Above Engineering was the deck where the non-Family crew members lived. Pendt had only ever seen the ones who worked in the galley. Anyone wishing to move to a colony could book passage on a ship like the Harland or try to get hired. The crew had better quarters and rations than those who just handed over currency and tucked in to enjoy the ride. Those passengers were kept below: out of sight, out of mind. The crew didn’t necessarily know much about ships, so the jobs they did were the least desirable ones on board: cooking, cleaning, basic maintenance. The only exception was Dr. Morunt, a haggard-looking woman who had been added to the roster during a rare trip to Katla Station long before Pendt was born. Pendt never knew quite what to make of the doctor. She had a way of looking at her that made Pendt uncomfortable.
Last came three massive levels of stowage, where the captain kept the items she was delivering, the supplies she rationed, and, eventually, the ore she—or her descendant—hauled in from the stars. It was sealed almost as tightly as belowdecks, and no one was permitted in without clearance. Pendt had never been tempted.
The lift slowed, and then stopped at the bridge level. Pendt felt a swirl of emotions: dread, excitement. She had never been there, but she didn’t know why she had been summoned. Not knowing was a weakness, and no weakness could be tolerated in space. Lodia released her hand and straightened to attention. Pendt copied her without thinking about it. Harlands stood up straight. As much as she could, and in all the ways that she could understand, Pendt tried to be the perfect Harland.
“Be good, little cat,” Lodia whispered as the door hissed open.
Her mother’s voice was half admonishment, half desperate prayer. Pendt never misbehaved and didn’t understand why her mother might think she would start now, of all times. Pendt stood up even straighter, and willed herself to look as calm and old and capable as a five-year-old can look. Her back straight, Pendt Harland took her first steps towards the true centre of her small grey world.
Pictures of the Harland’s bridge didn’t do it justice. The workstations gleamed silver under the lights, and the toggles and buttons and screens seemed to promise adventure. Pendt, used to only as much light as was required, blinked against the brightness of it. Important work must be done here, if the captain needed so much light to do it. Here courses were plotted and schedules were made, long-range communiqués were answered and sent, and all the most important decisions were made.
And the noises! There was the hushed murmur as two officers—some of her mother’s other remaining cousins—did their work. The steady tone of the navigation system, beaming light back out to the stars. The hum, even now, of the engines.
And at the centre of it all, the tall, uncompromising figure of Captain Arkady, standing at her terminal and issuing commands.
“Pendt,” said the captain.
Out of the corner of her eye, in the fraction of a second before she turned to face her aunt, Pendt saw a screen—no, it wasn’t clear enough for a screen: It was an actual porthole. It was clear steel, as strong as the rest of the hull but transparent and much more expensive.
And through it, she saw a thousand specks of light.
2.
“IT’S BEAUTIFUL, ISN’T IT?” Arkady said, her own gaze slipping from Pendt’s face to the stars.
“Yes, sir,” Pendt replied.
The window was why her aunt commanded the Harland. She could tell, with precision and certainty, where the ship was in relation to the stars at each moment. Lodia could do the same thing, but her sense of direction wasn’t as good, so she was only the XO. She could hold a course, but she couldn’t set one. Pendt dragged her eyes away from the stars to her aunt’s face with some effort, and Arkady nodded.
“You know,” she said, “I can’t play Spark either. Neither can your mother.”
“I know, sir,” Pendt said. “You two can feel where we are, like the Stavenger sky-mages before magic was purged. That’s why you’re the captain and why Mother is allowed to have so many children.”
None of Pendt’s cousins had star-sense, and so far, none of Lodia’s children did either. For the first time, Pendt wondered whether her mother might have another baby, even if it went off plan. A ship full of engineers needed a captain, and without a captain, the Harland would be lost in the void.
“That’s right,” said Arkady. Her voice was calm and level, not commanding. She was almost, almost, an aunt, except that her shoulders were held too high for her to be entirely family. “Some give their hands to the Harland, and some give their minds. Can you give something for our ship?”
“Of course, sir,” Pendt said. Her chest puffed out. None of her brothers had been asked to do something for the captain yet, and she was the youngest of them.
“Eat this,” Arkady said, and passed her a four-gram protein cube.
Extra food was unheard of on the Harland. If Pendt was eating it, that meant someone else was not, and there were only so many calories given to a person every day. As captain, and because her work took so much out of her, Arkady received the largest share. She must always have calories to burn, because she must always use the æther to know where they were and where they were going. Pendt received enough to make sure that she grew, and nothing more. She wanted to eat the protein slowly, to savour the treat, but something in the atmosphere of the bridge told her that this was not the time to dawdle. The older cousins were disciplined, of course, but she could still feel them watching her.
Pendt put the cube on her tongue and then ground it between her teeth as quickly as she could. She swallowed, and for the first time in her short life, felt the whisper of potential in her mind.
“Pendt”—Arkady’s voice had changed. Now she was the captain entirely, and this was a command, not a request—“I need you to make your eyes blue.”
All of her siblings had blue eyes, and most of her cousins did too, except for Tanith, whose eyes were brown. Pendt’s eyes were green. She usually did her best not to think about them. She only saw her reflection briefly every day when she brushed her teeth. On a ship where everyone important had the same utilitarian haircut and variations on the same genetics, green eyes were enough to mark her as an outsider within her own family, and she had never liked that feeling. Still, she couldn’t imagine why the Harland needed her to have blue eyes. She knew she owed the ship already, even if she was only small. If she could help, she would.
It was like Spark, a bit, only instead of looking at circuits for a match, she was looking at a code, and the code was inside of her. She had never understood the game the way her brothers explained it to her, but this made much more sense than their muddled attempts to include her in their play. She saw the paths of light, the same as they described them. There was even a touch of electricity to it, but there was something else too, something that Pendt knew in her heart even if she couldn’t put a word on her lips.