“We’re up,” Thorn murmured. “We’re up.” “Where the worlds spin, yes. You can be easy awhile, minnow. It’s a great ocean you’ve come to. It’s easy to move and easy to move too far.” Duun grinned at him. (Can he smile after all that? Can he be happy? Can anyone ever, after that?)
Duun pulled gently at his wrist- “Keep your arm stiff. Never mind, don’t try to hold.” The fastenings of the flightsuit gave way. Duun’s own suit drifted in pieces, loosed at chest and wrists and ankles. Duun worked him free: torque set them spinning and they drifted together while the cabin revolved slowly about them.
Freedom, then, Thorn drifted, shut his eyes in exhaustion, half-slitted them to watch Duun come and go through a hole he had not seen before.A hatch had opened above them. In the lazy spin Thorn caught sight of white light, of shonun bodies that drifted to and fro about some business, Duun went up to that place and sailed down again like some graceful diver. Duun’s ears were up; his eyes were lively and bright.
(He knows this, he knows all of it, he’s been this way more than once.)
“Where are we going, Duun?”
“Hush. Rest. People are busy.”
“What’s happened to the world?”
“It’s still there. Fighting’s centered mostly now around the shuttleports and Avenen and Suunviden. but it’s dying down now-now that we’re away and there’s not a damn thing they can do about it.”
“Why did we do it? Where are we going?” “Why, why, and why? There’s a shower on board. I’m going to use it. When I have I’m going to tape some plastic around those hands of yours and make you pleasanter company.” Duun drifted off from him. Thorn twisted in midair and saw him disappear down yet another hole. Thorn tried to maneuver himself, spun and brought up against the cushions, remembering only at the last moment not to use his hands; he rebounded helplessly and drifted, waiting.
A vacuum went on in the shower and Thorn watched the water droplets run in clinging trails until they were gone and the lamp dried him. He elbowed the latch and drifted out again, turned once in midair in slow revolution before Duun snagged him and wrapped a plain blue kilt about him, tugged the self-belt about his waist with a touch familiar years ago, exactly the snugness, exactly the way Duun had done it then-Thorn looked into Duun’s face from a grownup angle, met him eye-to-eye when Duun finished with the small pat on the side he had given him when he was small. Time went backward and forward, spun like the room.
“Follow me,” Duun said, trod on the cabinet wall and drifted upward with unerring grace through the narrow hatch.
Thorn kicked off, angled his body with what grace he could manage and sailed through in Duun’s wake, followed him again, up into a light, into the mind and heart of the shuttle where crew came and went.
They stared-(they shocked; they want to be polite; they don’t know whether to stare or not, whether staring’s honest or only rude.) Duun drifted on and stopped and Thorn imitated his move, ignoring the stares- (The world in flames. They ought to hate me. I don’t blame them. I was born for it.) And he floated strangely free, taking all their blame, ignoring their eyes on his smooth pale skin, suffering Duun’s grip on his arm that drew him toward the window.
The bright blue world-was there. Its fires were invisible. The perspective denied everything-the fires became one more illusion beyond a window; his life shrank to invisible scale, lived out on a mountain and in a city whose burning could not even stain the clouds.
He stared and stared, and the tears beaded in his eyes until his blinking drove them. He wiped his eyes and a droplet floated free from his fingertip, perfect, a wobbling orb like the world in space.
“Do you love it?” Duun asked. “Do you love it, minnow?”
“Yes,” Thorn said when he could say anything at all. He wiped his eyes again. “It’s still there.”
“So long as you aren’t on it,” Duun said, and it was truth; he had seen it. Thorn’s chest ached. He put out a hand and touched the window and the world.