“They can’t properly accept what must be done, and so they’re making up stories instead.” “Yes, yes, they’re crazy.” Gunnie gives her arm a shockchancestrike, wanting to hold it, knowing she’s ready to spilltip into her own kind of ragefuryfrenzy and nearly wantneeding to jumpspringvault in behind. Through the screen, the spin of Orcadia turns them to deep space, away from the golden glow of the gas giant. The corridor enters twilight. “It’s like they wantneed our placedistancepartwhile to die,” says Brenna, and Gunnie is worryirritated at that. “No, no,” they say, too quiet. “They just aren’t sure what will survive the change.” And the station whirlrushdancespins.

Noor draems

Noor’s quaaters is oot by the Hofn,

a peedie cell by hidsel,

aneath the hulks sheu studies.

The night thir a ring o Light

aroon her sleepeen kist

wi no a body tae see it.

Sheu braethes; hid swaalls an birls;

i’the mids o the wheel sheu draems.

The wracks is spaekan. Thir

unfaaldan, a hingan glimro

o human wirds in waves

atwart the shiftan waas:

equaetions, errows. A mooth

appens wide i’the center

o the center. Hid spaeks; her haands

grip, ungrip, grip.

Wi morneen, sheu’s breeksed, hinkid

i’the sheets like a bab or a corp,

sleepan yet whan sheu poors

watter on poodered maet,

an sleepan whan sheu gaithers

her notts an putters her skiff

oot tae the Wrack-Hofn.

Hid’s notheen ither as silent.

But thir a calculaetion

sheu canno shak, a nummer

tae remak the mynd o the meisurs.

So noo sheu’s back at the godssend,

hungered sam as this

wir the first day on site,

whan nummers wirno been wrowt

intae unmeanan an loss.

Noor dreams

Noor’s quarters are out near the Havenharbour, a little cell on its own, beneath the hulks she studies. Tonight there’s a ring of Light around her sleeping-chestcoffinbreast with no one there to see it. She breathes; it swellwaves and whirlrushdancespins; in the centre of the wheel she dreams.

The wrecks are speaking. They are unfolding, a hangleaning ghost-light of human words in waves across the changedodgemoving walls: equations, arrows. A mouth opens wide in the centre of the centre. It speaks; her hands clench, unclench, clench.

In the morning, she is exhausted, twisted in the sheets like a baby or a corpse, sleeping still when she pours water on powdered foodmeat, and sleeping when she gathers her notes and putters her skiff out to the Wreck-Havenharbour. It’s nothing other than silent.

But there is a calculation she cannot shake, a number to remake the meaningmemorymindwill of the measurements. So now she’s back at the salvagewrecktreasure, as hungry as if it were her first day on site, when numbers hadn’t been worked into unmeaning and loss.

Darling catches wird fae haem

The bulletin’s chaenged. Her faithers is chairted

her rodd a weys aroon the starns.