"Why are we going to die?" I asked. "Why? We're out of the powertrees." I told myself he was trying to scare me. That was all he was doing. But why did he need to scare me? He'd already fought me into a corner. And I knew he could still do it, even blind.
"Because we're on auxiliary power. If you don't fix the node, the power will fail."
"We won't have lights?"
"Or water," he said. "Or air."
"Oh.
"So, how good are you with machines?"
"Very," I said. And it occurred to me it sounded like I was boasting, but it was the plain truth. "I keep the brooms in the lair flying."
"Brooms? Never mind. This is quite beyond household machinery, but you're all I have."
I bit my lip. The brooms were not household machinery. They were antigrav wands that could be ridden. Though highly illegal everywhere on Earth, except as means of lifesaving in an accident, they were, of course, used. I'd been riding them since I was twelve and most of my time on Earth was spent at my broomers lair. But if darkship thieves didn't know about brooms, I wasn't going to enlighten them.
He got up, tentatively, hands flitting around him, to orient himself. "I have a spacesuit," he said. "Should fit you."
If it belonged to him, it would fit me like a pair of galoshes fit a snake. My head still hurt from where he had slammed it into the wall.
He passed me—flit of the hand in my direction, barely brushing my shoulder—and said, "Follow me," as he rushed ahead. And I mean rushed. I could tell, from the way he put his foot down hesitantly, at first, then firmed the step, and from the way his hands fluttered to the walls now and then that he was indeed blind and trying to orient himself. But he walked faster than I'd ever seen anyone walk while they lacked use of their eyes.
He led me up to the curving corridor, to the floor without any living quarters or steering arrangements. There he stopped, in front of what seemed to be a solid wall. He felt at the wall, then punched it in three points. His face had set in something between rage and pain. I didn't want to disturb him. I was half afraid he was punching the wall because he was crazy, and even more afraid he would turn around and punch me if I made a sound.
But to my surprise, the wall slid open, a panel disappearing into another panel. Revealed was a small compartment in which a bright blue suit hung. It didn't look like a space suit. It looked like a bright blue knit stretch one-piece. As he picked it up, it hung limply from one hand.
"That's not a space suit," I said. Could he be confused? He was blinded.
"Of course it is," he said.
"The pressures . . ."
"It's bioed fabric. Do you mean Earthworms' suits are different?"
I didn't say anything, just reached for the thing. It felt cold and scaly to the touch, though it looked absolutely smooth. I couldn't see any way of opening it. It seemed to be a single knit piece, but when I pulled at the front, it opened, from top to bottom, like stickfast or a zipper. I slipped it on, then closed it down the front. It felt oddly warm once I was in it, though nowhere like my spacesuit back in Father's ship. And the gloves that were part of it felt like a second skin, even more sensitive than surgical gloves.
"It will stay closed until you pull it forcefully apart," he said. I jumped. Was he reading my mind? But he grinned—a fast and unfriendly flash of teeth. "It would be like Earthworm brains to worry." He was holding something that looked like a ski mask. "Helmet," he said.
I was past arguing and slipped the thing on, to find that it was completely enclosed, something as transparent as glass, as malleable as fabric, covering my face. I had a moment of panic and suffocation, and then he straightened, from near the compartment, holding two large, reflective cylinders that he slapped on my back. They stuck there, and he did something, and suddenly fresh oxygen filled the suit. So, it was air tight. But I had no time to dwell on it, because he was putting boots in front of me. They looked like stylish metallic ankle boots and they fit me perfectly. The whole suit fit me perfectly. I looked at mine host and knew there was no way, there simply was no way this was his. Well, his chest was broader than mine, which might make accommodation for my breasts, but there was no way his height or bulk converted to mine. And in no way could his boots ever fit me.
He walked ahead of me again, to a door marked—surprisingly in Glaish—with Danger. Door leads to vacuum. It had a genlock, on a grey membrane, upon which he lay his palm flat. The door retracted open—it was the only way to describe it. Each half contracted soundlessly, like a membrane, though it looked mechanical, and he stepped through. We were, clearly, in an air lock. He took a box that was attached to the wall near the outer door. "This is a tool box," he said. "It will open the node. It should be the one closest to this door. Inside the node, the blue . . . it's not a wire, but it will look like one to you, if history vids are right, should be feeding into the gold one. If it's not, change that. There's diagrams on the lid of what the circuit inside the node should look like."
I looked at him. "What . . . how will I hold onto the ship? Are the boots magnetic?"
"No," he said. "But that's fine, because the ship really isn't metal either. It's . . . Localized gravity. The boots are attracted to the ship. The suit too. You won't drift away." He gave me a tight smile. "And the tool box is attracted to the ship too, so you can set it beside you. The tools are locked in it, just don't put a tool down out of place. It will float away. He approached the grey membrane on this door, and placed his hand on it, but it didn't open. "I'm going to leave. That door has a minute delay to make sure you're ready."
"But—" I said.
He stopped and turned around. "I'll let you in when you're done," he said.
Frankly, that was the least of my worries. And there were many worries. Like, what exactly a node was and how I'd find the one that was broken. It should be the one closest to this door didn't exactly reassure me. It might not be that one. And I wasn't absolutely convinced this space suit would work, either. It was like nothing I'd ever even heard of on Earth. Were the darkship thieves truly that advanced? Could they be?
But my captor had left. The outer door was spinning open. And I couldn't go back in the ship. I was sure the genlock in the middle of the inner door wouldn't open for me. And if it did, what would it mean? Other than that I would be able to die inside, without air when systems failed?
I stepped out of the door, to find there was a narrow little walkway around the ship. Kind of like the representations of the rings of Saturn. I stepped onto it, and began walking around it, looking for anything that might be a node.
Ahead, there was a rounded swelling in the skin of the ship. I grabbed onto it, and it pulled open as though on hinges, though no hinge was visible. Inside . . .
Inside was a jumble I couldn't begin to understand. The creature had said I'd see wires, but there was nothing like wires. There were . . . capillaries, maybe, plus a confusion of painted circuits linked by those pulsing capillaries. The color of the capillaries was dark grey. All of them were dark grey, except if you squinted, you could sort of see, against the dark grey color, as though flickers of another color.
Instantly, despite the coolness of fresh oxygen, sweat sprang up inside the suit and beaded on my forehead. I looked over my shoulder at space, immense and looming out there. To my right the powertrees glowed eerily. To my left, blackness punctuated with pinpoints of light, immense and dark and presumably devoid of life, save the Mules beyond.
Then I looked at the circuit again. And still could not make heads or tails of it. Sweat was pooling above my eyebrows, a little trickling down and making my eyes sting. I would never get done here. And if I didn't get done, I wouldn't be able to get back in. Not the least because my captor would be dead of suffocation.
My hands felt slippery inside the gloves. A single thought formed in my mind, overpowering all. I don't want to die.
Who ARE you? The creature's voice sounded in my mind, unmistakable. Can you hear me?