The road is the song. The song is the road.”
Her expression hardened, a fish that spots the hook. “What do you want, Leslie?”
“I get to suit up and come EVA with you tomorrow, right?”
She sighed and turned back to the window, staring out it, past it. Down the long parallel lines of the starlight, the expression in her eyes distant enough to have a chance of looking farther even than that. She shook her head, but she muttered, “You know how to operate a space suit, son?”
“I've checked out ground side. Never in zero G. Or vacuum.”
“Well,” she said, scrubbing her flesh hand and her steel hand against the thighs of her fatigues, “I guess we'd better get down to a cargo bay and get you some practice, then.”
Fairy tales don't teach children that monsters exist. Children already know that monsters exist. Fairy tales teach children that monsters can be killed.
—G. K. Chesterton
11:00 PM
Saturday September 29, 2063
HMCSS Montreal
Earth orbit
Sometimes Geniveve Castaign liked to pretend she was invisible. She'd slip out of bed barefoot, midwatch and in the middle of the night. She'd tug her coveralls on over her pajamas, undog the hatchway, and ease her way into the corridor when she was supposed to be in bed asleep.
No one ever said anything, or did more than nod to her in passing. She shared her quarters only with Boris, Jenny's cat who had gotten to be the whole ship's cat by now, and she got special quarters in the civilian corridor because nobody on the ship's crew wanted a twelve-year-old roommate—even Patty, who was seventeen and who had a private room because she was a pilot.
She could wander all night, and as long as she dodged Elspeth and Jenny, nobody ever said anything. Nobody ever said anything, that is, as long as she stayed in the unrestricted-access parts of the ship, because they all felt bad about Leah. And because it wasn't as if Genie had to be up for school. And because the
Montreal
wasn't set up for kids, not yet, and wouldn't be until the first batch of colonists came on board.
And because they knew Richard and Alan were in her head, and Richard and Alan wouldn't let her get into any trouble.
In any case, it was 11 PM, and Genie had been trying to sleep since nine. She gave up, climbed out of her bunk, and went looking for Patty. Patty was up, of course. Patty was nearly a grown-up, and she
was
a pilot. And either she or Jenny always had to be awake and able to get to the bridge. Just in case. Although Patty's on-duty time was supposed to be spent studying.
Which meant she'd probably be in the ready room by the bridge, because Captain Wainwright had made sure there was a state-of-the-art interface in there, and that was also where Genie did her schoolwork, usually while her dad was on duty.
Genie wasn't supposed to be on the bridge unless she was invited. But the ready room also had a door to the corridor, and there was nothing to keep her from climbing in wheel, and nothing to keep her out of the ready room once she got there. Except—
“Where are you off to, young lady?”
Richard's voice always had a certain humorous tint to it when he called her that. She kept climbing up the access ladder, eschewing the lifts.
I couldn't sleep,
she answered.
I'm going to go do some homework.
Which wasn't exactly a lie, and Richard would probably know if she lied, but he didn't always catch on to truths that weren't . . . complete. He was too polite to just read her mind, or at least he pretended to be.
Richard coughed inside her head, a polite cough into the palm of his knobby, elegant hand, the white of his cuff extending past the sleeve of his jacket, a steel-banded watch glittering against his skin.
How come you wear a watch, Richard?
“It gives me something to fiddle with,” he answered, and demonstrated.
But you have a clock in your head.
“I find it helps me relate to meat-type people better if I keep myself reminded of what it's like to be meat.
Her expression hardened, a fish that spots the hook. “What do you want, Leslie?”
“I get to suit up and come EVA with you tomorrow, right?”
She sighed and turned back to the window, staring out it, past it. Down the long parallel lines of the starlight, the expression in her eyes distant enough to have a chance of looking farther even than that. She shook her head, but she muttered, “You know how to operate a space suit, son?”
“I've checked out ground side. Never in zero G. Or vacuum.”
“Well,” she said, scrubbing her flesh hand and her steel hand against the thighs of her fatigues, “I guess we'd better get down to a cargo bay and get you some practice, then.”
Fairy tales don't teach children that monsters exist. Children already know that monsters exist. Fairy tales teach children that monsters can be killed.
—G. K. Chesterton
11:00 PM
Saturday September 29, 2063
HMCSS Montreal
Earth orbit
Sometimes Geniveve Castaign liked to pretend she was invisible. She'd slip out of bed barefoot, midwatch and in the middle of the night. She'd tug her coveralls on over her pajamas, undog the hatchway, and ease her way into the corridor when she was supposed to be in bed asleep.
No one ever said anything, or did more than nod to her in passing. She shared her quarters only with Boris, Jenny's cat who had gotten to be the whole ship's cat by now, and she got special quarters in the civilian corridor because nobody on the ship's crew wanted a twelve-year-old roommate—even Patty, who was seventeen and who had a private room because she was a pilot.
She could wander all night, and as long as she dodged Elspeth and Jenny, nobody ever said anything. Nobody ever said anything, that is, as long as she stayed in the unrestricted-access parts of the ship, because they all felt bad about Leah. And because it wasn't as if Genie had to be up for school. And because the
Montreal
wasn't set up for kids, not yet, and wouldn't be until the first batch of colonists came on board.
And because they knew Richard and Alan were in her head, and Richard and Alan wouldn't let her get into any trouble.
In any case, it was 11 PM, and Genie had been trying to sleep since nine. She gave up, climbed out of her bunk, and went looking for Patty. Patty was up, of course. Patty was nearly a grown-up, and she
was
a pilot. And either she or Jenny always had to be awake and able to get to the bridge. Just in case. Although Patty's on-duty time was supposed to be spent studying.
Which meant she'd probably be in the ready room by the bridge, because Captain Wainwright had made sure there was a state-of-the-art interface in there, and that was also where Genie did her schoolwork, usually while her dad was on duty.
Genie wasn't supposed to be on the bridge unless she was invited. But the ready room also had a door to the corridor, and there was nothing to keep her from climbing in wheel, and nothing to keep her out of the ready room once she got there. Except—
“Where are you off to, young lady?”
Richard's voice always had a certain humorous tint to it when he called her that. She kept climbing up the access ladder, eschewing the lifts.
I couldn't sleep,
she answered.
I'm going to go do some homework.
Which wasn't exactly a lie, and Richard would probably know if she lied, but he didn't always catch on to truths that weren't . . . complete. He was too polite to just read her mind, or at least he pretended to be.
Richard coughed inside her head, a polite cough into the palm of his knobby, elegant hand, the white of his cuff extending past the sleeve of his jacket, a steel-banded watch glittering against his skin.
How come you wear a watch, Richard?
“It gives me something to fiddle with,” he answered, and demonstrated.
But you have a clock in your head.
“I find it helps me relate to meat-type people better if I keep myself reminded of what it's like to be meat.
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