The Best Path

The wind screamed past her, rippling over Spant’s skimship in tiny, flashing waves. She shot between two Andean mountain peaks at Mach four. One of her telescopic eyes swept the sloping grey and brown foothills below for anything unexpected, and an ear slid through the crackling radio bands. Another ear listened to the wind. There was no particular reason to do that; Spant just enjoyed it.

Thirteen-year-olds don't need any more reason than that.

The required samples -- the leaves, rocks, soil and air -- had already been collected, and in record time. Spant smiled to herself. She turned the ship up towards space and burned hard for home, at seven and half gees.

Home was Yuri, a boulder-encrusted station in a Clarke orbit above the Pacific. It was puny compared with many of the Spacemod communities or the manufacturing stations, and it would have been even smaller beside one of the spinning O'Neill grounder colonies, but Yuri was the only place where starship crews were trained, and the ships themselves were built at the yards just a hundred klicks away.

Spant came back to herself in her small, dark, spherical telecontrol niche. She floated still for a moment, settling back into her body, then called the lights on and pushed the Face away from her. The contacts came free of her skin with a little sucking, popping sensation. For a moment, she felt blind and deaf – without the contacts, she could no longer scan the infrared or listen in on cosmic rays. Or control the little remote skimship. And as usual, she had a headache, but it would go away in a few seconds. She unclenched her legclamps from the rail and pushed herself over to the door.

David was at the station, on one of his passenger or supply runs; she'd seen his shuttle docking on her way in. He didn't usually stay more than a day or two, so Spant was anxious not to waste any time. She undogged the door and sent herself into the hall.

Eyes turned inward, she sailed past the man in blue without noticing who it was. Then a hand snagged her and swung them both around in a lazy circle.

"Whoa, cadet!"

"Mr. Sirazhev! I'm sorry, sir. I didn't see you."

Arsen Sirazhev gripped a rail to steady them. "I watched your run. A good one."

"Thank you, sir." Spant eyed the hall, biting her lip.

"Eager to get away from me, cadet? You still have your eval."

"I thought maybe I could take a short break, first. Usually we have a few minutes. Sir."

"Need a bathroom, I suppose. It's easy to forget all about your body here, when your mind is out there in the ship, skimming. Very well. Meet me in fifteen minutes, then."

"Sir."

Spant turned to go, but Sirazhev’s gaze held her. "I see Ogar's ship, Bluebird, just came in. Did you notice that as you arrived?"

"Uh, yes, sir. I mean not really. But I couldn't really miss it."

"No, I don't suppose you could have. Go on, then."

"Sir." And Spant was off, leaving Sirazhev shaking his graying head and grinning.

He was just coming out of Bluebird's airlock when Spant flew into the docking bay. He stopped to say a few words to the cargo chief, and Spant snagged a line with a legclamp to stop herself and just looked.

It had been three weeks since she'd last seen David Abua Ogar, and the sight of him -- those long, useless legs and all -- was as dizzying as oxygen depletion. Tall, with short black hair and flashing eyes, teeth impossibly white in his dark face. He finished talking to the chief, and was turning towards her -- she called out just before he could look up to see her.

"David!"

He smiled. "Susan! How's it going, girl?"

Spant grinned and launched herself. She pretended to miss a line and collided with him. Together they spun about their common center; David's arms and legs flailed comically. Spant finally twisted about, snagged a line with a free hand (the other was firmly entangled in his shirt; she could feel him breathe, feel the warmth of his skin beneath the fabric), and brought them to a gentle stop.

"Whoa! Let me get steady, here," David said, now grabbing the line himself. His voice was a little pinched -- what the flatland spacers called stuffy nose syndrome. Engineered as she was not to fall prey to the ills inflicted on flatlanders by micro-g, Spant had never experienced it, but it gave David's words an exotic sound.

"How're you doing? Good flight? Are you going to stay long this time?"

David laughed. "Fine, fine, and yes -- three days." He snagged a handloop with his other hand. "I got myself under control now."

"Oh." Spant let go of his sleeve.

"How's training?" he asked.

"Just got back from a skimship run."

"Those must be fun."

"Yeah! Especially after a week of stellar types and tech maintenance. Are you staying in the Pilot quarters? Are you hungry? We could go get some food, if you want." A whisper of air from the cycler breathed coolly against her bald scalp. Was she sweating? Had he noticed?

"Yes, and no. My stomach's still a little full of zero-g for now. You know how it is. I doubt I'll have much of an appetite for a while." He smiled at Spant, but his gaze began to drift. Spant looked around, too. Several cargo handlers had paused in the unloading to look at the two of them, amused grins on their faces. Spant colored and looked away.

Why hadn’t the stupid genengineers done away with blushing while she was still in vitro, when they’d taken her legs and hair and given her the modified bones and all the rest?

"Want to help me with my bag, Ms. Pantalena?"

"Sure!" Spant darted into the airlock and fished it out of the air, then turned back.

"Spant!" It was Rag, sailing in from the corridor. "Hey, I heard you came in here." His dark eyes flashed on David.

"Yeah." She reached David just as Rag did. "I was just going to help David get settled."

"Can't he do it himself?" Now he didn't even look at David. Oh, why did Rag have to get this way now, in front of everybody? David had the grace to pretend that he hadn't heard Rag. That was the difference between a man and a boy.

"Where are you staying?"

David checked his wristpad. "Uh, T-17. I think I had that room a few months ago."

"Inside the Doughnut," Rag snorted. Inside Yuri was a spinning torus for the benefit of Earthborn visitors. It only supplied a half gee on its main level, but it was enough to calm grounder stomachs. The spacemod tended to think of the Doughnut as an annoying concession, a crutch for the maladapted, though it was also used for "high-gee" training exercises. "Come on, Spant. We've got evals." Rag tugged on her arm -- a spacemod's tug, a quick yank and push, so no one would start spinning -- but she twisted away.

"I guess you guys are busy," said David. "How about I meet up with you two later, for lunch."

"It's 16:40, station time," said Rag, disdainfully.

Again, David refused to take offense. "Well, dinner, then."

"I've got a few minutes," Spant said. "I can carry your bag."

"Spant!" Rag tugged again.

David clumsily reached out for his bag. "Oh, that's OK, Susan. You wouldn't enjoy the Doughnut much."

"Unless you want to crawl on your hands," Rag said.

"Call me when you two are done, and we'll have dinner. I want to hear all the latest Yuri gossip."

"Well, OK." Spant finally allowed Rag to pull her away. As they sailed towards the hatch Rag looked back at David.

"Look at him!" he snorted. "Those great long legs getting in the way!"

"Yeah, but he can walk in the Doughnut."

"Who'd want to walk, when you can fly? Come on, Old Arsen is waiting."

Spant realized that she actually did need to use a bathroom.

Spant knew that David didn't enjoy meals in micro-gee; something in grounder physiologies took away the taste of the food. But to accommodate Spant and Rag he would make the sacrifice. Spant had suggested they eat at the Thai place; strong spices could still come through for David if they were really piled on.

"Rag can't make it," she told David as she met him at the Thailestial Palace.

"Oh?" David looked behind her, as if to see for himself.

"Yeah, he says he's busy. So it's just the two of us."

David had chosen a rail in the center of the restaurant, rather than one of the darker and more private nooks. Spant pouted. David was always so worried about appearances, about showing people that he wasn't having an "improper" relationship with her.

She tried to think of a way she could blame Rag for that.

"Guess you must be getting excited about heading out," David said, after they had ordered. "When is it, again?"

"About three months." This wasn't the topic Spant would have chosen.

"Yeah, I saw the ship as I came in. A real beauty!"

"I guess." Except for the ramscoop apparatus, the ship looked very much like a smaller version of Yuri. Far too much.

Spant's lack of enthusiasm was clear, but David didn't bite. "There must be a lot of prep. You and Rag are on accelerated training, now, right?"

"Yeah. Not that I know why. They won't get where they're going for twenty-six years."

"Well, I guess they want to do all they can while you guys are still here, where Mr. Sirazhev can advise you. Once that dilation factor mounts, it'll be harder and harder to communicate with those of us that you leave back here. We’ll say something, and then we’ll have to wait days or weeks for your answer." David shook his head. "Whew! Susan, just think of the places you'll see!"

"As far as they know, the ship might be heading nowhere."

"Yours will be the first ship to visit, but it's not like they haven't examined the system through telescopes. Seven planets, right? Around an F-type star? Could be very interesting!"

"Maybe." Spant grabbed the rail, squeezed it.

"Just 'Maybe'?"

Spant looked at him. "I'm being exiled. I was born to be exiled. Engineered to be exiled."

"Exiled? You're heroes! You're going to the stars. You don't think I dream about that, every time I'm heading up to the station, never going any farther, then dropping back down to Earth?"

"Heroes, right. But who would want to trade places with us? With people who have a one-way ticket to who-knows-where, on a ship that they think is generational. Generational! They even want to decide who I'm going to marry!"

The food arrived – teas, a bag of green curry for David, and paht-see-euw noodles for Spant.

David tasted his curry, then looked towards the local floor. "It's true," he admitted, "that few would want your place. I don't know if I'm comfortable with the idea myself, genegineering people and then expecting them -- But you do have a choice, Susan. You don't have to go if you don't want to."

"I've already decided. I'm not going." Spant sipped her bubble of tea.

"I see." David sipped his own tea. "Have you told Mr. Sirazhev? Rag?"

"Not yet."

"Hmmmm. And what do you think you'd like to do instead?"

"I don't know. Live like a normal person."

"Hmm. So what’s a normal person?"

"Like the people in the vids, in the news. I could migrate to an L-colony. Maybe even Earth."

"Susan -- have you ever felt full gravity?"

"No. They don't start high-gee training until you're 16."

"You may not like it."

"I can stand it, if I use a suit."

"I have a feeling that would get old real quick."

"I can stand it. If I had someone--" Spant choked back what she was going to say next, and looked away, her eyes glistening.

David pretended not to notice. "Yes, well, it is amazing what people can do, once they've put their minds to it."

"Sometimes I think I would like to have hair," Spant said. "Girls on Earth spend a lot of time on their hair. And guys like it."

"A lot of girls spend way too much time on their hair, and then get disappointed that the guys don’t even notice."

"And legs. Long, biological legs. That would be weird."

"Never having known anything else, I can't say."

The two ate in silence for a bit, and then David rolled up his bag and shoved it into the disposer. "I'm not really that hungry," he said.

"Hey,” Spant said, “here's an idea. How about if I come along with you to the Doughnut, and trying on a suit? See how it feels?"

"I'm not sure if Mr. Sirazhev--"

"Oh, he won’t find out, and if he does and if he gets upset, I’ll tell him it was all my idea. Come on."

"Well, OK. If you can tell me that there aren’t any regs actually forbidding it."

"Great!"

Yuri was Spant's home, but it was David who now led her down the unfamiliar corridors to the Doughnut. They finally stopped outside the equipment locker next to the transfer room.

They looked over the suits, skeletal frameworks of metal and plastic. Although Spant had never worn one, she had seen them before, of course, and it wasn't hard to see how they were worn. It was simply a matter of finding one the right size, and then guiding the smart joints until it felt comfortable. The plastic contacts were slick and cold against her skin. Her legclamps fit into long cylinders of plastic. She clenched her right, and the artificial leg bent at the knee.

"Ready?" David asked her.

Spant nodded.

Together they entered the transfer room. They came up through the floor, and saw the room spinning slowly around them, elevator doors spaced around the entranceway. They swung into one -- here, the gravity was still negligible -- and settled themselves into the seats along the far end.

"We'll take it slow the first time," said David. He started the elevator.

As the elevator slowly proceeded, Spant gradually felt herself, snug in her suit, sink into the chair. It felt a lot like the acceleration she had felt the rare times she took a shuttle to another of the training stations, and she smiled. She'd never had any trouble on those trips. This wouldn't be so hard.

The suit began to chafe on her back, on her behind, and she shifted in her chair. Her weight increased, and she had to fight back a sudden surge of panic -- she felt like she was going somewhere, accelerating off into space, but with no idea of where she was heading.

The suit got heavier, and Spant's hands dropped to the armrests of the chair. Her chin tilted down. It was getting a little hard to breathe, too, and she imagined she could feel her internal organs rearranging themselves, settling in against the pull.

Of course there'll be a time of readjustment, she told herself. I just got to give myself time.

"How are you doing?"

"I'm -- OK," Spant said. It was surprisingly hard to get the words out, to force the air out – no, up -- from her lungs.

"Just let me know if you want to stop."

Spant nodded -- and even that was harder than it should have been.

Finally the elevator stopped, and the door opened.

"Point five gee," said David. "Can you stand up?"

The suit was designed to allow work in much heavier gees, so it seemed like a stupid question. But when Spant tried to rise, she found it was not so easy.

She rocked herself back and forth. David extended a hand.

"No. I can do it myself."

The trick, she decided, was in aligning the top half of the body over her suit's feet. Any movement to the side, or forward or back, made her lose her balance.

The legs whirred, and Spant stood up.

Almost immediately she found herself tilting forward, starting to fall -- this time, she didn't evade David's helping hand.

"Just take it slow at first," he said.

Spant nodded, breathing hard.

She made sure she had her balance again, then tried to step forward. This time David's hand steadied her as she almost fell backwards. How did grounders do it? Two legs were not enough – you'd need three, at least, to balance!

Leaning a little on David, Spant managed to walk out of the elevator.

Ahead was a broad, upward-curving walkway. Suitless people were walking comfortably along the ground. An old man jogged past her. "Excuse me."

David released his hold, and Spant took a shaky step. And then another.

"I'm doing it!" She smiled. This was freedom!

"Yes, you really are! There's a donut shop up ahead -- see? Past that bank of phones. Want to try for it? If you make it, it's my treat."

"You're on. And don't help me. I want to do this myself."

Spant took another step. Another. This wasn't so hard. The key was in keeping up a rhythm, so that the forward momentum of one step brought the other leg forward for the next step. Stopping might be a little difficult to manage, but she could just walk into a table or a wall, and stop herself that way.

A girl about Spant's age -- what was she doing on the station? -- came toward Spant, then walked past. Spant turned her head to follow the bounce of her hair.

And then she was falling.

In panic, she flailed out with hands and feet, instinctively trying to get a hand- or clamp-hold on something, the way she would in zero-gee. Here, the technique was worse than useless, and the floor came up to slam into her.

David had been caught by surprise, and had managed only to snag one of her arms enough to break her fall.

Spant lay against the cool floor for a moment.

"Are you all right?"

She tried to answer, but she couldn't get anything into her lungs. The weight of her own body seemed to be squeezing the air out. She gasped, but it did no good. Panicked, she began to thrash about.

"Easy, easy," David said. He got an arm under her and gently raised her to a sitting position. And suddenly Spant could breathe again.

"Slow down. Don't breathe too fast. Just relax."

Spant nodded, looking up into David's dark eyes, and slowly the panic ebbed. She found tears springing into her eyes.

"Can you stand?"

"I -- I don't think so."

"Just rest there a bit."

After a short time David lifted Spant up, setting her down on her feet but not letting go. She kept a firm grip on his arm, too.

"Let's walk."

She clutched him even tighter.

"It's OK. I'll hold on. Just a few more steps to the donut shop, then you can relax."

They shuffled along the floor and finally David seated Spant on a little stool. He ordered donuts and drinks for both of them from the spindly old man behind a waist-high counter.

Spant looked at her donut through watering eyes. David put an open cup into her hands, and she drank -- the fluid fell down her throat, almost choking her. But she swallowed it, and the next sip was a little better. Hot chocolate. It tricked down her throat, without any effort on her part. But it tasted the same as it always had. She blinked the tears away.

"Better?"

Spant nodded. "Yeah." Her voice was still a little shaky, and she tried to sound firmer. "I guess it all just surprised me more than I thought it would. I felt so helpless. So weird."

"It takes some getting used to, the change. You still see me losing my bearings in zero-gee!"

Spant nodded. "I guess I look pretty silly." Spant warded off another blush with willpower.

"Nah. Just winded."

"Well, anyway – I really have decided. I'm not going to go out on the ship."

David sipped his coffee. "Some stay here on the station. Training, support services? Does that sound interesting?"

Spant shook her head. "No, no. I don't want to stay here. They gengineered me to be a space explorer, or to stay here. Well -- " her voice became stronger -- "I'm going to make my own choice. Take my own way. An L-5, or maybe even Earth." She looked defiantly at David.

David nodded. "I see."

"I can do it."

"I bet you could. But you know what it would mean spending most of your life in a suit. And years of physical therapy."

"I know it'll be hard, but I can do it."

"I think you can. Well, it would be quite a change. I wonder how you’ll like being just one of the mob?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, here, you're on the top. You get the best training, the best teachers, very nice living quarters, and interesting work. And you're part of a team. A group that understands what you are, and what you are going through."

"People like Rag? I don't think I'll miss that!"

"Of course you'll miss Rag. My point is, it goes beyond missing individuals, and beyond simple culture shock. You have a purpose here; you're part of a grand adventure."

"I didn't choose to be born here! I didn't choose to be part of this grand adventure!"

"I get that. What I'm trying to say is, now you are defining yourself as being against the role society has assigned you--"

"Right!"

"-- but you have yet to define yourself as being for anything. It's not enough to run away from something. You have to run towards something, too.

"When you've escaped being part of the project, Susan, what will you be then?"

"I'll be whatever I want to be."

"That’s the spirit. Any ideas?"

"Spant studied the remains of her donut. "I don't know. Maybe a pilot, like you. I could do lots of things."

David nodded again. “You're a good pilot. But understand, before you make a decision this big, that it would be a hard life. Lots of challenges, and no teachers, or Rag, to help you through them."

Spant cleared her throat, and then cleared her throat again. "I wouldn't have to be...alone."

"You'd make new friends, sure."

"I mean --" Spant glanced at David's eyes, then looked down again. "I thought, maybe you -- you and I...you know."

David didn't say anything, and Spant wouldn't meet his eyes. She knew she was blushing, but she clutched her hot cup and rushed on. "We have a kind of connection. I know I'm too young, but in a few years, everything will be fine. And you'll be there with me, to help me, to be with me. We could be like a husband and wife piloting team. It could be really great."

David was silent.

"I guess you don't think so," said Spant.

"It really could be great," said David. "With the right person, the right partner. But that isn't me."

"It could be!"

"No, Susan. I'm sorry."

Tears ran down Spant's face, instead of clinging to her eyes like they should. She wiped them away and in the same gesture smacked at her legclamps. "It's because of these, right? I don't look normal. I don't look like any of those movie stars or models on Earth."

"No, it's not that, Susan. When I see you spinning along, whipping through the corridors -- it's like a dance, like some kind of ballet. It's beautiful. You're beautiful."

"Then why? What is it?"

"It's hard to explain. Why do any two people connect? Or why don't they? There's no right or wrong, it's just the way it is."

"My age?"

David nodded. "I guess that's part of it. You're heading for a lot of changes. Experiences that will transform you in ways you can't even imagine now."

"Experiences!" Spant's voice broke, and she sniffled. "I already know what's supposed to be ahead for me. Life on a ship, all my life. With the same stupid people I've lived with all my life. No sky, no mountains or oceans."

"Susan," David said quietly, "you won't have skies and oceans even if you stay behind. You can see how much it hurts you even to sit here."

"Because they made me this way. They never asked what I wanted."

"People are born short or tall, stupid or smart, charismatic or boring. Some people on Earth wish they had been born as spacemods."

"Yeah, right."

"It's true. Think of it. You're going to the stars! All my life, I've dreamed of that. But because I was born the way I was, that door is closed to me. Piloting a shuttle is the closest I can come. Trying to help out the people who can go to the stars."

"After the spacemod scout the places out, leave the automated support systems, there'll be people -- I mean regular people -- coming too."

"Yes, but with time dilation, I'll be long gone by then. And you'll be flying off to the next star on the list."

"No one asked me if that's what I wanted."

"Yeah, but --"

"No one asked me! Do I want to go? Do I want to spend my life on a ship that's never coming back, scouting and having babies that grow up and do the same thing? Don't I have a choice?"

"Sure you do. But, just like me, your options are not unlimited."

Spant couldn't see David through the water in her eyes. "But like you said, I'm not like you. You can't even stand to be around me. You want me to ship out and never come back."

"I want you to be happy, Susan."

"I know what I need to be happy. But you –"

"It's not about me."

"Then just shut up." Spant stood up, and would have toppled if not for David's grip. She ignored it, but didn't shrug it away. She needed his help to get back to the elevator.

Back home.

Spant drifted in her sleepnet, eyes closed. In her head she heard, again and again, David's voice – telling her that he didn't want her, that they had no future, that she would never be able to live on a planet or an O'Neill. Some of the words that echoed in her mind were words that David had actually said, and others were cruel exaggerations and distortions which she had cooked up to torture herself, but soon Spant couldn't remember which was which. She saw David laughing at her.

Her phone beeped.

Spant ignored it at first. It was probably David, and what could he possibly say to her now? He would try to be comforting, he would tell her she would meet someone her own age, he would tell her that she would have a great life.

Or maybe it was David calling to apologize, or to tell her that he had feelings for her, too, but had kept them secret. But now he had to tell her. Maybe he had come up with a plan, a way for them to be together.

It was implausible, she knew that.

She turned the camera off and hit the button.

"Hello."

"Spant? Hey, you there, Spant? I can't see anything."

"What do you want, Rag?"

"Just seeing how you were. We didn't see you anywhere around. Why'd you turn your vid off? I can't see you."

"Just wanted some privacy, OK?"

"Yeah, OK. Spant? You OK? Your voice sounds a little strange."

"I'm fine, Rag. Just leave me alone!"

She hit the off button.

David wouldn't call. He wouldn't change his mind. To him she was helpless, a legless crippled bald child with twig-thin arms who couldn't handle the gravity.

Spant opened the sleepnet and pushed herself to the door.

She would show him.

The illumination was dim down here on the maintenance level, but even from the floor Spant could see the friendly green light above the elevator door. It might just as well been the light from a star; she would never make it.

Under the cheek that was pressed against the floor she felt a wetness, starting to cool now. Blood, she supposed. She tried to move her arm again. The suit whirred, but she only managed to drop her hand from where it had rested on top of her hip onto the hard floor.

She gasped, and wondered how long it would take her to die. Before morning, certainly, and before any workers came down here.

She'd come to this level so she would be alone. That decision was going to cost her.

What difference did it make, though? Her life was over anyway. She closed her eyes.

The floor seemed to tremble. She heard a suit whirring – or was that just a memory of those first few moments down here, when she had walked – walked! – across the floor, exulted and proud?

"Spant?"

Who was talking to her? Rag? David? She tried to open her eyes.

Arsen Sirazhev crouched next to her, his face long and lined, the wrinkles pulled down by the gravity so she could see the outline of his skull.

"Mr. Sirazhev?"

"I've been looking for you. Rag was worried."

"Why did you look for me down here?"

"Well, Mr. Ogar was worried, too."

"Oh." Spant breathed, which down here took an effort. "I couldn’t do it, Mr. Sirazdhev."

"Of course not. You haven't had any training in high-g areas yet. And even if you had, it would be stupid to venture into high-g areas on your own. You simply aren't built for it."

Spant rolled onto her back. Suddenly her eye sockets filled with tears, and she gagged on the saliva that was suddenly pooling in the back of her throat. Arsen helped her roll back onto her side. Spant coughed.

"You'll be all right," Arsen said.

Spant coughed again. "No. No, I won't."

Arsen sat down with a whuff. "I hear that you're not so thrilled about your career options."

"I just wanted to have a choice."

"I know what you mean."

"You don't understand."

"Oh, I think I might." Arsen helped Spant sit up, and then sat heavily next to her. "When I was young, I had a choice too, you know. Go out on a ship – that was the very first one to go out, the Far Reach – or stay here. I decided to stay."

"That's lucky. The Far Reach was lost. No one even knows what happened to her."

"Yes. And yet, every day of my life I have regretted not going."

"You're saying that I'll regret not going, too."

"It's possible."

"But if I do go, I might regret not staying."

"That's the other possibility." Arsen chuckled. "Everyone's looking for the best path. But how do you know you've taken it?”

Spant struggled to stand, but only flailed her arms in the attempt. "Can you help me get up?"

Together they got her onto her suitlegs, and Arsen helped her to the elevator. As it rose, she felt her weight growing less and less, her breaths easier. She was coming home.

Sirazhev said, "I think was Tolstoy who once said, 'If you want to be happy, be happy.' You know, Spant, people make the simplest things so complicated. Whatever you do, well, do that, and be happy. You could spend years wondering if another way could have been better, but what would it get you?"

Rag poked his head into the room. "You okay?"

Spant looked up from the screen. "Yeah. Come on in."

Rag sailed in and banked off a wall, snagging a handhold. "You look awful."

"Just bruises. They'll heal."

"Yeah. I guess."

Rag looked at the screen, at the walls, anywhere but into Spant's eyes.

"What, Rag, aren't you going to make fun of what I did, of my stupid dream?"

"No. I just -- I guess everyone has a stupid dream."

Spant was surprised. "Oh, yeah? What's your stupid dream, then?"

Rag looked at her. "You know."

Spant felt another blush blooming on her face. She wanted to laugh and cry, but instead she looked away. "See you later, Rag."

Rag pushed off the wall and tumbled through the doorway. "Yeah. Later."

Clouds whipped by her, shredded by her passage. Spant glanced down at the flat blue sea, far below. She smelled the salt and the organics, heard the wind and the gentle swell. Poor David. This was all closed to him.

Far away, nestled in her telecontrol niche, Spant decided to be happy, and smiled. She turned the ship up towards space and burned hard for home.

Tim McDaniel's short stories have appeared in Asimov's, Fantasy and Science Fiction, and several other magazines. He lives in Auburn, Washington, with a dog and an impressive collection of plastic dinosaurs, and teaches English as a Second Language at Green River Community College.