to hold two moons and a huge number of stars. “I miss it,” says Astrid, and Darling’s veryfairly astonishthwarted. “It’s true. Not just my friends, but waitstayliving somewhere I could be . . .” “Be what?” “Be anybody. Or not myself. Or just not have to be.

Out there, with too many people, so much to do, you don’t have to be.” Darling holds her hand. “But you still liked to climb the highest mountains in the solar system?” “Yes. Otherwise it was pretty hard to see.”

Inga an Olaf spaek bisness

“Whit like, beuy?” sheu says.

Sheu kens fine weel whit like.

Olaf is by fer his tea,

an sits ithoot drinkan or spaekan.

Sheu taks a haad o the wheel.

“Thoo’re thinkan A’m wirkan the bott

an the crew ower haird.” He sprets.

“Hid isno jeust aboot me!

Fer A’m gotten me bairn,

an hid’s jeust me thir gotten,

an Erlend is haen his third,

an Erika’s parent’s no weel,

an Ingrid—” “Deus thoo no think

A’m kennan that? We canno—”

“We canno gang oot ivry day!”

Olaf is ferly gowlan.

“We can an we maan,” says Inga,

“or whit’ll thee bairn aet,

or Erlend’s, or Erika’s parent?

Is hid no creches an nurses

whan wiss wi bairns maan wirk?”

“Is hid no common stores

whan thee credits is thin?”

he snashes, an Inga gets quiet

an sad. “Hid isno me,”

sheu says. “Hid’s Orcadia.

The Ting kens whit’s coman.

If thoo an me tak noo,

thir’ll be notheen next year,

or eftir, whan the Lights

is anteran, an the shippeen,

an aa wir needan tae bide.

Wir wirkan while we can.”

Quiet, but haird. Olaf’s

tea is caald. “Hid isno

that bad,” he says, but hid is.

Inga and Olaf talk business

“What’s going on, friendmanboy?” she says. She knows perfectly well what’s going on. Olaf has come to her for tea, and sits without drinking or speaking.

She takes charge. “You think I’m working the ship and the crew too hard.” He startstripburstjumps. “It’s not just me!

Because I have my baby, and they’ve only got me, and Erlend has had his third, and Erika’s parent is sick,

and Ingrid—” “Don’t you think I know? We can’t—” “We can’t go out every day!” Olaf is really bellowcrying.

“We can and we must,” Inga says, “or what will your babychild eat, or Erlend’s, or Erika’s parent? Aren’t there creches and nurses

when those of us with children have to work?” “Aren’t there common stores when you’re short on credits?” he snapbites, and Inga grows quiet

and sad. “It’s not me,” she says. “It’s Orcadia. The Council knows what’s coming. If you and I take now,