“But I thought . . . I mean, the foremost provision of WorShip is that we give our children to Ship until they’re seven. Ship designated the Natali as the trustees of birth . . . and their quarters are here, the estate . . .”

“Not Ship!” Ferry’s interruption was guttural. “Some Ceepee did it. This is a matter for our determination.”

“But doesn’t Ship . . .”

“There’s no record of Ship doing this. Now, our Ceepee has ruled that it is no violation of WorShip to move the Natali groundside.”

“How . . . how long . . . until . . .”

“Perhaps a Pandoran anno. You know—quarters, supplies, politics.” He waved it all off.

“When do I go to the Natali?”

“Next diurn. Take a break. Get your things moved over. Talk toooo . . .” He picked up a note from the jumble on his desk, squinted. “. . . Usija. She’ll take care of you from there.”

His foot brushed the back of her heel, then rubbed her instep.

“Thank you, Doctor.” She pulled her foot back.

“I don’t feel your gratitude.”

“But I do thank you, especially for the time off. I have some notes to catch up on.”

He held up an empty glass. “We could have a drink . . . to celebrate.”

She shook her head, but before she could say no, he leaned forward, grinning. “We’ll be neighbors, soon, Hali. We could celebrate that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Groundside.” He pushed the glass toward her. “After the Natali go . . .”

“But who’ll be left here?”

“Production facilities, mostly.”

“Ship? A factory?” She felt her face blaze red.

“Why not? What other use will we have for Ship when we’re groundside?”

She jumped to her feet. “You would lobotomize your own mother!” Whirling from his startled gaze, she fled.

All the way back to her quarters, she heard the drum of Yaisuah’s voice in her ears: “If they do these things in a green tree, what will they do in a dry?”

Chapter 40

Chapter 40

I like seeing things fall into place.

—Kerro Panille, The Notebooks

NIGHTSIDE AFTER nightside, always nightside! The horror! Legata awoke on the deck in a shipside cubby, her hammock hanging around her like the torn shreds of her nightmares. Sweat and fear chilled her in the dark.

Slowly, reason returned. She felt the remnants of the hammock on and under her, the cold of the deck against her palms.

I’m shipside.

She had come up earlier at Oakes’ command to check out reports that Ferry was too far gone on alcohol to be effective. It had shocked her, getting off the shuttle in a familiar shipbay, to see how few Shipmen formed the arrival crew. Staffing raids by Lewis were decimating the shipside work force to replace losses at the Redoubt.

How many people did they really lose?

She tugged pieces of hammock out from under her, hurled them into the darkness.