Six weeks later, on Earth, Mara opened her window into a morning that had no respect for her plans.
Rain came in sideways. She moved the little pot of herbs, then the work she'd foolishly left on the sill. The table got wet before she could close the window halfway. She wiped it with the first cloth that came to hand, which was a shirt, and stood looking at the result.
A safety engineer, and she had left papers under an open window. She wrung the shirt into the sink.
The apartment was still becoming a place where she lived instead of a place where her bags lived. She had bought a chair without consulting anyone. It was not particularly beautiful, but it supported her while she ate. Nobody else was waiting to use it.
At the market she had discovered the plum woman sold other things too. This had felt like a small betrayal of the story she'd told Ivo. She bought pears and a pot of jam. The seller asked where she'd been living before, and when Mara said up there, the woman didn't look upward. She asked whether the pears should be ready today or in a few days.
Mara had liked her immediately.
Her new work was interesting. Some evenings she wanted to tell Ivo the absurd part of it before she'd taken off her shoes. Some evenings she forgot to want that until she found her shoes still paired, with nobody else's kicked among them, and the hurt came late.
While unpacking, she had found Ivo's folded boarding slip in the pocket of her arrival clothes. She had opened it, looked at the place she'd reserved for him, and set it in the drawer she had kept empty in the old apartment. She had brought the bedside cabinet with her. She hadn't put anything on top of the slip.
She had friends. One had offered a walk this morning, apparently not deterred by weather. Mara was going to go. First she made tea and opened the message from Kestrel.
Ivo was in the frame, braced beside a fabric panel that had once been part of the dance net. His hair was untidy. Somewhere behind him Suri told someone to move a foot.
“Breakfast is improving,” he said. “There are divided opinions about speed. Alma says I've made food that remembers being ingredients.”
He smiled, and Mara smiled before she could protect herself from it.
“The count's attached. Still within what we planned. No passage booked; Dev's sent the replies round. His job may turn into money, but we're keeping that off the transport sheet until it does. We haven't moved the three-month decision.” He paused. “Suri got an entire hot meal yesterday and accused us of concealing something.”
He looked away briefly. She could hear the small room behind him, not the old room, not a silence he'd arranged for her benefit.
“I've been thinking about your window. Has it caused trouble yet?”
She looked at the wet shirt in her hand.
Then he said, more quietly, “I miss you.”
A few seconds passed before he ended the message. No request followed. That made it harder and easier to bear.
Mara checked the attached count before recording her reply at the damp table. The remaining weeks were still a number she hated. She noted the next review date on her own calendar; she had asked him to send it, and she wanted to know.
“The window is a complete success,” she said. “Everything near it is wet. There's probably a form.”
She showed him the shirt and set it down.
“I bought a chair you'd dislike. I'll send a picture so you can be certain.”
She told him about the work, the pears, the friend who thought a walk in rain would be good for them. She didn't tell him she was always fine. He knew her too well to need that.
“I miss you too,” she said.
After sending it, she sat until her tea stopped being too hot. She drank it while it was still good, found her coat, and went out to meet her friend.
At the door she turned back for the shoes. She had left them by the window.
Six weeks after leaving Bellwether, Ivo had learned to make four portions without pretending the rest of the town might arrive.
He had also learned to secure the portion before turning away. One improvement had cost less than the other.
Kestrel's morning check was finished. He had done his part, checked Dev's result and put the tool where they had agreed it belonged. Suri verified the work without taking it over. He marked the next stock count on the reusable card. Each week the meal packs filled a little less of the shelf; he had begun to notice it before checking. He copied the remaining weeks beside their three-month decision date. They had no passage yet. He sent the count to the other three and to Mara before putting breakfast out.
Dev was inside his listening corner, working. Alma had tightened the new fabric loop and was asking Ivo to test it. She made all requests sound optional until somebody tried refusing.
“Like this?” he said, catching the loop with one arm.
“No. Like a person who might use it.”
“I am a person who might use it.”
“Then surprise me.”
He released the rail and turned. The movement began too quickly, and his heel knocked a tied case. Not dangerous. Embarrassing, which was already familiar territory.
Dev lifted his panel. “Some of us are occupied.”
“You promised you'd try.”
“I promised later.”
“This is later.”
“Give me ten minutes. I have to send this while the link's good.”
Suri laughed from the service cupboard. It was a laugh Ivo hadn't heard much in the old town. Short and unattractive and entirely her own pleasure.
Ten minutes later Dev secured his work and came out, protesting. Alma caught him at the shoulder before he could settle into a defensive shape.
“Hands,” she said. “He wants hands. Give him hands.”
Dev took Ivo's offered fingers. Ivo began slowly. No floor to push against, no long fall to gather into a turn. Momentum had to pass between them in smaller amounts. Dev pulled too hard and both of them bumped the soft partition.
“You did that,” Dev said.
“Yes,” Ivo said, although they had both done it.
Alma laughed. Suri came out of the cupboard and clipped the loose corner back. “Tie that corner twice. It pulled loose yesterday.”
He thought of Mara's hands on the last roll of net. The thought hurt, then made his wrist gentler.
They secured the corner. Ivo pushed away again, let Dev give him a little motion, returned it. Alma joined, catching the loop and making a third point. Suri watched with an expression he could not turn into approval until she reached out to stop Alma drifting into the cupboard.
For a breath they made a small unsteady shape between the window and the partition. Below them the Earth had weather moving over it. They couldn't keep the shape. Dev laughed and let go too soon, and Alma caught Ivo's sleeve instead of his hand.
It wasn't the old dance. It was enough to try again.
When they separated, the bent spoon had escaped its fastener and was turning slowly beside the meal pack.
Ivo reached for it, missed, and followed it across the room.