“I can't really give you a proper idea. Claire was an artist; I only know a few chords. But it's something like this ….” The captain settled the guitar across her lap, positioned her fingers on the strings. She stroked them tentatively.
Bird Alyn shivered. “Oh …”
Betha smiled; her fingers changed position on the strings and the shimmering water of sound altered. She began to sing—almost unconsciously, Bird Alyn thought—in a warm, clear voice merging with the flow of music:
Bird Alyn felt her throat tighten, looked down at her twisted hand, blinking hard.
She heard the captain take a long breath, caught in her own memories. “I'm sorry.” The clear voice strained slightly. “I should have found something a little more cheerful.”
“Please … will you—will you do some more?” Bird Alyn looked up.
Betha's face eased. “All right—they aren't much, just some old folk tunes. But it's a strange thing, the effect that everyone singing together had—the bond that grows between you, the feeling of unity. It gives you the strength to carry on, when things are hard. And it's hard to hate anyone when you're singing with them; hard to be angry.…
Bird Alyn leaned forward, like a flower leaning into the light. “Morningside must be a beautiful place!”
Betha made a sound that was not quite a laugh. “No, it's … Yes. Yes … in a way. In its own way.” Her fingers brushed the strings again.
“I wish I could do that.… Do you … know any love songs?” The captain looked up sharply; Bird Alyn realized that somehow she had said the wrong thing.
“I'll be glad to show you what guitar chords I know. Bird Alyn, if you want to learn to play. Maybe the plants miss it.”
Bird Alyn folded her arms. “I—I don't think I have enough fingers.…”
The captain's face froze with a second's embarrassed awkwardness. “Oh. Well, I think I can reverse the strings for you; I've seen a guitar played left-handed before. If you'd like me to?” She smiled again.
“Oh, yes!” Bird Alyn slipped down off of the shelf, left the dipstick hanging absently in the air. It slid through her nerveless fingers and clattered to the floor. Instinctively a long bare foot stretched to pick it up; she lost her balance, and fell. “Lousy luck!” Sprawled on the floor, she fumbled after the rod, shook it and checked the readings, while a familiar hot flush crept up her face.
The captain came to her, caught her arms and lifted her effortlessly to her feet. “Are you all right?” Betha's hand brushed her arm reassuringly, as a mother might have touched her. “It takes a while, doesn't it, to break the habits of a lifetime.”
Bird Alyn looked down, confused by her solicitude. “Does anybody ever got used to this? If you're not born used to it, I mean.…”
Betha stepped back. “In time. Morningside's pull is less than one gee, but we've been at one gee on the ship for three years, and we don't even notice the difference anymore. I've read some Old World studies on one-gee adaptations from low gravity. It's possible, but it takes about a year—thirty or forty megaseconds—to get back to the minimum endurance you had at zero gee. And there are long-term stress effects on the body. But they decided that you'll last, with good medical care, if you wanted to go through with it.”
“I think I'd rather go home,” Bird Alyn said.
“Me too.” Betha nodded.
But you can't. Bird Alyn glanced down at her, blushing again. “I mean … I always say the wrong thing!”
“No. It's all any of us want. Bird Alyn. And we're going to do it.” Betha studied the pattern of gleaming rings on her hands; they tightened suddenly.
Bird Alyn listened to water dripping somewhere, thought of tears. She heard someone else enter the lab; recognized Shadow Jack this time.
Betha smiled, a pleased, private smile, following her glance. She turned back to the bench, picked up the guitar. “I'll change the strings for you, when I get the chance. But now I'd better get back to work. We're almost into Demarchy space; you won't have to put up with gravity much longer.” She started away toward the door, spoke to Shadow Jack as she passed him. Bird Alyn watched his own gaze fix on her, follow her, with admiration that was almost adoration. Bird Alyn felt envy stir, turned it inward habitually. Her mouth tightened with pain as though she had turned a knife.
But Rusty struggled in Shadow Jack's arms, meowing with sudden impatience as they caught sight of her. Shadow Jack let the cat drop, still half afraid of its strangeness. Rusty trotted ahead to butt against Bird Alyn's bare ankles; Bird Alyn leaned over and picked the cat up, and a pink tongue sandpapered her chin joyfully. Rusty settled, purring, onto her shoulder. She thought of the embroidered hanging in the room that was hers now: a cross-stitched portrait of Rusty, and the words, A HOME WITHOUT A CAT MAY BE A PERFECT HOME, PERHAPS—BUT HOW CAN IT PROVE ITS TITLE? Bird Alyn let herself imagine an entire world filled with living creatures, and music; not a fruitless dream, but reality. The kind of world Lansing must have been, in the time she had never known; the kind of world it could never be again.
“I thought Rusty was looking for you,” Shadow Jack murmured, self-conscious. “I'll bet if there were ten animals on this ship, every one would want to be with you.”
She met his eyes hesitantly, forgetting everything in the miracle of his smile.
Flagship unity (Discan space)
+300 kiloseconds
Raul Nakamore, Hand of Harmony, settled back into the padded acceleration couch, weightless, held down by straps. He wedged the light wire headset into a slot on the panel, through with the radio, through arguing with his half-brother Djem. So he was wasting the Grand Harmony's resources … risking his life … risking the crews of three ships to pursue a phantom. So he was leaving Snows-of-Salvation unprotected from a Demarchy attack to chase a ship that could run rings around the ships of the Grand Harmony, even this high delta-vee strike force. A ship from Outside … a crippled starship, that had left behind a tiny spreading cloud of debris and human remains. A ship that had eluded their grasp once—but that might not be able to do it again. It was worth the gamble. But Djem never could see beyond the end of his own nose. Raul half-smiled.
Somewhere five thousand kilometers below him, silhouetted against the silvered detritus of the Discan rings, the lump of frozen gases that was Snows-of-Salvation held the Grand Harmony's chief distillery. It had been constructed with Demarchy aid, and it was crucial to the Harmony's survival, and the Demarchy's. His brother was in charge of Snows-of-Salvation, would do anything to maintain its safety. But if the Demarchy decided to attack here in the Rings, even this “secret weapon” couldn't stop them from doing fatal damage. And in spite of what too many in the Navy believed, the Demarchy would never try it, anyway. Djem would never be able to see that, but Raul would stake his career on it—had staked his career on it. The Demarchy would never attack them … unless it had that starship. But if the Grand Harmony took it first—
“Sir.” Sandoval, the balding ship's captain, interrupted his pattern of thought diffidently. “Everything's secure for ignition. At your command—”