But every other Rock had an air of shabbiness; a Rock always looked lived-in, because it was, by a bunch of squabbling, randy trainees and troopers who cared a lot more about sack time than about hygiene and neatness—and because, by Coalition policy, every military facility was cut to the bone in resources anyhow. A base was a place you left to go fight, not a place you longed to get back to.

Orion was different. Pirius had never seen a base so neat. In the barracks there wasn’t a blanket out of place. When they passed, all the troops sprang to attention and lined up neatly by their bunks, eerie grins plastered over their faces. Even the walls were smooth to the touch—worn at shoulder height by the passage of millions of young bodies.

Neat it might have been, but everywhere was dark, lit by only a few hovering globes. Pirius thought the air was a little cold, though it tasted fresh enough. Not only that, everybody—even the youngest children in the junior cadres—crept about quietly, treading softly and murmuring. Boote said it was always like this.

“Ah,” Nilis said. “Silent running.”

“What’s that?” They were both whispering; it was contagious.

“This is a covert base, remember. The crew are sailing toward the Xeelee, who must not suspect they are here. And they strive to keep everything below the level of the background noise of the Baby Spiral—their energy expenditure, their signaling. As for the whispering and creeping about, I don’t imagine it makes much practical difference, but, though I’m no expert on motivation, I should think it is good psychology—a constant reminder to keep your head down.”

Pirius peered around curiously at the wide-eyed children who smiled hopefully at him. He tried to imagine how it must be to have grown up in this claustrophobic environment of darkened corridors and whispers. But these kids had never known anything different; to them this was normal.

As they walked on, Boote proudly explained the origin of his name.

Of course there were no true families here, no heredity; that would be far too non-Doctrinal. This was a place of birthing tanks and cadres, like most military bases. But a tradition had grown up even so. The first Boote, centuries back, had been a fine Captain who had inspired loyalty and affection from all. When her successor had taken her name on his accession, to become Boote the Second, it had seemed the most natural thing in the world, a tribute that had become a badge of honor to the Captains who had followed, right down to this fine fellow, Boote the Forty-Third. Similarly there were “dynasties” among the engineers and medics, comm officers and pilots, and other specialist corps.

Nilis raised his eyebrows at Pirius, but said nothing. Wherever you went, a little deviance was inevitable, it seemed.

They were taken out onto the surface in a covered walkway. Nilis cringed from the crowded sky, but after that gloomy enclosure Pirius was relieved to be out under the healthy glow of the Core.