Sagot kissing him good-bye.
Tangan accepting an old student’s betrayal of him and giving kindness to one more incoming boy.
Tears filled his eyes and he wiped at them and found Duun looking at him. “I’m sorry, Duun. I don’t know why I do that.”
“Don’t you know by now I can’t?” Duun asked him.
Thorn stared at him with the streaks drying on his face.
“Duun,” Weig said. And Duun went to see what Weig wanted.
“We’re down to twenty hours,” Weig said.
There was suit drill. “If we get hit, at least there’s some chance.” Duun said, and opened that long locker which hugged one side of the bridge, where spacesuits nestled one behind the other like embryos in a womb. Duun pulled one out and shoved it at him, fastenings all undone. “Try it.”
Thorn tucked up and got his feet inserted, struggling with the rest. Duun showed him once how to do the fastenings, then made him do it over and over again until his hands hurt. Duun showed him how the backpacks fit against the rear of the seats, and how an automation on the seat back would bring the helmet down and release it in his grip. “So you don’t have to sit in that damn rig for hours,” Duun said, and showed him the air connectors to the shuttle’s own emergency supply, and how to disconnect and use the backpack. “Helmet first, then disconnect and you’ve got air enough in the suit to get to the pack and get it started.” Duun made him work it all again and again until he was exhausted.
“Sleep awhile,” Duun said then. “You’ll need it.”
It amazed Thorn that Duun could do that so readily, anchored to his couch down in their own compartment; and most of all that up above in the activity and bright light of the bridge, Ghindi and Spart tethered themselves in a corner by the closets and went to an honest and quick sleep, while Weig and Mogannen kept computing changes. Thorn tethered himself beside Duun and tried, succeeded at least in resting; but the plane got into his half-dreams; so did the flight; and Betan.
Then he undipped and sailed up to the bridge to discover Ghindi and Spart at work and the other two asleep. The computer ticked away. Thorn came gingerly closer off the overhead, hanging upside down over Ghindi’s post and a little back so that he could see the screen.
Ghindi turned her chair around and looked up. She had that look people had when they came face-to-face with him; and then she banished it for one he could not well read. Exhaustion. Sadness. Was it love? It made no sense. He tumbled over and righted himself with a move of his hand that helped him turn. Perhaps the look made more sense right-side up.
“I’m sorry,” Thorn said, meaning for bothering her in her work. He wanted to go and hide himself below before Duun found out.
She started at him, bewildered. They were both tired and a little crazed. They could not make sense to each other. “We’ll get you there,” she said.
(To Gatog?) Thorn was dismayed. He showed it like a child. Less seemed dishonest toward Ghindi. “Are you kosan?” he asked. He remembered the pilots.
“Tanun,” Ghindi named her guild. Tanun, seafarers. It seemed appropriate to him.
“Ghindi,” Spart said from his computers. “We’ve got another burn from Kandurn.”
Ghindi turned as if Thorn had fallen suddenly from her world. “We’re getting short, aren’t we?”
“We’re getting short. I think we’d better get Weig and Mogannen up.”
Thorn began to turn, found purchase with his foot and dived for the downward hatch, sailed through into that dim light and tumbled to hit a wall and stop. “Duun. They’re calling the crew up. It sounds like we’re short of time.”
Duun moved in his drifting and looked at him. “How short?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know how to tell, except there’s some good bit less time than we had, forty minutes one time and now they’ve had another burn.”
Duun touched bottom and shot up like a swimmer for the light. Thorn touched and followed.