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prepared with all the care they lavished on food on more ordinary voyages, when food was an obsession, a precious variance in routine, an art they practiced to delight their occasional passengers and to amaze themselves.
There was no particular evil in the stsho—except the desire to avoid trouble.
Her voice wound in and out in a dozen colors, coiled and recoiled through the lattices which opened for them, and the stomach-wrenching sensation of jump swallowed them down.
She tried with all her wits to keep oriented, a slow reach of a sore arm while matter came undone about them, while they were naked to the between and time played games with the senses.
two disconsolate souls who shared not much at all but their misery.
It was a curious thing, that ships never saw each other; that they nosed up to station and stayed invisible behind station walls; that they existed as blips and dots and figures in comp, moving too fast for vid to pick up. Only now that they were in synch, a package moving at the same velocity and in sight of each other—
She put the thought away. It was too bitter.
The years rolled back and forward again, a pulse like jump, leaving her as unsettled.
Nature. Nature that made males useless, too high-strung to go offworld, to hold any position of responsibility beyond the estates. Nature that robbed them of sense and stability. Or an upbringing that did.
