“If you do what I tell you to do, it will not hurt. You will understand the speech of this other place and I will give you an old body, an old woman. Old bodies are not as threatening to others. No one bothers an old woman.”

She tried to relax in obedience. Accept. But questions filled her mind. “Why are You sending me to . . .”

“Eavesdrop, Ekel. Observe and learn. And no matter what you see, do not try to interfere. You would cause unnecessary pain, perhaps even to yourself.”

“I just watch and . . .”

“Do not interfere. You will see the consequences presently of interfering with Time.”

Before she could ask another question, she felt a prickling along the back of her neck; a slither of chill swept down her spine. Her heart slammed against her ribcage.

Ship’s voice came from a long distance. “Ready, Ekel.” It was a command, not a question, but she answered, and her own voice echoed in her skull.

“Yesssssss. . . .”

Chapter 24

Chapter 24

The mind is a mirror of the universe.

See the reflections?

The universe is no mirror for the mind.

Nothing out there

Nothing in here

Shows ourselves.

—Kerro Panille, The Collected Poems

WAELA TAOLINI lay in her groundside cubby, fatigue in her body, fatigue in her mind, but unable to sleep. Thomas had no mercy. Everything must be done to his perfectionist demands. He was a fanatic. They had spent twenty-one hours going through the operational routine for the new sub. Thomas would not wait for the arrival of the poet, who was somewhere in the bowels of Processing. No. We will use what time we have.

She tried to take a deep breath. Pain yanked a knot behind her breastbone.

She wondered how Thomas came to them. How could he be from Ship? Things he did not know, things that Shipmen took for granted, worried her. There was the incident with the Hooded Dasher.

He was calm, though, I’ll give him that.

What really surprised her was his ignorance of The Game.

A crowd had gathered behind the LTA hangar—off-shift crew, most of them drinking what Shipmen called Spinneret wine.

“What’s this about?” Thomas pointed his clipboard at the group.

“It’s The Game.” She looked at him with a new amazement. “You mean you don’t know The Game?”

“What Game? That’s just a bunch of drunks having a good time . . . strange, there was nothing in my briefing about liquors of any kind.”

“There have always been lab alcohols,” she said, “and at one time there were wines and brandies. But officially we can’t afford to give up any productive food for wine. Somehow, some do and the market is brisk. Those men,” she nodded toward the group, “have traded away some of their food chits for it.”

“So, they trade food for wine that costs food to make—maybe less food. Isn’t that their right?” His eyes squinted at her.