you.” He gave her a wry smile. “We aboard want to keep our sanity in condition!”
Kilbirnie lowered her head. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t think of that.”
“We learn by mistakes.” Nansen switched off.
“Including you by yours?” she muttered. “Dinna think Ihavena heard what a hotshot you were in your own piloting days.”
Her cheerfulness revived. She disengaged the sensory interfaces attached to her skin, unharnessed, and floated to the bow airlock. The dock had mated a transit module to it. She passed through. Inside the great hull, a passage stretched bare and bleakly lighted. Maybe someone would brighten it up in the course of the journey. Hands grasping, feet thrusting at inset rungs, Kilbirnie sped forward. At the end, a perpendicular corridor brought her to a lock near the inner hull. Beyond it she entered a padded compartment with several seats, into one of which she secured herself.
The compartment was the cabin of a shuttle. It did not jet, it jumped across the ten meters to the wheel. Magnetohydrodynamic forces captured it along the way and eased it into contact with a port in that spoke which happened to be whirling past at the right instant. The radius here being short, the impact was slight, as was the weight Kilbirnie suddenly felt. She unbuckled, cycled through this pair of locks, and emerged on a platform projecting into the cylinder. From there she could have taken a railcar to the rim. She preferred to climb the fixed ladder.
The climb could as well have been called a descent. Weight increased as she proceeded, until at the end it was a full Earth gravity. She came out into a corridor, lined with doors, which curved upward to right and left, although the deck was always level beneath her feet. The overhead cast gentle light. At the moment, a breeze bore an odor of pine. She inhaled gratefully. While a boat trip might be exciting, undeniably the ship had a better air system.
Tim Cleland stood jittering to and fro. He was a tall young man, carelessly clad, sparely built, his countenance round and snub-nosed, with brown eyes and curly brown hair. “Jean,” he croaked.
She halted. “Losh, what a face on you,” she said.
“I was … terrified.” In haste: “Not for me. For you. If you’d crashed—” He reached toward her.
She ignored the gesture. “No danger of that,” she assured him. “I like being alive.”
His arms dropped. He stared at her. The ventilation whispered.
“Do you?” he asked slowly.
Her smile died. Her look defied him.
“Do you?” he insisted. “Then why are you throwing it away, ev—everything that is your life? … Ten thousand years sealed inside this
shell
.”
Kilbirnie strengthened her burr. “Nobbut two years altogether, ship time. In between them, five years of Elvenland.”
“You don’t like what Earth’s become,” he pleaded. “In ten thousand years, it’ll be—what?”
Her teeth flashed in the wide white smile that was especially hers. “A high part of the whole faring, to see what.” The husky voice went low. “But if you feel like this about it, why are you bound along?”
His shoulders slumped. “You know why. I’ve told you, how often?”
She nodded: “It’s because I am. Tim, Tim, that’s not a sane reason.”
He attempted playfulness. “I’ll wear you down.”
“I think not, Tim. You’re a dear, but I think not. Best you resign, before ’tis too late. We do have some standby volunteers, you remember.”
Cleland shook his head. “No. They’re second choices. By now, I’d feel like a traitor.” He caught a breath. “Besides, well, the scientific prospects are dazzling, that’s true. What kinds of planets, what kinds of beings? And—and, uh, I’ve explained how I never was very adept socially. Not a leader, not a follower, not a joiner. I’m giving up less than most men would.” He gulped. “But I’m not giving up on you.”
“Forgive me,” she said softly. “I must go now. I have a
Kilbirnie lowered her head. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t think of that.”
“We learn by mistakes.” Nansen switched off.
“Including you by yours?” she muttered. “Dinna think Ihavena heard what a hotshot you were in your own piloting days.”
Her cheerfulness revived. She disengaged the sensory interfaces attached to her skin, unharnessed, and floated to the bow airlock. The dock had mated a transit module to it. She passed through. Inside the great hull, a passage stretched bare and bleakly lighted. Maybe someone would brighten it up in the course of the journey. Hands grasping, feet thrusting at inset rungs, Kilbirnie sped forward. At the end, a perpendicular corridor brought her to a lock near the inner hull. Beyond it she entered a padded compartment with several seats, into one of which she secured herself.
The compartment was the cabin of a shuttle. It did not jet, it jumped across the ten meters to the wheel. Magnetohydrodynamic forces captured it along the way and eased it into contact with a port in that spoke which happened to be whirling past at the right instant. The radius here being short, the impact was slight, as was the weight Kilbirnie suddenly felt. She unbuckled, cycled through this pair of locks, and emerged on a platform projecting into the cylinder. From there she could have taken a railcar to the rim. She preferred to climb the fixed ladder.
The climb could as well have been called a descent. Weight increased as she proceeded, until at the end it was a full Earth gravity. She came out into a corridor, lined with doors, which curved upward to right and left, although the deck was always level beneath her feet. The overhead cast gentle light. At the moment, a breeze bore an odor of pine. She inhaled gratefully. While a boat trip might be exciting, undeniably the ship had a better air system.
Tim Cleland stood jittering to and fro. He was a tall young man, carelessly clad, sparely built, his countenance round and snub-nosed, with brown eyes and curly brown hair. “Jean,” he croaked.
She halted. “Losh, what a face on you,” she said.
“I was … terrified.” In haste: “Not for me. For you. If you’d crashed—” He reached toward her.
She ignored the gesture. “No danger of that,” she assured him. “I like being alive.”
His arms dropped. He stared at her. The ventilation whispered.
“Do you?” he asked slowly.
Her smile died. Her look defied him.
“Do you?” he insisted. “Then why are you throwing it away, ev—everything that is your life? … Ten thousand years sealed inside this
shell
.”
Kilbirnie strengthened her burr. “Nobbut two years altogether, ship time. In between them, five years of Elvenland.”
“You don’t like what Earth’s become,” he pleaded. “In ten thousand years, it’ll be—what?”
Her teeth flashed in the wide white smile that was especially hers. “A high part of the whole faring, to see what.” The husky voice went low. “But if you feel like this about it, why are you bound along?”
His shoulders slumped. “You know why. I’ve told you, how often?”
She nodded: “It’s because I am. Tim, Tim, that’s not a sane reason.”
He attempted playfulness. “I’ll wear you down.”
“I think not, Tim. You’re a dear, but I think not. Best you resign, before ’tis too late. We do have some standby volunteers, you remember.”
Cleland shook his head. “No. They’re second choices. By now, I’d feel like a traitor.” He caught a breath. “Besides, well, the scientific prospects are dazzling, that’s true. What kinds of planets, what kinds of beings? And—and, uh, I’ve explained how I never was very adept socially. Not a leader, not a follower, not a joiner. I’m giving up less than most men would.” He gulped. “But I’m not giving up on you.”
“Forgive me,” she said softly. “I must go now. I have a
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