the dour local, sayan notheen,

turnan awey, an noo hid’s Darling

at’s peltran doon the set’s centre,

the dancers aesy sweengan by.

~

Thir jeust the ae dance noo: a waaltz.

The dancers is breeksed. A few can leuk

in thir pairtners’ een, but mosst is jeust

heids on shudders an shucklan feet.

Thir ither fock in uncan claes,

an Light is gaitheran roon the girders.

Aabody’s on the floar, no seean,

or mibbe thir seean an irno fasht.

A airy pair in oo waaltz roon

a see-trou pair in poly, a treesome

in cotton gang trou a fowersome in siller.

Roon an trou, ganfer or maet

or light or Light: dancers dansan.

Is hid meusic? Whit body movs

whit body’s body? Roon an trou,

maan feet write answers on the floar?

~

The fock o the staetion gang oot the doar.

Eynar an Margit is rotad on cleanan.

Thay sweep an swabble an dight oot the Haa.

An eftir, Eynar taks a sit.

“Did thoo see yin?” Sheu sits hersel.

“Did thoo no?” An Eynar nods.

“Thinks thoo will we see hid again?” he speirs,

like a bairn. “A’ll no,” sheu says. “We might.”

The Dance

Once the people who first came here knew a planet’s elliptical orbit, seasons and an almanac. Now they have sun-lamps and year-round work.

But they kept the old world’s time, and sun-lamps are set to Standard Days, whatever their station’s spin. There are dances, pins along which to string the yearless year.

So Brenna and Higgie are stringing a line across the Hall with light-up letters, in a tongue they do and don’t speak, spelling out “Harvest Home”.

Other people clear and sweep the floor. Eynar is building a bar in the corner. On stage, the band is checking tunes with hand-held synths and things to bang,

and a hollow body of wood and wire that’s played for a few hundred years, come here with people on a ship early on. The sound they make together is wild.

~

Before the dance, there’s the unnamed children. Astrid explains the service to Darling: at seven or eight Standard Years, when they’re ready and have chosen, they take a name –

or, in Orcadia’s words, give – a name and a self to the station’s care. There are three tonight, along with their parents and elders, and people that chose to watch,

like Darling, standing at the back. This year Øyvind has taken the role of Namer. He holds a glass of blood. (It’s synthesised, not because of shame

but because the blood of a lamb is too rare and too expensive such a long distance into the galaxy.) Erlendsbairn lifts up the hem of their shirt, steps up to the old wood altar,

and whisperwishes in Øyvind’s ear. The Namer draws a ring on the child’s forehead, holds very skinny arms, and callnameproclaims, “Haelga!” She steps down. And “Haelga!”