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“Takehold shelter,” Bren advised the newcomers quietly, with a gesture toward the cabinet. Gi
So they were all represented here aft of the bridge—all there but the residents of the ship, the run of the crew who ran the systems that didn’t have to do with conditions outside the hull.
The ones Ramirez had lied to so early, the last time they’d made this approach.
One wondered if there was, this time, a live video feed belowdecks—or—so basic was the supposition that what one saw on the monitor was real—one had to wonder if what was up there at the moment in front of the bridge crew was real.
Jase would know. Surely Jase would know.
And one reminded oneself that Sabin, with all her other faults, had taken a stand in favor of truth. At least she had advertised that to be the case.
She wouldn’t possibly lie about that.
Would she?
“Mani-ma.” Whisper from Cajeiri. “May one see the screens up close?”
“One certainly may not, great-grandson.”
“What are they doing, mani-ma?”
“What the ship-aiji bids them do, young sir, and a wise young sir would leave them to do it undistracted before they crash this ship.”
“One would never distract them, mani-ma. One only—”
Thump! went the ferrule of the cane against the deck. Gi
And, meeting utter atevi and Mospheiran propriety, the two captains turned back to their work. The technicians never had looked away from the screens and instruments, not a one.
Bren took a deep breath.
“Is everything all right?” Gi
“Oh, ordinary,” Bren said. “The young aiji would like to see the view.”
“So would we all,” Gi
Presumably the image above them was indeed valid as it shifted… magnified, became centered on twin points of light.
A star? A planet?
They stood in silence a lengthy period of time, Cajeiri fidgeting with his pockets, and his parcel, and finally receiving a reprimand.
The view shifted again, and the points of light became larger, and resolved into a disc and a dimmer point, dimmer, flickering, and resolving, and resolving again as Sabin and Jase moved routinely from station to station.
The next resolution shut out the brighter object entirely. The smaller light source became very likely a space station, rotating, showing one great dark patch.
“Is that where we’re going, nandiin-ji?” Cajeiri asked.
“One believes so, young sir,” Cenedi answered him.
“Is—”
“Hush,” Ilisidi said sharply, and added: “If waiting tires you, you may go sit in your room, young sir.”
“No, mani-ma.”
The image grew clearer, slowly, slowly. Jase drifted near in his patrol of the room.
“The crew is seeing this, nadi?” Bren asked in Ragi.
“One believes so,” Jase said under his breath. “One hopes so. What we’re seeing is what we hope to see at this point. The station doesn’t know we’re here, yet, unless there’s an alarm we don’t know about. They’ll respond soon, if there’s anyone alive, but we’re two hours sixteen minutes and some-odd seconds out from their answer, nadiin-ji. You’ll see a counter start to run on that screen once we know our initial signal has reached them. We have transmitted a focused signal, aimed tightly at them.”
Jase moved off. Bren translated for Gi
“The ship’s ten years late,” Gi
“No big surprise,” Bren agreed, and translated the remark for the dowager and the rest, who thought it fu
“One will point it out,” Cenedi said, and just then the numbers did appear in the corner of the screen. “There. One has that long to wait.”
Cajeiri looked. And fidgeted.
“Will we do nothing else, nandiin-ji?”
“A small boy could go back to the nursery,” Ilisidi said sternly, and Cajeiri clutched his packet and stood stock still for a remarkable fifteen minutes before he heaved a sigh.
Another before the feet had to move.
The dowager’s cane came down gently on the offending foot.
“One regrets, mani-ma.”
“Good,” Ilisidi said sharply.
They waited. And waited. A quarter, then a half hour crawled past with no movement at all from the boy.
One hesitated to suggest again that the dowager sit. She was veteran of the court in Shejidan, where standing was a test of endurance and will. She had the boy for witness to any weakness.
But the cane was not all for show.
They stood another half hour and more. Bren tried to think of a courteous way to suggest again they rest, and found none.
Then Ilisidi lifted her cane and pointed to the jump seats against the takehold cabinet. “We shall sit, Cenedi-ji.”
“Yes,” Cenedi said, and certainly with relief. They moved to let down two of the jump seats.
Ilisidi sat down. Motioned to Cajeiri to sit. There were three other seats. “Paidhi-ji. Gin-nadi.”
Persons of equivalent rank might sit. Bren accepted the honor gratefully, and relayed the invitation to Gin, who sensibly did come and sit down, accepting her lordship, leaving Jerry to stand.
The numbers ran on the screen. Jase and Sabin continued their slow patrol of the aisles and C1 made a brief status report to the general crew: “ Situation normal on the bridge. Still awaiting response window relative to station. We have Reunion Station in long-view. Cha
They sat. Cajeiri’s packet proved nothing more dire than a book, which evidently the dowager approved—or accepted as a necessity for young nerves. Bren found himself trying to see the book title, trying to see any information at all to distract an information-hungry brain, but he couldn’t quite manage. So they all waited. Distances were large and information crawled over inconceivable dark spaces.
Jase and Sabin spoke together for a moment. The station image suddenly grew more distinct. No exterior lights showed, none of the navigational blinkers operating on the mast. A source of flicker showed as trailing debris from a massive dark area of destruction.
The clock ticked down toward the reply window. Anticipation on the bridge was palpable.
The clock entered negative territory; and time ran. Anticipation began to curdle.
“Is it not past time?” Cajeiri asked—having learned perfectly well to read human numbers. He had closed his book and held it against his chest.
“It is, indeed, young gentleman,” Ilisidi said. “Which may mean many things, including the possibility that we are too late to effect a rescue. Or that the one person on watch has decided to read a book. Hush, and listen.”
“What if—?”
“Hush.”
Cajeiri hushed, and with worried looks at the display, reopened his book and buried himself in it. The sentiment was much the same among the techs. And the captains. Gin Kroger frowned, saying not a word. Bren exchanged a worried look with Banichi and Jago.
“Might we have sandwiches?” Cajeiri asked eventually, in the long crawl of time.
“The aiji’s heir alone may have a sandwich,” Ilisidi said, “while his elders worry.”
A small silence. “I no longer feel hungry, mani-ma.”
“When the crew has refreshment,” Ilisidi said, “ then would be appropriate.”
“Yes, mani-ma.”
Cajeiri dutifully returned to his book. Bren longed to get up, to pace the deck, to ask Jase what he’d said to Sabin and what Sabin had said to him—but his questions did no good, no more than Cajeiri’s, and he kept them to himself.
“ This is C1. As yet there is no response from the station. Stand by, ”
Natural caution, Bren said to himself. The station, if there was anyone receiving, had likely to advise its own officers, review the situation, decide to respond to a distant signal.