The ship battered its way upward, into the roiling clouds. It began to vibrate on a second frequency, and the harmonic beats rose and fell. Mischa urged the ship along, feeling joyful terror when the wind pummeled and tipped them, victorious gaiety when the craft fought free. Sometimes it seemed impossible they would survive, for the force of the wind seemed beyond the ability of the ship to withstand. They crept into the sky, battered, but when they broke through the storm, the transition was instantaneous. It sounded like silence, but was merely the cessation of the wind. The engines thundered. Mischa laughed aloud, half-intoxicated. Delighted, she turned toward Jan, but his golden skin was gray-pale, and his hands were clenched white-knuckled on the arms of his couch.
"What's wrong?"
"I expected a takeoff, not ride-the-meteor in an amusement park."
She had no idea what he was talking about, though it was obvious he objected to the quality of the ride. Subtwo disengaged himself from the controls. He, too, was pale. "The winds are less steady—" It was the first time she had ever heard him make an excuse. He went to Madame's side.
"I liked it," Mischa said.
Jan laughed and lay back in the acceleration couch.
And Mischa did not know what to do. She had no idea where to go. In all the time she and Chris had talked about leaving earth, the aftermath of their escape had been a nebulous, tantalizing mystery. They had discussed how to get away, and what the Sphere would be like when they got there, but now that she thought of it, they had avoided talking about how they themselves would fit into a new society. Perhaps they had known, unconsciously, that they would not.
"What are you going to do?"
She started: Subtwo had never before showed the least talent for empathy or even intuition.
"Will you still leave me my ship?" So his concern was still his own future.
No, Mischa thought, no, it's more than that now, it's his and Madame's. "Yes," she said. "You can have your ship back, and then we'll be even." And then, "I'm. I'm sorry I didn't let you call her."
"Where may I take you?"
"You." She did not know the nearest Sphere world, but she would ask for it: she had made her way in Center; she could make her way anywhere.
"To Koen," Jan said, "The coordinates—"
"I know them," Subtwo said, highly insulted.
"Is that really where you want to go, Jan? Are you sure?" She had taken so much from him, she did not want to take more, or force him into still another unpleasant situation.
"Yes," he said softly. "I'm more sure of that than I've been of anything in
a long time. I want to. I have to."
"But your father—"
He nodded, his eyes still closed. "Exactly. My father." He sounded completely certain of himself, and content
"To Koen," Mischa told Subtwo.
"We must finish an orbit." He spoke to Jan, glancing quickly at him, then back to Madame. "There is time to see earth from the observation bubble, if you wish."
Jan opened his eyes and pushed himself slowly from the couch. Mischa knew that his reluctance was not because he begrudged the time, or even that he was so completely exhausted, but that returning to the viewing bubble would bring back memories, still painful, of his friend the poet.
"You don't have to, Jan."
"Don't be silly. Just give me a hand."
He leaned on her, and they walked to the observation deck. Below them lay earth, the terminator creeping across its face, sunlight glinting from the clouds.
Jan lowered himself onto a bank of cushions, and Mischa sat beside him, gazing down, picking out the gray swirls of the sandstorms, moving out of night. Most of the other clouds were gray-brown; but here Mischa found a patch of white, there of green, there of blue: the ocean. She had never seen an ocean.
She thought of all the things Val had said at the very last, all the things that needed to be done; she thought of her half-promise to Crab. She knew she was doing the right thing, for now, in leaving earth, but the future was not set.
"Jan—"
She fell silent: he was asleep on the cushions beside her. But there would be time to talk, later on.
Jan Hikaru's Journaclass="underline"
Halfway to Koen. I slept through the first few dives. When I woke, we were about to dive again; Subtwo was showing Mischa how everything works. When the ship was safely under, he went back to Madame. She is recovering, and they spend almost all their time together, talking, or simply holding hands in silence. They're rather like children in some ways, inexperienced at affection, sincere,
hesitant. Learning.
I never thought I'd go home eagerly, but I'm glad to be on my way, I'll be glad when we reach Koen. Ichiri can't direct my life anymore—he never could, but that I let him. Knowing that, I think I can accept him as he is. I hope someday he'll be able to do the same for me.
I'm going back to earth—not right away; I need more preparation first. At least this time I'll know what I'm preparing for. And in the meantime Mischa and I will petition the Sphere with Val's message. We in the Sphere can't ignore earth any longer. Even Mischa, who has more reason than anyone to want to forget Center, no longer seems so determined to abandon it. But she has an almost infinite range of choices, now, and can decide what she wants to do with her future and with her abilities after she has seen what all the options are. For the present, the best thing is probably for her to apply for a Special Fellowship. She's a little old for one, but the trustees value genius highly, and they'll take into account her situation. A fellowship would be ideaclass="underline" it would give her liberty, resources, and independence. Murasaki's estate—or even my father—could easily provide for her education, and I'll see that they do if it's necessary. But Mischa is the kind of person who prefers a prize to what she would see as a gift. From now on, I think, she'll have many prizes in her life.