“Jeffer’d like that.”
“He would, wouldn’t he. He probably likes my seeing Grag too. I wonder what they’re guarding?”
The door they sought was a rectangle with curved sides, marked in print along one edge: RECRUITMENT.
The room within was sizable, but of the same odd shape. A man made marks on thin white sheets fixed to a slab of sanded wood. His pants and tunic were blue with Navy markings. No armor. He ignored them for a bit, then looked around. “Yes?”
Rather pointed to the wooden rectangle. There were clips along the edge, and stacks of paper leaves in the clips. “What would you call that?”
The man frowned. “You never saw a desk before? What do you want?”
“Petty Mart Wheeler wants to interview me for recruitment. I’m Rather Citizen.”
“I’ll see if he’s available.” The man kicked against the table and disappeared down a corridor. Lack of wings didn’t hamper him: he touched the wall and disappeared into a doorway in one smooth flow.
Debby smiled at Rather. “Easily distracted?”
“That’s why I did it, but look at how the grain of the wood curls around! I think it must be burl. How did they get it?”
“There had to be burl somewhere or Booce wouldn’t know it was possible.”
When the desk man reappeared, Rather was mopping at his eyes with his tunic. The man said, “Come with me.”
Debby said, “May I come too?”
“I’m afraid not. Would you be his mother?”
“Stepmother. I really think I ought to be with him.”
“That’s not permitted.”
The office was small, a cube with two curved walls. Petty Wheeler was at a desk, lightly gripping the rim while he talked to another man…and that one was Rather’s height.
Their talk stopped. Wheeler said, “Rather, good to see you. This is Captain-Guardian Wayne Mickl.”
Mickl nodded but said nothing. He seemed relaxed and disinterested. Wheeler said, “We want to ask you a few questions. You probably have questions too—”
“A hundred. Um, whereabouts is Bosun Murphy?”
“Mpf? Last I saw of her she was on her way to the Purser’s office. After that she’ll be on leave…Why?”
“I thought I might see her before I go.” (Booce had told him, “Try to talk to Bosun Murphy.Your interest in the Navy comes straight from your seeds. If you see her, make a pass.”)
(“What’s a pass? Do you mean propose marriage?”)
(“No…yes. That’s got just the right touch. All seeds and no judgment.”)
Wheeler asked, “Rather, is there something wrong with your eyes?”
“They get this way sometimes.”
“When?”
“Lack of sleep. Dry air.” His eyes were clearing up now, but they still hurt. To Wheeler they must appear pink and weeping. He was sniffling too.
Wheeler took writing implement in hand. “Where were you born?”
“Citizens Tree, year 370. It’s a tree sixty klomters long, six or seven hundred klomters west of the Clump.”
“What’s your height and mass?”
“One point nine meters. I don’t know my mass.”
“We’ll weigh you on the centrifuge. How did you know the year?”
“The Scientist keeps track. Was I off? This is 384, isn’t it?”
“That’s right. Put your arms straight forward, fingertips touching. Now your legs, big toes touching.” Wheeler made a note. “Symmetrical. How much do you know about the Admiralty?”
“Not much. We tasted some of the food you grow and had a wild dinner at Half Hand’s Steak House.” Wheeler laughed at that. Rather went on, “The Serjents told us a lot. I’ve seen houses and the Market. The ride on the steam rocket was — well, I’ve never been through anything like it.”
“Scary?”
“No, not that.” He knew instantly that he should have said yes.
“Why do you want to join the Navy?”
“I came to find out if that was true. Petty. And you asked if I had questions.”
Petty Wheeler stiffened a little. “Well?”
“I’ve seen the ships. They’re all over the sky. I think I ought to ask, if I become a Navy man, will I in fact be riding one of those ships?”
“More than one, I expect. Over the years you’ll fly every style.”
“Will I be flying them, or just riding them?”
“You’ve given this a lot of thought.”
“Yes sir. Once I thought I’d be a hunter for Citizens Tree.” No need to mention the silver suit. “When I joined Booce and went logging, that was a big jump. I didn’t know what I’d find here. The Market, it’s frightening to think such a thing could be built. So many people!”
Wheeler was smiling, nodding. (In the corner of Rather’s eye, Wayne Mickl was clinging to a wall tether, merely observing.) “Daunting, is it?”
Rather nodded.
“The ships, the Market, Headquarters, we built them all. And more. We built a civilization,” Wheeler said gently. “Now that you’ve seen it, how can you not be a part of it? Yes, you’ll fly a ship before you’re much older.”
“I want to know whether I’ll be able to visit Citizens Tree.”
“Mph. The answer’s yes, but I don’t know how often. We’ll want to contact Citizens Tree at once. Set up some form of trade. There’ll be visits, and you’ll be useful as an intermediate.”
It was the right answer, Rather thought, except for two things. The tree was in the wrong place; and if the Navy did find it, the citizens would have to hide the CARM every time the Navy came visiting.
So Rather only said, “That’s good. I’d hate to be cut off from my family.” (Booce had said, “They want your loyalty. They won’t like it if you’re loyal to your family, your tribe, me — “)
“How often do you get these allergy attacks?”
“Usually just when the air’s too thin. I had them while we were moving the log; we were too far in. It’s like knives in my eyes. I haven’t been getting enough sleep lately. It happens then too.”
“Would you describe yourself as sickly?”
Rather told himself that nobody would come to a recruitment office if he considered himself sickly, and said, “No. It’s just something that happens. A day later I’m fine. It’s almost over now.”
“I see. All right, Rather. Go ask Able Jacks to put you on the centrifuge. We’ll get in touch with you through Booce Serjent.”
Debby and the desk man were ignoring each other. Debby seemed nervous.
“Rather! How’d it go?”
“Fine. Are you Able Jacks?”
“That’s right.”
“You’re to take me to the centrifuge. What’s a centrifuge?”
“I’ll show you.”
The wicker structure resembled the treadmill that ran the elevator in Citizens Tree. It was wider: twenty meters across. Rather was instructed to cling to the rim and wait. Two ratings spun it up, timing it with a hand-held device. The wheel rolled eccentrically with his mass to throw it off. A rating measured the divergence of the hub. “Your mass is eighty-one kilgrams,” he said.
They locked the centrifuge in place and made him run.
Pushing himself round the rim gave him the sensation of tide. They had him run as fast as he could. It made him dizzy; the tide became fiercely strong. Then they made him slow down and run at a measured rate, until his legs burned and his eyes blurred. He would have stopped then if he had not noticed Bosun Murphy watching him.
He waved. The motion almost sent him tumbling. She didn’t respond. But she watched, and he ran.
It came to him that he was rolling around the centrifuge. He’d blacked out.
A rating snatched at his ankle and pulled him out. “Take a rest. Here.” He handed Rather a towel, and Rather, gasping for air, mopped a sheath of water from his body.
Murphy said, “That was quite a performance. I could win bets on you.”
“I grew up in a tree.”
“I know.”
There was no animation in her voice, her face, her body language. Navy thinks they’re superior, Carlot had said; but that wasn’t it. “Bosun, are you all right?”