“Except through the Knaught Point,” she said. A hint of a smile twitched her lips.
“Maybe we can sit so we watch the Knaught Point and move away fast, if someone comes through. We can watch for anyone trying to come from the other directions.”
Lin nodded, watching him through half-closed eyes. “Ganfer, how much will your calculations slow if you double your sensor alert and scan for intruders?”
“A negligible five percent,” the ship-brain answered. “If I do not watch the little ones or tell stories, that can be reduced to three point eight five six percent.”
“Oh, by all means.” She met Master Valgo's eyes and grinned. To Bain's surprise, they both started laughing.
“I don't under—” Bain began.
“Ganfer is very politely telling me my wife has her hands full in the hold and I should be with her, doing my duty instead of listening in on this war council.” Master Valgo turned himself around and pushed off for the hatch. He headed down to the hold, still chuckling.
“Simulator time,” Lin said. “Get it ready, Ganfer.” She gently pushed toward the ceiling. “Bain, you know how to shut down everything and set up space-park, don't you?”
“I read it, and you told me how.” The boy knew now was not the time to say he couldn't do the job.
“Take your time.” She pivoted off the ceiling and flew to the access door to the dome. “We have plenty to waste.”
“It shouldn't bother Ganfer if you ask him for help,” Anyon said. He headed for the hatch.
“Where are you going?” Bain knew it was stupid to be afraid—Lin was within shouting distance and he could call Ganfer if he really needed help.
That was the problem. Bain wanted more than anything to do his job all by himself. He had to prove he was good enough to be crew, and that scared him.
“To the hold.” Anyon paused in the hatch. The grin he gave Bain helped the boy relax, but not enough. “If I know the littles, they've frightened themselves into sick stomachs by now. Can't let Mistress Valgo do my job, after all.”
“But—what did she mean, about simulator time?” Bain said anything to keep Anyon on the bridge a few seconds more.
“Navigating Knaught Points isn't just flying by the seat of your pants.” Anyon laughed at the puzzled look Bain gave him. “Lin has to replay the flight and know everything she did, everything that didn't work—know it in her blood and bone, to prepare for going back through. She pilots by instinct. All the best Spacers do.”
“Oh.” Bain nodded, trying to digest that information. “We'll be all right, won't we?” he nearly whispered.
“You will do fine.” He winked at Bain—like his father used to, after a long, hard job fixing the shuttle. “It helps us all, being able to depend on you, Bain.” Then he went to the hold.
Bain closed his eyes and clenched his fists. He took deep breaths and let them out slowly and waited until the I-want-to-run-away feeling faded. His mother would have told him to say a prayer right that moment. All he could manage was a silent scream of Fi'in, please help me! in his mind. He waited until the feeling faded, then he went to work.
He almost disconnected the engines from the central power feed before he remembered what Lin told him about drift and currents. Just because space looked empty didn't mean there was nothing out there. Stellar dust brushed against Sunsinger's energy shields, the tiny impacts creating friction the ship had to resist. Electromagnetic energy created forces that pushed the ship and affected the sensors. Bain couldn't turn off the engines and have the ship sit perfectly still in space. It would move, eventually.
His hands reached for the controls before he could think what to do next. Bain grinned, feeling a little stomach-twisting relief when his hands knew what to do before his mind did. Those drills Lin gave him to practice really did help him learn in his blood and bones, not just with his mind.
He recorded their position by the Knaught Point, locked it into navigation and set up the automatic guidance system. Then he disengaged the main drives and engaged the auxiliary navigation jets. Sunsinger would maintain position in space, using tiny bursts from the jets. Unless there was a disaster or emergency, the ship would stay put with little effort or fuel used, saving fuel and energy for emergencies.
He double-checked his work. Bain suspected if he did something wrong, an alarm would go off or Ganfer would tell him. He decided silence was a good sign.
Now what should he do? They already ran a full shipboard check for damage and stress. Bain did another. Redundancy was a key to survival. He checked sensors and engine efficiency and then moved on to supplies.
Food, water and the emergency air tanks were all in first rank condition. They could stay here at the Knaught Point for half a Standard year and be comfortable—if they didn't need fresh food. They might have to eat the algae and other plants in the hydroponics tanks that recycled the air, and that would mean cutting rations to starvation level. Otherwise, they were in good shape.
Bain hoped they wouldn't have to stay there for half a year. He thought about the children waiting to be evacuated before the Mashrami reached Lenga. What would happen to them if Sunsinger and other ships never returned?
His stomach suddenly twisted and grumbled, hurting and surprising him. Bain checked the time and calculated he had missed a meal. He winced at the ache in his stomach. Was Lin so busy with the simulator in the dome, she didn't hear her stomach growl? He checked the controls to be sure he hadn't left a switch in the wrong position, then went to the galley.
He heated spicy sandwiches and sealed cups of hot chocolate. Getting up to the dome without squeezing or spilling anything would be hard. In gravity, spills only went one direction—down. In free-fall, spills could go anywhere. Bain had the horrid feeling if he spilled something, it would go everywhere.
The dome was quiet when he reached the top of the ladder. One light cast a bluish glow over Lin, stretched out on her back on a couch with her knees up and her arms crossed behind her head. She watched the rosy violet streak of soft sparkles across the top of the dome. She didn't look angry or happy—no clue for Bain if the simulator had helped or not. Lin did look a little sad, but she always looked a little sad when she was tired.
Then, when he was about to open his mouth and ask if she was hungry—Bain heard it.
Music. It sounded like wind. But what was wind doing out here in space? The solar wind, energy flowing out from the stars, wasn't the same thing. It hissed in sensor speakers. It didn't moan, soft and sweet, with a hint of a whistle. Flowing, but ready to turn crystalline and snap like new ice in a pond.
The sound moved, going high and so faint his ears ached with the effort to hear. Then dropping, falling so fast he almost reached out to catch it, imagining a star had fallen straight into the dome of the ship. It kept dropping low, the sound too deep to be heard.
Bain felt it in his body, like a heartbeat, filling him and creating an empty space around his stomach and lungs. It vibrated there, a warm tickling that reached up to rest at the back of his throat. It felt so good, Bain wanted to cry.
The sound moved up to something he could hear. It sounded like laughter or the soft, silver gurgling of water over pebbles in a tiny stream on a hot, still summer day. Bain listened until his chest ached from holding his breath. He let it out in a gusting sigh.
Lin laughed. Bain usually thought her laugh was like music. Now, her voice sounded like glass rattling in a box. He winced and scowled and squeezed the packet of sandwiches.
“Sorry,” Lin said. She sat up and turned to him. “I forgot what a shock reality is, the first time you listen.”
“What is it?” Bain asked, keeping his voice to a whisper. He didn't feel angry with Lin now. Talking didn't drive the music away. It moved into the background. “That isn't the same sound from the Knaught Point, is it?”
“No. Anyone can hear that music. This is special. Sometimes I think it's just for Spacers.” She sighed and gave him a comical shrug and grin.
<
br /> “Then what is it?” he asked again. Bain felt a hunger; he had to know the answer or feel an ache inside forever.
“The song of Creation. The voice of Fi'in. Do the facts matter?” She shrugged and that sad, tired look came back. Bain thought he understood why she had that look, now.
“Where does it come from?”
“It's everywhere. You only hear it when everything is quiet and you have nothing to do but listen, no thought in your mind except to be, and be glad you're alive.” She sighed and rubbed at her eyes. “It helps to be dead tired and starving. That is chocolate I smell, isn't it?”
Bain grinned and flew over to Lin's couch. She caught his ankle and pulled him down to the other couch. Neither spoke until they had practically inhaled the sandwiches.
The aching grumble in his stomach quieted and the chocolate sent warmth through his body. Bain felt better. The tight, coiled feeling in his stomach melted into a comfortable, tired ache in his muscles. Lin curled up on her couch, the control panel blinking green and blue and gold behind her, and she smiled into the steam collecting in a puddle around her cup. The steam scattered when she yawned.
“Oh ... I'm getting too old for this,” she said with a groan. She laughed at Bain's shock and disbelief. “You're right—I'm not too old. Yet, anyway. And thank you for the lovely compliment.”
“But I didn't say anything.”
“Your face did. It said you see me young and strong and able to handle anything.” Lin saluted him with her cup. “I pray Fi'in you're right, and I can get us out of here.”
“Did running simulations help?”
“I don't know yet. I ran it slow and fast and even backwards—yes, I really did!—until I think I could follow the course with my eyes closed. That's important when we try to go back. Ganfer has another day of calculations to make. Then I'll run the simulator again, to prepare.”
“What if the Mashrami ship is still there, waiting for us to come out?”
“Ganfer is making calculations so we can jump the Knaught point, catch our breath for a few seconds, and go through our original target. If we work fast enough, we shouldn't get hit.” Lin looked into her cup again. Her expression was all tired now. “I was about to say before, you're the best crew I've ever had.”
Bain sat up straight. He felt a glad pressure in his chest that made it hard to breathe. He'd never been the best at anything before. He grinned so wide his face hurt.
“I laughed,” Lin continued, “because I knew what Ganfer would say, if he'd been listening. He'd remind me you're the only crew I've ever had. I've trained and tested other Spacer youngsters before, but never enough to call them apprentices and crew, like you.”
“Oh.” For a second, it hurt. Then Bain thought about how good he had felt—how Lin thought it was funny—and he knew just the tone of voice Ganfer would use. He started laughing. He couldn't help it. He suddenly felt so tired he wanted to cry, but he laughed. Lin laughed too, and the sound vibrated off the dome and soothed their aching tired bodies and minds.
Chapter Nineteen
“You'd make a good mother,” Ganfer said, his voice a soft rumble that shimmered off the dome and merged with the ever-present space music.
“Hush—you'll wake him,” Lin said. Her hand brushed across Bain's cheek.
He liked that. It felt like when his mother checked on him in the night. She would touch his cheek and tug the blankets up under his chin. Bain felt himself waking more, and now he could feel the blanket, tucked under his chin and over his shoulders.
“Not asleep,” he mumbled, his eyes flickering open. Bain tried to sit up. The blanket cocooned him and a strap held him down. He panicked, and that helped him wake all the way. He opened his eyes to the diamond and ebony of space, with violet and rose sprinkles of light streaking the dome.
“Sorry,” Lin said. She floated by his couch with one foot hooked into his safety strap. “Didn't want to wake you, but I thought you'd be cold up here.”
“Like any good mother,” Ganfer said, his voice taking on a teasing, lecturing drawl.
“Did I sleep that long?” Bain struggled against the strap to sit up. His curiosity overrode the embarrassment he felt at falling asleep on duty.
“Hmm?” Lin gave him a puzzled grin.
“Ganfer can talk to us—he doesn't have to save all his energy for calculations. Is it tomorrow already?”
“Oh, that. Almost done with the first phase. He's just double-checking it right now. That takes only a fraction of the energy need for calculating and measuring. He'll have to shut his mouth again to calculate the second jump, but that's in a while.” She floated over to her own couch. Starlight gleamed on her clothes. She had changed to a silver and blue shirt with long, close-fitting sleeves. The material had silver threads that caught the lights.
The tired creases in her face were gone, and she had braided her hair. No more loose hairs framing her face like tiny creeping vines. She looked younger in the soft starlight, more alive, rested. Bain knew if Lin had taken the time to rest, the ship was safe. They would get to the evacuation planet called Refuge in one piece, no one hurt, no real damage to Sunsinger.
“You did a good job, Bain.” Lin reached over the other side of her couch and brought up a tray. It had little webwork compartments to hold sandwiches and sealed cups. “I checked your work. You've convinced me I'm a pretty good teacher. Most boys your age wouldn't be so thorough.”
“I didn't want anything to go wrong,” he mumbled. His face burned with a deep blush and he felt squirmy inside—but he was glad. He had done everything right.
“Boys your age usually think about adventure, not how long supplies will last.” She handed him a sandwich—sweet cheese and fruit spread. “Space makes us grow up too fast. That's a disadvantage they don't mention in the stories.”
“Did you grow up too fast?”
“Yes. And no.” Lin chuckled and opened her cup. The steam gushed out hard enough to drift over to Bain. It smelled of cinnamon and hot milk.
“She hasn't grown up yet,” Ganfer said, his voice a little louder.
“That's your opinion, O Bucket of Bolts.” Lin handed Bain a cup of hot chocolate. “I was captain of Sunsinger at your age, so I never really had a chance to be a child.”
“You didn't miss much. I can't wait to grow up.” Bain bit his sandwich like a dog attacking a bone.
“You already are.” She chuckled at the puzzled frown he gave her. “Growing up is a continuous part of living. When you stop growing and learning ... that means you're dead.”
“Oh.” Bain decided he'd have to think about that before he could really understand what Lin meant. “How did you become captain when you were just a kid?”
“My parents died. I inherited Sunsinger. With Spacers, being captain means you own your ship. It's not a rank with years of training behind it, like in the Fleet.” She spoke without any real emotion, as if she recited numbers.
“Didn't anybody try to put you in an orphanage?” He couldn't keep the envy and surprise out of his voice.
“By the time we got back to civilization, I was nearly a legal adult.”
“Notice she said legal,” Ganfer broke in. “The same accident that killed her parents also damaged this ship so badly our communications packs were dead for years, and we could only achieve coasting speed. It took us eight months just to get out of the solar system where the accident occurred. We couldn't navigate Knaught Points for several years, so we had to go the long way around.”
“The accident pitched us into an unexplored sector of space, so there was no one close enough to hear emergency signals.” Lin shrugged, as if a disaster that big didn't matter. “No one could hear us or give us a tow. We didn't get close enough to the regular space-lanes until our journey was nearly three-quarters over.”
“You were alone the whole time?” Bain couldn't imagine how he would feel.
“I had Ganfer. He taught me everything I needed to know about the ship, to put it back int
o working order. I learned how this ship works from the inside out,” Lin said. She wore a lopsided grin, like she smiled to keep from crying. “The best way to learn how anything works is to repair it. I'm the best starship mechanic-engineer in twelve solar systems.”
“So that's why you don't like strangers working on Sunsinger, like Dr. Anyon said.”
“Exactly.”
“She doesn't want them to know what a jury-rigged mess she made of my insides,” Ganfer said. That earned a sharp burst of laughter from Lin.
“I should have made some repairs to your memory circuits while I was at it.” She drained her cup with one long swallow. “Ganfer's to blame for the way I am, you know. He raised me all by himself. Finished my education and played mother and father to me for nearly eight years.” She laughed.
Bain joined in, but his mind wandered to the doll Lin had given Kisa. He could imagine her crying into the soft material in the quiet of the night. It didn't bother him to think Lin could cry. It made her seem stronger.
Chapter Twenty
Bain woke with a creeping feeling up his back. He felt sure something had happened to the ship. No alarms went off, though. He heard nothing out of the ordinary. No clues to help him. He lay still under his bed net, listening, until his curiosity got strong enough. Bain crawled out of bed, wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and went to the control panel.
No warning lights blinked. No messages scrolled across the screen. Bain wondered if he was getting sick, or maybe he had stayed up too late studying. Was he starting to imagine things?
“Stupid,” he muttered, and started pushing buttons to order a sensor check.
Less than ten seconds later, Bain learned a cloud of stellar dust had brushed against the ship. The energy shields had reacted to protect the ship and the thrusters had fired to keep them in place.
Lin was right, he realized with a shiver of delight. He had finally grown sensitive enough to the ship's sounds and movements that he could tell when something had changed.
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