Starbridge by A. C. Crispin

Author:A. C. Crispin [Crispin, A. C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction, Science Fiction, General
ISBN: 9780441783298
Google: UCThAAAAMAAJ
Amazon: 0441783295
Publisher: Ace
Published: 1989-03-15T08:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 11

Breathing Space

Nothing ever happens in space.

Where have I heard that complaint before? Well, it's truer than ever.

We've been underway for over a week, and I've already read all my books, viewed all my holo-vids, and watched all the films Rob brought--twice. It's amazing how many hours there are in each day to fill up. (It doesn't help that the Simiu "day" is longer than ours. The time is still the same, but, psychologically, the hours seem longer.)

Dhurrrkk' and Rob and I spend hours each day talking, and still there are times I end up staring at the four inward- slanting walls. Wish I'd thought to toss in my textbook cassettes. Right now, I'd love to peruse the history of the Martian Colonies.

(Rob told me some of his ancestors were settlers in the First Martian Colony, that grand and glorious failure. I asked him if there were any espers in his family. He said that one of his maternal great-aunts was a telepath--as well as a cranky old terror ... so much for the notion that complete understanding promotes serenity and kindness . . .)

Sheer physical discomfort adds to the tedium. I'm hot and sticky all the time, and there's no way to bathe. We have to take turns washing at the cold-water fountain, using a minimum amount of water. Bathing is low priority compared to drinking or

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irrigating the plants in hydroponics. Used water gets recycled, true, but a certain percentage is always irretrievable.

(Simiu do not bathe; they groom, which is why Rosinante's water supply seems small. Dhurrrkk' spends an hour or so each day licking himself, then he combs his fur with his nails. Simiu have some kind of secretion beneath their fingertips that leaves the hair soft and shiny. That secretion is the source of their slightly spicy, musky scent.)

Speaking of hair, mine is getting to be a nuisance. Yesterday I took it down and poured a cup of water over my scalp, then rubbed it hard with a towel, which made me feel better. I really ought to cut it, I suppose.

The food is worse than I thought it would be. Since it's unprocessed, it's impervious to spoilage, but the texture is grainy and the taste is awful. Both of us have lost weight.

(And, trust me, you've never lived until you've used Simiu sanitary facilities.

The way they're shaped makes me feel like a contortionist. I won't depress you with the details.)

My language skills continue to improve, though I wouldn't call myself fluent.

For that, I'd have to be able to think in it, and I'm still mentally translating everything Dhurrrkk' says to me into English or French, then translating my reply into Simiu before giving it.

We've definitely eluded pursuit. Dhurrrkk' listened for any mention of our escapade on Rosinante's radio, but there was none. The High Council must be keeping the entire thing quiet-- probably because they're embarrassed to admit that the Simiu chance to attain full membership in the CLS has gone so sour.

However, Dhurrrkk' did pick up a broadcast aimed at us--at least, he caught the tail-end of an ID code that matched Rosinante's.

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