Yondering. Jack Dann

and speeches and appearances at joint sittings of both houses of parliament that we would take part in once we arrived at Skyros. Ned made up little mini speeches, some of them in his awful verse. Ulrike Lewis added bits, argued with Ned about rhymes and scansion. The two of them went at it like old friends, old sparring partners. Ned showed no deference, he was hardly polite—it didn’t seem to matter. I said barely a word; I could think of nothing to say. But slowly my anxiety ebbed. Whatever Ned was up to, he wasn’t going to land us in the soup just yet. At least I thought he wasn’t.

      The maid reappeared, bringing a tray of cakes and tea. Ned looked at her intently for a couple of seconds and sniffed. The maid set the low table and poured the tea. We each had a dainty little plate for the cakes, and a dainty little stainless steel fork to eat them with. Ned held his up to the light, examining it critically.

      “You’ve heard about the theft of the officers’ cutlery,” Her Excellency said.

      “We certainly have. Things are a bit grim in the crew’s mess,” Ned said. “We’d be eating with our fingers, if it wasn’t for John Doe’s supply of Earth knifes and forks.”

      “Maybe I shouldn’t say this,” Her Excellency said, “but you do realize that Leading Hand Doe is a prime suspect? He might well have stolen the officers’ silver in the first place.”

      “Rumors,” said Ned philosophically. “The bane of shipboard life.” The way he said it, you’d think he’d spent his entire eighteen years plying the space lanes. “By the way,” he went on. “That maid girl who brought the cakes.…”

      “My body servant, Jennifer. What about her?”

      “Dizzy spells. Has she complained of dizzy spells?”

      “No, I don’t think so. Why?”

      “Attrification of the tensor tympani muscle.”

      “I’m not sure I understand.”

      “She needs her left tympani replaced. Do that and she’ll be as right as rain.”

      “I was unaware she was sick.”

      “She’s probably unaware herself—at the moment.”

      There was a few seconds’ silence and then Her Excellency said, “I’ll ask her if she’s suffered any dizzy spells.”

      “Might be a good idea,” Ned said. “Just to be on the safe side.”

      We finished our tea and cake. It was time for us to go. Her Excellency accompanied us across the deep carpet to the vestibule door. She shook our hands and said to Ned, “Work on those verse speeches, my friend, but don’t let the need for rhyme dictate the sense. And when you’ve got a good body of work completed, come and see me. Goodbye to both of you.” She shut the door and we were alone in the corridor.

      As we were finding our way back to the crew’s quarters, I said, “She didn’t ask me to come and see her again.”

      “Poor old fossil,” Ned said. “She’s worried sick about her meatus.”

      “And what the hell is a meatus?”

      “I don’t know,” Ned said. “Some chunk of the human body. We’re all made out of meat, after all.”

      * * * *

      Ned Talking

      “Welcome to the laundry,” the gang boss said. “You can breath easier up here. Or down here, depends how you look at it.”

      “The gravity’s less,” I said.

      “We’re nearer the center of the ship. That’s how centrifuges work.”

      I looked around. Huge gleaming steel tubes ran like uncooked spaghetti in bundles that went on forever. Wires and cables flowed down the walls and along the floor twisted and tangled like overcooked spaghetti.

      “What is this place?” I said.

      “The laundry,” the boss said.

      “It doesn’t look like a laundry to me,” I said.

      “We launder the space-time continuum up here,” the boss said. “We fold it up and punch holes through it. It’s the only way. We’d never get from one galaxy to the next if we didn’t.”

      “Makes no sense to me,” I said. “We didn’t do the space-time continuum at Tidy Consolidated.”

      “Naw, I don’t understand it either,” the boss said. “None of us do. We’re just paid to keep the equipment clean. You’d be surprised how much cosmic dust gets into the works.”

      “What do we clean it with?”

      “Rags, mops, brushes.”

      “Sounds a bit primitive,” I said.

      “It is,” the boss said. “You just can’t get the help. Robots are useless, apparently.”

      “How does the dust get in here in the first place?”

      “Spontaneous creation of matter,” the guy said. “It’s a byproduct of hyper-c travel. The ship gets to the other end heavier than when it started. We have to keep shoveling the rubbish out. Half of it’s dark matter, real cosmic crap.”

      “It’s something for nothing,” I said.

      “You could look at it like that. Do you play jongma?”

      “I know how,” I said. “I don’t usually play.”

      “You’ve got to while away the down time somehow. But I’ll introduce you to D’Bridie, she can show you the ropes.”

      The boss looked up into the mass of pipes and stainless steel vessels. He let out a piercing whistle and yelled, “Hey, D’Bridie, come and meet the new chum.”

      I looked where he was looking, but couldn’t see anybody amongst the hardware. A muffled voice yelled something I couldn’t understand. Then I saw a figure, maybe fifteen meters above the deck, balanced on a gantry. As we watched, the figure launched herself backwards into the air, spreading her arms like wings. In exquisite slow motion she performed a perfect backwards somersault, landing lightly on her feet a couple of meters from where we stood.

      “Show off,” the boss said.

      The girl said something I couldn’t understand. Which wasn’t surprising, since her face was masked with a filtration device. She wore the same sort of overalls that they’d given me, although hers were filthy. Her hair was in a bun. The overalls disguised her figure, but I suspected she was thin and lithe. She said something more I couldn’t understand and offered me her hand. I shook it, saying, “I can’t understand a word you’re saying.”

      “I…thought…you…were…meant…to…speak…Newharp,” she said slowly.

      “I do,” I said. “It’s your mask, it muffles things.”

      “Yeah, sorry,” she said and pulled the mask down to her throat. She had a crooked smile—it made her look, well, interesting.

      “Birth defect,” she grinned.

      “Hardly a defect,” I said.

      “That’s why I haven’t had it fixed,” she said.

      “I used to sell body parts,” I said. “I could have talked you into a new smile.”

      “You couldn’t talk me into anything,” she said, sounding like she meant it.

      “I probably couldn’t,” I said.

      “I’ll leave you two to get on with it,” the boss said and wandered off.

      “Come on,” D’Bridie said. “I’m meant to show you what to do,” and she led me to a storeroom. While she was organizing me a mask and brushes, I looked around the store. Mostly the cleaning equipment was on open