Dajeil rocked back and forward in her seat for a moment, staring at the meal on the table. ‘Well enough,’ she said, sniffing. ‘You know him well enough.’ She smoothed her ruffled hair as best she could. She stared up at the translucent dome for a moment. ‘All I knew,’ she said, ‘was the person he became when he was with me.’ She looked at Ulver. ‘I forgot what he was like all the rest of the time.’ She took Ulver’s hand in hers. ‘You’re seeing what he’s really like.’

Ulver gave a long slow shrug. ‘Then . . .’ she said, looking troubled, her tone measured. ‘He’s all right. I think.’

The screens on the far side of the circular room showed fuzzy grids expanding, swallowing, disappearing. The last field approached, was pierced to reveal a black wash of space, and then - with a smear of rushing stars and the same barely perceptible feeling of dislocation Ulver and Genar-Hofoen had experienced two days earlier when they had arrived on board the Sleeper Service - the Jaundiced Outlook was free of the GSV and peeling away on a diverging course within its own concentric collection of fields.

‘And what does that make me?’ Dajeil whispered.

Ulver shrugged. She looked down at Dajeil’s belly. ‘Still pregnant? ’ she suggested.

Dajeil stared at her. Then she gave a small laugh. Her head went down again.

Ulver patted her hand. ‘Tell me about it if you want.’

Dajeil sniffed, dabbing at her nose with the folded napkin. ‘Yes, I’m sure you really care.’

‘Oh, believe me,’ Ulver told her, ‘other people’s problems have always held a profound fascination for me.’

Dajeil sighed. ‘Other people’s are always the best problems to be involved with,’ she said ruefully.

‘My thoughts exactly.’

‘I suppose you think I ought to talk to him too,’ Dajeil said.

Ulver glanced up at the screens again. ‘I don’t know. But if you have even the least thought of it, I’d take advantage of the opportunity now, before it’s too late.’

Dajeil looked round at the screens. ‘Oh, we’ve gone,’ she said in a small voice. She looked back at the other woman. ‘Do you think he wants to see me?’ Ulver thought there was a tone of hopefulness in her voice. Her troubled gaze flitted from one of Ulver’s eyes to the other.

‘Well, if he doesn’t he’s a fool,’ Ulver said, wondering why she was being so diplomatic.

‘Ha,’ Dajeil said. She wiped her cheeks with her fingers once more and dragged her fingers through her hair. She reached into her dress and pulled out a comb. She offered it to Ulver. ‘Would you . . . ?’

Ulver stood. ‘Only if you say you’ll see him,’ she said, smiling.

Dajeil shrugged. ‘I suppose so.’

Ulver stood behind Dajeil, and began to comb her long dark hair.

~ Ship?

~ Ms Seich. The Jaundiced Outlook here.