minutes.’ She shut her eyes for a moment, then opened them wide and gave the room a bright smile. ‘Okay. Jezerey, you fix up a rota. Four-hour shifts. Strictly volunteers, no pressure. Kelk, you’re in command while I’m outside. And, ah, can I have a minute? No panic. When you’re free.’
Kelk raised an eyebrow. ‘Sure,’ he said slowly. ‘Now’s good.’ He extracted himself from the press of bodies that had accreted around him and Jezerey and headed for the exit. Fleare followed him.
The conversion of the old station from one purpose to another had left a lot of odd kinks and corners. Fleare and Kelk came to a halt in one of the more secluded ones. Fleare looked round; there was no one in sight. She leaned in close to Kelk’s ear, wrinkling her nose a little at the smell of hair that had not been washed for a while. ‘You didn’t really power down ten minutes ago, did you?’
They swapped head positions. Fleare hoped she smelled better than he did. ‘Of course not,’ he said. ‘Everything’s still running. I just unhooked it from the displays.’ He wiped a hand over his face and then smiled slightly. ‘Whoever it is, as far as they’re concerned we are still little innocents, all systems online, naive to a world full of clever intruders.’
‘Good. Let’s keep it like that.’ She made to pull away but he raised a finger.
‘Listen,’ he said, and she could hear the awkwardness in his voice, ‘it’s not my business but are you okay going out with Muz?’
Fleare blinked. ‘Okay in what way?’
‘Just . . .’ he paused. ‘Just okay. You were pretty short with him, back there.’
Fleare forced a smile. ‘Look, we’re not going to shoot each other, if that’s what you’re worried about.’
‘I didn’t think so.’ Kelk smiled, and suddenly Fleare realized how exhausted he looked. ‘I just want to be sure you’ll shoot other people properly, all right?’
She patted him on the shoulder. ‘We’re not there to shoot people, remember? They’re not shooting at us, at least not so far. They’re watching us, and doing a little pretending. We’re there to watch them back.’
‘I’d be a lot more comfortable if I knew why they weren’t shooting at us.’ Kelk shook his head. ‘Just as long as you watch them back with your finger on the fire button. Look, I’ll try to come up with some kind of fall-back, if that’s okay? Just to cover some backs. I don’t like us being blind in here.’
‘Thanks. Do what you think best. Come on, let’s get to the hangar.’ She pulled a face. ‘Muz will be waiting.’
Fleare’s back ached. She grimaced, braced her foot against a projection on the bulkhead and arched herself a little up and out of her flight couch, twisting against the embrace of the elastic webbing which provided both restraint and pretended gravity. Her foot slipped and she snapped back into the couch, involuntarily throwing out an arm to try to catch herself. It banged into something.
‘Ow!’
Muz’s voice spoke in her headset. ‘Knee?’
‘Elbow.’ She tried to work her other hand round to rub it, but the comms pod was in the way. She sighed instead, and forced herself to focus on the display tank. It helped her, if only just, to forget the discomfort. Unfortunately, it wasn’t quite enough to stop her feeling, well, something, at the sound of Muz’s voice. Which should have been annoying but somehow wasn’t.
A Pebble Class skiff was very smart, very fast and very small indeed. The sole occupant lay back on a couch that was allegedly form-fitting. Interior space was so limited that any kind of space suit was out of the question; the interior had to be dismantled to let the pilot get in, and then rebuilt – sometimes even reconfigured – around them. You didn’t so much occupy a Pebble as wear one. It should have been comfortable; ideal, even. And it was, for the first half-hour or so. After that opinions varied, but none were polite.
The two tiny
Kelk raised an eyebrow. ‘Sure,’ he said slowly. ‘Now’s good.’ He extracted himself from the press of bodies that had accreted around him and Jezerey and headed for the exit. Fleare followed him.
The conversion of the old station from one purpose to another had left a lot of odd kinks and corners. Fleare and Kelk came to a halt in one of the more secluded ones. Fleare looked round; there was no one in sight. She leaned in close to Kelk’s ear, wrinkling her nose a little at the smell of hair that had not been washed for a while. ‘You didn’t really power down ten minutes ago, did you?’
They swapped head positions. Fleare hoped she smelled better than he did. ‘Of course not,’ he said. ‘Everything’s still running. I just unhooked it from the displays.’ He wiped a hand over his face and then smiled slightly. ‘Whoever it is, as far as they’re concerned we are still little innocents, all systems online, naive to a world full of clever intruders.’
‘Good. Let’s keep it like that.’ She made to pull away but he raised a finger.
‘Listen,’ he said, and she could hear the awkwardness in his voice, ‘it’s not my business but are you okay going out with Muz?’
Fleare blinked. ‘Okay in what way?’
‘Just . . .’ he paused. ‘Just okay. You were pretty short with him, back there.’
Fleare forced a smile. ‘Look, we’re not going to shoot each other, if that’s what you’re worried about.’
‘I didn’t think so.’ Kelk smiled, and suddenly Fleare realized how exhausted he looked. ‘I just want to be sure you’ll shoot other people properly, all right?’
She patted him on the shoulder. ‘We’re not there to shoot people, remember? They’re not shooting at us, at least not so far. They’re watching us, and doing a little pretending. We’re there to watch them back.’
‘I’d be a lot more comfortable if I knew why they weren’t shooting at us.’ Kelk shook his head. ‘Just as long as you watch them back with your finger on the fire button. Look, I’ll try to come up with some kind of fall-back, if that’s okay? Just to cover some backs. I don’t like us being blind in here.’
‘Thanks. Do what you think best. Come on, let’s get to the hangar.’ She pulled a face. ‘Muz will be waiting.’
Fleare’s back ached. She grimaced, braced her foot against a projection on the bulkhead and arched herself a little up and out of her flight couch, twisting against the embrace of the elastic webbing which provided both restraint and pretended gravity. Her foot slipped and she snapped back into the couch, involuntarily throwing out an arm to try to catch herself. It banged into something.
‘Ow!’
Muz’s voice spoke in her headset. ‘Knee?’
‘Elbow.’ She tried to work her other hand round to rub it, but the comms pod was in the way. She sighed instead, and forced herself to focus on the display tank. It helped her, if only just, to forget the discomfort. Unfortunately, it wasn’t quite enough to stop her feeling, well, something, at the sound of Muz’s voice. Which should have been annoying but somehow wasn’t.
A Pebble Class skiff was very smart, very fast and very small indeed. The sole occupant lay back on a couch that was allegedly form-fitting. Interior space was so limited that any kind of space suit was out of the question; the interior had to be dismantled to let the pilot get in, and then rebuilt – sometimes even reconfigured – around them. You didn’t so much occupy a Pebble as wear one. It should have been comfortable; ideal, even. And it was, for the first half-hour or so. After that opinions varied, but none were polite.
The two tiny
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