Sunsinger

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Chapter One “You want to fill my ship with children?” The woman's voice cracked with strain and penetrated the thick door of the planetary governor's office. “I run a cargo ship, not a passenger liner.” Bain Kern paused in the lobby door and tried to hear better. The orphanage director had sent him here to deliver a message. Even though nobody would tell the children anything, everybody in the orphanage knew that the colony on Lenga was being evacuated. Their planet was too close to the path of destruction that the enemy Mashrami ships were cutting through civilized space. Bain guessed that woman with the governor didn't want to be part of the evacuation; maybe she wanted to stay and fight. He would have stayed to fight the invaders if he could. He knew it was useless to ask. He was just a boy, an orphan, and he was never allowed to do anything exciting. Governor Cowrun's secretary had left three weeks before to join the space fleet. Who could Bain give the message to? Should he just leave the paper on the desk here in the lobby, or wait to put it in the governor's hand? He stood in front of the secretary's abandoned, dusty desk while he thought. The people inside the office kept talking, but in softer voices. Bain couldn't hear anything. He stepped a little closer to the door. It was cool here compared to outside. In the middle of the planet's ten-month summer, any place with a roof and shadows felt cool. Bain sat on the hard wooden bench across from the office, so he could see inside when the door opened. Dust coated everything, not just the secretary's desk. Bain saw empty drawers hanging open and doors standing ajar in echoing empty supply cabinets. He wondered how the governor got any work done without papers, supplies or his secretary. Bain closed his eyes and tried to get comfortable on the bench. He didn't mind waiting. Anything was

better than staying in the hot orphanage dormitory as a target for the bullies. No one was in a good mood because of the alien Mashrami attacks. The little children were allowed to cry. The bullies picked on everyone else. The ones in between—like Bain— had to put up with it. Bain wondered if he could work for the governor. That would get him out of the dormitory when his lessons were done. The office was cool, and it was too hot to play outside. The bullies picked on him because he was smarter than most of the boys his age. Bain thought he could handle the work of a secretary. Maybe someday he could earn money to go to school and learn to work on a spaceship. That was what Bain wanted more than anything in the world—even more than getting away from bullies like Toly Gaber. He wanted to be a Spacer and travel between the stars. “It's worth trying,” Bain whispered. “I don't care how dusty and boring it is in here, it's better than outside.” Bain was tired of hot sunshine, scorching air, dust, brown plants and everyone telling him to conserve water. The war with the Mashrami didn't make life much more interesting. No one told the orphans anything, but they could guess. The Mashrami invaders had found a Knaught Point to make the jump from their galaxy and were trying to take over the galaxies where the Humans of the Commonwealth had lived for nearly three centuries. The Mashrami were theonly interesting part of the war. No one knew what they looked like; the alien invadersnever left their ships. They used stun bombs or electronic scramblers that killed computers when they attacked ships in the cold silence of space. They never used voice communication to demand surrender from the worlds they attacked. Some people said the Mashrami didn't have voices, or even mouths. “Someday, Cowrun,” the woman growled, loud and clear as the door swung open. Bain stiffened and kept his eyes straight ahead. He hoped he wouldn't get in trouble for staying, but this was exciting! “Lin, I know you better than you think. You don't hate children. Neither does Ganfer,” Cowrun said. “That'sCaptain Fieran, to you.” She stepped through the door. Bain tried not to stare, but he had never seen a captain before. Captain Lin Fieran was a small woman, maybe a hand taller than Bain, and he was only in his early teens. She had glossy black hair pulled back in a thick braid that fell past her waist. It had streaks of silver in it. Bain had never seen anyone old enough to get silver in their hair. Her face and bare arms were the light cocoa brown of Spacers who used thin radiation shield plates to get better speed. Her loose, black trousers were tucked into silver mesh boots with soft soles, so she didn't make a sound when she walked. Her sleeveless shirt was a patchwork of glossy colors: royal blue, crimson, emerald green and gold, belted at the waist with a silver mesh sash. She wore a copper band on each arm, between elbow and shoulder. Their flashing lights showed different ship functions. A Spacer was always in contact with her ship. Bain wanted more than ever to be a Spacer. In space, he could listen to all the information bands. He could find the truth about the war, if the Humans were winning or losing. He could travel among the planets and explore. He could help the Commonwealth in the war.

“Lin,” Governor Cowrun said, his voice gentling, “the children won't hurt your precious ship.” He leaned his skeletal frame against the wall and gave her a pitying smile. The dim light from his office created a halo behind his balding head, catching in the fringe of his curly black hair. “You think I'm scared ofthat ?” She snorted and turned away and saw Bain. She paused, her hazel eyes widening a little. Bain knew she saw just another dusty, sweaty, colony boy, his face tanned from the long summer; black hair shaggy because no one had tied him down for a haircut recently; his dust-colored clothes tight and patched because clothes as well as books and medicine were in short supply. He wondered if she could tell that two generations back, his family had roamed space, too. “No.” Cowrun shook his head. His blue eyes sparkled. “I think you've been alone too long.” “I have Ganfer. Who could be alone with that busybody hailing every ship within ten light-years?” Lin grinned at Bain, then turned back to Cowrun. “Is that one of your defenseless orphans? He doesn't look defenseless to me.” “Boy, what are you doing here?” the governor asked. “Message from Director Chandly, sir,” Bain said. He slid off the bench and hurried across the room to give the paper to Governor Cowrun. The problem with living in a war, Bain decided, was that adults always stopped talking when children were in the room. Just because they were children didn't mean they couldn't understand. He knew it was useless staying—the conversation wouldn't be interesting again until he was gone. “Thank you. When you go back, tell the director to come see me immediately. It's very important,” Cowrun said. He nodded for Bain to go. “Wait,” Lin said. She rested her hand on Bain's shoulder. Her eyes narrowed a little as she studied him. Bain felt like she could see through him, all his hopes and dreams. “Are you afraid of the Mashrami?” “Yes, Ma'am.” Bain was proud he remembered his manners. The dormitory parents had to scold him sometimes, because he forgot to sayma'am andsir andplease andthank you. “Why?” “Because they're trying to kill us, and we don't know why. And because we can't fight back real well.” “Well, the Fleet is learning to fight back better every quarter.” She frowned at Cowrun, and Bain was positive now Lin wanted to be part of the fighting and learning. “They try to destroy Human colonies because they want our worlds.” “But there are lots of planets nobody lives on. Why do they have to haveour planets?” he blurted. “Good question.” Her hand gripped his shoulder a little tighter before she released him. “What's your name?” “Bain Kern—I mean, Chobainian Kern, Ma'am.” “What do your parents do?” “Ma'am, they're dead.” Bain tried to keep his voice soft, so it wouldn't sound like he was correcting her. He didn't want to make a Spacer captain angry.

“Well.” She softened her voice. “Sorry, I forgot. What did they do before they died?” “We had a shuttle, and my father transported supplies and passengers between the farms and the factories.” “Were you training to be a pilot?” Lin smiled, but it wasn't a teasing smile. Bain decided he liked her. “I want to be a Spacer, Ma'am. My grandparents were Spacers, until they settled here.” “Oh?” She frowned a little, but Bain didn't think she was angry. “What were their names?” “Lissa and Dan Kern.” “What was your grandmother's maiden name?” “I don't know.” “All the family records were destroyed when their shuttle crashed,” Governor Cowrun offered. “They never registered with the authorities, and they lived on their ship. You know how Spacers are.” “I do indeed,” Lin said with a grin. She winked at Bain, surprising him. “Well, Cowrun, I have to talk over your request with Ganfer, but I think he'll have no trouble with this job.” “Ganfer wasn't my worry,” the man muttered. He earned a chuckle from Lin. Their teasing surprised Bain—lately, all adults were grumpy, arguing about the smallest problems. “I do have a few conditions,” Lin added. “Of course.” A broad smile crossed his face. “First, you make as few modifications toSunsinger as possible. No fancy little rooms, no teaching computers, no robot nurses on my ship.” Lin ticked off items on her fingers as she spoke. “The flight is going to be fast, and some children get space-sick when they hit free-fall. Just new insulation and seals in the cargo holds, net bunks and stasis seats—that's all they need. “Next, I don't want all babies. I want a wide range of ages. The older children can take care of the littles, so we'll get more orphans off planet. Fewer interfering adults on my ship.” Lin studied Bain as she spoke. Her look made him feel cold inside. He couldn't breathe for a few seconds. “Last,” Lin said, putting her hand on his shoulder, “this boy goes in the first load I take.” “I think that can be arranged.” Cowrun nodded at Bain, and his smile grew wider. “You'd better. I want someone with Spacer blood around, if we run into any troubles.” “Do you understand?” the man asked, bending closer to Bain. “If there's any trouble, the captain is going to have to depend on you.” “Yes, Sir! Yes, Ma'am!” Bain tried to bow, but his body wouldn't work right. Inside, he thought he could start to fly without jet pack or wings or even a ship. He was going into space! Chapter Two For the first time in the six months since his parents died in the shuttle crash, Bain didn't hate the sight of the orphanage. He stood on the ridge above the valley where the compound lay and studied the five

buildings below him. Soon, he would leave it behind forever. That thought made him happier than he had felt in a long time. The compound was a square, with four long buildings on the sides, and a small, square building in the middle. Two buildings, on the north and south, were dormitories. The east and west buildings were classrooms, offices, the dining hall and storage rooms. The little center building was for prayers, worship and meetings. Sister Koril, a member of the Order of Kilvordi, led the services and counseled anyone in the whole colony who needed help. Bain liked her because she wasn't afraid of the Mashrami landing and killing her. He wondered if that was because she spent all her time studying about Fi'in and praying, or if there was some other reason. Adults never told children anything. In the spring, there was grass and flowers, and the children played games like kickball and tag. Now, everything was dust in the hot sunshine. No one played outside. Bain wondered what kind of games he could play on the ship. That reminded him—he hadn't even asked Captain Lin Fieran the name of her ship. Who was Ganfer? Crew? He had a hundred questions to ask. He had been too surprised, too glad to ask before he left the governor's office. He was going into space! Bain wondered who to tell first. Because he was new, the other boys hadn't made friends with him until a little while ago. They studied with him and picked him for chore groups because Bain was smart and a hard worker. He didn't get picked first for game teams yet. Well, maybe he wouldn't tell anyone. If they wouldn't be his friends, why should he care? Bain kicked a clod of dirt and started down the path to the orphanage. The clod shattered into a cloud of dust, almost making him choke. Bain ran a few steps to escape the dust. He slowed to a walk again. Even a few running steps made him sweaty and a little dizzy. Bain wouldn't miss the heat. In his parents’ shuttle, they had kept the air dry and cool. They had hundreds of books and songs on disk, and his mother was teaching him to play her harp and — “Hey, space-brain!” Toly Gaber came around a corner as Bain reached the end of the north building. He spread his arms to block the path. Bain tried to go around him, and Toly grabbed him by his collar. “Not so fast.” Bain kept his mouth closed and tried not to look Toly in the eye. He wanted to hit the fat, sweaty, blond bully. He wanted to hit him so much that his stomach hurt—but Bain had tried that the first time Toly picked on him. Bain got a bloody nose and a black eye that lasted for nearly a week. Toly had extra dishwashing duty for punishment. He blamed Bain and beat him up again when no adults could see. Bain got a lecture on how hitting people never solved any problems. It didn't do any good to fight back. “What do you want?” Bain asked, keeping his voice soft and flat. He knew it was stupid to get Toly angry, but he refused to sound afraid—even if he was. “The director sent you to the governor, didn't she?” Toly shook Bain until he nodded. “What about?” “I didn't read the message.” “You're stupid, you know that?” “It was sealed. I would have got in trouble.”

“Coward.” Toly shook Bain again, then let him go. Bain turned and ran. He could run faster than anyone. In seconds, he heard Toly gasping for breath, his fat feet slapping hard on the ground, raising dust high enough to choke on. Bain hated the heat, but he hated bruises and bloody noses even more. Toly gave up before Bain reached the steps at the end of the east building, where Director Chandly had her office. Bain grinned and leaned against the wall to catch his breath. The wall was hot and dry, soaking the sweat out of his clothes and arms. It felt cool compared to the air. He was still panting when he went inside, but he had a message to deliver, and the governor had said it was important. “Running in this heat?” Director Chandly said when Bain stepped into her shadowed office. She narrowed her eyes a little and studied the boy. “Let me guess—Toly Gaber picking on you again?” “Yes, Ma'am,” Bain mumbled. “I wish I could tell you it's better to get beat up than risk heat stroke, running in this weather.” She shook her head and sighed. “I don't know why I agreed to run an orphanage at my age. Well, what did Governor Cowrun say?” “He said he wants you to come see him right away. It's very important.” Bain resisted the temptation to blurt the good news, that Captain Lin Fieran wantedhim to ride out in her ship. “I hope ‘very important’ translates into good news.” The woman stood, managing a smile. She brushed a few strands of white hair out of her thin face and nodded. Something sparkled in her dark brown eyes. “I always ask you to run errands because you're trustworthy, Bain—and fast. You do what's right and just ignore those bullies, understand?” “Yes, Ma'am.” He looked at his dusty boot toes and tried not to fidget. Bain hated getting lectures, even when an adult mixed it with praise. They just didn't understand what it was like, having Toly always picking on him. “You're smart. One of these days, you'll do things Toly and his friends can't even dream about. They'll wish you were their friend.” “Yes, Ma'am.” Bain looked up from his boots. “Ma'am, could I go to the cemetery?” “Finished with your lessons?” Bain nodded, and she waved for him to leave. He almost ran when he left her office, because he felt good even in the heat and dust. Chapter Three “I'm going off-planet,” Bain whispered. He always whispered when he visited his parents’ graves. Just like he always whispered his prayers to Fi'in. His parents and Fi'in had no bodies, so ears didn't limit them. They could hear everything, everywhere. Other children teased him about the things he thought, so he didn't tell anyone what he believed, anymore. The quiet of the cemetery felt cool and peaceful. Everywhere else on Lenga, the quiet had a hot, sweaty, worried feeling. Bain thought he would miss this place when he left the colony. He would miss the tall, dark green trees and the spicy smell of the grass growing in the shade, and the smooth, glossy stones

marking the graves. He thought it was odd that the only cool place on the whole planet was a place no one visited. Bain was glad; it meant he could visit without anyone pestering him. A boot kicked a stone somewhere close, making it rattle down the gravel path. Bain got up from his knees and looked around. He caught a flash of blue, crimson and emerald, and then saw the person who walked down the path. What was Captain Lin Fieran doing in the cemetery? He ducked down and hid behind the bushes at the head of his parents’ grave. Through a gap, he watched Lin walk slowly down the gravel path, coming closer. Across the path sat the chapel. Not really a building, just a sloped roof and pillars on a raised platform, built of golden silver-speckled sandstone. It had benches inside in the shade, and a little computer so people could find the names of the people buried there. When Bain was little, before his parents died, he had wondered why there was a chapel in the cemetery. Dead people didn't need it to pray in. His parents had explained to him long ago that when people died, they went to be with Fi'in and could talk with Fi'in face to face. Then, after Bain's parents died, he understood. The chapel was for the ones left behind. He watched Lin climb the short steps and go into the shadows of the chapel. She knelt at a bench, resting her elbows on the seat, and hid her face in her hands for a little while. Bain counted slowly to fifty. Then she stood and came down one step. She just stood there, looking at her feet. Then she smiled a little. “You can come out. I don't bite, even if I do growl,” Lin said without lifting her head. Bain's face got hot. He stood and pushed his way through the bushes, his steps slow. “Your parents?” she asked, lifting her head. Lin's smile made him think she understood. He nodded, not quite trusting his voice yet. “I always meant to visit Lenga before this,” Lin went on. “I have kin buried here.” She came down two more steps and leaned against the support pillar next to the steps. “Are you going to miss this place?” “Yes, Ma'am.” “They have you trained well, but I can see the rebel in you.” She smiled more, her stern face losing twenty years of age and experience. Despite the silver in her hair, she could have been a teen like him. “You want more than anything to go into space. I could see it in your eyes. Maybe you'll be so excited, you won't puke when we reach free-fall, or scream like a frightened baby when we reach a Knaught Point.” “I won't get sick. I have Spacer blood,” he said, his shoulders straightening, chin lifting. Bain was proud of his ancestors, even if the other children made fun of him when he talked about his grandparents. “I remember you telling me that.” Lin's voice went soft. She came down the last two steps and crossed the gravel path to stand in front of him. She touched his chin, turning his head a little so she could get a good look at his face. Bain tried not to flinch or stiffen at her touch. No one had been so gentle since his mother had died. “Well, Bain Kern—yes, I remember your name, too.” Her smile had a touch of sadness. “I might just need to call on your Spacer blood to help me during our voyage. You can keep secrets, can't you?”

“Oh, yes Ma'am!” Bain winced when his voice broke. “You have to understand what's going on, so you can help when the littles get scared. I'll need you to help keep the other children quiet and calm during our trip. You're being evacuated because the Mashrami are getting too close to Lenga. It's not safe here for anyone but the military.” She looked around, and Bain was startled to see tears in her eyes. “I don't think we'll ever see this place again.” “They wouldn't destroy the cemetery, would they?” He thought of Mashrami digging up his parents’ graves. “If they do, they hurt my kin and yours. I pray Fi'in that never happens. I couldn't bear it.” “I wish I was in the Fleet. I'd fight the Mashrami and keep them away from here.” “Sometimes, Bain, the smart choice is to get out of the way of trouble instead of standing up to it.” Lin turned so she faced the spaceport hidden beyond the hills. “We're getting off this planet. Maybe if people aren't here, the Mashrami won't attack it.” “You think so?” “I'm praying for that, very hard.” Chapter Four Bain came back to the dormitory to find it as busy as a whirlwind. Sixteen boys shared the room he slept in; eight sets of bunks with sixteen trunks, sixteen sets of towels, and sixteen folding chairs. Four boys had been chosen to go out on the first ship. The other boys either helped their friends pack or got in their way. Shouted arguments and teasing and questions made Bain's ears hurt. Boys packed as fast as their enemies unloaded their bags for them. Bain stood in the doorway and watched. He was glad his bunk was next to the door. He had a chance to sneak in and pack without anyone seeing him. He didn't want any trouble, and he knew no one would help him if someone picked on him. He slipped through the door and went to his bunk. No one noticed him until he opened his trunk. “What're you doing?” Toly Gaber demanded. He stomped through the rain of clothes and snatched the bag from Bain's hands. The bulky blond boy glared at him. Bain stared back. Toly looked angry, so that meant he hadn't been chosen to go. Then Bain realized that hedidn't have to be afraid of Toly anymore. Even if Toly beat up on him now, the bully wouldn't be on the ship. Bain might never see him again. “Packing,” Bain said, snatching the bag back. He hoped the bully would be surprised he fought back, and not hit him. Bain knew even if Toly did hit him, he couldn't fight back. Fighting might get him left behind. “Packing?” Alan joined them. He was Toly's friend but not as nasty. The red-head boy's blue eyes went wide. Some other boys noticed, and the ruckus in the dormitory quieted a little. “You can't pack—your name isn't on the list.” “Captain Fieran said I could go.” “Captain Fieran?” Toly sat on Bain's bunk, disbelief and envy wiping the usual nasty frown off his face. “I heard about her. She's a Free Trader. Her ship's older than anything in this sector.” He frowned again.

“How do you know you're going?” “I was there when she was talking to Governor Cowrun.” “What'd you do to make her let you go?” “You don'tmake a Spacer do anything,” another boy called from the back of the group. “She knew you had Spacer blood, didn't she?” He sounded jealous. No one had ever been jealous of Bain before. It felt good, but strange. “He's always lying about being a Spacer,” Toly said. He grabbed a shirt out of Bain's bag. “I say you can't go.” “You have nothing to do with it,” a quiet, adult male voice said from the doorway. Dr. Anyon leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching the boys. His summer tan was just a little darker brown than his one-piece uniform, just a little lighter than his coarse hair and unsmiling eyes. “Sir?” Bain jammed the rest of his clothes into his bag and stood. Something had gone wrong. He just knew it. Maybe Captain Fieran had changed her mind and decided to take all babies or all girls, or she decided Bain was an arrogant little boy she didn't want on her ship. “Are you boys almost packed?” Anyon took two steps into the room. He glanced around at the open trunks and clothes scattered across bunks and floor. “We have eight hours until launch, and I need the boys who are leaving to help convertSunsinger's hold into a dormitory. We leave the dining hall in fifteen minutes.” He turned to go, then looked over his shoulder, frowning. Bain felt sure Anyon frowned at him. “I don't want to hear anyone delayed you,” the man said. He glared at Toly, then stalked out of the room. Silence reigned for three heartbeats. Bain moved first. While the other boys were paralyzed by guilty consciences, he hurried to finish packing, undisturbed. It didn't take long. Extra underwear, two shirts, his lesson disks, his other pair of pants, and the holograph picture disks of his dead parents. That was all he had in the whole universe. **** Dr. Anyon waited in the dining hall with the other children being evacuated. Carl and Emma Valgo, dormitory parents, were the only other adults. Bain remembered Captain Fieran's words about older children taking care of the littles. He hoped the girls would be selfish and insist on taking care of the babies by themselves. He didn't want to change diapers or hold bottles. Twenty children. He was the oldest. Nine boys, eleven girls—four of them were babies and two were toddlers. “Ready?” Anyon said. “Line up.” The boys lined up first, by age and height, then the girls, with the Valgos at the end and Dr. Anyon at the front. The babies rode in a three-wheeled cart, with their gear piled around them. Then they marched to the space-port. Chapter Five Sunsingerwas nearly hidden from view behind refitting gantries and towers and supply carts and larger,

sleeker, newer ships. From his very first glimpse of the ship, Bain thought she was beautiful, despite the patchwork of generations of repairs covering her skin. The ceramic skin rippled in a rainbow of blue, white and violet, showing all the batches and formulas used to repair gashes or holes in her hull. She was an old design, squatting low on the landing pad while newer ships perched high on stilt-like legs and fragile landing fins. Bain had studied Spacers;Sunsinger was a classic design that Spacers never changed because it worked the best. Spacers, especially Free Traders, knew ship design better than their own genetics. Sunsingerwas fat in her belly and behind for cargo hold and engines, tapering forward to a small bulb for the bridge or ‘brains’ of the ship, with a little dome on top. With her stubby atmosphere vanes extended, she looked like a fat ground-bird taking a nap after a dust bath. Despite her awkward look,Sunsinger and ships like her had an endurance and agility the bigger, faster, sleeker ships would never have. Bain's lungs clenched and his heart pounded harder, and a tight sensation grew in his guts as he stared at the ship. Finally, he was going into space! Mistress Valgo took the babies and the six youngest children with her to the port-master's office. Anyon and Master Valgo took the other ten children across the landing field toSunsinger. Supply carts circled the ship, their cargo partially unloaded. There were no workers in sight. That meant the children would have to unload the supplies. “Governor Cowrun can only spare four technicians,” Anyon said. “We will provide the work force to adaptSunsinger's hold for passengers.” Bain and the other children exchanged delighted looks. Not only would they ride on a real Free Trader ship, but they could do the work of real technicians, real crew. Bain knew it would be only lifting and carrying. The technicians and adults would do the detailed work like wiring and seals. He didn't care—anything that let him spend more time in a Spacer ship was a gift from Fi'in. The big, metal grillwork loading ramp slanted down from halfway up the back of the ship. Two smaller cargo doors hung open. Power lines and sealer foam hoses ran through all three openings. A narrow clear space went up the middle of the ramp. Anyon and Master Valgo led the children up the ramp into the ship. No one had to warn them to be quiet and keep their hands to themselves. Long, bright blue-white lights hung from the ceiling. The air in the hold reeked with the burning tang of decontaminating solution. The bare metal and ceramic ribs of the hold gleamed as if they were wet. Bain touched a wall when Anyon wasn't looking. The metal was dry. The solution had scoured and polished the metal clean, smooth and bright. “Just what we need!” a technician called from on top of a chain link ladder. He climbed down, paused in the middle and held on with one hand while he peeled off his breather mask and gloves. He was young, his face space-browned, almost the same shade of the mud-colored coverall he wore. The name patch on his left sleeve read ‘Lucas.’ “We don't have gear to fit you all,” Master Valgo said. “Gloves and masks are all we can manage, so be careful.” “Right now, we need strong arms to move and lift and aim the sealer foam hoses.” Lucas bent and lifted a blue plastic hose as thick as his leg, to demonstrate. “I have to aim the nozzle so everything goes on smooth and even. Smells awful, even with the mask,” he added, wrinkling his face so he looked sick. Two older girls giggled and Bain groaned.

Just like a girl to get a crush when there's work to do, he thought. Bain, because he was the oldest and tallest, stood behind the technician on his team. They made three teams—one for the left side of the hold, one for the right, one for the ceiling. Anyon and Master Valgo had the same spot in their teams and Bain felt proud that he was considered as strong as grown men. The fourth technician stayed outside the ship, controlling the valves that fed foam into the hoses. If it flowed through too fast, they couldn't control it. Too slow, it would cool and dry in the hose instead of on the walls and ceiling. Until his arms started to ache from the weight of hot foam gushing through the hose, Bain looked around. The cargo hold looked as big as two dormitory rooms next to each other, and another stacked on top. The walls, ceiling and floor curved a little, making the room seem rounded. Holes for clamps and the brackets for nets dotted the ribs on walls and ceiling. Bain tried to calculate how many cubic meters of cargo could fit into the hold. There were no shelves for storage. When the ship left gravity behind, everything had to be wedged together and held in place with nets. Sharp corners and empty spaces made trouble and damaged cargo, when the contents went into free-fall and sudden acceleration threw everything together. “You have good, steady hands,” Borton said. He was the technician leading Bain's team, a short man, just a little taller than Bain, with copper-colored skin and black eyes. He pressed a button on the nozzle and the hot, greenish-yellow foam stopped flowing. The man clapped Bain on the shoulder and grinned at him through his foam-speckled mask. “You do good work. Ever consider apprenticing here?” “Yes, sir.” Bain straightened, the ache in his shoulders fading a little. “I'm not old enough yet.” “Think about it when you are.” Borton's grin faded. “If you get back here after the war.” Bain nodded that he understood. There was no guarantee the orphans would ever return to their home world. The teams left the hold, spraying foam on the floor as they left. Bain's arms and back vibrated even after he let go of the hose. He grinned at the blond girl next to him, Shari. She grinned back, but neither one had the energy to speak. Their legs wobbled as they found places to sit. The hot afternoon wind felt almost cool as it dried their sweaty faces and arms and clothes. “Nice and even,” Lucas said. “You make a good crew. Hope all the other orphan teams are this well-trained.” “We do our best,” Master Valgo said. He sounded as breathless and tired as Bain felt. “They'll be doing adult work soon,” Anyon said in the quiet when even the wind faded to a soft whisper. “It's too bad they have to grow up so quickly.” “War does that,” Borton said from the far side of the group. Both adults sounded sad and just a little angry. While the foam cooled and hardened, they stayed in their teams and worked on a new task. The first team unloaded supplies and sorted them. Second team assembled the frames for the hammocks the orphans would sleep in during the trip. Third team ran checks on the stasis chairs. Bain was glad to be in the third team. He liked working with machines. He thought his brain worked in circuits and transponders and warp frequencies. He was sure he could fix anything mechanical, if he only had a chance.

The stasis chairs were padded frames and flexible nets, with a cushion for the back and seat. The frames would be bolted to the floor plates, immovable no matter how badly the ship twisted and spun through space. If the Mashrami chasedSunsinger , the ship would have to make sharp, fast maneuvers that could throw her passengers around in the hold. The stasis chairs would hold the passengers still so they wouldn't get hurt, and they wouldn't know what was going on. Each chair had its own power packs, if something happened to the ship's power supply. Redundancy was the first rule of survival for traveling in space. Disasters only happened to people who weren't prepared for problems. His father had told him that often. Bain reminded himself of that rule when he started to check the wiring connections in the frame of his tenth chair. Shari, working next to him, checked power packs. She either recharged or replaced them, depending on what the testing meter showed her. She looked as bored as he felt. “Why can't we just stay in our hammocks, like they do in the story cubes?” Alan grumbled. He had to check the covers on each chair and replace worn or thin padding. “The story cubes don't tell you anything about free-fall,” Bain said. “There's nothing to make usfall in free-fall,” Alan growled. “Plenty of danger in free-fall for those who don't understand it,” Borton said. His voice sounded like laughter. It made Bain stop to look at him. The technician smiled at Bain. “Want to tell your friends why stasis chairs are necessary?” “For launching and landing and going through Knaught Points, mostly.” Bain watched the man for any sign—smile, nod, frown—to know if he answered the question properly. “See, there's so much power, pushing and pulling at you. It's like a whole planet yanking on your body. Hurts you inside, maybe even messes up your brain. The stasis field keeps the gravity and all that force from reaching you. It holds you still, so even if the ship flips over and spins, you don't get hurt. Can't move in a stasis field.” “Then how does the captain pilot?” Shari asked. She sat up, holding two power packs on her lap. “Yeah,” Alan said, sneering. “If the stasis field won't let you move—and launching hurts so bad—how can the captain run anything?” “Spacers are different.” Bain cast a pleading glance at Borton, begging for help. “Spacers have different genetics. Notbetter, just different. They take gravity flips better.” Borton shrugged. “They never get sick in free-fall. Knaught Points don't scramble their brains. They can go for years in space with no company but their ship-brains, and theydon't go crazy ,” he finished, his voice dropping to a whisper. Silence followed his words. The wind blew harder, hotter. Bain heard the voices of the other teams at work on the other side of the ramp. They sounded far away, like they were on another planet. The sun hit the hard pavement and bounced back heat in waves that made everything shimmer. “Back to work with you,” Borton said, his face softening to a grin. “When the chairs are done, we can stop to eat.” Bain shared grins with his teammates. The announcement made him feel good, and hungry and tired, too. He went back to his work. His mind wandered, despite how he concentrated. Bain had always known Spacers were different and those differences let them work in space without problems that hurt ordinary people. He just never knewhow orwhy. Bain wondered if he hadenough Spacer blood. He grinned at

the mental image of Alan's envy if he, Bain, could move around freely while everyone else was stuck in the stasis chairs. When they stopped to eat, Bain was surprised to see the first streaks of the long, summer sunset in the sky. Had they been working that long? He stood and stretched and twisted to get rid of the aches in his back from bending over so long. He stayed standing when Mistress Valgo came around with trays of sandwiches and squeeze bottles of drink. Bain ate half his sandwich before he stopped to taste it. He glanced around to make sure no one was looking, then peeled the slices of bread apart to check it. Someone was always yelling at him about playing with his food. Three-grain bread, sharp green herb cheese and sour fruit spread. Bain supposed it could have been worse. They could be eating ship emergency rations, left over from three or four trips before. He'd heard Spacers kept the rations for last resort, and sometimes used the sticky mess to patch holes in the hull. He'd heard the drink rations were worse, and some Spacers used it for glue. “My father said it was called fruit spread to cover a multitude of sins,” Captain Lin said from close by. Bain peeked around a pile of empty supply crates and found Lin Fieran seated on a crate with Dr. Anyon. Her sandwich sat open on her lap and she looked at the filling with amusement and disgust twisting her face. Bain wondered when she had joined the workers. Had she seen him hard at work? Was she glad she had let him join the group? “It lets them change the recipe whenever they want,” Anyon said, and grinned. That surprised Bain—he didn't think the mancould smile. “Just take any fruit too bruised to eat, mush it, cook it until it goes brown, then hide the taste with a mountain of sweetener.” “The object of the exercise is to obtain all possible nutrition from decaying fruit,” a new voice said. Bain moved closer, trying to see who spoke. The voice sounded odd to him, rattling a little. It sounded like two people spoke in perfect unison. “Ganfer, you don't understand,” Lin said with a chuckle. She looked upward as she spoke, and Bain raised his gaze too, looking for someone standing on top of the ship or a pile of crates. No one was there. “I understand that a mountain of sweetening would negate any nutritional value and make the substance deadly—if not too sweet for evenyou to eat,” Ganfer responded, his voice even and calm. Bain suspected Ganfer teased Lin. “There speaks the famous nanny-brain!” Anyon cried with a whoop of laughter. He laughed harder when Lin slapped the sandwich back together and took a huge bite, glaring at him over her bulging cheeks. Bain moved closer, stepping out of the shadows, staring at the collar Lin wore. It was smooth and slim and copper brown, only a little darker than her space-tanned skin; three green lights on it flashed when Ganfer spoke. Bain understood now. Ganfer was the ship-brain, the computer that ran the ship. Ship-brains were so smart that they could play games and hold conversations. He had heard stories about some ship-brains so old, so full of information, so complex they had personalities. “Ganfer, one of these years—” Lin's voice came out a garbled mess. She swallowed hard, blushing when Anyon laughed louder. “One of these years,” she continued, “I'm going to get myself a nice, new, obedient brain that minds his own business.”

“You don't stop anywhere long enough for such an operation,” Ganfer responded, the green lights in Lin's collar blinking serenely. “Thatwouldn't be any trouble to arrange,” she shot back, her voice a growl. “You don't trust strangers beyond the cargo hold and landing struts, and none of your close friends have the training or technical know-how to handle a brain exchange.” A pause, while all the collar lights dimmed to a soft glow. “You're stuck with me for a while yet.” “I suppose...” Lin exchanged a grin with Anyon. She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “What would you do with yourself if you could be free ofme, eh?” “I've considered the option,” the ship-brain said in slow, elegant tones. “I would be bored to illness.” “He got you there,” Anyon said. “Yes, he did.” Lin nodded, still smiling, but her gaze caught on Bain. “Hello, boy. Bain, right?” “Yes, Ma'am.” Bain took a few steps closer. It was no good hiding now. He felt ashamed that he'd been caught eavesdropping, pride that she remembered his name, and fear he would be left behind. “Bain has Spacer blood. I included him because I wantedsomeone among the passengers who wouldn't get sick on me,” she said to Anyon. “My grandparents were Spacers,” Bain hurried to say. “Blood breeds true.” Anyon smiled at Bain, surprising him. “It could be one person twenty generations back—you'd still have the Spacer gift.” “I saw you working on the stasis chairs,” Lin said. “You have technical talent?” “What little training the orphanage gives,” the doctor said, when Bain could only nod in answer. Linhad seen and noticed him! “I may be depending on you more than I said before.” Lin stood and gestured at her ship. “We have to prepare the computer chip connections to control the stasis chairs. I could use an extra hand on the bridge.” She slapped Anyon's shoulder, barely making the man flinch. “This giant does more damage than good—and he's more useful in the hold, overseeing the work there.” “Captain?” Bain could hardly believe what she said, or breathe for excitement. “The boy is terrified,” Ganfer said, a chuckle in his voice. “I can read his pulse, respiration and temperature. You aren't scowling and growling again, are you?” “Listen, O Bucket of Bolts—” Lin paused, her face wrinkled in a dark scowl. Then the mask cracked into a bright smile and she burst out laughing. She laughed so hard that she leaned over, resting her hands on her thighs, shoulders shaking. “Congratulations,” Anyon said, standing so he towered over Bain and Lin's shaking figure. “Ganfer likes you. He usually doesn't scold Lin in public unless he's taken a liking to you.” “He has?” Bain gasped. “Yes, indeed.” Lin caught her breath and wiped laugh tears from her face. Her eyes were bright, hair

tousled, mouth still stretched in a wide grin. “Come along. We have much work to do before dawn launch. Done with your sandwich?” “Yes, Ma'am.” Bain sketched a salute that made Lin burst out laughing again. He didn't think she was laughingat him. The sound made him feel good. He felt even better when Lin led him around to the front of the ship and they climbed up a chain link ladder, through the emergency hatch, onto the bridge of Sunsinger. Chapter Six Lin kept Bain so busy, he had no time to gawk. He was on a real spaceship bridge! His first impression was of roundness and bright lights, clutter and cramped spaces. Then Lin sent him to his knees to unfasten plates in one wall. Bain bruised his fingers a little on the stiff clips holding the plates in place. He put the plates to one side and sat up. His nose barely cleared the round bank of control panels that enclosed the two pilot chairs. “Fast fingers,” Lin said, stepping up behind him. “That task would take me twice as long.” “Because you turn the clips the wrong way and think of twenty different jobs to do while you're down there,” Ganfer said. His voice lost some rattle, now that it came from the sensor dome in the ceiling. He sounded closer, more alive. Lin grimaced and gestured for Bain to get down on his elbows by the plates again. He obeyed before he could take a good look at the bridge. He had a vague impression of blank screens on the front half of the bridge, where the chairs and control panels faced. Curtained alcoves and two hatches—outside, and to the access tube for the cargo hold—filled the other half of the curve. Every bit of space was filled with storage or equipment. “Lucky for us, my father color coded all the connections before I was born,” Lin said, lying on her side so she could fit under the control panel next to Bain. She gestured at the rainbow of wires and crystal connectors and transponder boards. “The key should be on the backside of a panel.” Bain nearly knocked over the stack in his hurry to find the color code key. He skinned his knuckles but hardly felt the pain. Lin nodded her thanks when he handed her the panel splashed with a rainbow of paint chips. “This one.” She tapped the board with her nail, pointing out a color like the blue of the dawn sky after a night-long shower. Bain thought he could find that particular shade among the twenty different blue wires. It was the color of his mother's eyes. Bain forgot his nervousness and curiosity when they got to work. He held up wires for Lin to clip and attach to adjunct boxes. He fetched tools for her from storage bins. It was easy working for Lin because she knew exactly what she wanted and knew the right words to say it. She worked in quiet, never lecturing like some teachers he had, and Bain liked that. He knew enough of thewhy in mechanical work—he preferred to watch and figure out thehow for himself. Yet Lin always seemed to know when something escaped him, and she explained in short, ordinary words. Bain wished he had more teachers like her. Then the work was done. Lin laughed and groaned as she sat up and told him to close the panels. When Bain finished and stood, he found her in the galley. The curtain was pulled to one side, revealing a compact cooking unit and a booth table with two padded benches. The straps along the wall and the safety belts on the benches made no sense, until he remembered free-fall.

“You're probably twice as hungry as me, and those sorry excuses for sandwiches didn't do me much good.” Lin pulled a dull brown pouch from the heater box and tossed it to him. She opened another for herself, then grinned when Bain just held the packet and looked at it. “Stories greatly exaggerate life on board. The bad taste of the food and the luxury of quarters.” Bain nodded, tongue-tied again. He fumbled with the pouch, managing to tear it open without spilling the contents. A warm, meaty, spicy, bread smell gushed out at him with a billow of steam. He didn't even blush when Lin laughed at his surprise. “It's best when it's hot,” she said. “Eat up—we have more work to do.” The bread was dark and tasted strong, almost bitter, heavy with seeds and whole grain. Bain decided he liked it. The meat was stringy but tender, covered with a melting, mild cheese that stretched when he took a bite. The white, grainy sauce bit back at his tongue, making his eyes water and his nose run after only a few chews. He nodded thanks when Lin gave him a cup of milk. Bain gulped it all in two mouthfuls. Lin finished before he did and went back to work. She asked Ganfer questions, using long engineering words Bain only half understood. Ganfer gave Lin a long string of numbers and technical words in response. It sounded like a foreign language to Bain. He supposed it had to do with ship functions and alterations in the hold and life support. He ignored their conversation and really studied the room now. It made sense to him, now that he'd been working inside the ship's control systems. Control panels and seats for the operators filled the front half of the room—data and view screens on the wall in front—access panels and storage space in the wall under that—and curtained alcoves for living quarters in the rest of the space. Lin literally lived on the bridge of her ship. Everything else was engines and sensors and cargo space. All she needed to navigate, to run the ship, to eat and sleep and relax, was in easy reach. The bridge didn't look cluttered now. Bain thought of the ships in entertainment cube stories and he scorned them for their waste of space. “Ready to work on life support?” Lin asked, breaking into Bain's thoughts. She gave him no time to respond, but caught him by his elbow and guided him through the hatch. Ten steps took them down the access tube into the cargo hold. The hold had become a dormitory. Plastic panels covered the foam on the walls, floor and ceiling. Frames for the hammock nets lined one wall. Dr. Anyon and Master Valgo were on their knees in the middle of the floor, bolting down tables and benches. The technicians and other children carried in stasis chairs when Bain and Lin joined them. “I've got a flaming nursery in my hold,” she muttered, pausing in the hatch. Bain glanced at her, surprised by the return of a tight rasp to her voice. Lin grinned at him. “Rule of survival—growl enough, and you never need to bite.” She tousled his hair like his mother used to do, then strode past him to join Anyon. Bain didn't help Lin with the life support work. He wasn't disappointed, because the other children kept begging him in whispers to tell them about the bridge and the captain. Envy and curiosity made their eyes wide and bright. He told them what he could while they carried in stasis chairs, storage lockers and crates of food and blankets. Then, his job changed to hanging the hammock nets, five to a row, and storing supplies. Two technicians wired the stasis chairs into place in three rows, with connector bars in the ceiling to augment and reinforce the stasis field. Bain watched Lin as she worked on the life support equipment. Even when he couldn't hear her voice,

her posture and gestures showed she knew exactly what needed to be done. Like all the best captains in the stories, she knew her ship inside out. The last pieces of equipment came on board with the babies and Mistress Valgo. Bain grinned and some children let out tired cheers when they saw the cooking unit. The sanitary cabinet sat on the cart with it, but Bain doubted they cheered for that. Though, he did want to wash as much as he wanted something to drink. He felt hot and sticky, gritty with dust. His eyes hurt, his back ached, he had scratches and bruises and cuts. Bain thought he never had such an interesting day in his life. “They'll starve to death before it's working, and I'm not sending these children to bed hungry after all the work they did,” Lin said, her voice strong as she crossed the hold to join the technicians. “Bain.” She turned and surveyed the children scattered around the hold. She smiled when she found him. “Go to the bridge and get sandwich packets for everyone.” Bain grinned and darted through the access tube. He imagined envy and awe on the faces of the other children. He hoped they envied him, sent to the bridge by the captain as if he knew his way around. Like crew. When he reached the bridge, he came to a dead stop. Bain hadn't seen where Lin got the food packs before. He took a few hesitant steps toward the galley, then stopped. None of the doors and drawers had labels. “The best plan is to ask,” Ganfer said. The silence was so deep, his voice startled Bain and the boy jumped backward. The ship-brain chuckled. “Always ask if you don't know.” “Thanks.” Bain's voice cracked. He coughed to clear it. “Ah ... where do I find the food packs?” “The tall cabinet on the left. The brown are too spicy. Take white for the littles and blue for the others.” “You know everything, don't you?” Bain found the cabinet and counted silently as he pulled out the colored food packs. “No. Not even when it comes to this ship.” Ganfer chuckled. “Knowing everything means knowing the future, too. I cannot predict accurately what will happen on board this ship. I can, however, put together all the facts and variables and calculate what could happen.” A moment of silence, then he said, softer, “Bain, close your mouth and heat the food. The other children are hungry.” Bain hurried to obey. His thoughts spun in a whirlpool. His lessons about ship-brains never mentioned this. Ganfer sounded more real than some people he knew. Unless this was what it meant to have a personality? A pinging chime sounded. Bain reached for the door of the heater, but it was still running. The pinging went on, louder, harsh like warping metal on the verge of cracking. Lin burst through the open hatch and darted around the control panel, nearly running into a chair. She slapped a few flashing red lights on the left panel. The pinging stopped on the verge of making Bain's ears hurt. “Sunsinger,” she said, her voice catching a little. “Lin, it's Cowrun.” The governor's voice sounded rough, like he had been shouting at someone.

“This better be good.” She bent at the hips and leaned over the console, resting on her elbows. “No, it's extremely bad.” A pause. Bain heard the background babble of excited, angry voices. How many people could fit into the governor's office? “The Mashrami hit the eastern farms.” “I can fit eight more bunks and children into the hold, but it won't be comfortable for anyone.” “They're already on their way.” “Hold a moment.” Lin stood straight and looked at Bain. “Get Anyon for me, will you? And come back with him.” Bain hurried to obey. Lin's face showed no expression at all, just utter stillness like a razor-cat waiting for prey. Her voice was quiet and even. It frightened him, but not as much as the idea of a Mashrami attack. He found Anyon next to the hatch, talking with Lucas, the technician. Bain tugged on his sleeve. The doctor took one look at Bain and his smile faded. “Captain wants you,” Bain almost whispered. He stepped aside so Anyon could go through the tube first. Bain had to run to keep up with the man's long stride. “Plague bombs,” Lin said when Anyon and Bain joined her. The flashing lights were off. She had finished talking with Cowrun. “They came in disguised as meteors, Cowrun thinks.” “Then the closest ships are still weeks away?” Anyon settled into a chair. He rubbed at his face, which glistened with sweat. “As far as we know. The destroyer-class ships, at least. We have no way of detecting or destroying their scout class ships.” She leaned against the wall between two blank screens. “Bain, I wanted you to stay so you'd understand and not spread half-baked stories among the children.” “Maybe he shouldn't say anything,” Anyon said. “Why frighten them?” “Ignorance is more dangerous than fear,” she returned. “Bain, plague bombs hit some farms. No one knew until people started falling sick this morning. Four are dead already. Twenty sick. Another hundred suspected infections. Governor Cowrun is sending more children with us, and samples of infected plant and animal tissue to give the scientists at Refuge planet. Any questions?” “I thought the Mashrami weren't near any Knaught Points leading here,” Bain said. It was the first thing he could think of clearly. “There—see?” Lin glared at Anyon, as if it was his fault Bain hadn't understood. “Ignorance at work. How can this planet prepare for attack if they don't think Mashrami ships can reach them? What else, Bain?” she continued, before Anyon could respond. “Why did they bomb the farms?” the boy asked. “It makes more sense to bomb the space port and factories.” “Strategic thinking.” She nodded, giving him a ghost of a smile. “Maybe they're trying to distract us? Maybe starve us, by destroying our farm workers and food animals? But we can always ship in food and medicine while the port exists, so in the long run the plague bomb is only a nuisance. It would be more effective to destroy our space port workers and ship crews. We'd be unable to defend ourselves or send for help. If crews were infected, the disease could spread to other worlds.”

“The Mashrami don't think like us, do they?” “No, they do not.” Anyon turned in the chair to face Bain and Lin. “The captain is making a point to me, while teaching you. You're missing one vital piece of data. We think the Mashrami don't manufacture machines—they grow them.” “What does that do to the theory of reasons for attack?” Lin asked. “They don't know what our space port is?” Bain ventured. “Maybe their ships are alive?” “We think so.” Lin settled into the other chair. “We think our farms worry them more than heavy industry.” “They think we're growing ships?” Bain shook his head. The images and ideas in his imagination amazed him. “How come everybody keeps things secret from kids?” he blurted. “Supposedly to protect you.” Lin gestured at the galley. “Finish making supper for the rest. We have more work to do before we can launch.” “I'll tell the Valgos,” Anyon said and left the bridge. Bain welcomed the quiet. The hum of monitors and the heater, and the tapping of keys as Lin worked soothed the thoughts racing around in his head. He finished heating the food and went down to the hold. Everybody worked hard, installing the new bunk frames and stasis chairs that had arrived. Bain passed out the food packs. The other children took them with grins and laughter. They thought it was all a great adventure. Bain thought about plague bombs and dead people and organic ships. He kept quiet and took the wrappers up to the bridge to dispose of them. “Ganfer, can I ask you something?” he asked. The bridge was empty—Lin had gone out through the hatch and left it open. The night outside was black and warm and full of streaks from work lights. “What worries you, Bain?” Ganfer's voice sounded deeper, softer, like Bain's father sounded when he helped Bain say his prayers before bed. “The captain didn't say if I could tell the other kids or not.” “Maybe she's leaving that decision to you.” “Why?” “To teach you to think for yourself. Lin says, if we don't learn to think, we never grow.” “What do you—“ Bain stopped before he asked Ganfer what to do. Think for himself, the ship-brain had said. “Maybe it wouldn't be good for the other kids to know?” “How would you feel if you didn't know?” “Less scared,” the boy admitted. He finished feeding the wrappers into the recycling slot. “Ganfer, Captain Lin didn't argue with Governor Cowrun about taking the plague samples, did she?” “No. She volunteered.”

“She only argues when it's not important, then?” “I think Lin argues for fun, but never when lives are at stake. Evacuating you children is important.” Ganfer chuckled, surprising Bain again. “Lin and Governor Cowrun could not be friends if they didn't argue.” Bain decided it was better to think over what Ganfer said, rather than ask for an explanation. Chapter Seven Bain returned to the hold as the other eight children arrived. Everyone scrambled to choose a bunk, arguing, sometimes pushing each other off the rungs of the frames. Bain's bag sat in a corner, smashed, with dusty footprints all over it. He stayed in the hatch and watched. This was a worse mess than a morning when everyone was late for classes. He felt sorry for Anyon and the Valgos. They moved among the struggling, pushing, arguing children, trying to quiet the screams and stop the pushing and shoving before someone got hurt. Bain couldn't hear anything they said. “Quiet! And I mean now!” Lin bellowed. She stood framed in the open cargo hatch, port lights bright behind her. Shoulders hunched, hands on her hips, she turned her head slowly to survey the bickering children. To Bain's delight, the fighting slowed and stopped in only a few seconds. He was glad Lin hadn't had to yell at him. Then he saw Toly Gaber in the top hammock at the end by the ramp. Bain felt his stomach knot around his sandwich. “This ismy ship and you will followmy orders or I will keep everyone in stasis for the whole trip.” Lin took two steps into the hold. She saw Bain and winked at him. “Except for meals and sanitary breaks, of course,” she added, her voice relaxing a little. She didn't smile. Bain remembered what Lin said about growling so there was no need to bite. “Now,” Lin continued, “the first rule is, no yelling fromany passengers. If you yell, you won't hearme yell when there's an emergency. The second rule is, obey the Valgos and Dr. Anyon orI decide your punishment.” She jabbed her chest with her thumb as she spoke, hunched her shoulders and glared around the hold. A few children cringed. Bain was delighted to see Toly go pale, wrap his arms around himself and shiver. Maybe now Toly wouldn't get away with any nasty tricks. “We're launching in an hour,” she went on. “Stow your gear and choose your beds now. Everyone has to take a trip to the sanitary whether they need it or not. I want everyone in their stasis chairs, securely strapped inbefore I start the countdown. Now, since you can't choose your bunks without starting a war, I'll choose them for you. Boys at this end, girls by the inner hatch, oldest in the top bunks, littles in the bottom.” She gave the Valgos a half-smile. “I can let you two choose your own bunks, I hope?” “Aye, Captain.” Master Valgo sketched her a salute. His face muscles twitched. Mistress Valgo hid her face against the sleeping baby she held. Bain realized they both fought not to smile. Slowly, silently, some cringing under Lin's watchful glare, children climbed down from the bunks and let go of each other. They dragged their bags after them and started to organize themselves as ordered. The Valgos put the babies in the bottom hammocks. They put their gear in the middle two racks. The girls took hardly any time to organize and choose their bunks. They had all climbed up, stowed their gear

and climbed down to line up in front of the sanitary cabinet before half the boys figured out what to do. “Bain.” Lin's voice startled him. She stood in the open hatch, hands on her hips, watching the children work. “Better choose your bunk and get set.” He could already see where he would have to sleep if the boys went by age and height. Right next to Toly. Bain imagined thousands of nasty tricks the bully would pull on him in the middle of the night, when no one could see. “I'll help with the littles, if you want,” he said. Bain told himself it wouldn't be that bad. “Thank you, Bain,” Mistress Valgo said. “Wewill need some help with the younger ones.” “He's scared of being high up,” Toly said, loud enough for everyone to hear. A few boys snickered. Bain felt his face get hot. It was hard not to look at them. He wanted to stick his tongue out and make faces or throw something to make them shut up. “I'm not sleeping on a top bunk, either,” Mistress Valgo went on, without turning to look at the boys. “I don't think that makes me afraid. Bain, are you sure you want all that responsibility?” She spoke loud enough to be heard over the grinding and humming sounds of port machinery, heard through the open cargo hatch. “Well, it's going to be boring when we're not doing lessons, right?” Bain asked. “Somewhat.” Anyon exchanged a look with Lin that Bain didn't quite catch. “It's nice to see some of you are starting to grow up. Who else will volunteer to help with the littles?” Shari and two other girls raised their hands. Bain grinned at Shari—until more snickers came from Toly and his friends. Bain felt his face get hotter. Couldn't he do anything without getting teased about it? “We're going to need all the help we can get,” Master Valgo said. “Why don't you four bunk around here?” He gestured at four hammocks in the middle. “They might as well be crew, not passengers,” Lin said. She nodded to Bain and her smile made him feel good. “We're launching in thirty,” she added, glancing at the children lined up to use the sanitary. “That means I want everyone in their chairs in twenty minutes.” She started across the hold to go to the bridge. The cargo hatch began to close behind her. She met Bain halfway. Lin squeezed his shoulder as she passed him, and winked. The laughter of the other boys hurt less. “Captainlikes you,” one of the littlest boys said when Bain got in line behind him to use the sanitary. He leaned against Bain and grinned up at him. He had red curls and freckles, a bandage on his chin and two teeth missing. Awe made his blue eyes bright. “I do, too,” a tiny girl added, her voice almost a whisper. She grinned at Bain and smothered a giggle behind her hands. “I'm glad you're gonna be by us. The other big boys are mean.” Bain saw other little ones smile at him. He remembered what Lin said about helping the children not feel so afraid. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, helping with the littles. At least they wouldn't pick on him or play nasty tricks. Soon, everyone had their bags stowed and took trips to the sanitary cabinet. Bain had to help two little

boys unfasten their pants to use the sanitary. If he hadn't, they might never have got strapped into their stasis chairs in time. Maybe itwasn't so nice to have littles depend on him, but he thought he could handle it. Bain had to help buckle some children into their stasis chairs. Two children, brother and sister twins, kept unbuckling each other the moment Bain turned his back. They laughed, but Bain wanted to spank them. “One minute to launch,” Ganfer said. Bain could hardly hear him because the other children yelled and laughed and shrieked even after Anyon told them to be quiet. A loud hum vibrated the hold as the engines came on. Some children quieted, but others shrieked louder. “Better strap in,” the doctor said. He nodded at Bain. “Good job—and thanks.” He settled into a chair in the middle of the front row and buckled his own safety straps. Anyon had a control board on his chair, to override the stasis chairs if something went wrong. Bain had checked those controls. He hoped Anyon wouldn't need to use them. Bain turned to find a seat for himself. For a few seconds, he couldn't seeany empty chairs. He thought his heart would stop, it scared him so badly. Did someone count wrong and not send enough stasis chairs? Then he saw an empty space at the other end of the back row. Bain ran around the front side. The ship engines started with a grumble that rose to a roar, like a wild animal chased him. “Hurry,” Mistress Valgo said. She smiled at him as he passed, then put her arm around a crying little girl. Bain nearly tripped over a bench. He kicked it once, then hurried to his chair. Toly tried to trip him. He stuck his tongue out at Bain. Two boys laughed. Bain grabbed the safety belt and turned to throw himself into his chair. He paused, feeling the deck plates vibrate hard enough to tickle right through his boots. Something smelled sour. He turned around and looked at the chair. Someone had been sick all over the seat. It smelled like the food had rotted three days before. Bain clamped both hands over his mouth and nose to keep from smelling the sour stink. “What's the matter, Spacer?” Toly yelled behind him. The other boys snickered. Bain turned fast and caught Toly trying to kick him in the back. He missed. The belt kept the bully in his chair. Bain grinned and knew he could hit Toly and the bully couldn't chase him. He clenched his fist and pulled his arm back. “Fifteen seconds,” Ganfer said. “Bain, get in your chair!” Mistress Valgo called from the end of the row. “Ronny did it,” Shari said. She sat in the next row. She put her arm around little Ronny, who looked white and sick, with tears in his eyes. “Toly scared him andmade him throw up.” She glanced at the puddle of vomit in the chair. “I'm sorry, Bain. I didn't think about cleaning it up.” “Five seconds,” Ganfer said. “Stasis field coming on.” Bain yelped and leaped backwards, away from the row of chairs. Green-yellow light came down from the ceiling and up from the floor and the arms and backs of the chairs. It covered everyone, freezing them

in place. Toly stopped with his mouth open and eyes closed. The fat bully looked stupid. “Four.” Ganfer's voice sounded loud, echoing in the hold. No one moved or made a sound. Bain ran. He didn't know where he was going. The lights in the hold flickered. The rumbling roar of the engines got louder, making the whole ship shake. The rumble rose in pitch, turning into a rising shriek. Bain burst onto the bridge and skidded on the deck before he ran into the empty chair at the control panel. “Lin—the boy. One,” Ganfer said. “Engaging lift thrusters.” “Bain?” Lin turned to him, her mouth hanging open, eyes wide. She looked so scared she looked funny. Bain felt too sick and scared to laugh. “Sit down!” She grabbed his arm and yanked him over the back of the chair. His rear end hit the padded seat and she slung the safety strap around him. Something wentpop inside his head, making his ears tickle. The shriek of the engines vanished. Bain heard nothing. He saw Lin's mouth moving, but heard no words. He yanked on the buckle of the safety strap and pulled it tight enough to hurt. Lin smiled and patted his arm, her hand heavy and slow. She leaned back in her chair. The skin on her face rippled, like water on a pond in a heavy wind. She closed her eyes. Bain closed his eyes and felt his skin rippling without anything touching it. It felt like the whole ship sat on him. Bain couldn't breathe, couldn't move. He was afraid to open his eyes—maybe he couldn't open them, either. The chair bucked and heaved under him, trying to lift to the ceiling, but his body wanted to stay down. Something pressed against him, pulling his clothes and skin tight. It was like a wind pressed against him, but he couldn't feel the wind, just the pressure. It didn't hurt. Bain wanted to laugh when he realized it didn't hurt. It only felt heavy. Then he could breathe again. He wondered if Lin had a stasis field in the bridge after all, holding them still and safe against the pressure of launch. Something pressed on his ears, inside his head. Bain tried to swallow. It felt like when he went to the mountains and his ears got full and everything sounded muffled and far away. Swallowing made them pop and helped adjust the air pressure. Bain managed to swallow—he sweated from trying so hard. His ears didn't pop or clear. The rumble came back. Soft, like a cat purring on the other side of the room. Bain heard a clicking sound. He opened his eyes. His face felt stiff for a second. He swallowed again—and yelped when his ears poppedloud. It felt like something slithered around inside his ears and fell down his throat. Fortunately, he didn't get sick. “Not so bad, is it?” Lin asked. She chuckled, but it sounded like she had a sore throat. Bain opened his eyes. Lin leaned over the control panel, pressing keys, her gaze on the screens before her. Two screens showed views of space. Three more screens were full of graphics—color computer simulation pictures of the ship leaving the planet's atmosphere. The other screens were full of numbers and graphs and bouncing dots and waving lines. “It's over?” Bain's voice squeaked, but he didn't care. Sothis was what a working Spacer bridge looked like. “The worst part.” Lin kept watching the screens. “I'm leaving the stasis field on until we're in true space.

We're still in atmosphere, you know, not free of the planet. Just out of the worst of the gravity. Until we break orbit, things could get bumpy without warning.” “You're going into orbit, to build up speed and slingshot away?” he guessed. “Very good. You do know proper break-away procedures, don't you?” “My father taught me.” Bain smiled, proud that he remembered, proud that Lin noticed. “Did he also tell you how dangerous it is to disobey orders? You should be in the hold in the stasis field with the others.” Lin still didn't look at him. Bain was positive she was angry with him now. Her face looked stiff, like it would break if she smiled or frowned. “Yes, Ma'am,” he mumbled. “Want to tell me why you're not in the hold?” “I didn't have a seat.” “Funny.” Her voice didn'tsound like she thought it was funny. “I thought we had enough chairs for everyone.” “Ronny threw up in it. Toly scared him on purpose. He does it all the time.” “Toly is the one who said you were scared of heights?” Now Lin did look away from the screens. Some stiffness left her face when Bain nodded. “There's always one in every crowd, isn't there?” She tapped a few more keys, then leaned back in her chair. “Ganfer, what's the boy's condition? Did the launch hurt him?” A green light came on, shining from the sensor dome in the center of the ceiling. It flicked over Bain, scanning him from head to foot, then from foot to head. “Excited, but calming,” the ship-brain responded, his voice so bland Bain almost laughed. “I meant—” “He suffered no stress or harm.” The light flashed over Bain again, warm on his skin. “He hit his elbow and knee when he ran up the tube, but few blood vessels were broken. There will be no bruising, just a little soreness that will fade in a few hours.” “He can tell all that?” Bain stared up at the dome. “Ganfer monitors everyone's physical condition from the moment they come on board,” Lin said. “He's so busy with that, I had more work than usual in the launch.” “The boy can help,” Ganfer said. “He will be confined to the bridge until we hit free space.” “That's true.” She nodded, frowning, and studied Bain. He didn't feel scared when she frowned at him like that. Lin wasn't angry, just thinking hard. Lin unbuckled her safety strap. It hit the floor with a loud thud that should have hurt Bain's ears. Every sound came to his ears flat, dull and muffled. Lin got out of her chair. She held onto the control panel with one hand, her chair with the other, and pushed herself to her feet. “Why didn't you just get into a hammock?” Lin asked. She took small steps and leaned against the chair,

then the wall. “The nets were closer. It's more comfortable to lie flat during launch, instead of sitting up. Even for a Spacer,” she added with a wink. She reached the galley and lifted her arm. The movement was slow, like she was tired or her arm was too heavy. “I knew it was safer up here.” Bain tried to shrug, but it felt like someone pressed down on his shoulders. “Safer, huh?” Lin took two sealed cups from a cabinet and put them in the heater. “Ever had chocolate before?” “No.” Bain wondered if it was a drink, like coffee, or a kind of fruit. “You'll like it. It's a luxury, but you certainly earned it today.” She pressed the heater button and leaned back against the wall. “Get up if you want, but move carefully. We're still rising and fighting gravity. Slanted launches are easier, but they take longer.” Bain pushed against his seat and stood. It felt like hands tried to push him down. His knees wobbled until he stiffened them. His feet tried to stay on the deck plates, like his shoes had glue on them. No wonder Lin took small, slow steps. “Don't strain yourself,” she warned. The heater chimed. Lin opened it and pulled the lids off the cups. Steam mounded up over the tops of the cups in white, gushing clouds. She put the cups on the table, then lowered herself onto a bench at the table. Bain joined her there, taking the other bench. He grinned when the pressure on his body eased. Lin closed her eyes, leaned back against the padded head-rest, and slowly lifted her cup. Bain watched her sip before he tried it. Chocolate, Lin said. It tasted as deep dark brown as it looked. Bain held it in his mouth until it cooled a little. Sweet and spicy, smooth on his tongue, rich and thick and soothing as it trickled down his throat. He swallowed and took a bigger mouthful. It burned. Bain tried to breathe and not drown, and swallow—but he wanted the taste to last. He coughed, sending chocolate up his nose because he refused to open his mouth. “Careful there.” Lin pounded his back and slid in next to him on the bench. She wiped sweating hair off his forehead while Bain took deep breaths. His throat tickled, threatening to make him cough again. He felt like an idiot. “Chocolateis wonderful, but not something to die for,” Ganfer said, a drawl in his voice. Lin snorted and the sound turned into a laugh. “When you're done—don't hurry—Ganfer can show you what to do.” Lin stood and picked up her cup and shuffled away from the table. Bain tried to drink slowly, so he wouldn't burn his tongue. He tried to drink quickly enough that he didn't make Lin and Ganfer wait. He barely tasted the chocolate, but he knew he wanted more. Maybe, before he went back to join the others in the hold, Lin would give him another cup. Bain wondered if chocolate was Spacer food only, or if anyone was allowed to drink it. Ganfer lit three screens full of colored vertical lines for Bain, when he returned to his chair to work. Each line had a number on it, representing a stasis chair in the hold. The top was green, the bottom red. When the red grew, the person in that chair was sick or hurt. Ganfer lit buttons and switches in front of Bain, to show him which ones to press to find what was wrong. Bain's job was to read the information and decide if that person needed the stasis field changed, to make

him sleep, or if she needed medical help. Anyon's chair would release him separately from the others, so he could help. If Bain wasn't sure what to do, or if he didn't understand the information, he could ask Ganfer and Lin. Nothing happened. The lines stayed the same, no matter how hard Bain stared, watching for the smallest change. After half an hour, he started watching Lin work and studied the information on the screens. He couldn't understand half the words Ganfer said. It sounded like a private language, but he thought it was just all technical words. Something about gravity points, speed and fuel consumption, sensor fields and defensive shields. Whenever he thought Lin might see him watching, he turned back to studying the screens. The screens never changed. An hour passed. Bain thought the pressure of gravity got softer. His legs felt heavy. As heavy as his head. His eyes kept closing against his will. “If the boy is to remain on the bridge,” Ganfer said, “he will need magnetic boots. I remember how you were as a child whenever we hit free-fall.” “Let him have his fun,” Lin muttered. Bain tried to open his mouth to ask what they were talking about. He tried to turn to Lin and say something, but his mouth wouldn't work. His eyes closed all the way, as if they were glued shut. He tried to lean back instead of falling forward onto the control panel, as he fell asleep. Chapter Eight Bain woke with the smell of chocolate tickling his nose. He opened his eyes, blinking hard when they itched and felt sticky-dry. His neck hurt and the room tilted. He sat up—he had slouched to the left while he slept. The room straightened, but the ache didn't leave his neck. Bain moved his legs and they lifted a little, until his toes tapped the underside of the control panel. He pulled them down toward the floor and against the chair. “Well, awake now, are you?” Lin said next to him. Bain turned to his right and his whole body tried to lift from the chair. The belt held him down. Lin laughed and took a sip from the hole in the lid of her cup. A tiny puff of steam came from the hole and hung in the air, not moving until Lin brushed it away with her hand. “Be careful. We're in free-fall. One wrong move and you could go bouncing off the walls like a ball. A very big, clumsy, yelping ball,” she added with another chuckle. “I'm sorry,” Bain mumbled. “For what?” “Falling asleep when I was on duty.” “Don't worry about it. Plenty of backups at work,” Lin gestured at a tiny screen on her far right. Bain nearly lifted himself from his chair again, trying to see. “I kept partial watch, and Anyon has a brain tap circuit. He keeps watch and can get free of stasis whenever he needs.” “A brain what?” Bain's curiosity overrode his shame over falling asleep on duty. “Brain tap circuit. An implant in the base of his brain stem. He controls electric signals coming from his

brain, and can communicate with us by code.” “Oh.” He considered this news. “Then you really didn't need me keeping watch on the other kids, did you?” “Redundancy is the key to survival.” Lin turned back to the wall screens, studied them for a few seconds, then tapped a few control keys. Bain watched but couldn't figure out what she saw or why she touched those particular keys. Lin turned back to face him. “I meant it, when I said you were helping. You saved some of Ganfer's power. It showed me how well you follow orders, how quickly you can learn and how responsible you are.” “Why is that important?” A tiny wave of anger rose in him, making his stomach hurt. “You're just going to dump us on Refuge and go on.” “We're notsafe by a long shot, Bain.” Her eyes looked hard and tired. Lin worked the controls again. She sighed. “We're a long, cold trip away from Refuge, and plenty of danger between us and landing. I need to know who on this ship can help me if we run into trouble.” Lin met his gaze for a few long seconds. The corner of her mouth curved up just a little. “You're a Spacer born, even if you aren't trained. There are precious few Spacers out here, and it's my duty to give you a chance to find your destiny.” “But I'm an orphan. I'll never get to go to the right schools and take the classes I need to be crew. I don't know anybody to sponsor me to an academy or the Fleet or anything! I'll be stuck on a planet until I die.” Bain bit his lip to keep from crying. He was too old for that. He doubted Lin ever cried about anything. “I never went to school to be a Spacer.” Lin pushed off her seat and slowly rose to the ceiling. She caught at the edge of the sensor dome, turned herself and pushed toward the galley, all in one small, neat move. “Try to learn all you can on this trip, Bain. Prove you know what you're doing. I'll stand as your sponsor, put in a good word with whatever school you want, or contact friends in the Fleet. I'll find training for you. That's a promise.” “Training? On a ship?” “That's the best way to learn.” Lin's solemn look turned sad and tired again. “With this war, our colonized worlds are too far apart to have good communication lines. It's too hard to protect so many. If you have enough ships watching one planet, four others are ignored. This war won't be over for many years. You'll have plenty of time to grow into a job as Spacer crew. We'll need you.” “I thought you were a Free Trader.” “I am.” Lin tilted her cup back and sucked it dry, then pushed it into the recycling slot. She shoved off from the wall and drifted in a straight line over to her chair. “But you talk like you're part of the Fleet. Like I'll have to work for the Fleet when I grow up,” Bain said. He hated when he couldn't understand. “I thought all boys wanted to join the Fleet.” Lin grabbed the back of her chair and slid back into the seat. “Well—I guess so—I mean—” Bain sighed, feeling frustrated but wanting to laugh, too. “If you're a Free Trader you can't be part of the Fleet, can you?” “Oh, I see. Orders and regulations and missions and rank and all that.” Lin smiled and nodded. “We're

all Humans, right?” She waited until Bain nodded. “If we don't all work together and help where it's needed, then wehelp the Mashrami defeat us. We make it easy for them to attack us when we're divided into little, weak groups. I'm not a member of the Fleet—I'm a member of the Human race. We're all servants of Fi'in, brothers and sisters. Understand?” “I guess so.” Bain nodded. “Think on it.” Lin arched her back and stretched her arms to the ceiling. She let out a groan that turned into a laugh. “I know what the problem is. I'm making you think deep thoughts, and no food in your stomach to fuel the hard work your brain has to do. That chair certainly isn't the most comfortable spot for sleeping.” She rubbed her back, low by her hips. “I know from long, hard experience.” Bain laughed. He wished Lin would let him stay onSunsinger when the trip ended. He liked her and Ganfer. The little ship felt more like home than the orphanage. But Lin hadn't said anything aboutkeeping him as crew. Bain swallowed hard and forced himself to keep smiling. How could someone laugh and want to cry, both at the same time? “I couldn't move you to a bunk because we had a few jolts coming out of the gravity field,” Lin went on. “I didn't feel anything.” “That's because you're a born Spacer. You knew a little bouncing wasn't dangerous, so you didn't wake.” She reached over and unbuckled his safety strap. “Time for you to learn to navigate in free-fall.” “Like flying—or swimming, right?” “Only in stories.” Lin made a disgusted face. “Lack of gravity means there's nothing to hold you to the ground. You can'tmove if there's nothing to push against. You don't stop unless something is in your way. Understand? You can wave your arms and legs around in the air all you want. If you don't push off something solid, you won't go anywhere.” She smiled and stretched and rubbed at her eyes. “You can read the science texts on inertia and vectors and ratios later. Think you understand the basics?” “I have to push off at the angle I want to go, or figure where to bounce to get somewhere. Like you did,” Bain added. “Be prepared for lots of bumps until you learn to calculate how much push you need.” Lin gestured at the ceiling. “My father used to tack up pieces of blanket to save my shoulders and head, until I learned to navigate in free-fall. Use the ceiling for bouncing. There's no equipment to break if you hit too hard.” “Excuse me?” Ganfer said. Red and blue and green and yellow lights flashed in the sensor dome. His sudden entry into the conversation startled Bain. “Your head is harder than both of ours put together, O Bucket of Bolts.” Lin winked at Bain. “All right, Spacer. Time to test your wings.” She jerked her hand toward the ceiling, thumb up. “Carefully,” Ganfer added. Bain nodded, swallowed hard, and pushed his feet down. He bounced when he touched the deck plates. He pointed his arms to the ceiling and wanted to laugh—and the toes of his boots caught on the edge of the console. He felt a jerk. His body twisted sideways. Bain yelped and fluttered his arms, trying to find something to grab. Lin caught his ankle and pulled him back down to his seat. Bain was afraid to look at her. It didn't matter if she was angry or laughed at him, because he had messed up.

“Always know where your whole body is, and watch for what's in the way,” Lin said. She turned his chair around so he faced empty air. “Try again.” Bain pushed off the seat with his hands. As he lifted to the ceiling, he stretched out his arms and tried to find his target. A ball of silvery-blue metal poked out of the ceiling. Flat rings around it formed ridges. Bain thought he could get a grip on the ridges to change his angle when he bounced off. He hit the ceiling hard enough to jar his wrists. His hands hit with a loud slapping sound. Bain bounced off. “Help!” He grabbed at the ridges. His fingers slipped off one, then a second and a third. Bain clamped both hands hard around the ball, making his palms sting, but he caught and held on. The swing of his feet changed direction when the inertia tried to carry him along. He felt a tug, like someone had a rope around his ankles. Bain squeezed his hands tight around the globe until his arms hurt. “Well, you're halfway there.” Lin pushed off to float up next to him. “It's better to push with your legs and buffer the landing with your hands and arms. You'd better learn by pushing with your hands, though. You have strong legs. Probably all those errands they made you run,” she added with a grin. She tugged his hands loose and turned him around. Her hands were hard, all bones and skin and tough muscle. But they were gentle, moving like her whole body did in free-fall; large tasks done with small movements. She turned him so his feet pointed at the galley. “Now, straighten your body and be ready to bend when you land, to absorb the momentum. Push off with your hands—flexing your elbows halfway should do it. Ready. Go.” Lin pivoted so she faced down, and pushed off with one foot. She flew straight to the galley, caught hold of the edge of the table, and slowly brought her feet down to the floor. Bain took a deep breath and flexed his arms—only halfway, as Lin had said. He went down at an angle and bent his legs before he hit. Bain lifted his head and watched anxiously for something to grab onto before he bounced. “Good,” Lin muttered. Bain saw a partial smile curve one corner of her mouth. Don't mess up,he thought, clenching his jaw tight as he concentrated. Bain felt the floor with his toes. He bent his knees and twisted to the left, reaching for the edge of the table. He caught it and grinned in pure relief. “Better.” Lin nodded and mirrored his grin. “Make breakfast, all right? We have lots of work to do.” She bounced off the ceiling with a spin and settled back into her chair. She buckled herself in with one hand. The other hand flew over the keys and buttons and flashing lights. Bain stared at her for a few seconds, not quite sure how to feel. If he had done badly, she would have said so. He had landed well, hadn't bounced back. He didn't need help from Lin that time. Shehad said he did better. Don't be stupid,he scolded himself.You're not a little kid. She won't get all excited just because you learned your lessons like you should. Chapter Nine Lin gave him chocolate with breakfast, so Bain did feel better. Then after breakfast, she told him to get tether lines from a storage bin under a blank view screen. Bain learned to walk in free-fall by leaning into

the wall. Leaning made enough friction to hold him down when his steps tried to push him to the ceiling. “There should be ten coils,” Lin said. “The bundles have different color bands. How many of each?” “Six blue, two green, two yellow,” he said after taking a quick count. “Good. Just pull the blue-banded ones out. That'll be more than enough.” “Enough for what?” Bain pulled six coiled bundles out and put one leg through them to hold them down. He slid the bin shut and locked it again. “To tether the other children to their bunks. Once we take them out of stasis, we can't let them bounce all over the cargo hold.” “Sunsingercouldn't take it,” Bain muttered. He grinned, thinking of Toly and his nasty friends bouncing off the walls and ceiling. Lin snorted. He looked over his shoulder in time to see her wipe a grin off her face. Her eyes sparkled brighter than fire. “The blue bundles have six tethers each, connected with pinch snaps. As we take the children out of stasis, I want you to unhook a tether, attach one end to the child's belt and the other end to the hammock. Got it?” Lin pushed out of her chair, bounced off the ceiling and down to the floor. She scooped up four bundles into her arms. Bain barely got his leg out in time. She changed her angle and flew to the hatch opening. “Coming?” she called without glancing over her shoulder. “Be careful. Added mass affects momentum.” Then she vanished down the tube to the cargo hold. Bain gauged the distance to the hold door. He didn't want to hit so hard he bounced all over. If he didn't push hard enough, he might hang in mid-air until Lin came back for him. He couldn't stand it if she got mad or laughed at him. He launched toward the sensor dome in the ceiling, grabbed hard, and twisted to spin himself toward the open hatch leading to the cargo hold. His aim wasn't good, but Bain managed to grab hold of the edge of the hatch frame and keep from bouncing off. He dropped a coil but it stayed close, caught between his body and the wall. Bain took a deep breath and tried to plan ahead before he tackled the access tube. When he reached the cargo hold, Lin and Anyon were helping the Valgos out of their chairs. Thin streamers of green-yellow stasis light came only from the ceiling. Some children stretched and rubbed their eyes, partially free of stasis. A few curled up in their chairs and went to sleep. Bain settled himself against the wall and walked to the bunk frames, then pushed off so he floated to the first table in the middle of the floor. Then the second, then the third. “Good timing,” Lin said, when he set his tethers next to hers, floating above the floor. “You have to squeeze the clips and pull the two sides apart to separate them.” “Space-walking already?” Anyon gave Bain a smile before turning back to his control board. He pressed three keys and a streamer of light faded out. A baby girl came free of the stasis field. She opened her mouth and started to cry. Mistress Valgo snatched up the baby and cuddled her. She pushed off from the stasis chair and flew over to the bunks. In moments, the baby girl was safely floating in the net bag of her hammock. She giggled as she slowly rolled over and over, and played with her toes.

Bain watched the adults release the babies and settle them first. He worked on unhooking and untangling the tethers, to have them ready for the older children. What would happen if he put Toly on a loose tether? How much force would make the bully bounce around the hold? How long would he bounce before someone caught him? Bain sighed and knew he couldn't pull a trick like that. Toly would know he had done it. If the bully got hurt, Bain would be in trouble with the adults. Worse, Lin would be disappointed in him. Anyon and Lin worked from youngest to oldest as they freed the children. Bain finished untangling the tethers, then practiced shuttling from the stasis chairs to the bunks. He only took two tries to figure how much of a push he needed to get from the chairs to a table to the bunks, and back again. Bain enjoyed the feeling of flying—and the awe on the faces of the littles who watched him. Lin and Anyon checked each child as the stasis field went down; a quick test of eyes, ears, knee reflex and pulse. The Valgos gave each child a quick wash with a wet cloth and dry towel, face and hands, and a breakfast of a ration bar and drink tube. Then Bain took over, shuttling the children to their hammocks. He usually got halfway there before he reached the end of the tether and inertia slowed him. Bain grabbed the closest frame and pulled himself along, dragging the tethered child behind him like he used to pull in fish. As each child got larger and heavier, Bain had to give a little more effort when he pushed off. At the bunk, he looped his end of the tether through the net and fastened it with the other end of the clip. The younger children, he pulled in and settled in their nets; the older ones he let take care of themselves. Toly got sick-dizzy at his first taste of free-fall. He moaned and snatched at the table he passed. He dropped his ration bar and tried to grab at Master Valgo to stop moving. His hand slipped and he missed and started spinning around in mid-air. Bain felt the tether slip from his hand. He caught hold of a bunk bar and turned himself around. Four boys and two girls burst out laughing. All four boys were Toly's friends—the only ones who could laugh at Toly without getting beat up. “Make it stop!” Toly wailed. He kicked his feet and waved his arms, but couldn't move closer to something solid. Master Valgo caught hold of Toly's tether and dragged the boy down to the table without saying a word. His mouth twitched, fighting not to smile at the white-faced bully. “This one is going to need extra lessons,” Lin said. She pushed off the row of stasis chairs and zipped over Toly's head. Her feet hit the bunks and Lin bounced off to land next to the bully. “In free-fall, you make your moves slow and gentle, unless you know what you're doing.” She snagged Toly's dropped ration bar from where it spun in mid-air, and gave it back to him. He shook his head. “Eat. Free-fall isn't kind to an empty stomach.” Bain thought free-fall couldn't be very kind to a full stomach, either, but he knew better than to say that aloud. Toly would think he was making fun of him, and Lin might not appreciate him making jokes when she was teaching. “Here—get him settled.” Lin pushed the end of the tether to Bain. “When everyone has had breakfast, you can help teach them to move in free-fall.” She didn't wait for Bain to respond, but turned back to her work. Bain nodded and started pulling Toly over to his bunk. He didn't want to look at the other boy. Toly was probably frowning at him, his face getting red and nasty, his hands clenching into fists. Bain knew he was in trouble.

“All your fault,” Toly grumbled, when Bain finished attaching the tether to his bunk. Bain ignored him. He watched Toly's hands and feet, if the bully tried to hit him or push him away. Bain wished he had a tether, too. He didn't like the idea of bouncing around until someone caught and stopped him. “You tried to get me sick,” Toly said, louder. “You made me spin.” “He did not,” Shari called from the other end of the row of bunks. Her three girlfriends turned to watch Bain and Toly. “Everybody saw you, Toly Gaber. You got sick and you got scared and you made yourself spin. Even dummies know you have to be careful in free-fall.” Her friends giggled. A few boys lower in the bunks laughed, too. Bain climbed away from Toly along the bunks toward the middle. He tried to figure out how hard a push he would need to get from the bunks to the hatch, if Toly chased him. “Yeah, run away!” Toly yelled. He leaped at Bain, bounced off a support bar and flew out over the tables. “Stop that right now!” Anyon roared. He ducked as Toly reached the end of his tether and snapped back, hurtling toward the frames. The doctor reached up and snagged the boy's leg. He caught hold of the table with his other hand and stopped them both. “They should have included tranquilizers in the supplies,” Mistress Valgo said. “Toly, I hear you teased Ronny until he got sick.” “He's just a stupid, scared, little kid,” the bully yelled. He gasped as Anyon unclipped his tether and pushed him into a stasis seat. “Yes, he's little, and he's scared,” Mistress Valgo said. “But he gets better grades than you do.” Her angry look faded when some children behind her giggled. “Toly,you made Ronny sick, soyou can clean up the mess he made.” Toly opened his mouth to yell, but Anyon glared and towered over him. The boy went pale and hunched his shoulders and looked away. Bain saw a few boys grin and give each other a thumbs-up signal. He hoped they didn't tease Toly later for getting punished. It would only make the trip worse for everyone if Toly stayed angry. **** Anyon and Bain taught the children how to navigate free-fall. Bain taught the littles how to climb up and down the bunk frames with their legs flying in the air, how to unhook their tethers from their bunks and clip them to the guide ropes strung around the hold. They were to stay on their tethers at all times, and only leave their bunks to eat, to have lessons and exercise, and use the sanitary. Anyon taught the older children, showing them how to keep their elbows and knees bent to absorb impact when they landed, how to angle their push so they didn't fly past their target. Bain nearly cheered when Toly and his friends collided in mid-air and scattered all over the hold. They hid in their hammocks after Anyon and Master Valgo retrieved them and grumbled to each other. “You make it look so easy,” Shari said when Bain helped some girls get back to their bunks after lunch. “I do?” He paused with one hand on the bar under her bunk, his legs bent to push off. “Guess it's because you're a Spacer.”

“Yeah,” Mona said from the bunk underneath. “You really are a Spacer.” She leaned out, to look up at Bain and Shari. “We used to think you were stupid, when you said your grandparents were Spacers. Like you wanted to make everybody think you were better than us.” “We were wrong, I guess.” Shari held out her hand. “We're really glad you're a Spacer, Bain,” she said, as they shook hands. “We're sorry we made fun of you.” “I didn't mean to make anybody mad at me,” he mumbled. Bain let go of Shari's hand and felt his face start to get warm. He hated how he looked when he blushed. “We know that now.” Mona giggled and leaned out backwards, hanging over the floor with her hair floating around her. “Boys are just icky, so we thought you were dumb like Toly. You're not.” “Thanks.” He pushed off from the bunk and flew across the hold to the sanitary cabinet. Bain was afraid to look back. What if the girls watched him? He washed his face and hands until his face didn't feel so hot. He didn't have time to think about what the girls said. The littles kept trying to jump out of their bunks and fly. They must have thought Toly's leap was fun, because they tried to imitate him. Bain had more than enough to do, watching over the littles. He grabbed at tethers and fastened nets closed until his hands felt raw. “Wanna play!” one little boy whined after Bain stuffed him back into his net for the tenth time in an hour. “You can't play in free-fall,” Bain said. His throat hurt from yelling at littles and trying to be heard over whining and complaining and laughing and crying. “Why not?” “Because your ball won't come back. It'd bounce all over and hit everybody and maybe even go up to the bridge. What would happen if your ball hit a control panel?” Bain discovered all the littles listened to him. His brain froze up, refusing to give him any more words to say. “It'd break something?” a little girl in the next bunk asked. “Maybe.” Bain saw a few trembling lips, and tears starting to sparkle in a few pairs of eyes. “We could come out in the wrong solar system. What if it hit the wrong button when the captain tried to take us through a Knaught Point? We could go to a galaxy no one ever saw before.” “Yeah!” another little boy said. Bain laughed at the eagerness in his voice. He saw the fear leave most of the faces watching him. “What's it like in other galaxies?” another girl asked. She leaned out of the bunk over Bain's head. If they had been on a planet, she would have fallen. She hung there, watching Bain, her eyes wide and her mouth bright with a smile and her long hair waving in the air instead of falling into her face. He climbed up and gave her a nudge to get her back into her net. “I don't know. We'd have to ask...” Bain stopped with the net fasteners in his hand. Ideas raced around in his mind. He needed something to keep the littles in one place. “You stay here. I'll ask Ganfer if he can tell you.” “Who's Ganfer?” she asked.

“He's the ship-brain.” “It has a name?” an older girl said, her voice squeaking. Bain just nodded. He pushed off from the bunk and aimed for the hatch. Then he realized the older children had been listening to him talk with the littles. Bain hoped he hadn't said anything stupid, something the older children could tease him about later. Chapter Ten “So, do you have any stories I can tell, to keep them in their bunks?” Bain said. He finished telling Lin and Anyon about the littles’ questions. “Ganfer?” Lin said. She leaned back and stretched out on the bench. She and Anyon had been in the galley, talking over cups of coffee when Bain got to the bridge. “I don't know which question you ask,” Ganfer said. “Yes, you do.” She rolled her eyes in exaggerated frustration. Anyon smothered a chuckle. “Do you still have those fairy tales and adventures in your memory?” “Oh. That question.” There was a pause, as if Ganfer had to check his memory files. “Yes, I have all those old stories. Shall I print them for Bain to read, or shall I just tell them directly to the children?” “They'd listen better if you told them,” Bain said. His face started to get warm when Lin and Anyon grinned at him. “Well, they would,” Anyon admitted. “Ganfer doesn't have that much to do right now.” Lin nodded, her smile softer. “That would free you from babysitting to work on your lessons.” “Lessons?” Anyon asked. “I promised Bain I would help him find a ship to train on, if he did a good job and learned everything he could on this trip.” Lin raised her cup in a toast to the boy. “He's an apt and eager pupil. I predict he'll be able to ship anywhere he wants, once he's trained.” “Congratulations.” “Shall I begin the stories?” Ganfer asked. He sounded eager. “By all means, O Bucket of Bolts.” Lin grinned and took a sip from her cup. “Good idea, Bain. Ganfer has been dying to tell those stories to someone again.” “What kind of stories?” Bain said. He decided he had done something very good. He liked pleasing Lin. “I can't really remember, it's been so long since I was little and he told them to me. What's that look for?” she said with a chuckle. “Oh ... nothing.” Bain backed away from the table. He wished his face wouldn't get so hot when he felt embarrassed. It had never occurred to him Lin was a little girl, once. “Don't leave yet.” She vaulted from the booth and flew across the bridge. “I just finished this.” She reached in a drawer and pulled out a copper collar like hers. “Catch.” She tossed it across the bridge.

“It's your link, so Ganfer can talk to you, and I can call you to the bridge without disturbing everybody.” She grinned at Bain when he just stood there, his mouth hanging open, the collar in his hand. “Put it on,” Anyon said with a chuckle. When Bain still didn't move, he stood, took the collar, and slipped it around the boy's neck. “We'll make you a full-fledged Spacer by the end of this trip.” “Thank you,” Bain managed to stammer. “Better get back to the hold if you want to hear Ganfer's stories,” Lin said. She waited until he reached the hatch to the access tube before she crossed the bridge again. “I'm waiting for you to arrive,” Ganfer said. His voice startled Bain, coming from the collar around his neck. “Ganfer, where did you get the stories?” Bain asked, whispering although he knew no one else could hear. “Here and there. Some are very old. Some are true adventures. Some, I made up.” “You did?” “I am very old, Bain. I have learned to do many things most ship-brains can't.” Ganfer chuckled. “In space, with nothing to do for hours at a time, stories are precious cargo. You make stories or music, or study, to fill the time.” “Ganfer, will you help me learn to be a Spacer?” Bain asked. “Of course.” Chapter Eleven After three days, the passengers onSunsinger settled into a routine. The Valgos and their four helpers passed out food bars and drink tubes for breakfast as everyone else woke up. They ate in their bunks. Then the six took turns shuttling everyone across the hold to the sanitary cabinet to wash and dress for the day. Dr. Anyon rigged an exercise wheel at the far end of the hold to provide a little gravity for exercising. Even if the trip wouldn't last more than two weeks, lack of exercise was not good for the children. Anyon took groups of three at a time for morning runs, and examined anyone who looked ill or complained of any symptoms of free-fall sickness: dizzy, light-headed, unable to balance, weak stomach. While Anyon supervised exercises, the Valgos supervised chores and lessons. Then they had lunch. After lunch, the littles took naps and the older children read, exercised, talked, or played quiet games in the confines of their bunks. The ones who did badly in their lessons had tutoring sessions. Bain, Shari and the other two girls had to keep track of the littles when their naps ended. Bain was delighted and relieved when Lin called him to the bridge to watch her work, and do small shipboard chores—what she called ‘Spacer lessons.’ He liked littles, and they liked him, but he didn't like the teasing from the older boys. “The only way to learn a Spacer's duties is to work. Can't run a control board unless you touch it,” Lin said. She looked around at the children who stopped their games and studies to listen. She looked longest at Toly. The bully turned away after only a few seconds. “You proved you can be trusted, Bain.

You know right from wrong, and you don't pick on people smaller and weaker than you. That's very important in a Spacer.” Lin turned to go back to the bridge, then glanced over her shoulder and frowned. “Well?” she said. Her eyes sparkled. “Are you coming, or aren't you?” “Coming!” Bain bent his legs to push out of his bunk. Giggles from some girls two levels above stopped him. He checked his clothes—no spots, nothing hanging out where it didn't belong. What were they laughing at? He checked his angle, pushed and flew to the hatch. Bain didn't look back as he hurried after Lin. He felt jealous stares from a few boys and girls. It felt good. Learning to be a Spacer was not easy. Bain had to learn the basics of navigation and how to readall the screens andall the flashing lights on the control boardall at the same time. Lin showed him some games her father had used to teach her, handed down from the first parents who trained their children to take over their ship homes. First, Lin divided the board into sectors and taught him which lights and buttons and read-out panels had priority. Before he started, Bain thought any flashing red light had priority. Lin corrected that idea quickly. She told him about another ship, where someone ignored a yellow caution light on the fuel mix gauge to fix a flashing red on a cargo door control. The engine froze and the ship couldn't break orbit until the problem was fixed. Cargo doors, Lin explained, could be locked manually, the problem left alone until the ship had landed. Red lights did not always outweigh yellow cautions. After three days, no one teased Bain about his duties. Shari and her friends and the littles were the only children who still talked to him. Anyon and the Valgos talked to him, of course, but they were grown-ups. Bain played with the littles during free time after supper. No boys his age asked him to join their games. Someone invented a game where they took turns pushing off the bunk frame, to see who flew fastest and straightest and bounced back the hardest when they reached the end of their tethers. It looked like fun, but no one asked Bain to play. He kept busy telling stories to the littles so no one would see him watching. Bain refused to feel sorry for himself. He was training to be a Spacer, after all. No one sat around moping because he went to the bridge, did they? Still, the racing game looked like fun. Sometimes, it didn't matter that he had lessons on the bridge and wore a link collar so he could talk to Ganfer, and that he was better at navigating free-fall than anyone. Sometimes, Bain wanted to be just like the other children in the hold. He was so busy during the day, so much to do and see and learn that he usually didn't have time to feel lonely. Bain did feel lonely though, late at night, when friends whispered to each other in the dark hold. His bunk felt too big, and cold. Then Kisa got nightmares. She was a little, just out of diapers. Bain liked her the best. She had big blue eyes and curls so pale blond that her hair looked white. She listened when someone told her to stay in her bunk and be quiet, and she obeyed. She didn't throw her ball out of her bunk net thirty times a day, and then scream when someone couldn't get it back for her right away. She had a laugh like bells ringing on a bright, cool summer morning. She was Bain's favorite—during the day. At night, Kisa screamed louder and cried harder than three girls combined. Most of the children had

nightmares the first night out, but then they weren't afraid of the dark hold after that. By the third night, Kisa still woke up crying, then screamed if no one came right away. One night, Mistress Valgo let Kisa sleep with her. The next night, she got up and held Kisa until the little girl fell asleep. The third night, Mistress Valgo only sat on the edge of Kisa's bunk and held the little girl's hand until she slept again. She got up and held Kisa's hand four times. The fifth time Kisa started crying, Mistress Valgo didn't wake. Bain woke up, though, and lay there with his blanket over his head, wishing Kisa would shut her mouth and go back to sleep. The little girl's bunk was one row below Bain's, and one stack over. Her voice was loud. Bain pressed his hands over his ears and he still heard her. “Make her shut up!” a boy yelled from the far end of the stacks. “Why don't you shut up?” Shari called back. “She's just a little, and she's scared.” Mistress Valgo woke, then. She turned on a little hand-held light and climbed up. Kisa's screams turned into hiccups. Mistress Valgo opened the netting and pulled Kisa out to sit on her lap. The woman looked tired; dark smears under her eyes, her shoulders sagging, her hair a tangle from her blankets. “Is she going to be sick?” Bain whispered. He leaned over the edge of his bunk and hung upside down to see. Kisa started sucking her thumb. “No. If she gets some sleep, we'll both be fine. I hope,” Mistress Valgo added, her voice turning into a sigh. “It can't be just bad dreams. When I have a bad dream, I don't have it again.” He shrugged and the movement pushed him a little out of his bunk. “At last, not right away.” “Well, I haven't thought it out that far.” She smiled a little. It made her look more tired. “What scares you, sweetheart?” She jostled the little girl a bit. Kisa rubbed more tears from her eyes. “Maybe she's scared of the dark?” Bain suggested. He remembered his first nights at the orphanage. Everything looked dangerous when the shadows and darkness changed their outlines. “Maybe,” Mistress Valgo said, nodding. “She's still little more than a baby, after all.” “Notbaby,” Kisa grumbled. Her lower lip stuck out and trembled a little. Then she put her thumb back into her mouth and sucked on it, making more noise than before. “Do you need to take a walk?” The woman sighed and closed her eyes when the little girl nodded. The dark smears of weariness under her eyes seemed to get darker. “Want Bain walk me,” the little girl said. She held out her arms to him and smiled. Her curls were a mess and her face was wet. Bain didn't think she was cute anymore. He wanted to lock her in a cabinet and never look at her again. Thinking about leaving his warm cocoon of blankets made him ache. He wished he'd stayed under them with his hands over his ears. What if other boys woke up and saw him? He would look like a prize idiot, stumbling around the dark hold, trying to help Kisa walk in the exercise wheel. If he said no, Kisa would cry again. Probably louder. “Okay.” Bain slid out of bed and climbed down to Kisa's level. He held on with one hand and reached

for her tether. Mistress Valgo pulled the rest of the tether out of the pocket inside the net and clipped it around Kisa's waist. The little girl squealed and pulled away. Mistress Valgo snatched at her and missed. Kisa kicked and squirmed and slid out into the open air. “No, no, no, no!” Kisa whimpered, as she sailed out of their reach, into the darkness of the hold. “Crawlies!” “Huh?” Bain grabbed the tether and started pulling her in. He could barely see the little girl, hovering in the air, still wiggling. “Crawlies,” Dr. Anyon said. He floated over from his bunk in the bottom row and stopped with a hand on a support bar. “Whatever that means.” He yawned and settled on the bar, so he could use both hands to help Bain pull Kisa back. “I think I know.” Mistress Valgo looked more awake now. She caught the coils of tether and tucked them under her leg, out of sight. “Kisa's parents had a farm overrun by crimson slithers. What if some got into the cabin and scared her?” “She wakes up in the dark, in an unfamiliar place, and feels the tether.” Anyon nodded. His mouth twisted into a lopsided grin. “The tether is rather cold and slick. It'd give me nightmares, too.” Bain tried not to stare. Adults had nightmares? “Crawlies gone?” Kisa asked, when she reached the pool of light. “All gone,” Mistress Valgo soothed. She gathered Kisa into her lap and hugged her. “Ready to go back to bed?” “Bain walk me.” She held out her arms to the boy. Mistress Valgo hid her face. Anyon snorted. Bain saw him grin before the man turned his face away. At least they didn't laughat him. Bain felt his face get warm. He looked at Kisa for a few seconds, then sighed and held out his hand to catch her. “We don't dare use the tether,” Mistress Valgo whispered. Bain knew she did that to keep from laughing. “It's okay.” Bain held onto Kisa's arm while Mistress Valgo unclipped the tether. He held the little girl close against his chest, her legs around his waist. Anyon helped him turn so he could fly straight to the exercise wheel. Bain heard a few snickers in the darkness while he walked with Kisa, but not many. The little light on the exercise wheel didn't reveal much, fortunately. He kept his back to the bunks and held tight to her hand. He didn't need Kisa floating away and screaming until everybody woke up. They barely made three circuits of the wheel before Kisa sat down, hard. Bain thought she could have ripped his arm off. In partial gravity, she was heavy. He sat next to her. The wheel kept moving. He got dizzy when he looked out of the wheel and the hold seemed to move around him. “Tired,” Kisa whimpered. She started to put her thumb back in her mouth, then stopped and stared at Bain for a few seconds. Then Kisa gave him one of her beautiful, bright, wide smiles and held out her arms to be picked up.

Bain picked her up and half-crawled, half-walked to the edge of the wheel. He held out his hand and waited until the wheel brought him around to slap the switch that shut down the motor and stopped the spinning. “Don't need rope,” Kisa said. “Nope. I can climb and fly.” Bain pushed off the wheel and aimed at Kisa's bunk. He caught the bar before he slammed into the wall and bounced. “Don't like rope.” She smiled and gave him a wet kiss on the cheek before Bain put her back into her netting. He waited until he was in his own blankets before he wiped his face. **** Every time Bain turned around, Kisa wanted him to carry her or teach her to climb. He tried to ignore her, but she started to cry. He knew it was better to teach her and keep her quiet, than get everybody mad when she screamed again. He taught Kisa to climb the bunk frame, pulling herself along with her hands, her legs floating out behind her. If it kept the little girl quiet during the day and when he wanted to sleep, he didn't mind the extra work. Kisa did cry a little when he went to the bridge for lessons. She snatched at Bain, but Shari helped, catching the little girl and pulling her off Bain's back. She tickled Kisa and turned her around, facing away from Bain. “Go on!” Shari whispered loudly, over Kisa's screams of laughter. Bain wanted to hug her, he was so grateful. He didn't, though. The other girls would tease them. He scrambled up the access tube, trying to think of something to give Shari, to thank her. Maybe Lin would let him bring Shari up to look around the bridge. “So, you have a girlfriend now?” Lin said, when Bain emerged through the hatch. “Huh?” He pushed off the wall without watching what he did. Bain bounced off the ceiling, hit a wall, and nearly crashed into the control panel. He caught the back of the chair and held on so hard his fingers hurt. “That little one has you pretty flustered.” She reached over and helped him slide into the chair. “Ganfer says no one's getting much sleep, thanks to her.” “Oh. Yeah. Kisa's scared of her tether. She thinks it's a crimson slither, and it gives her nightmares.” Bain took a deep breath to calm down. He couldn't let her know that he thought she was talking aboutShari. Chapter Twelve Lin sent Bain back to the hold early that afternoon, because he had learned his lessons so quickly. She promised they would start studying the ship's design the next day, and gave him a hand-held reading screen and some book chips so he could get a head start. Bain thanked her with shining eyes and hugged the screen close. He tucked it inside his shirt for safekeeping when he flew down the tube to the hold. Bain was so excited he did a somersault and flew across the hold without looking ahead. Fortunately, no one was in his way. Bain caught hold of the bar to his bunk with room to spare. He used his speed to turn upwards with a sharp twist and flung himself into his hammock net.

The net strapssnapped off the bars. Bain hit the wall with a loudthud and a yelp. He bounced back, spinning. The net wrapped around his legs and one arm. He couldn't move. Bain flew out past the frames, over the tables, heading for the other wall. He bounced hard against the top edge of the sanitary cabinet. A sharp pain went through his back where he hit. His arm jerked loose, hitting the cabinet at elbow and shoulder. Bain tried to grab onto anything to stop himself. His fingers slid off one sharp corner, then caught on a ledge that folded under. He held on tight, afraid to even breathe. Then he heard the laughter. It sounded like everyone in the hold laughed. At him. “Bain? Are you all right?” Bain took a few seconds to recognize Ganfer's voice, coming from the collar. He hesitated, unsure what to say, or even if he should say anything. “Lin is coming down. It'll be all right.” “No! Don't let her.” Bain almost let go. He struggled against the net. He didn't want Lin to see him look stupid. His legs came free with a kick and a twist. Bain held tight to the ledge and pushed off with one foot, to turn around to face the hold. The laughter stopped. Bain hoped his angry expression gave everyone nightmares. Anyon and Master Valgo were in the exercise wheel and they had to stop its spin before they could get out and help him. Bain wished they would reach him before Lin got there. He freed his other arm when Lin appeared in the hatch. Bain climbed down the sanitary cabinet wall and hovered just above the floor. He felt awful as he watched Lin's face. He couldn't read her expression. Her eyes looked hard. Her face held a quiet, watchful waiting. If she was angry or sad or about to burst out laughing (at him), he couldn't tell. “Are you all right?” she asked. Lin was on the other side of the hold, her voice quiet, but it filled the room. Bain suddenly felt safe and warm. “I'm okay.” He grabbed at the net floating next to him and tried to jam it into his pocket. “Bring that over here, Bain,” Anyon said. He hung in front of Bain's empty bunk space. Blankets and bag floated behind him, slowly spinning but staying exactly where the man had pushed them. “Find something?” Lin flew up to join Anyon. Her mouth twitched, making her look angry for a second. The doctor pointed at something attached to the bunk frame. “Ganfer, scan.” Lin's voice turned sharp, hard. Bain decided to cross the hold in short leaps. Sanitary cabinet to table to table to bunks. Nobody else moved. The children at lessons with Mistress Valgo stayed in their places. Bain climbed up next to Lin. Anyon held out his free hand. Bain handed over his bunk net. Anyon unfolded it and examined the edges and straps. “Are you sure you're all right?” Lin asked, her voice softer. “Yeah.” Bain decided it would be better to tell her everything. “I hit my back, but I think I'll just get a bruise.” He groaned when he thought of something bad.

“What?” Fear made her face pale. She grabbed Bain's shoulder hard. He gasped in surprise, not pain. “Sorry,” she muttered. Bain pulled the reading screen from inside his shirt. It didn't look broken. He handed it to Lin. “I was scared I dropped it.” “Broken screens can be fixed—broken heads can't.” She grinned and gave the screen a short exam, then handed it right back to him. Bain noticed her lips trembled a little bit. Lin was scaredhe had been hurt! “Scan complete,” Ganfer said. His voice sounded small and soft. Then Bain realized the ship-brain spoke only through the collars he and Lin wore. What didn't he want the others to hear? “The straps were cut, weren't they?” Anyon asked. “Yes. Metal residue on the straps.” Ganfer paused. “It occurred while security cameras were otherwise occupied.” “Security cameras?” Bain yelped. “You don't think I'd leave a bunch of crazy children in my hold with only three adults to keep them out of trouble?” Lin grinned, despite the growl in her voice. “I thought only periodic scans were necessary. I guess I was wrong.” “I can guess who was responsible,” Anyon said. He snagged Bain's blankets and bag out of the air. “You can sleep in my place, Bain, and I'll fix this one.” “No.” Lin took the blankets and bag and gave them to Bain. “He's staying on the bridge.” “Lin—” the man began. Surprise made his voice rise and his eyes widen. “I have four cubicles up there that haven't been used sinceI was a little. Bain is practically crew, anyway.” Lin turned so she could see everyone else in the hold. “From now on, Bain is crew. He doesn't belong down here with thepassengers. ” Her voice got sharp, so Bain thought it was suddenly embarrassing to be a passenger. “Whoever cut his bunk straps had better confess right away. The longer you take, the more time I have to think of punishments.” The hold was quiet. Too quiet. Bain felt a vibration for a few seconds, like a silent echo of Lin's tight, cold voice. He was afraid to look at her, but it was worse looking at the children. Some were frightened; some startled; some angry. A few looked at Toly and smirked at him. Toly stuck his tongue out. “Did you want to say something?” Lin asked, her voice twice as loud. Toly shook his head and went pale. “No one sticks their tongues out at anyone on my ship. The next one who does can lick the floor clean.” She waited a few seconds longer. No one said anything. Anyon touched her shoulder, turning her to look at him. When their eyes met, the hard look on her face softened. She nodded. Lin flew to the hatch. She didn't look back. Bain didn't know what to do or say, so he followed. Lin had a cubicle curtain pulled back when he reached the bridge. Bain stayed in the hatch, watching her, not really sure what to do. “Needs to be cleaned.” Lin turned and sat on the cushioned platform a meter above the floor. It served as a bed, with a net spread over it to hold the sleeper down on the mattress. “My aunt stayed here until she married a farmer on Lenga.” She gave Bain a lopsided smile. “Come and see if it'll suit you.”

The bed was wide enough to sleep three. Deep drawers filled the space under the bed. Shelves filled the wall left of the bed, with nets over them to keep the contents in place. The right end had closet doors. The back of the bed had a viewing screen built into the wall and all sorts of hooks and knobs and clips for hanging and storing things. “All that room—for me?” Bain nearly whispered. His bunk in the dormitory had been only a third of that size. “During a really long voyage, it might start to feel cramped.” Lin sat on the edge of the cushion and brushed her hand over it. “Still soft enough. You need more blankets, and a new net. Ganfer can tell you where it's all stored. Take whatever you need.” “Thanks. Captain.” Bain pushed his bag into a corner. It raised a ridge of dust when it slid along the cushion. “Definitely needs cleaning. Ganfer, where's that hose when I need it?” “You don't have to,” Bain blurted. He felt his face get hot again when Lin frowned at him. “I mean, I can fix the straps on my bunk net real fast. Tonight. I don't want to be any trouble.” “Bain, what Toly did to you—” She smiled a little, when he flinched at the bully's name. “What he did is partly my fault. I set you apart, gave you privileges and duties. I gave him reason to be jealous of you, then I didn't do anything to protect you.” “He'd pick on me, anyway.” “Doesn't matter anymore. You're too good a Spacer to spend your time dodging bullies—and babysitting littles,” she added, her smile wider. “You're not just my student, you're myapprentice. ” She turned and floated over to the sanitary cabinet and didn't see the startled grin on Bain's face. Apprentice meant Lin wasn't just beingnice ; she taught him because hedid have talent. Bain felt so good, he didn't mind the hour they spent vacuuming and scrubbing and polishing every speck and cupboard and piece of cloth in his cubicle.His cubicle, because Lin said it was his while he shipped with her. Chapter Thirteen That night, Bain dreamed Kisa called him. He groaned and rolled over and tried to reach her without waking up. He woke up anyway. Then he got scared. He wasn't floating in a cocoon of blankets and his net. Bain lay face-down on a soft mattress that smelled of soap and lemons. Blankets covered him, held down with a net spread over the whole bed. Then he remembered. He was in his new cubicle on the bridge. He was Lin's apprentice. But he was wide awake, and he still heard Kisa crying. Bain thought how loud she had to be, for the sound to get up from the hold to the bridge. “Hush, now. What's wrong, little one?” The voice didn't sound like Lin, but it was. Bain had heard her laugh and yell, speak in anger and give orders. He'd never heard her talk soft and gentle and sweet before. She sounded like his mother. “Want Bain,” Kisa said. She hiccupped.

“Bain's asleep. He did a lot of work today.” Lin's blankets rustled. “How did you get all the way up here?” “Climbed.” Kisa sounded proud. Bain moved aside the curtain across his cubicle. He stared at the sight of Lin in a white sleeveless smock down past her knees. She had a blanket wrapped around her shoulders and floated over to Kisa, who held onto the hatch. “Who taught you to climb?” Lin plucked Kisa off the wall and wrapped part of the blanket around her. “Bain taught. Want Bain!” Kisa's voice broke, like she would burst out crying again. “Don't you cry and wake him up. He had a hard day, and you kept him awake last night.” Lin's faintly scolding voice stopped Kisa. The little girl stared at the woman, her mouth hanging open. “You're not really scared of the dark, are you?” Lin asked. Her voice softened to a croon. She brushed a few curls out of Kisa's eyes and jounced the little girl. They started to rise to the ceiling. Lin grabbed at the hatch frame. Kisa laughed. “Bain friend,” she said. “Want tell me story.” Bain sighed and tried to unfasten his net. Kisa would keep asking for him until Lin got angry. It was cold on the bridge, and neither of them had been asleep for very long. “Bain is my crew now,” Lin said. “He has to help me run the ship. I know you like him, but he has too much work to play with you right now.” “My friend.” “I have a friend you might like better. Will you take her back to your bed and tell her a story?” Lin waited until the little girl nodded, then flew across the bridge to a storage drawer she hadn't opened before. Bain leaned out of his cubicle a little to see. Lin pulled out a doll. It looked soft and limp and hung loose in her hand. Bain couldn't tell what color it was, in the shadows and the flashing blue, green and red lights. Kisa's mouth dropped open, and she stared at the doll. “Go on,” Lin said. She pushed the doll and let go so it flew to Kisa and bounced against her face. “Take care of her. She's almost as old as this ship.” Kisa laughed and snatched at the doll before it bounced away. Lin held the little girl close and floated off the bridge. Bain closed his curtain before Lin caught him watching. Something told him Lin might not like to know he saw this soft side of her. Maybe Lin was shy, afraid of people? His mother used to tell him people acted rough to cover fear. Maybe Lin's growling was the same thing. If she growled enough, she didn't need to bite. Bain was almost asleep again when Lin came back to the bridge. “That was very well done,” Ganfer said. “I thought you didn't like children.” “What about Bain?” she retorted. “You don't see Bain as a child.” Ganfer chuckled. It sounded warm and comforting in the dark bridge. “I

never thought you'd let anyone touch that doll.” “I don't need dolls to chase away monsters from under my bunk.” Lin moved over to the control panel and pressed a few switches. The clicks were loud in the night quiet. “There was a time she was more real to you than I was. Maybe you're growing up at last, Lin.” “Thank you ever so much, Bucket of Bolts. When will I be too old to need you?” Lin laughed. Bain relaxed. He didn't know he had been holding his breath until then. Had he been afraid Lin would get mad? “You're getting soft in your old age,” Ganfer said. “Not as soft as you.” Chapter Fourteen Just thinking about going through a Knaught Point made Bain feel queasy one second, and want to turn somersaults the next. Everybody knew about Knaught Points, but nobody really knew what they were or how they worked. Any school child knew the basics—Knaught Points made it possible to go from one solar system to another while avoiding months of boring travel. The savings in fuel, food and time outweighed the risk, expense and effort of navigating the Knaught Points. Even adults didn't know much more than that. Bain had checked textbooks and asked the library computer. All he learned were theories and a basic idea of why it was so hard to navigate Knaught Points. Knaught Points, everyone agreed, were disturbances in the material of space-time. The disturbances registered as constant waves of energy. Nothing could change the wave patterns. People had tried energy weapons; they had hurtled asteroids into the gaps; they had piloted robot ships halfway through a Knaught Point and then tried to reverse course. Weapons blew up; asteroids vanished into other solar systems; robot ships vanished or blew up. The Knaught Points never changed. Free Traders learned to use the Knaught Points, but never told how they learned: trial and error, or accident, or a vision sent by Fi'in. They said using Knaught Points had nothing to do with what made them. Some people suspected the Order and the followers of Kilvordi had something to do with the Spacers’ talents as well as their inability or unwillingness to explain Knaught Points. The fact that the Order supported Spacers made the whole mystery easier to accept. Free Traders and the Spacers who willingly worked with the Commonwealth's colonial exploration branch were the most envied and admired people in the universe. Without the abilities of Spacers, the Commonwealth would have been limited to its home world. Knaught Points were tangles in the unraveling threads of space-time. They were folds in the material of the space-time continuum. They were rips. They were points where multiple universes and versions of reality met. They were weak spots in the fabric of reality. They were places where Fi'in allowed one universe and dimension of reality to flow into another. There were a thousand theories, some supported and some mocked by the Spacers.

No one could decide which poetic, imaginative, hopeful theory suited Knaught Points best. But, they knew Knaught Points, when used properly, got a ship from point A to point B without going through thousands of kilometers of space C. Where a ship entered the Knaught Point determined what solar system was the exit point. Each entry point always led to the same exit point every time. Three degrees off would send the ship to another system, sometimes halfway across the galaxy. The hardest part in using Knaught Points was making accurate calculations for entrance. The second hardest part was entering at the right speed. Too fast would create an electronic energy field that distorted navigation sensors. Too slow, and the ship would bounce off the Knaught Point energy wall like a seed off a drumhead. Spacers were the only ones able to use Knaught Points for nearly a century after Humans discovered them. Only after someone learned to build guidance computers to handle a Knaught Point transition did military and colonial ships start using them. Spacers never refused to teach or share their secrets and their skills. There were just some things Spacers couldn't explain. The skill and knowledge was part of their flesh and bone and reflex. Until non-spacers figured it out in terms that could be taught, no one but Spacers used the Knaught Points. Bain knew if he couldn't understand Knaught Points, it meant he wasn't a real Spacer, no matter what Lin said, no matter how well he did in his lessons and chores. **** The day before they reached their first Knaught Point jump, Lin taught Bain how to reduce Sunsinger's speed. She stood behind him and told him what buttons to push, and watched how he handled the board. Bain didn't feel nervous about Lin watching over his shoulder. She could reach over and hit the buttons and levers to correct any mistake he made andthat made him nervous. Lin could move so fast he sometimes didn't see her hands. Bain dreaded seeing that blur of movement, and knowing he had made a mistake. “Very good,” Lin murmured. “Always remember, Bain, a careful, slow touch is better in the long run. It lets you feel the movement of the switches, lets it get into your blood and bone. It becomes part of you, so when you do need to hurry, you do it right without thinking.” She rested her hand on his shoulder and chuckled when Bain tensed. “Don't worry. You did well.” “It's done?” Bain stared at the slow pulses of color on the control board. It had been too easy. Lin had praised him for caution and he had been afraid he moved too slowly and carefully. “Done. Listen, now. Close your eyes and listen to the ship. Not just with your ears, but with your whole body and your spirit.” Lin slid into her chair, leaned back and closed her eyes. Bain watched her for a moment, then closed his eyes. He couldn't relax. The muscles in his back and legs tightened, raising him in the seat, pressing him against his safety strap. He took deep, slow breaths, trying not to breathe too loudly, and told his body to relax. He thought he felt something. Maybe the vibration of the ship was softer. Less pulsing in his fingertips and the soles of his feet and where his shoulder blades met the chair. Bain felt it, but when he concentrated the sensation vanished. “Don't push it,” Lin whispered. “The harder you try to feel it, the harder it is to feel it.”

“I felt something—I think.” “Don't worry about it,” she said in normal volume. “Eyes open and sit alert now. This is where we reach a danger zone. The Mashrami know how to use Knaught Points. We don't want to meet them coming or going.” “Nobody ever told us that.” He opened his eyes. “The military doesn't even want Spacers to know, but what one of us knows...” She gave him a sly grin. “The rest of you know,” Bain finished. “The rest ofus. You're Spacer, by birth and training. Soon, you'll be Spacer by going through the Knaught Point.” “Does it change you?” “How do you mean?” Lin ran her fingers over a row of green lights. With a ripple of tiny clicks, they turned blue. She watched rows of numbers on a screen change. “Like...” Bain tried to think of the right words so he wouldn't sound silly or afraid. “Changing your body or your brain or ... “ He ran out of words. “Or your soul?” she whispered. “I guess.” “Only if you need to change.” She shrugged. “Knaught Points are where everything and nothing meet.” Lin let out a choked laugh. “What I mean is ... there's so much energy packed into a Knaught Point, it's like being everywhere in the universe and hitting oblivion at the same time. Depending on what you've done with your life or what you plan to do with your life, the Knaught Point affects you for good or bad.” “How do you think it'll affect me?” “You?” She leaned forward, turned sideways and rested her chin in her palm, elbow on the edge of the console. “You'll probably enjoy it.” Lin unbuckled her safety strap and propelled herself over to a supply cabinet door. “Come on—we have plenty of time before it gets serious.” “What? Where?” Bain hesitated until he saw her grin. He followed her. Lin waited for him with her hand on the latch of the door. The storage cabinet was deep and half empty and extended up through the roof of the bridge. A ladder climbed the wall at the back of the cabinet. Lin pulled herself up the ladder, her feet trailing through the air after her. Bain kept his mouth shut and followed her into the darkness. He felt his way up and stopped when he ran out of ladder. Bain held on with one hand and felt through the darkness with the other. The light under his feet was dim. He wondered where Lin had gone. He tried to listen for some clue where to go, what to do. He only heard his heart beating in his ears and the rasp of his breathing. “Ganfer.” Lin's voice had a faint echo and sounded near. The lights in her collar came on, illuminating her face. “Open the shield.” Bain heard a hum, a click, the growl of machines and gears engaging to move something heavy. Metal rasped against metal, dragging. A tiny point of light pierced the darkness. Spots of light appeared in a

narrow strip above his head. His perspective shifted. He saw a high dome of metal plates overhead, moving aside, parting in the middle to reveal stars. More stars than he thought existed; spots of white and pale red and blue, sharp and brilliant in the deep black of space. In the growing light, Bain saw two layers of heavy metal plate shielding, one outside the ship, one inside, with a clear layer between. The plates moved across the ceiling and made rumbling clicks as they folded down into each other. Bain and Lin floated inside a dome on the top of Sunsinger. Acceleration couches dotted the floor; six couches, with thick padding and straps and old-fashioned control pads with joysticks and tracking balls and switches. Bain barely looked at them. All his attention went to the stars. All around him, shining everywhere, close enough to touch and thousands of years of travel away. Bain wanted to press his hands against the dome and feel the pulse of energy against his fingers. Space looked hot, sparkling bright and black with cold. He shivered. His heart beat faster. He wished he had rockets, to swoop around inside the dome and turn somersaults. It hurt to just hang there and stare. “You're a Spacer, all right,” Lin whispered, her voice thick with repressed laughter. Her voice threw a chain of echoes off the dome, like cracking, chiming glass and ice in the coldest winter. “How can you tell?” Bain's voice sounded loud in his ears and then lost in the vastness of space. “You want to get out there and play. Those not born to space don't like it so well. They have to work up to the hunger and excitement you're feeling.” “How did you feel the first time?” he asked, swinging his arm at the black and white brilliance. The movement made him pivot off the ladder. Bain tightened his grip. This was not the time to go bouncing off the dome's sides, much as he wanted to do just that. “I was born onSunsinger. My mother brought me up here when I was five days old.” Lin pushed off the ladder side of the wall and drifted over to a couch. She grinned at Bain. “I've been looking at the stars all my life. My mother said I recognized them before I knew her face, and when I started grasping for things, I tried to put the stars in my mouth. But ... I still get a little breathless every time I come up here. Come sit. This is important.” Lin maneuvered into a couch and hooked her leg under an armrest, so she could sit without strapping in. She tugged a control panel on a pivot arm over to the couch. Bain settled into the next couch and copied her anchoring trick. “This is how Free Traders handle Knaught Points,” Lin said. “There's something in the Human eye that even the most sophisticated computers can't match. Can't convince the military of that, though. Nor the big, expensive shipping companies.” She chuckled. Lin ran her fingers down a row of switches on the far left of the board. Each moved stiffly with a loud click, all the colors of the rainbow. The last switch was purple and turned on the whole board. “Simulation?” Ganfer asked, speaking from their collars. “No. Too much un-teaching to do later.” She leaned back into the couch and stared up at the stars, her arms crossed behind her head. “This is where you learn by doing.” “It's not computer-guidance?” Bain asked. The levers, sticks and balls looked like a coordination test.

“Oh, yes—we do need the computers to make the picky calculations and track energy changes. Without all those numbers and tiny details, even Spacers couldn't navigate the Knaught Points. But just before you make the dive into the energy field...” She shrugged. “It's instinct, I suppose. It's partly feeling what's happening to the ship all around you, partly listening to the music of space.” “Music?” Bain cringed at the skeptical crack of his voice. “When we approach a Knaught Point and the energy wall hits us, you'll hear it. Like a siren song, so sweet and sad ... The left-over music of Creation, my father always said. You have to listen, Bain, and feel it through your body and soul. It's like a warning system Fi'in put in our hearts and minds. Faster than Ganfer can speak, you'll know what changes to make and when, and you'll never go wrong through the Knaught points.” “So other people, the ones not Spacers—they can't hear the music?” he asked. “Can't. Or won't. Maybe both. Maybe it frightens them, so they hide inside their ships where they can't hear it and depend on computers. There are just some things Fi'in meant people to do, hands-on, using their brains.” Lin sat up again and swung her leg out from under the armrest. She slowly floated up and away from the couch. “Check out ships that aren't Free Traders, Bain. You won't find a dome on most. Their pilots would rather watch screens and listen to computer voices. They don't use the brains and instincts Fi'in gave them.” They spent an hour in the dome. Bain learned the function of each switch on the control panel. When they reached the first Knaught Point, he would sit in the dome with Lin. He could not ask any questions until after they passed through the Knaught Point. During transfers, Lin and Ganfer worked together in a delicate balance. It was faster and easier for Lin to tell Ganfer what to do sometimes, instead of moving buttons, levers and switches. It was also simpler for Ganfer to tell Lin what happened to the ship, so she didn't need to check the screens. Bain's voice could cover a crucial piece of information or an order, so he had to stay quiet. Bain felt so many things; he didn't know what he felt. Proud Lin would let him stay in the dome. Terrified he might make a mistake. Excited over this chance to see and feel transition. Overwhelming curiosity. Bain wondered if he should get some maintenance tape to cover his mouth—just in case. Chapter Fifteen “Everything has to work just right, or we could be in big trouble,” Bain said. He floated by the table where the littles ate their lunch. Shari, Mona and Alice sat with the littles to help them. The older girls were just as fascinated as the littles with Bain's stories about the bridge and Ganfer and working with Lin. “We get in lots of trouble?” Kisa asked. Her eyes got big and her lower lip started to tremble. “Captain Lin's smart,” Bain hurried to say. He felt guilty about scaring the littles, especially Kisa. “She knows how to do everything. She says I'll make a great Spacer,” he added, grinning. “It'll take forever for you to be smart enough to be a Spacer,” Toly shouted from the table where he sat with his friends. The other boys laughed and made faces at Bain. “At least I don't get sick in free-fall,” Bain said. He reached down and grabbed the edge of the table and pushed off to fly over Toly's table. He stopped against the bunk frames and held on. “You can't be a

Spacer if you can't even move around the ship without getting scared.” A few boys at another table started laughing. Toly's face got red. “Bain,” Dr. Anyon said. “Sir?” Bain turned to face the table where the adults sat to eat their lunch. “I think we've heard enough about the bridge for today.” He pointed at the table with the littles. “Maybe you should finish your lunch.” “He's crew,” Toly snarled. “He doesn't get to eat with us. We're passengers. We don't have to work.” “That's enough, Toly,” Master Valgo said. “Captain Lin wouldn't let you near the bridge,” Bain said. He turned so he hung with his feet toward the ceiling, and looked at Toly upside down. “She knows you'd blow up the ship.” He grinned and stuck his tongue out at Toly. The bully screamed and pushed off his seat to fly up at Bain. Inches short of the target, his tether snapped tight and jerked him back into his seat. Toly bounced back up. Bain reached down and grabbed the bully and unhooked his tether. The force of the bounce pushed both boys to the ceiling. They hit it at a sharp angle and flew down toward the exercise wheel. Neither boy paid any attention. They tumbled through the air, hitting and slapping and scratching at each other. Bain felt good. It took only a few punches to realize Toly wasn't stronger and faster than him when they were in space. Toly couldn't beat up on him here, bouncing around in free-fall. Bain remembered all the times Toly had sat on him and pushed his face into the dirt or stones, or held him under water, or the times Toly's friends held Bain down while Toly ruined his homework or smeared mud all over his clothes or messed up the chores Bain had just finished. Now, he could make Toly pay for all the times he was mean to him. “Stop that right now!” Lin shouted. Bain realized he had been hearing her shout at him for a long time. He let go of Toly. The boys bounced together in a tangled ball once more to the ceiling and back down. This time when they hit, it hurt. Bain felt bruised all over, and not just because of Toly's punches. Lin caught hold of the belt of his pants and brought him to a halt. She jerked him down to the floor again, twisting him around so he landed on his feet. “Chobainian Kern, you are crew, do you understand?” Her voice scared him, so flat and even and hard it sounded like it came from a machine. Lin's eyes burned with anger, like his father's eyes had blazed when a repair team had put the wrong fuel in the shuttle's tanks. It would have exploded on launch, if his father hadn't discovered the mistake in time. “Yes, Captain,” Bain whispered. It hurt to look at her angry face, but he was afraid to look away, too. “Crew doesn't fight with passengers. Not even stupid, mean bullies. Do you understand?” She shook him a little, when he didn't answer right away.

“Yes, Captain.” He swallowed hard. His throat hurt, like it always did just before he cried. Bain didn't want to cry—not in front of Lin or the littles, and especially not in front of Toly Gaber. “Go up to the bridge and clean your face and change your clothes. You're a mess.” Lin released him with a push that sent him straight for the hatch. Bain caught the edge of the hatch and paused long enough to look back. All the other children very carefully looked at their lunches. Toly hung in the air, kicking a little, with Anyon holding one arm and Master Valgo holding the other. Lin floated over to join them. She still looked angry. Toly had a bloody nose. As he floated up the tube to the bridge, Bain checked himself out. He had a bloody nose, too. His eye hurt—maybe he would have a black eye in a few hours. His shirt was torn, and he had a brown smear of food across his knee. Had they hit the lunch table while they were fighting? Bain did cry, a few tears, while he washed his face and changed his clothes and put his dirty clothes in the cleaning machine. He hadn't meant to make Lin angry. But it felt so good to hit back at Toly. He had a right to get back at the bully for all the teasing and hurts, didn't he? But Lin was mad at him. Lin had scolded him in front of the other children. Lin had said he did something a crew member didn't do. Was Lin going to send him off the bridge? Was she going to tell him he wasn't her crew anymore? “Scared, aren't you?” Lin said, appearing suddenly in the doorway. She stopped there, hands grabbing the sides of the hatch. “I'm sorry, Captain.” “You should be.” She shook her head. Some fire in her eyes faded, but not enough to make Bain feel any better. “Bain, you are a thousand times better than that fat, snot-nose bully. You don't have to prove it with your fists.” “I know,” he whispered. “Do you?” Lin floated over to him. She shut the lid of the cleaning machine and turned him around to face his cubicle. With a little push, she sent both of them floating over to sit on the edge of the bunk. “That little fight was your fault, you know.” “He was making fun of me! Like always,” Bain hurried to add, when Lin shook her head. “Then you should just ignore him like always. Bain, you were a much nicer boy when you ignored the nasty ones like Toly, and did what was right. You're getting arrogant, you know that?” She smiled when her words shocked him. “Yes, you're getting arrogant. You're better at handling free-fall, and you're serving on the bridge, and you know so much more than the other children. You brag about it every time you go down into the hold for your lessons. Bragging isn't nice. Bragging can make even your friends dislike you.” “I don't have any friends down there,” he grumbled. “You could have friends if you stop bragging.” Lin wrapped an arm around his shoulders and shook him a little.

“I'm sorry,” Bain whispered. “I hope you are, Bain. You're crew. You have to act like crew. I expect better things from you because I know you're better than all those other children down in the hold. I know you're smarter. And when you act stupid, when you hurt other people, it makes me very disappointed. You're just as cruel and stupid as Toly if you use your advantages to hurt someone else.” “Bragging isn't as bad as punching someone.” “Hurting is the same, whether it's with words or with your fists.” Lin shook him gently and let go. Bain wished she hadn't—it had been a long time since anyone held him that close. He missed his parents more than ever. “Do I have to go sleep in the hold again?” he whispered. Bain looked at his clenched fists. He didn't want to see Lin's face and see how angry she was at him. “You think what you did was bad enough to be kicked out of my crew?” Lin got up and stood in front of him. “Look at me, Bain.” Her face was serious and pale when he finally looked at her, but not angry. “Arrogance is dangerous in space, because it makes you careless. The way you and Toly were bouncing around, you could have broken something. Understand?” “I do now.” “Good. Spacers can't afford to be arrogant. Spacers have to take care of people who don't understand ships or free-fall. We have a duty from Fi'in to take care of people who don't know the things we do, or who can't do what we can. We aren't allowed to hurt them or make them feel stupid, understand?” “I'm sorry.” Bain felt tears start to come to his eyes again, and he blinked fast to get rid of them. “Yes, I can see you're sorry.” Lin touched his chin, holding his head still while she wiped a few tears from the corners of his eyes with her other hand. “That's why you're still staying on the bridge. You're smart enough to learn, and you know right from wrong. That's just as important as knowing what buttons to push, or how to move in free-fall. Don't forget that, Bain.” Chapter Sixteen Bain woke early the morning they reached the first Knaught Point and lay in his cubicle and listened to the sounds of the bridge for a few minutes. Then, he rolled over and reached to unfasten the net so he could get dressed. He paused, thinking he heard Lin call his name. No sounds reached him but the faint humming of the monitor screens and the clicks of the sensors as they recorded and analyzed everything happening inside and outside the ship. He sat up, managing not to push himself to the ceiling of his cubicle, and pulled on his clean pants. He reached for his shirt. Then Bain heard his name again. Kisa's voice, not Lin's. The little girl was crying. Bain couldn't remember later how he did it, but he got out of his cubicle and through the hatch and halfway down the tube to the hold in only a second or two. Kisa clung to a support rib in the tube, tears making her face shine in the dim light. Her eyes squeezed shut and her mouth hung open in sobs so hard she choked on them. She shrieked when Bain touched her and flung her arms around him tight enough to strangle him. Lin found them floating there a few seconds later. Bain still had his shirt in his hand and he used it to dry Kisa's face.

“Hey, it's okay,” he whispered, as Lin joined them. “Did you have a nightmare?” “Killed—dolly.” Kisa reached inside her nightshirt and brought out the severed head of the rag doll Lin had given her. A bit of stuffing puffed out of the neck and tumbled away, a tiny mote in the dim tube. Kisa saw it and exploded into tears again. “Lin—” Bain saw the stunned look on Lin's face. That hurt him more than Kisa's tears. He knew exactly what had happened and who did it, and it made a hot, angry, bursting feeling grow inside him. He pulled the little girl's hands free of his neck and pushed her into Lin's arms. Bain kicked off the nearest support rib and rocketed down into the hold. He bounced off the hatch frame and straight across the hold to the top of the bunks. Toly Gaber never saw him coming. Bain's momentum pushed both boys hard against the back wall. He grabbed hold of the net so he didn't bounce back out again. Toly let out a yelp, cut off by a gasp as the air was knocked out of him. Bain wanted to hit him, but he remembered what Lin said about crew not beating up on passengers—even stupid bullies. He twisted around and put his back to Toly's face and jammed his legs against the bunk frame, holding the bully in place. He yanked Toly's bag free of its hooks and started searching through it. Lin reached the hold as Anyon slid free of his net, alerted by Toly's muffled yelps. She carried Kisa, the little girl still sobbing into the shoulder of her nightshirt. Both adults reached the bunk as Bain found the tiny, thumb-sized craft knife in the bottom of Toly's bag. Attached to the handle of the knife, caught between blade and handle was a single faded blue thread. It matched the material of the ruined doll, which Lin still held in one hand. “Well.” Lin looked from the knife to the doll, then to Bain, then to Toly—still jammed against the wall behind the boy. “It seems we have evidence this time.” “I didn't do nothing!” Toly squealed. Bain's attack had twisted him around, wrapping net and blankets tight around him. He could hardly wiggle. “Ganfer, scan night security tapes, monitor oh-five,” Lin said. She gestured, and Bain moved over. He held onto the frame and watched Toly thrash free. “Toly Gaber took the doll and cut her head off between oh-three-fifteen and oh-three-eighteen,” the ship-brain replied a scant second later. “Killed my dolly,” Kisa whispered. She lifted her head from Lin's shoulder and frowned at Toly. “You bad boy.” “Yes, he is,” Anyon agreed. “Captain Fieran gave that doll to Kisa,” Bain said. He grinned when terror made Toly go almost white. “You know,” Lin said, her words slow, her eyes fastened on Toly, “it would require a test we can't do on Sunsinger , but I think that knife cut Bain's net straps.” “Didn't do it,” Toly mumbled. He didn't meet anyone's eyes as he spoke. “Liar.” Bain clenched his fist. He would have hit the bully, but Lin stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“We have no proof right now, Bain.” Lin turned as Mistress Valgo floated up to join them. By this time, everyone was awake, silent, listening to every word. “We do have proof that he destroyed Kisa's doll. Can you fix her?” She gave Kisa and the doll to the woman. “Of course I can.” Mistress Valgo cuddled Kisa close and wiped away a few more of the little girl's tears. “You have to help me, sweetheart.” “I can help?” Kisa's face brightened. “You have to say lots of prayers while I sew her head back on, and that'll make everything all right.” She smiled and nodded to Lin, Anyon and Bain, and pushed off to float back down to her bunk. “You might try saying some prayers for a change, too, Toly,” Anyon said. He reached out and helped the fat boy finish getting untangled. Bain muffled a chuckle at that remark. He had heard Toly grumbling with his friends about ‘only babies need to pray,’ claiming he was smart enough and strong enough; he didn't need help from anyone. Not even Fi'in. Toly usually pretended to be sick on worship day, and he never closed his eyes during prayers before meals. “What do you think would be a fit punishment?” Lin said, speaking to Bain and Anyon, keeping her eyes on the bully. “I'd make him fix the cut straps on Bain's old net and make him sleep in it,” Anyon began. His lips twitched a little, like he fought not to smile. “I didn't do it!” Toly said. He glared at Bain. The adults ignored him. Lin nodded and ran her fingers through her sleep-tangled hair to straighten it. “Toly, you will clean the sanitary cabinet every morning and evening until we land. You will sleep in Bain's old space. You will talk to no one. No one is allowed to talk to you. I have a medical sensor you will wear around your neck, and it will record every move you make, every word you say.” She turned to look down the row of bunks. Practically every open space had a head looking out, watching. Lin tugged on her nightshirt, and Bain thought she looked a little embarrassed. She nodded and turned back to Toly. “Do you understand what I said?” She waited, frowning, until the bully finally nodded. “Did everyone hear what I said? No one is allowed to talk to Toly Gaber or play with him or help him study. He will be watched, so I will know when he disobeys and when you disobey my orders. I don't like bullies on my ship, and I don't like the nasty tricks that have been played here.” “How long will he have to be alone and silent?” Anyon asked. “Until he confesses and apologizes.” Lin studied the bully a moment. The silence was so deep, Toly finally raised his eyes to meet Lin's. “I have to believe you're genuinely sorry, Toly. So don't try lying to me, understand?” she added, her voice dropping to a whisper. The anger faded from the bully's face. He went pale, and his eyes widened as he nodded. Chapter Seventeen Bain sat in the hold, telling a story to the littles. It was late afternoon, almost time for supper. He smelled the vegetable stew cooking, and his stomach growled in response. Kisa sat next to him, cradling her

mended doll. She giggled and poked him in his ribs. “Hey, take it easy.” He scowled, which made the other little children laugh. “If you're hungry, you should eat more,” a fat little boy said. “I use more food than you,” Bain retorted. “Now, do you want me to finish my story or not?” “Bain, come to the bridge,” Ganfer said. The littles stared at the collar. Bain laughed at their surprise. No one had heard Ganfer speak from his collar before, or seen the lights flash with his voice. “I have to go.” Bain reached up to the bunk above him and swung out. He caught the bar with his foot and pushed toward the hatch. Lin wasn't on the bridge when Bain got there. The curtain of her cubicle hung open; she wasn't inside. Bain saw the door leading to the dome hung open. His heart skipped a beat, and he felt his stomach twist in delighted fear. Time to go through the Knaught Point already? He almost dug out a roll of tape for his mouth. Bain told himself not to be stupid, and started the climb to the dome. When he reached the top of the ladder, Bain held on and stared. Colors filled the dome instead of the usual black space and white-hot points of stars. Color streaked space, everywhere he looked. Swirls like tiny whirlpools of rainbow-colored mud. Lightning flashes changed color in time with the beats of his heart. Pinwheels tried to pull him out of the ship with their tight spinning. Blues and greens melted together and turned into purples, changing into reds and yellows and greens again. There were colors he never saw before. Something he thought was blue shifted into whitish-rosy-green a moment later. It hurt his eyes to watch, but he couldn't turn his head away or even blink. His heart thudded and he wanted to turn somersaults and laugh until he couldn't breathe. “It takes a while to get used to,” Lin said. Her voice cut into the dizzy feeling that filled his head. Bain looked down at her and felt like he had awakened from a dream. “Get down here and get strapped in, before you look again.” “You could have warned him,” Ganfer said, his voice coming from their collars. “It wouldn't have helped. Better to be shocked and learn the hard way.” Lin watched Bain float down from the ceiling. She held out a hand to help him angle into the couch. “Look again, but this time only watch. Don't let it catch your mind.” She smiled at him and Bain thought Lin knew exactly what had happened to him. He strapped in, getting settled into the couch and secure before he turned his eyes to the maelstrom of colors filling the dome. The spinning and flashes and odd shift of colors didn't catch his attention and freeze his mind now. “Color is the key,” Lin said. “Psychologists say colors do things to our minds. If you listen to the music of space and pay attention to the messages in the colors, you can navigate the Knaught Points.” “How?” He decided if Lin talked, they hadn't reached the do-not-speak zone. “Watch and figure it out for yourself. Ask Fi'in to help you learn. Each person has a different way of seeing.” Lin squeezed his hand and turned back to her control board. “Silence zone in five seconds.”

Bain fought an urge to clamp both hands over his mouth. He watched Lin work the controls. Her right hand flew up and down and across the flashing lights and clicking levers. She held onto the joystick with her left hand and ran everything else with her right. The joystick controlled their angle of entry into the Knaught Point. Lin watched the dome, her head tilted to see the colors over their heads and the spinning fireworks directly in front of them. Bain watched the colors, trying to figure out how the patterns matched Lin's adjustments on the control board. It didn't take long, twisting back and forth, to get a sore neck. How was he supposed to learn if he couldn't see everything at once? Then he felt music. He stopped breathing for a few seconds. How could he feel music in his bones without hearing it with his ears? It sounded like his heartbeat, soft in his ears late at night, when he camped out in the damp, cool springtime. Bain thought the music was his own pulse, then he felt and heard other pulses. Something high-pitched and sweet joined in, carrying him high, reaching to the stars. He had to look down at the couch to be sure the safety straps had not let go. He felt light-headed, like just after a fever broke or he breathed too fast. Bain wanted to giggle. He pressed a hand over his mouth and felt a tingling through his fingers. His whole body throbbed in waves like an incoming tide. He tasted the music, sweet and ripe and warm in his mouth. Minty and cool. Tangy and tingling on his tongue and sliding down his throat into his whole body. He breathed deeply and felt the pulsing fill his lungs, sending new energy through his whole body. Bain bit his lips to make sure he wasn't singing along with the music. Even the sting of his teeth in his flesh had a tingling, wonderful feeling. He felt like he could run forever, and if he jumped he could fly, zipping through space faster than a comet. He watched the colors change with the music. The colors were the music. Bain thought of the children in the hold. They didn't know what was happening. He felt sorry for them, even Toly Gaber. Sunsingermoved toward the center of the spinning, twisting, shifting colors. Rainbows spun up and died, turning silver and gold and the dark brown of soil in the rain. Bain saw silver flashing spots inside the spinning, like little doors opening and closing in the darkness, letting light out. Those flashes were the spots where a ship could make the transfer to another solar system. They were doors, into other places. He watched them, trying to guess which spot was their target. Under the music, he heard Lin's voice. He heard Ganfer responding. Bain felt the ship gather speed, like a runner pushing extra hard just before the finish line.Sunsinger was alive. He clenched the armrests under his hands and tried to help the ship leap through the Knaught Point. One flashing spot in the rainbow whirlpool grew larger. It leaped from the sparkling colors and opened wide and swallowed them. Normal space returned. Bain stared at the black and white of stars and space filling the dome, and it didn't make any sense. His body felt heavy and weak. His lungs ached. He realized he held his breath. He took a breath and the heavy, hurting feeling left. “Well, what do you think?” Lin whispered. Her voice sounded harsh and loud. The dome was filled with silence that rang like gongs. The music was gone. “I want to go back!” he yelped, and his voice hurt his ears. Bain wanted to cry.

“We will.” Lin touched his hand. For a moment, a tingling passed through her fingers to him. Bain looked into her eyes and he saw that she felt hurting and hungry too. **** When they finished checkingSunsinger for damage, Bain felt better. He only had to close his eyes and concentrate to remember the colors, the feeling of energy moving through his body. He could almost hear the music, low and sweet and filling his blood. Neither he nor Lin talked much and he knew she wanted to hold onto the memories as long as she could. Talking would only fade the feelings faster. They made supper and he was surprised when Lin brought out twice as much food as needed. Then, his stomach growled and twisted tight. He felt like he hadn't eaten in days, maybe weeks. They didn't say much during supper. They were too busy eating, getting the food into their mouths as quickly as they could. “It's always like this,” Lin said, when she made hot chocolate for dessert. “All that energy wakes us up, cleans out our heads, makes us more alive and uses up our energy. You liked it, didn't you?” “Liked it?” Bain thought he would choke. He stared at Lin, feeling helpless, until she grinned at him. “It's all right. Some things are better left to feelings and memories.” She chuckled, tilted her head to one side and studied him a few seconds. “Think you can take another jump soon?” “How soon?” he blurted. His eagerness made her laugh. Bain didn't care. “Maybe an hour. This section of space is full of Knaught Points, all fairly close together. It's a good place for Free Traders to meet and share news.” Lin stood and stretched her arms to the ceiling, arching her back. “Why don't you get down to the hold for a few minutes of exercise? You need to stretch, to get the jitters out of your muscles before the next jump. And you can tell your friends what they missed,” she added with a grin. “But don't brag.” Bain laughed, despite her warning. He had a mental image of Shari and the littles listening to him, awe on their faces, their mouths hanging open. He wanted to share all his wonderful feelings with them. He didn't care if Toly got jealous, either. “Alert,” Ganfer said. His voice sounded flat and harsh, like a hammer hit dented, rusty sheets of metal. It drove all the laughter from Bain's body and left him cold. “Unidentified ship approaching from unregistered angle.” “What does that mean?” Bain asked. He slid from the booth and followed Lin to the control panel. “Someone who doesn't use the normal routes between Knaught points.” Lin slid into the chair and held onto it with her legs bent up underneath. Her fingers flew over the control panel and she studied three screens on the wall in front of her. “Ganfer—Mashrami?” “Percentage of probability is high and climbing.” The ship-brain sounded apologetic. “Increase speed. Prepare for emergency braking routine. Hit Knaught Point destination at deflection angle.” Lin pushed out of the chair and banked off the ceiling. She headed for the passage to the dome. “We don't want them to know which point we're heading for,” she called back. Bain followed. His supper sat heavy in his stomach and he wanted to go to the sanitary and lose it. He pushed off the floor with his legs and flew up to the dome so fast, he bounced off the ceiling and almost went down again before he caught hold of the ladder. Lin was already in her couch, fingers flying over the control panel.

“Anyon, evasive maneuvers,” she said, her voice tight and loud. “Get everyone in stasis.” A muted response came from the people in the hold. Someone cried in the background. Bain swallowed hard to fight a whimper of fear. Stasis was only used for emergencies. He maneuvered into the couch and strapped in. He didn't watch the dome because he didn't want to get lost in the colors and the feelings. It wasn't right to feel good when they were in danger. He wondered what it felt like to get hit by Mashrami weapons. Lin said nothing to Ganfer. Her face was a stone mask of concentration. No fear. No anger. Bain watched her and didn't have time to feel fear. He watched her right hand move in blurs across the control panel. Her left hand clutched the joystick until her knuckles turned white. “Braking thrusters,” she said. Her voice sounded jagged, like someone had hit it with a stick and it shattered like pottery. Bain felt like a wall hit him, pushing him flat into the couch. He couldn't breathe. His body doubled and tripled its weight. Then the feeling vanished. He looked through the dome and among the colors saw a flashing point. Close to it was another flash of white/black/silver. Sunsingertwisted sideways. The dome spun around Bain and he felt dizzy, ready to lose his supper. He watched the two flashing points twist past and vanish. Another flash appeared, grew wide, opened up and swallowed them. Normal space reappeared with a jolt that shook the ship. Bain heard nothing but his own heart beating. He remembered to breathe. He shook like he had gone outside in winter without his coat. “Are we safe?” he whispered to Lin. “Safe?” Her voice still sounded broken. She leaned over the board, fingers flying, studying the little rows of numbers like a parade of ants across her screen. “We're safe and the ship is still in one piece.” Lin smiled with only half her mouth. “I just don't know where we are.” Chapter Eighteen Toly had a broken arm. He had ignored the order to get into the stasis chairs and stayed in his bunk. The adults were too busy herding the other children into their seats to notice. When the ship started jerking and twisting through space, Toly got scared and unfastened his net and tried to climb out. He hit his face against the bunk frame and got a black eye and cut his forehead. When the ship's gravity tripled, Toly fell from his bunk. His tether line snapped. He hit the opposite wall of the hold with his arm twisted under him. The shock of his arm breaking knocked him unconscious. Bain found him, when he and Lin went to the hold to turn off the stasis field and check for damage. He had a hand-size scanner to check the hatch seals and life support. Bain floated around the edges of the hold, checking the readings on the screen. He heard a moan and looked. For a second, he thought it was a pile of cloth in the corner. Then he saw the blood and Toly's pale face. Bain shouted for Lin. “Oh, wonderful,” Lin whispered, when she floated over and saw Toly curled up against the wall. “Third button on the back changes the scanner to medical,” she said, and went to get Anyon. The doctor was just getting free of the stasis field. Bain found the broken arm and confirmed nothing else was wrong before Lin and Anyon joined him.

The next half hour passed in a fast blur. Bain freed the Valgos from the stasis field so they could take care of the other children. Then he flitted around the hold, opening cabinets, checking supplies, fetching pain pills and splints, and fixing Toly's tether. He was glad Toly screamed in pain when they moved him to work on his arm. He was glad to see the bully cry. He was jealous of the sympathy Lin showed the nasty boy. “It's not fair,” he muttered. Bain floated in the hatch, watching Mistress Valgo settle Toly into his bunk, his arm splinted and the cuts on his face bandaged. The other children were quiet, still frightened from the chase. They stayed in their bunks and watched. “What's not fair?” Ganfer asked, his voice coming soft from the collar. “Toly's been so rotten, and when he gets hurt Lin treats him nice.” “Hurt is hurt.” The ship-brain sounded amused and that irritated Bain. “Maybe he's learned to obey orders. Maybe now he knows there are reasons for rules.” “But—” Bain shook his head. He wasn't sure what he wanted to say, or even what he really felt. “Fi'in says it doesn't mean anything to only be good to good people. What does that prove? What is harder, Bain? To be nice to your friends, or be nice to the people who hurt you? What helps you grow stronger? To forgive someone who apologizes and wants to make up for hurting you? Or forgive someone who is glad they hurt you?” “It isn't worship day,” the boy grumbled. “Don't preach at me.” “Lin says every day is worship day,” Ganfer said. “Bain?” Lin called from the other side of the hold. For a moment, Bain was afraid she had heard what he said to Ganfer. He knew Lin would be disappointed in his attitude and words. “We're all finished down here. Time to see what happened outside.” She moved to the hatch with Anyon and Master Valgo and gestured for Bain to follow them. Maybe he couldn't feel sorry for Toly's broken arm, but Bain knew he could be glad he wasn't a bully. Bain could be glad that Lin liked him and treated him like crew. **** “There it is.” Lin lifted her chin, gesturing at the center screen. Her hands danced over the control panel. Anyon and Master Valgo floated in the air behind her seat, holding onto the back of the chair. Bain sat next to her in his usual place. He had tried to give his chair to the men, but neither one would take it. On the screen, a long, tapered shape crossed the hazy blob of light and color that was the Knaught Point at long distance. It was mostly black, with a soft, orange glow around the edges and an uneven outline, like tiny bumps covered it. No sharp angles. Ganfer played the sensor recordingSunsinger made when they approached the Knaught Point. The shape that moved before their eyes didn't look like any ship Bain ever saw before. Not even in his father's records and journals and computer chips left by his grandmother. It didn't have sensor disks or power ports or exhaust vents; nothing that looked like energy collectors or armaments. Lin said it was a Mashrami ship. “What does it look like to you?” Lin asked quietly, after the four studied the frozen image on the screen

for many long, silent moments. “A sting-yam.” Bain blushed when both men started chuckling. “Well, it does. It even looks all warty.” “No, we're not laughing at you,” Master Valgo said. “That was my reaction, too, when I first saw a Mashrami ship. That supports the idea Mashrami ships are grown, not built.” “Which makes us believe the warts are weapon and energy ports. Poison spots, just like in a sting-yam,” Anyon said, his voice soft. Bain saw the doctor stare at the screen just like he stared at a nasty wound or broken limb he had to fix. No emotions, just heavy concentration that blocked everything else around him. “At least they didn't follow us through,” Bain offered. He had done a sensor check to reinforce Ganfer's readings. Their instruments said space was clear around them. Empty. Nowhere to hide, but no enemies to hide from, either. “No one could follow us through.” Lin's voice cracked. Bain couldn't tell if she was angry, or trying not to laugh. “We shifted and shimmied right up to the entry point. Could take days to calculate where we are. I've never been to this part of the galaxy. I doubt anyone else has, either.” “Why?” Bain asked. “Because if anyone had come through from that Knaught Point, Ganfer should recognize it from records. Spacers don't hoard information. That's a bad habit that usually gets innocent people hurt,” Anyon said. “If someone made the jump...” Master Valgo shivered and turned from the screen. “If someone came through and didn't survive to make a report, this could be a dangerous visit.” “What do you think, Bain?” Lin asked, her voice soft, like when she had finished her morning prayers. “Well...” He swallowed hard and tried to ignore the heavy feeling of three pairs of adult eyes watching him. “Nobody can sneak up on us if we stay right here, by the Knaught Point.” “Except through the Knaught Point,” she said. A hint of a smile twitched her lips. “Maybe we can sit so we watch the Knaught Point and move away fast, if someone comes through. We can watch for anyone trying to come from the other directions.” Lin nodded, watching him through half-closed eyes. “Ganfer, how much will your calculations slow if you double your sensor alert and scan for intruders?” “A negligible five percent,” the ship-brain answered. “If I do not watch the little ones or tell stories, that can be reduced to three point eight five six percent.” “Oh, by all means.” She met Master Valgo's eyes and grinned. To Bain's surprise, they both started laughing. “I don't under—” Bain began. “Ganfer is very politely telling me my wife has her hands full in the hold and I should be with her, doing my duty instead of listening in on this war council.” Master Valgo turned himself around and pushed off for the hatch. He headed down to the hold, still chuckling. “Simulator time,” Lin said. “Get it ready, Ganfer.” She gently pushed toward the ceiling. “Bain, you know how to shut down everything and set up space-park, don't you?”

“I read it, and you told me how.” The boy knew now was not the time to say he couldn't do the job. “Take your time.” She pivoted off the ceiling and flew to the access door to the dome. “We have plenty to waste.” “It shouldn't bother Ganfer if you ask him for help,” Anyon said. He headed for the hatch. “Where are you going?” Bain knew it was stupid to be afraid—Lin was within shouting distance and he could call Ganfer if he really needed help. That was the problem. Bain wanted more than anything to do his job all by himself. He had to prove he was good enough to be crew, and that scared him. “To the hold.” Anyon paused in the hatch. The grin he gave Bain helped the boy relax, but not enough. “If I know the littles, they've frightened themselves into sick stomachs by now. Can't let Mistress Valgo do my job, after all.” “But—what did she mean, about simulator time?” Bain said anything to keep Anyon on the bridge a few seconds more. “Navigating Knaught Points isn't just flying by the seat of your pants.” Anyon laughed at the puzzled look Bain gave him. “Lin has to replay the flight and know everything she did, everything that didn't work—know it in her blood and bone, to prepare for going back through. She pilots by instinct. All the best Spacers do.” “Oh.” Bain nodded, trying to digest that information. “We'll be all right, won't we?” he nearly whispered. “You will do fine.” He winked at Bain—like his father used to, after a long, hard job fixing the shuttle. “It helps us all, being able to depend on you, Bain.” Then he went to the hold. Bain closed his eyes and clenched his fists. He took deep breaths and let them out slowly and waited until the I-want-to-run-away feeling faded. His mother would have told him to say a prayer right that moment. All he could manage was a silent scream ofFi'in, please help me! in his mind. He waited until the feeling faded, then he went to work. He almost disconnected the engines from the central power feed before he remembered what Lin told him about drift and currents. Just because space looked empty didn't mean there was nothing out there. Stellar dust brushed againstSunsinger's energy shields, the tiny impacts creating friction the ship had to resist. Electromagnetic energy created forces that pushed the ship and affected the sensors. Bain couldn't turn off the engines and have the ship sit perfectly still in space. It would move, eventually. His hands reached for the controls before he could think what to do next. Bain grinned, feeling a little stomach-twisting relief when his hands knew what to do before his mind did. Those drills Lin gave him to practice really did help him learn in his blood and bones, not just with his mind. He recorded their position by the Knaught Point, locked it into navigation and set up the automatic guidance system. Then he disengaged the main drives and engaged the auxiliary navigation jets.Sunsinger would maintain position in space, using tiny bursts from the jets. Unless there was a disaster or emergency, the ship would stay put with little effort or fuel used, saving fuel and energy for emergencies. He double-checked his work. Bain suspected if he did something wrong, an alarm would go off or Ganfer would tell him. He decided silence was a good sign. Now what should he do? They already ran a full shipboard check for damage and stress. Bain did

another. Redundancy was a key to survival. He checked sensors and engine efficiency and then moved on to supplies. Food, water and the emergency air tanks were all in first rank condition. They could stay here at the Knaught Point for half a Standard year and be comfortable—if they didn't need fresh food. They might have to eat the algae and other plants in the hydroponics tanks that recycled the air, and that would mean cutting rations to starvation level. Otherwise, they were in good shape. Bain hoped they wouldn't have to stay there for half a year. He thought about the children waiting to be evacuated before the Mashrami reached Lenga. What would happen to them ifSunsinger and other ships never returned? His stomach suddenly twisted and grumbled, hurting and surprising him. Bain checked the time and calculated he had missed a meal. He winced at the ache in his stomach. Was Lin so busy with the simulator in the dome, she didn't hear her stomach growl? He checked the controls to be sure he hadn't left a switch in the wrong position, then went to the galley. He heated spicy sandwiches and sealed cups of hot chocolate. Getting up to the dome without squeezing or spilling anything would be hard. In gravity, spills only went one direction—down. In free-fall, spills could go anywhere. Bain had the horrid feeling if he spilled something, it would go everywhere. The dome was quiet when he reached the top of the ladder. One light cast a bluish glow over Lin, stretched out on her back on a couch with her knees up and her arms crossed behind her head. She watched the rosy violet streak of soft sparkles across the top of the dome. She didn't look angry or happy—no clue for Bain if the simulator had helped or not. Lin did look a little sad, but she always looked a little sad when she was tired. Then, when he was about to open his mouth and ask if she was hungry—Bain heard it. Music. It sounded like wind. But what was wind doing out here in space? The solar wind, energy flowing out from the stars, wasn't the same thing. It hissed in sensor speakers. It didn't moan, soft and sweet, with a hint of a whistle. Flowing, but ready to turn crystalline and snap like new ice in a pond. The sound moved, going high and so faint his ears ached with the effort to hear. Then dropping, falling so fast he almost reached out to catch it, imagining a star had fallen straight into the dome of the ship. It kept dropping low, the sound too deep to be heard. Bain felt it in his body, like a heartbeat, filling him and creating an empty space around his stomach and lungs. It vibrated there, a warm tickling that reached up to rest at the back of his throat. It felt so good, Bain wanted to cry. The sound moved up to something he could hear. It sounded like laughter or the soft, silver gurgling of water over pebbles in a tiny stream on a hot, still summer day. Bain listened until his chest ached from holding his breath. He let it out in a gusting sigh. Lin laughed. Bain usually thought her laugh was like music. Now, her voice sounded like glass rattling in a box. He winced and scowled and squeezed the packet of sandwiches. “Sorry,” Lin said. She sat up and turned to him. “I forgot what a shock reality is, the first time you listen.” “What is it?” Bain asked, keeping his voice to a whisper. He didn't feel angry with Lin now. Talking didn't drive the music away. It moved into the background. “That isn't the same sound from the Knaught Point, is it?”

“No. Anyone can hear that music. This is special. Sometimes I think it's just for Spacers.” She sighed and gave him a comical shrug and grin. “Then what is it?” he asked again. Bain felt a hunger; he had to know the answer or feel an ache inside forever. “The song of Creation. The voice of Fi'in. Do the facts matter?” She shrugged and that sad, tired look came back. Bain thought he understood why she had that look, now. “Where does it come from?” “It's everywhere. You only hear it when everything is quiet and you have nothing to do but listen, no thought in your mind except tobe , and be glad you're alive.” She sighed and rubbed at her eyes. “It helps to be dead tired and starving. That is chocolate I smell, isn't it?” Bain grinned and flew over to Lin's couch. She caught his ankle and pulled him down to the other couch. Neither spoke until they had practically inhaled the sandwiches. The aching grumble in his stomach quieted and the chocolate sent warmth through his body. Bain felt better. The tight, coiled feeling in his stomach melted into a comfortable, tired ache in his muscles. Lin curled up on her couch, the control panel blinking green and blue and gold behind her, and she smiled into the steam collecting in a puddle around her cup. The steam scattered when she yawned. “Oh ... I'm getting too old for this,” she said with a groan. She laughed at Bain's shock and disbelief. “You're right—I'm not too old. Yet, anyway. And thank you for the lovely compliment.” “But I didn't say anything.” “Your face did. It said you see me young and strong and able to handle anything.” Lin saluted him with her cup. “I pray Fi'in you're right, and I can get us out of here.” “Did running simulations help?” “I don't know yet. I ran it slow and fast and even backwards—yes, I really did!—until I think I could follow the course with my eyes closed. That's important when we try to go back. Ganfer has another day of calculations to make. Then I'll run the simulator again, to prepare.” “What if the Mashrami ship is still there, waiting for us to come out?” “Ganfer is making calculations so we can jump the Knaught point, catch our breath for a few seconds, and go through our original target. If we work fast enough, we shouldn't get hit.” Lin looked into her cup again. Her expression was all tired now. “I was about to say before, you're the best crew I've ever had.” Bain sat up straight. He felt a glad pressure in his chest that made it hard to breathe. He'd never been the best at anything before. He grinned so wide his face hurt. “I laughed,” Lin continued, “because I knew what Ganfer would say, if he'd been listening. He'd remind me you're the only crew I've ever had. I've trained and tested other Spacer youngsters before, but never enough to call them apprentices and crew, like you.” “Oh.” For a second, it hurt. Then Bain thought about how good he had felt—how Lin thought it was funny—and he knew just the tone of voice Ganfer would use. He started laughing. He couldn't help it. He suddenly felt so tired he wanted to cry, but he laughed. Lin laughed too, and the sound vibrated off the dome and soothed their aching tired bodies and minds.

Chapter Nineteen “You'd make a good mother,” Ganfer said, his voice a soft rumble that shimmered off the dome and merged with the ever-present space music. “Hush—you'll wake him,” Lin said. Her hand brushed across Bain's cheek. He liked that. It felt like when his mother checked on him in the night. She would touch his cheek and tug the blankets up under his chin. Bain felt himself waking more, and now he could feel the blanket, tucked under his chin and over his shoulders. “Not asleep,” he mumbled, his eyes flickering open. Bain tried to sit up. The blanket cocooned him and a strap held him down. He panicked, and that helped him wake all the way. He opened his eyes to the diamond and ebony of space, with violet and rose sprinkles of light streaking the dome. “Sorry,” Lin said. She floated by his couch with one foot hooked into his safety strap. “Didn't want to wake you, but I thought you'd be cold up here.” “Like any good mother,” Ganfer said, his voice taking on a teasing, lecturing drawl. “Did I sleep that long?” Bain struggled against the strap to sit up. His curiosity overrode the embarrassment he felt at falling asleep on duty. “Hmm?” Lin gave him a puzzled grin. “Ganfer can talk to us—he doesn't have to save all his energy for calculations. Is it tomorrow already?” “Oh, that. Almost done with the first phase. He's just double-checking it right now. That takes only a fraction of the energy need for calculating and measuring. He'll have to shut his mouth again to calculate the second jump, but that's in a while.” She floated over to her own couch. Starlight gleamed on her clothes. She had changed to a silver and blue shirt with long, close-fitting sleeves. The material had silver threads that caught the lights. The tired creases in her face were gone, and she had braided her hair. No more loose hairs framing her face like tiny creeping vines. She looked younger in the soft starlight, more alive, rested. Bain knew if Lin had taken the time to rest, the ship was safe. They would get to the evacuation planet called Refuge in one piece, no one hurt, no real damage toSunsinger. “You did a good job, Bain.” Lin reached over the other side of her couch and brought up a tray. It had little webwork compartments to hold sandwiches and sealed cups. “I checked your work. You've convinced me I'm a pretty good teacher. Most boys your age wouldn't be so thorough.” “I didn't want anything to go wrong,” he mumbled. His face burned with a deep blush and he felt squirmy inside—but he was glad. He had done everything right. “Boys your age usually think about adventure, not how long supplies will last.” She handed him a sandwich—sweet cheese and fruit spread. “Space makes us grow up too fast. That's a disadvantage they don't mention in the stories.” “Did you grow up too fast?” “Yes. And no.” Lin chuckled and opened her cup. The steam gushed out hard enough to drift over to Bain. It smelled of cinnamon and hot milk.

“She hasn't grown up yet,” Ganfer said, his voice a little louder. “That's your opinion, O Bucket of Bolts.” Lin handed Bain a cup of hot chocolate. “I was captain of Sunsinger at your age, so I never really had a chance to be a child.” “You didn't miss much. I can't wait to grow up.” Bain bit his sandwich like a dog attacking a bone. “You already are.” She chuckled at the puzzled frown he gave her. “Growing up is a continuous part of living. When you stop growing and learning ... that means you're dead.” “Oh.” Bain decided he'd have to think about that before he could really understand what Lin meant. “How did you become captain when you were just a kid?” “My parents died. I inheritedSunsinger. With Spacers, being captain means you own your ship. It's not a rank with years of training behind it, like in the Fleet.” She spoke without any real emotion, as if she recited numbers. “Didn't anybody try to put you in an orphanage?” He couldn't keep the envy and surprise out of his voice. “By the time we got back to civilization, I was nearly a legal adult.” “Notice she said legal,” Ganfer broke in. “The same accident that killed her parents also damaged this ship so badly our communications packs were dead for years, and we could only achieve coasting speed. It took us eight months just to get out of the solar system where the accident occurred. We couldn't navigate Knaught Points for several years, so we had to go the long way around.” “The accident pitched us into an unexplored sector of space, so there was no one close enough to hear emergency signals.” Lin shrugged, as if a disaster that big didn't matter. “No one could hear us or give us a tow. We didn't get close enough to the regular space-lanes until our journey was nearly three-quarters over.” “You were alone the whole time?” Bain couldn't imagine how he would feel. “I had Ganfer. He taught me everything I needed to know about the ship, to put it back into working order. I learned how this ship works from the inside out,” Lin said. She wore a lopsided grin, like she smiled to keep from crying. “The best way to learn how anything works is to repair it. I'm the best starship mechanic-engineer in twelve solar systems.” “So that's why you don't like strangers working onSunsinger, like Dr. Anyon said.” “Exactly.” “She doesn't want them to know what a jury-rigged mess she made of my insides,” Ganfer said. That earned a sharp burst of laughter from Lin. “I should have made some repairs to your memory circuits while I was at it.” She drained her cup with one long swallow. “Ganfer's to blame for the way I am, you know. He raised me all by himself. Finished my education and played mother and father to me for nearly eight years.” She laughed. Bain joined in, but his mind wandered to the doll Lin had given Kisa. He could imagine her crying into the soft material in the quiet of the night. It didn't bother him to think Lin could cry. It made her seem stronger.

Chapter Twenty Bain woke with a creeping feeling up his back. He felt sure something had happened to the ship. No alarms went off, though. He heard nothing out of the ordinary. No clues to help him. He lay still under his bed net, listening, until his curiosity got strong enough. Bain crawled out of bed, wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and went to the control panel. No warning lights blinked. No messages scrolled across the screen. Bain wondered if he was getting sick, or maybe he had stayed up too late studying. Was he starting to imagine things? “Stupid,” he muttered, and started pushing buttons to order a sensor check. Less than ten seconds later, Bain learned a cloud of stellar dust had brushed against the ship. The energy shields had reacted to protect the ship and the thrusters had fired to keep them in place. Lin was right, he realized with a shiver of delight. He had finally grown sensitive enough to the ship's sounds and movements that he could tell when something had changed. Why hadn't Lin awakened? Bain guessed stellar dust wasn't that important. Maybe Lin woke up before he did, knew what was happening, and went back to sleep. He set up the recorder to analyze the dust—just in case—sent out a probe to collect a sample, and went back to bed. When he got up three hours later, Lin was already at her station, checking the night's log. “Stellar dust, huh?” She ran her fingers over the control panel, checking the buttons he had pushed. “Everything according to procedure. You're learning.” “I wasn't wasting time, was I, sending out a probe? I mean,” Bain hurried on, “we're in a place nobody else has seen. Something might be different here.” “You did exactly right. The next step,” she said with a grin, “is to distinguish when something is a danger, or just unusual. But you're learning. That's the important part.” Her praise carried him through the morning chores. He had to go down into the hold for his regular school lessons, and stayed to check all the fastenings of the furniture. If the Mashrami waited for them on the other side,Sunsinger would have to make multiple Knaught jumps to avoid being followed straight to Refuge. The stresses of jumping could throwSunsinger in five different directions at once. Gravity could go up and down twenty times in a minute. Anything loose would get thrown around, broken, or cause serious damage to people or vital ship equipment if they collided during all that bumping and swerving. They were lucky the only damage last time had been to Toly's arm. Bain worked hard, double-checking every bolt and strap. Shari kept the littles out of his way when he worked on the bunk straps. All the passengers would be in their stasis chairs again, but a single loose net could hit something hard enough to break it. After dinner he made one more sensor scan of the hold. Bain wanted to crawl into bed and stay there for three days. Even the thought of going through transition again, seeing the colors, hearing and feeling the music, didn't give him energy. His fingers hurt from pulling on straps and squeezing tool handles. His arms felt limp and rubbery from pushing and lifting all day. His eyes ached from trying to see in shadows and studying scanner screens. Bain couldn't go to bed yet. There was one thing he wanted to check, or he knew he wouldn't sleep, no matter how dead tired he felt. He still hadn't studied the dust. He came up from the hold, sat down at the control panel, and brought the report up on a computer

screen. “Want to tell me what that is?” Lin said. She sat in the galley booth, feet up on the table, and gestured with her cup at the screen on the far wall. Her voice startled him. Bain felt his face start burning in a blush. “Uh...” He turned back to the screens. “It's a study of the stellar dust that hit us this morning.” “What's so important about that dust?” Lin asked. Her face didn't show what she felt. She only looked tired. “I don't know. Yet,” he added on an impulse. That earned a grin from her. “I mean, we heard a little about stellar dust in lessons. Not much, because no orphans really have a chance to get into space.” “Oh, really?” She laughed and spread her arms, to take in the whole ship. “What do you call this, young Master Kern?” Her laugh turned into a yawn. “Bain, you should listen to the experts, and pay attention to facts and figures. You'll need them to do your job right. But those are generalizations. There are always exceptions. You're one.” “An exceptional young man,” Ganfer said. If a ship-brain could sound tired, Bain thought, Ganfer did. “Are you completely done now, Bucket of Bolts?” Lin asked. She pushed her cup into the recycling slot and launched herself toward the control panel. “All calculations in place, prepared for ten danger scenarios.” “We've been brushed with stellar dust. Are your memory banks awake enough to work up a pattern?” she asked. Ganfer paused. Bain knew by now the ship-brain waited for effect, for drama, not because he was low on energy or the data had to be found and analyzed. “Regular patterns, varying density. Analysis required?” Ganfer said. “Bain already did one. Collect all you can without straining yourself.” Lin winked at Bain. “Why?” the boy wanted to know. “Why avoid straining Ganfer?” “Why collect the dust?” “Finish your study, first.” Lin reached over and punched a few buttons. “They didn't teach you much about space travel or navigation or exploration, did they?” Bain shook his head and tried to watch three new screens fill with information—two in front of him, one on the wall. Speed, density, temperature, mineral content, organic content, weight and radiation of the dust cloud. He tried to see it all without missing a single change in the data, and earned a headache and a crick in his neck. “To learn anything, you have to learn to ask questions, first. You learn fastest if you ask yourself questions and figure out the answers the hard way.” Lin danced her fingers over the buttons and blanked several blocks of information. “This is what we're most interested in, right now.” “Metal and organic content?” Bain bit his lip before he asked ‘why.’ He stared at the numbers on the screen until the colors blurred.

Organic. That meant the dust originally came from a planet that had plant and animal life. A planet destroyed by catastrophe or particles scattered by solar winds, meteorites or fluctuations in gravitational fields. “You want to know if there are any habitable planets in this solar system?” he guessed. “That wasn't so hard, was it?” Lin winked as she leaned back in her chair. She closed her eyes, sighed and nodded. “From those readings, there's a chance of life somewhere around here. We don't have the right equipment or the time to do it. That'll take a team from Colonial Survey and Reconnaissance. No matter what, we get a finder's fee. We'll need it to repairSunsinger and make upgrades at some time or other in the future.” She paused to yawn. “If we record the coordinates accurately.” “If we get that information back to Refuge,” he whispered. “We'll get back. You've been saying your prayers, haven't you?” “Morning and evening.” Bain wondered why she asked. Lin made sure he said his prayers, but he thought it was just something she felt duty-bound to oversee, like his lessons and washing regularly and taking his vitamins. “Spacers know, in our blood and bone, Fi'in is real.” Lin sat up again and opened her eyes. “You can't travel through space and believe it's just an accident, a huge, molecular mistake.” She chuckled, but it was a tired sound. “I know from personal experience, Fi'in listens to prayers. He listens to children, most of all. You children keep praying, and we'll get to Refuge with no problem.” “Besides the Mashrami chasing us?” he asked, grinning. “You have a too-fast tongue, boy.” Lin reached over and tousled his hair. “Go to bed. We have a busy day tomorrow.” “I can sit in the dome again, can't I?” “How are you going to learn if you don't watch?” “I still don't understand why you need to know the metal content of the dust.” Bain unbuckled his safety strap and gave himself a tiny push up. He floated to the ceiling and stayed there without bouncing off. “How about mining operations?” She launched herself toward the sanitary cabinet to wash. “You can mine dust?” He knew as soon as he said it, the question was silly and Lin had been teasing him. “The dust will tell us if there's usable metal in the planet?” “Maybe there was usable metal once. For it to get into the dust in the quantity I want ... the planet would have to be destroyed. From the organic content, I don't think the planet was destroyed. Say prayers there's enough metal to help us. That's another lesson, later,” she said, when Bain opened his mouth to ask what she meant. Lin tugged the door open. “Think about it—and go to bed.” She gave him a teasing scowl and slipped inside the sanitary cabinet. Bain obeyed, pushing off the ceiling with enough force to rebound when he reached his cubicle. He grabbed the curtain rod and twisted around to swing inside. Bain tried to think of all the things Lin could do with metal dust. He fell asleep before he could figure it out. Chapter Twenty-One

“Everybody's in stasis,” Bain reported. The last caution light on his side of the control board blinked off. He raised his eyes to study Lin. She nodded, biting her bottom lip as she looked over the board one last time. “Ganfer?” She started unbuckling her safety strap. “All three jump calculations are ready, in temporary storage and hard dump,” the ship-brain answered. A thin square of plastic protruded from the face of the control panel, under Lin's elbow. Bain thought it looked like Ganfer stuck his tongue out at them. “That's your responsibility now,” Lin said. She handed the square to Bain. “If Ganfer pauses for more than two seconds before answering any question, any order, you have to load that data back into the system.” She pushed off her chair and headed for the dome. Bain nodded and swallowed hard. Now he knew what people meant when they said they choked with fear. Something hard filled his throat and wrapped around his neck. All the coordinates and control programs for the next Knaught Point jumps were on that disk, along with the keying sequences to restart basic ship functions from the hard-wired backup system. If anything damaged Ganfer, it was Bain's responsibility to reload that data back into the computer system as fast as his fingers could push buttons. Simple things like life support and sensors and impulse jets to move them out of the way of danger depended on his speed and alertness. He felt proud Lin trusted him so much; he felt scared to the point of being sick. He thought of the littles in the hold. He even wished he had been nicer to Toly Gaber. Lin's feet vanished into the dark doorway as she pulled herself up the ladder to the dome. Bain swallowed again, tucked the square into his shirt pocket and followed her. Before he reached the doorway, the lights on the bridge dimmed. Down in the hold, the lights were already off. He hoped Kisa wasn't afraid, sitting there in the dark. He wondered if anyone in stasis would know what was going on. Dr. Anyon would know, so he could watch over the others, but did that mean the others could or couldn't hear or feel or sense what happened to the ship? The ladder felt cold under his fingers. Bain shivered. It felt strange to sweat and yet be cold. He paused at the top of the ladder to catch his breath and look around. He decided he didn't really want to see the color shifts again. They were beautiful, yes. Exciting. He could never guess what was coming next. That didn't make him forget the Mashrami might wait on the other side of the transition, ready to fire on them or even ram them; the Mashrami did that sometimes. He drifted over to his couch and strapped in, trying to keep quiet. Lin was already in place, eyes closed, hands resting around the rim of the controls. She took deep, slow breaths. Some tension lines eased from her face—or were they only invisible in the shadows? Was she praying? Bain thought so. He tried to pray, too. Faintly, he heard the moaning, humming, singing of the music of space. He smiled despite his fears. The sound went into his bones. He felt a little silly, even a little angry with himself that he hadn't tried to listen to the music for so long. It was always there, Lin said. Even deep inside the ship, if he paused and listened and waited for the music to come, he could hear it. Bain wished he had stopped to listen more often—he might not feel so afraid. “It's always there,” Lin had said the night before. “You just have to know how to listen. And when you get tight inside and full of worries, remember what it was like to hear it. Sooner or later, you hear it again. Just like Fi'in is always there, Bain, even when it doesn't feel like he cares or listens. Remember that, and relax, and sooner or later, you'll understand, and you'll find the answer or help will come.”

Now, Bain listened with his whole heart and mind and he stored those memories away. Just like Lin stored stellar dust, just in case. She had said a smart Spacer took opportunities and stored things against need to always be prepared, because emergencies never gave warning. Bain said a prayer too, in case it got too busy and dangerous for him to pray when they really needed it. “Ready?” Lin whispered. Her voice sounded like a shout against the humming quiet of the dome. Bain opened his eyes. Lin reached out a hand, and he reached for her. Their fingers clasped for a few seconds. Lin's fingers felt cold, damp like his with nervous sweat. “All right, Ganfer. Let's get going.” Lin brushed her fingers over a row of switches along the top of the panel. They went from white to green. Through the couch, under his legs, Bain feltSunsinger's engines shift from the hum of warm-idle to the grumble of full life. He bit his lip hard to remind himself not to say anything, not to make a single sound. Lin had to have total quiet to get them safely through the Knaught point and past any waiting Mashrami. A streak of stellar dust lit by their engines pointed toward the Knaught Point and vanished into the frame of the dome. Bain grinned at that sign of movement. Something tightened in his gut—pure excitement chased the fear away. He clenched his hands around the edge of his control panel and watched Lin work. When he looked again, colors outlined the Knaught Point. Tiny sparks pinpointed the jumping spots. Bain tried to figure out which one was their chosen doorway. Lin had showed him a few times, but it was always hard to tell with just his eyes. Blue streaks became arrows, pointing into the center of the swirls of energy and stellar dust. For a moment, Bain thoughtSunsinger headed into the dead center of the whirlpool. Lin murmured an order and the ship shifted to the right—not much, just enough to notice. The blue changed to deep purple. Gold spots winked and turned silver before vanishing, outlining three jump points. Under his cramping hands,Sunsinger rumbled and grumbled and bucked. He thought of all the bolts and straps and fastenings he had tightened. Then the jolting stopped. Bain almost shouted, afraid the engines had died. Then he remembered and felt silly.Sunsinger had shifted from maneuvering speed to flight speed. The engines steadied, and the ship now moved too quickly to shudder. He remembered enough math lessons to look at the control panel and understand the numbers flashing there. They meant the ship moved fast enough to hit and enter the Knaught Point. He watched Lin. She studied the streaks of color across the dome. Royal purple changed to violet, shading into crimson, streaked with lemony-green and swirls of gold with silver centers. Bain stared too long at the spinning. They caught his attention, pulled his eyes deep into the spirals. “Now!” Lin shouted, triumph in her voice. The shout startled Bain. He jerked and turned so fast to look at her, his neck ached. Lin grinned, leaning forward, clutching at the control board. Sweat streaked her forehead and cheeks and plastered loose strands of hair to her skin. Bain felt the ship leap as it entered the Knaught Point. When he turned to look, the colors had already faded to electric whites and blues. The white-speckled black of normal space filled the dome. “Ganfer?” Lin asked, her voice cracking.

“Back to original coordinates within three hundredths of a degree,” the ship-brain replied. “We'll just have to do better next time.” Her voice wobbled a little. She winked at Bain. “Next time?” Bain yelped. He slapped both hands over his mouth, terrified he had spoken too soon. Lin laughed. “Mashrami.” Ganfer sounded more machine than person. Bain wondered if Ganfer sounded like a machine when he was afraid. “Next point jump,” Lin ordered. Her voice crackled with energy again, no more shaky relief. She brushed her damp hair out of her face with both hands. “Ten seconds until arrival.” “Bain, on my mark, hit the release lever,” she said. “The black lever, bottom left corner of your panel.” Bain nodded and rested his hand on the lever. It was small under his palm. He pressed on it a little to make sure it would move. Sparkles of energy flashed around the ship. He almost yelped, almost asked Lin what was happening. Mashrami weapons? They threw bolts of energy through space to disrupt ship systems, to paralyze computers and engines and destroy life support systems. Would he have to re-start all the ship functions with the little disk safe in his pocket? What would happen to Ganfer, all his teasing and jokes and the stories he told? Could Ganfer die, never exist again except in memories, like people? People had souls—did ship-brains get souls if they were old enough, loved enough? “Ready,” Lin said, breaking him out of his speculations. Bain was grateful. The view outside the dome shifted. Bain clung to his couch with one hand, keeping his other hand on the lever. He felt a little dizzy, watching the colors swing by faster than he could watch.Sunsinger did a full one-hundred-eighty degree turn back into the Knaught Point. “Bain, now,” Lin said, her voice a sharp, low grunt. He hit the lever, a sharp pain in his palm for half a second. Bain felt something loosen in his gut—relief that he had reacted fast enough, gratitude that the lever had moved. He almost laughed at the image of pushing and pushing on the lever and the silly thing refusing to move. Sunsingerleaped forward, gaining power and speed. Bain turned, regaining the ache in his neck. He had to see what was going on, even if it was just black dots and lightning sparkles of energy behind them. A silvery, brown-streaked cloud emerged from the rear ofSunsinger , obscuring the clean black and white of space. When the ship's energy vents hit the cloud, it flared white, burning, spitting sparks like an electric storm. Bain stared two seconds, his mouth hanging open. He turned back to his control panel and tried to find out what was in that cloud. Stellar dust. The cloud was all that stellar dust Lin had Ganfer collect. The metal screened them when it burned; it interrupted sensor readouts, ruined visibility and hid their entry coordinates. Bain turned to look at Lin. Now he understood why she had collected the stellar dust. It was all planned—she hadn't gathered it ‘in case’ it might come in handy. She had known exactly what she was

doing. The only thing she hadn't known was if a Mashrami ship waited. Then they were through the second Knaught Point. Lin sat back from her control panel. She rubbed at her eyes, wiped sweaty strands of hair out of her face and raised her arms straight for the ceiling. She stretched, joints cracking, ligaments complaining so loudly Bain's back ached in sympathy. Then she looked at him and she laughed. “Better safe than sorry, don't you know?” Lin relaxed back into her couch. “How did you know—?” “The dust would mask us? I didn't. If the Mashrami come through, my trick didn't work.” “No signs of pursuit,” Ganfer announced. “Well, keep moving anyway, Bucket of Bolts. Come on, Bain. Let's go tell our passengers we're almost home free.” Lin unbuckled her safety strap and pushed hard for the ceiling. She bounced off, giggling a little. Bain thought she looked silly, tumbling toward the ladder, arms waving. He knew exactly how she felt. He curled his legs under himself and pushed off, twisting a little before his feet left the couch. He executed a somersault before he hit the top of the dome and turned it into a spin as he darted for the ladder. “Show-off!” Lin spun off the ladder with one arm, so she flipped head over heels. She hit the dome with her feet and kept flipping, around and around the dome, always hitting with her feet, pushing off the next second with perfect control and precision. Bain was more than happy to hold onto the ladder, gasping a little, and watch Lin ricochet around the dome for a few more seconds. Someday, he would perform acrobatics like Lin's. For now, he let her tricks express his giddy relief and triumph. Chapter Twenty-Two “Well, we got scorched.” Lin turned from the wall screen and leaned over the control panel to her left. “Bad?” Bain thought he could read her. Just like Lin growled and pretended fierceness when the situation wasn't deadly serious, she hid her worries under a mask of calm until the crisis was over. “Some sensor relays lost power and range. They'll work, but not for fine readings. Thank Fi'in we only have one more Knaught jump before Refuge.” She glanced up from the control panel and forced a smile onto her lips. “Finish your breakfast and get to your studies.” “Will you have to go outside?” He shoveled more sweet mush into his mouth, chewed twice and swallowed. It wasn't his favorite breakfast, but anything hot was welcome. He knew the hot cereal was full of vitamins and minerals he needed—didn't taste as good as chocolate—and he had to take care of his body. Growing up, Lin told him, meant doing things he didn't like. “No. You'd like to space-walk, wouldn't you?” She shook her head. “At the speed we're going, ten safety lines wouldn't keep you attached to the ship. Maybe when we're in orbit sometime, I'll let you practice. A good crewman needs to know every part of his ship.” Bain nodded. When they reached Refuge, Lin would land and only stay long enough to get rid of her passengers. She had to go back to Lenga for more orphans. Did she mean she'd let him come on board

again, the next time she reached Refuge? He would like to see her again. He would like to rideSunsinger again and talk to Ganfer. “No,” Lin went on. “The damage we took can't be fixed in space. We need a ground repair facility. Or just plain new parts. This is where finders fees come in handy.” She chuckled. “Although, this time all our bills are being paid by the Commonwealth since we were damaged in service. Always think ahead, Bain. Be prepared for any emergency—that's the best way to avoid them.” **** Sunsingerleft the last Knaught Point with no trouble. Bain gripped the arms of his couch until the ship emerged into normal space. He strained his eyes until the stars appeared and the black of space wiped away the streaks of blue-white. He glanced at Lin, and she grinned back at him. “Well, now that it's all over...” Lin sat back in her couch in the dome and watched a tiny spot of yellow light grow larger directly in front ofSunsinger. Refuge orbited that sun. “I have to admit, I was a little worried.” “Why?” Bain pushed his control panel aside and turned to her. He swung his legs off the couch, holding on with both hands so he wouldn't float away. “That last jump was easy.” “There was a chance the Mashrami did more than scorch us.” She shrugged. “More damage than the sensors could show, maybe. Or so much damage the sensors gave opposite readings of our condition. It's happened before.” “You got us through.” “We got through. Teamwork, Bain.” Lin's face grew stern and her voice took on a growl, which made him grin. “You're a good Spacer. If anyone says otherwise, you send them to me. Including that fat sissy, Toly Gaber.” “What are you going to do, beat up on him?” Bain thought of Toly with his arm in a cast, cleaning the sanitary—ignored by the other children because he refused to confess. “No. I'll just do some fast maneuvers and leave him without anything to hold onto, in free-fall—after his arm heals.” Lin flashed him a grin, then her face fell into tired lines. “I admit, I am glad this trip is over.” “Do you have to go back out there?” “Not right away.” She pushed off the couch with tired moves and headed for the ladder. “Repairs. Double-check systems. Then back to Lenga for another load of children.” She started down the ladder, head-first. “I bet you'll be glad to get back into gravity and get your feet on solid ground again.” “I guess so.” Bain stayed in his place, watching Refuge's sun grow larger. He thought about walking upright again, unable to jump for the ceiling and turn somersaults without falling. He thought about eating food that wasn't pre-packaged and using a sanitary that didn't need a suction hose or safety straps. Showers and swimming and breathing air that hadn't been recycled three hundred times. No more sitting in the dome and watching the slow shift of colors and lights. No more teasing from Ganfer. No more lessons with Lin. But she said she would recommend him to a ship's captain who needed crew. She said she would find him a place where he could train. He would be a Spacer someday and earn his living like his ancestors

had, working in space. Lin had promised. Bain knew she would stick to her promises no matter how hard. He just had to resign himself to learning and working and living aboard another ship, notSunsinger. Bain moved to the ladder. He had to do something, find some chore to keep his mind busy. He didn't want to get Lin angry with him or disappoint her in any way. He didn't want to start crying like a baby. **** They landed on Refuge thirty hours later. Port officials and three empty transport carts arrived before Ganfer had shut down all engines into idle-cool. Bain watched four screens giving different views outside Sunsinger. He could almost laugh at the images shown there. It felt odd and amusing to see transport carts rolling along the ground instead of shooting through the air like birds. The first people he saw walking made him stare. How did they keep their feet stuck to the ground like that? Bain felt heaviness in his arms and legs. His head wanted to sink into his neck and shoulders. He wanted to laugh. Gravity felt odd. A little wrong. Space was where he belonged, not on the ground, stuck to one planet. “Takes a little getting used to, doesn't it?” Lin asked with a smile. She eased herself out of her seat. “Take it slow and easy this first time. Let your muscles get used to holding you up again.” “Is it hard for you, every time you land?” Bain asked. He unbuckled but he didn't try anything else. “I make sure I exercise and keep up my muscle tone ... but yes, it's a chore. It's one you should get used to, if you want to be a Spacer.” She winked and turned away to walk to the galley. Bain noticed her steps were tiny, her legs stiff. She didn't so much lift her feet as shuffle them along the deck. “Couldn't you just stay in orbit all the time and send shuttles down to make deliveries or pick up supplies?” “I could. But it isn't healthy.” She opened a cabinet and pulled out sealed cups. Bain hoped they held chocolate. One last treat before leavingSunsinger forever. “Healthy? Why?” “Your muscles get used to floating all the time—except when you push off something, of course.” Lin put the cups in the heater and sat down to wait. “The longer you stay in free-fall, the weaker your muscles get. Lazy. And your bones start to lose calcium. Not good at all.” “Bad?” “Worse than a half-second exposure to vacuum.” She grimaced. “Remember I said Ganfer and I were alone for years because of the damage toSunsinger when I was little? Most of that time was spent in free-fall. Just before we got within communication distance and the regular space lanes, Ganfer made me repair the exercise wheel. He pulled lots of nasty tricks to make me exercise, too.” “Like what?” “Oh, locking doors on me, cutting off water supplies, locking me out of the school files so I couldn't read or play music or games or anything, until I exercised. Good little nanny-brain, Ganfer is.” Lin chuckled. The timer on the heater went off, and she levered herself up to take out their drinks. “It still hurt when we hit gravity. The doctors all said I would have spent the next year in a hospital bed, not just a month, if Ganfer hadn't made me exercise. Sometimes the things that are good for you aren't much fun.”

“It's not much fun growing up at all, is it?” “No. There are times when it's worth it, though.” She brought the cups over to the control panel. Lin handed him his cup and lifted her own in a salute. “Sometimes you meet people who make you glad to be alive. It's been fun, teaching you.” A tiny smile curved one corner of her mouth, but Lin's eyes were serious. They glistened a little—tears? Bain hoped not. If Lin started crying, he knew he would too. He didn't want anyone, especially Lin, to see him with tears in his eyes. He swallowed hard and returned her salute. Bain wanted to say something, to thank her, to tell her how much he had enjoyed being her crew, too. He couldn't. His throat felt almost too tight to swallow his chocolate, let alone talk. “Let's go check on our passengers, shall we?” Lin drained her cup in two swallows and set it down on the control panel. “We have a lot of work to do. I intend to make the evacuation authorities pay for every bit of my repairs, not just the obvious damages.” “We?” Bain thought his heart had stopped for a few seconds. He clutched his cup so tightly the sides squeaked. “You're crew, aren't you?” Lin frowned, studying him like she had never seen him before. Bain wanted to laugh, but he could hardly breathe. “I need you to help with the unloading. That's part of your training. Or do you think the other children can't get to their new quarters without your help?” “They are kind of helpless, aren't they?” Bain grinned, set his cup down and stood—and the next moment gasped at the sudden ache that filled his muscles, just from trying to stand upright. “Slowly, crewman. Take it nice and easy.” Lin offered an arm to take some weight off his unprepared leg muscles. She grinned. Bain grinned back. **** All too soon, the unloading was over. Bain helped carry the last crate of supplies from the hold and loaded it onto the transport. The sun stood almost straight overhead, noon, though his stomach told him it was past suppertime. Mistress Valgo had passed around sandwiches while they unloaded, but it wasn't enough. He only had to get his bag from his cubicle on the bridge, and he would be ready to go. Bain looked around for Lin. He wanted to say good-bye properly, as an adult. He found her outside, going over some papers and a tally board with two technicians. Bain suspected she was already getting her repairs started at someone else's expense. She looked like she would be busy for a while. Long enough for him to get his bag and return. He hurried, pushing his aching leg muscles, concentrating on fighting the pain so he wouldn't think about leaving. “Where are you going, Bain?” Ganfer asked, when the boy reached the bridge. “I have to leave with the other kids.” He flung aside the curtain for his cubicle and snatched up his bag. “You do?” The ship-brain sounded surprised. “Lin said you were crew.” “Yeah, on this run. She said she'd find me a place on a ship where I could learn to be a Spacer.” Bain swallowed hard when his voice threatened to crack.

“Oh. Is that what she meant?” “Lin keeps her promises, doesn't she?” “Of course she does. I raised her properly, as her parents would. But sometimes Lin doesn't say everything she means. She's sometimes too cautious.” “Oh.” Bain rubbed at his throat, hating how much it hurt, like he kept trying to swallow sobs. His fingers brushed against the collar link Lin had given him. He took it off and set it on the bunk. “I almost forgot to give this back.” “Lin gave it to you. Keep it.” “But somebody else—” “We have plenty on board.” Ganfer's voice sounded odd. Was he laughing or crying? “Lin is looking for you. Better hurry.” “Yeah. Thanks, Ganfer. I'll see you.” He slipped the collar back around his neck. The familiar touch helped take away a little of the ache. Not all of it, but some. “Soon.” The bridge lights flickered, like Ganfer waved good-bye to him. Bain tried to smile. He ran, his bag slung over his shoulder. His footsteps echoed down the access tube to the hold. He felt the floor vibrate under his steps. No more floating and silence. He kept running, through the emptied hold, around the tables and benches still bolted into place, down the long cargo hatch ramp to the ground. Lin stood at the end of the ramp with the two port officials. They watched him come. Bain skidded to a stop a few steps away from them. “This is the boy?” the man asked. The patch on his uniform read ‘Malloy.’ His mouth puckered up and his eyes were too close together. He frowned, studying the boy like he was a new species of sting plant. “This is Chobainian Kern, yes.” Lin's voice had that tightness that meant either teasing or anger or both. She gestured for him to come closer. “Where are you going with the bag, Bain?” the woman asked. She smiled at him, black eyes sparkling, chocolate-colored skin glowing under the hot sun. Her uniform patch had the code for Child Welfare Authority, and her name was ‘Gracia.’ “I have to go to the orphanage with the others,” Bain answered. A prickle traveled up his back. Something strange was going on. “You didn't tell him?” The man glared at Lin. “And get his hopes up high? What if you had said no?” Lin rested one hand on Bain's shoulder, squeezing a little. “Bain, these people have to give permission for you to take another trip with me.” “Another trip?” He let his bag drop. Bain didn't even wince when he heard the thud as it hit the ground. He turned to face Lin. She wore that lopsided grin that meant she wanted to do cartwheels. “It's up to you, Bain,” Gracia said. “Captain Fieran has a good record. Dr. Anyon vouches for your relationship with her. Your records are commendable, and —” “You've started training. We need all the trained Spacers we can get,” Malloy broke in. “Do you want to

go with the captain, or don't you?” “Yes, sir!” Bain wanted to shout, but he didn't have the breath for it. Lin squeezed his shoulder again and that one touch was better than a hug. “I'm really going to make you study,” she said as the two officials walked away. “You have a lot to learn, and I have a reputation to keep up. When we're finished, captains all over this quadrant will beg you to crew for them.” “I'll do the best job, I promise!” he blurted. “Just do your best, and we'll both be satisfied.” Lin nudged his bag with the toe of her boot. “Sorry about not telling you. Anyon was sure they would give permission, but I've dealt with Sourpuss Malloy before. Even Ganfer thought he might say no just to be mean. Pick up your gear, and let's get back to work, all right?” Bain sketched a salute, which earned a hearty laugh from Lin. He hurried back inside the ship and ran all the way back up to the bridge. END

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