held on with one hand while he peeled off his breather mask and gloves. He was young, his face space-browned, almost the same shade of the mud-colored coverall he wore. The name patch on his left sleeve read ‘Lucas.’
“We don't have gear to fit you all,” Master Valgo said. “Gloves and masks are all we can manage, so be careful.”
“Right now, we need strong arms to move and lift and aim the sealer foam hoses.” Lucas bent and lifted a blue plastic hose as thick as his leg, to demonstrate. “I have to aim the nozzle so everything goes on smooth and even. Smells awful, even with the mask,” he added, wrinkling his face so he looked sick.
Two older girls giggled and Bain groaned.
Just like a girl to get a crush when there's work to do, he thought.
Bain, because he was the oldest and tallest, stood behind the technician on his team. They made three teams—one for the left side of the hold, one for the right, one for the ceiling. Anyon and Master Valgo had the same spot in their teams and Bain felt proud that he was considered as strong as grown men. The fourth technician stayed outside the ship, controlling the valves that fed foam into the hoses. If it flowed through too fast, they couldn't control it. Too slow, it would cool and dry in the hose instead of on the walls and ceiling.
Until his arms started to ache from the weight of hot foam gushing through the hose, Bain looked around. The cargo hold looked as big as two dormitory rooms next to each other, and another stacked on top. The walls, ceiling and floor curved a little, making the room seem rounded.
Holes for clamps and the brackets for nets dotted the ribs on walls and ceiling. Bain tried to calculate how many cubic meters of cargo could fit into the hold. There were no shelves for storage. When the ship left gravity behind, everything had to be wedged together and held in place with nets. Sharp corners and empty spaces made trouble and damaged cargo, when the contents went into free-fall and sudden acceleration threw everything together.
“You have good, steady hands,” Borton said. He was the technician leading Bain's team, a short man, just a little taller than Bain, with copper-colored skin and black eyes. He pressed a button on the nozzle and the hot, greenish-yellow foam stopped flowing. The man clapped Bain on the shoulder and grinned at him through his foam-speckled mask. “You do good work. Ever consider apprenticing here?”
“Yes, sir.” Bain straightened, the ache in his shoulders fading a little. “I'm not old enough yet.”
“Think about it when you are.” Borton's grin faded. “If you get back here after the war.”
Bain nodded that he understood. There was no guarantee the orphans would ever return to their home world.
The teams left the hold, spraying foam on the floor as they left. Bain's arms and back vibrated even after he let go of the hose. He grinned at the blond girl next to him, Shari. She grinned back, but neither one had the energy to speak. Their legs wobbled as they found places to sit. The hot afternoon wind felt almost cool as it dried their sweaty faces and arms and clothes.
“Nice and even,” Lucas said. “You make a good crew. Hope all the other orphan teams are this well-trained.”
“We do our best,” Master Valgo said. He sounded as breathless and tired as Bain felt.
“They'll be doing adult work soon,” Anyon said in the quiet when even the wind faded to a soft whisper. “It's too bad they have to grow up so quickly.”
“War does that,” Borton said from the far side of the group. Both adults sounded sad and just a little angry.
While the foam cooled and hardened, they stayed in their teams and worked on a new task. The first team unloaded supplies and sorted them. Second team assembled the frames for the hammocks the orphans would sleep in during the trip. Third team ran checks on the stasis chairs.
Bain was glad to be in the third team. He liked working with machines. He thought his brain worked in circuits and transponders and warp frequencies. He was sure he could fix anything mechanical, if he only had a chance.
The stasis chairs were padded frames and flexible nets, with a cushion for the back and seat. The frames would be bolted to the floor plates, immovable no matter how badly the ship twisted and spun through space. If the Mashrami chased Sunsinger, the ship would have to make sharp, fast maneuvers that could throw her passengers around in the hold. The stasis chairs would hold the passengers still so they wouldn't get hurt, and they wouldn't know what was going on.
Each chair had its own power packs, if something happened to the ship's power supply. Redundancy was the first rule of survival for traveling in space. Disasters only happened to people who weren't prepared for problems. His father had told him that often.
Ba
in reminded himself of that rule when he started to check the wiring connections in the frame of his tenth chair. Shari, working next to him, checked power packs. She either recharged or replaced them, depending on what the testing meter showed her. She looked as bored as he felt.
“Why can't we just stay in our hammocks, like they do in the story cubes?” Alan grumbled. He had to check the covers on each chair and replace worn or thin padding.
“The story cubes don't tell you anything about free-fall,” Bain said.
“There's nothing to make us fall in free-fall,” Alan growled.
“Plenty of danger in free-fall for those who don't understand it,” Borton said. His voice sounded like laughter. It made Bain stop to look at him. The technician smiled at Bain. “Want to tell your friends why stasis chairs are necessary?”
“For launching and landing and going through Knaught Points, mostly.” Bain watched the man for any sign—smile, nod, frown—to know if he answered the question properly. “See, there's so much power, pushing and pulling at you. It's like a whole planet yanking on your body. Hurts you inside, maybe even messes up your brain. The stasis field keeps the gravity and all that force from reaching you. It holds you still, so even if the ship flips over and spins, you don't get hurt. Can't move in a stasis field.”
“Then how does the captain pilot?” Shari asked. She sat up, holding two power packs on her lap.
“Yeah,” Alan said, sneering. “If the stasis field won't let you move—and launching hurts so bad—how can the captain run anything?”
“Spacers are different.” Bain cast a pleading glance at Borton, begging for help.
“Spacers have different genetics. Not better, just different. They take gravity flips better.” Borton shrugged. “They never get sick in free-fall. Knaught Points don't scramble their brains. They can go for years in space with no company but their ship-brains, and they don't go crazy,” he finished, his voice dropping to a whisper.
Silence followed his words. The wind blew harder, hotter. Bain heard the voices of the other teams at work on the other side of the ramp. They sounded far away, like they were on another planet. The sun hit the hard pavement and bounced back heat in waves that made everything shimmer.
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