I stayed hunched over my dinner and didn’t have to say much of anything else while Charles schemed. I wasn’t interested in him, in Ethan Achebe of the Zeusian Mining Enterprise Achebes, or any of his other projects. All I had to do was figure out how to get a glimpse of the bridge before the trip ended.
Past the galley was a gym, a boxy room filled with equipment that looked like it might be fun to play with, or torture devices, depending. Lots of machines for weight, resistance, and cardio training, so people like us from the colonies could build up muscles and stamina for dealing with Earth’s high gravity. I had a whole schedule of exercises I was supposed to be doing, along with the nutritional supplements and muscle and bone enhancers I was taking.
Beyond the gym was the observation deck, which was really just a pair of spongy foam benches and two small round view ports for nominal observers to look out. Halfway between Earth and Mars there was exactly nothing to see. Both planets were pinhead-size disks, one red, one blue-white. Monitors on the wall let you access external telescopes and cameras on the ship’s sensor array—magnify the images, zoom in on features, take pretty pictures to send back home. But I could do all that on the monitor back in the cabin.
Next to the door on the far side of the observation lounge was a sign reading NO ADMITTANCE: CREW ONLY BEYOND THIS POINT. That was why I spent time here. Because on the other side of that door were crew quarters, and beyond that was the bridge. The bridge, where everything interesting happened, the only spot on the ship worth paying attention to.
The crew—that included the bridge crew, pilot, navigator, captain, everyone—ate in the same galley as the passengers, on alternating shifts. If I waited here long enough, they’d all pass by eventually. I’d see Captain McCaven, maybe even talk to him. And if I could just talk to him, get on his good side, then maybe, just maybe, I could ask him for a look at the bridge. Just a quick look. All I had to do was ask. How hard could it be?
At the right time I sat on the sofa and waited. Shifts would be changing soon. He’d have to come this way eventually. He had to eat sometime, didn’t he?
I heard the voices first—two men in conversation, low and businesslike. This was it, the captain, had to be. I stood but stopped myself from running into the restricted corridor. I’d just get thrown out, get a black mark on whatever kind of records they kept, and I’d never get on the bridge. Stay calm.
Then they were there, at the doorway. He was tall, very tall. He actually had to duck to enter the observation lounge. His hair was mussed, his face set in concentration, so much more serious than in the official photo. The other man was shorter, sandy haired, with a trimmed beard—Lieutenant Yeltsin Clancy, second in command according to the ship’s publicity. The two of them had their heads together, over a handheld.
They marched through the observation lounge without a sideways glance.
I opened my mouth, didn’t say a word. Started to take a step forward and held back. Didn’t know why. I could have said, “Hi,” or “Hey, I’d like to be a pilot someday!” or “Gosh, I’m a fan.” I could have waved, just a friendly hello to get their attention. But no. Not a word, and they were across the room and through the next doorway in moments.
I slouched back on the sofa. Real brave there, Polly.
I was still sitting, half fuming, half planning my next attack on the problem, when a gentle voice said, “Hey, mind if I come in?”
The voice was Ethan Achebe’s—the outer-system guy Charles was so keen on. Also tall enough that he had to slouch to get through the doorway.
“It’s a public lounge,” I said. “Why ask me?”
He shrugged, moving into the ambient lighting. “You look a little pissed off, like you want to be alone. If you’d rather I go, I’ll go.” He spoke with an accent—the vowels round, the consonants clipped. Unfamiliar, kind of intriguing.
“It’s okay,” I said. “I’m not pissed off, I’m just…” I sighed, because I didn’t know what I was, and I didn’t want to tell him that I couldn’t work up the nerve to talk to the captain. Or that I was trying to talk to the captain, or why. He wouldn’t understand. Or he’d laugh. I didn’t know why I cared.
He sat on the other end of the sofa. Not next to me. I might have left if he had.
“You want to talk about it?”
“No,” I said.
We stayed so quiet after that I could hear the ship’s vent system hissing. I didn’t know what to say. And why should I be the one to say something? I was here first. I figured if I sat long enough, staring at the glare and shadows outside the view port, he’d get bored and leave. It would be a contest to see who could stand the awkwardness longer.
“So,” he said finally. “You’re from Mars?”
Frowning, I looked at him. “And you’re from…”
He leapt to the invitation, eyes wide, leaning in as he spoke. “I’ve spent most of my life on Zeus Four—that’s the big station in orbit around Jupiter. It’s huge, you’d need all day to walk around it, but it mostly looks just like this, you know?” He gestured to the hull around us. “All steel corridors and spun-up gravity. I landed on Europa once, at a research station, but the surface is so inhospitable we had to stay in the lander and couldn’t do anything but look out the windows. We got to steer the rovers a bit, but it’s not like really being there. But you … you’ve been on an actual planet. Grew up on one, even, with sky and ground and everything. So Earth won’t seem all that strange to you, will it?”
He seemed to expect me to respond to all that. Maybe I should have told him I wanted to be left alone after all. “I didn’t think much about Earth at all until a couple weeks ago. I have no idea what it’s like.”
“But aren’t you excited?”
Was everyone at Galileo Academy going to be like this? “Going to Earth wasn’t my idea.”
He blinked. “Oh. No wonder you’re angry.”
“I’m surprised Charles didn’t tell you the whole sad story.”
“Charles—your brother, right?”
“Nominally—genetic material is about all we have in common.”