right,” Bluetooth said.
“We must stay still,” she reminded him.
“They will forget us.”
“They will not,” she said, but she had doubts herself, so dark the place was and
so desolate, just a little light where they were, above them.
There was a terrible clash of metal. The door through which they had come in
opened, and there was no view of hills and forest now, but of a ribbed
throatlike passage which blasted cold air at them.
A man came up it, dressed in brown, carrying one of the handspeakers. “Come on,”
he told them, and they made haste to untie themselves. Satin stood up and found
her legs shaking; she leaned on Bluetooth and he staggered too.
The man gave them gifts, silver cords to wear. “Your numbers,” he said. “Always
wear them.” He took their names and gestured out the passage. “Come with me.
We’ll get you checked in.”
They followed, down the frightening passage, out into a place like the ship
belly where they had been, metal and cold, but very, very huge. Satin stared
about her, shivering. “We are in a bigger ship,” she said. “This is a ship too.”
And to the human: “Man, we in Upabove?”
“This is the station,” the human said.
A hint of cold settled on Satin’s heart. She had hoped for sights, for the
warmth of Sun. She chided herself to patience, that these things would come,
that it would yet be beautiful.
iii
Pell: blue sector five: 9/2/52
The apartment was tidied, the odds and ends rucked into hampers. Damon shrugged
into his jacket, straightened his collar, Elene was still dressing, fussing at a
waistline that—perhaps—bound a little. It was the second suit she had tried, She
looked frustrated with this one too. He walked up behind her and gave her a
gentle hug about the middle, met her eyes in the mirror. “You look fine. So what
if it shows a little?”
She studied them both in the mirror, put her hand on his. “It looks more like
I’m gaining weight.”
“You look wonderful,” he said, expecting a smile. Her mirrored face stayed
anxious. He lingered a moment, held her because she seemed to want that. “Is it
all right?” he asked. She had, perhaps, overdone, had gone out of her way to
look right, had gotten special items from commissary… was nervous about the
whole evening, he thought. Therefore the effort. Therefore the fretting about
small things. “Does having Talley come here bother you?”
Her fingers traced his slowly. “I don’t think it does. But I’m not sure I know
what to say to him. I’ve never entertained a Unioner.”
He dropped his arms, looked her in the eyes when she turned about. The
exhausting preparations… all the anxiety to please. It was not enthusiasm. He
had feared so. “You suggested it; I asked were you sure. Elene, if you felt in
the least awkward in it—”
“He’s ridden your conscience for over three months. Forget my qualms. I’m
curious; shouldn’t I be?”
He suspected things… a more-than-willingness to accommodate him, that balance
sheet Elene kept; gratitude, maybe; or her way of trying to tell him she cared.
He remembered the long evenings, Elene brooding on her side of the table, he on
his, her burden Estelle and his—the lives he handled. He had talked about Talley
a certain night he ended up listening to her instead; and when the chance
came—such gestures were like Elene: he could not remember bringing her another
problem but that. So she took it, tried to solve it, however hard it was.
Unioner. He had no way of knowing what she felt under those circumstances. He
had thought he knew.
“Don’t look that way,” she said. “I’m curious, I said. But it’s the social
situation. What do you say? Talk over old times? Have we possibly met before,
Mr. Talley? Exchanged fire, maybe? Or maybe we talk over family… How’s yours,
Mr, Talley? Or maybe we talk about hospital. How have you enjoyed your stay on
Pell, Mr. Talley?”
“Elene—”
“You asked.”
“I wish I’d known how you felt about it.”
“How do you feel about it—honestly?”
“Awkward,” he confessed, leaned against the counter. “But, Elene—”