Joan Vinge - The Snow Queen

She glanced toward the distant, darkened windows where Ngenet waited; smiled privately. She wondered what those many-times-great grandchildren might say to his, on the day of their return.

Gundhalinu drew his healing body up with an effort, and made a perfect salute. She returned it — the final salute of her career, the farewell to a life and a galaxy.

“Don’t forget to turn out the lights.” He started away to where the other patrolmen waited, already in the lift and holding it for him. She turned her back on the sight of them, of the lift like an open mouth calling her, calling her insane… She went as quickly as she could without running to the nearest exit from the field.

She found Ngenet watching the doorway for her as she entered the deserted auditorium. She joined him at the wall of shielded glass, looking down across the field at the inert mass of the solitary coin ship, alone in the vast, ruddy pit, as they were alone. Miroe spoke quietly, complimenting her competence, asking innocuous questions; his voice was hushed, as though he were experiencing a religious event. She answered him distractedly, barely hearing what either of them said.

The ship lay in its berth for a long time — made longer by her straining anticipation — and she let him listen over her headset to the last drawing-in of cranes and equipment, the ship’s officers going through their final checks and tallies.

“Are you clear, Citizen PalaThion?”

Jerusha started as the captain’s voice addressed her directly. “Yes. Yes, I’m clear.” Citizen. An irrational disappointment stirred in her. “All clear, Captain.”

“You’re sure you want to stay behind here?”

Miroe looked up at her, waiting.

She took a deep breath, nodded… said, as an afterthought, “Yes, I’m sure, Captain. But thanks for asking.”

Life and noise continued at the other end of the gap for a few seconds longer, and then her communicator went dead. She stood very still for a long moment, as though she had heard herself die, before she pulled off the delicate spider’s web of the headset.

Below them she saw the hologrammic lights of the ignition sequence play across the ship’s hull and fade, mute warning. She stared until her eyes ached, searching for motion.

“Look. They’re lifting.”

Now she saw the motion, too, saw the ship’s structure tremble — as the grids of the star port repellers engaged and it began to rise — and the faint distortion of the air. It drifted up and up, toward the portion of the star port protective dome opening like a flower on the deeper, ruddy field of the star-choked night. It passed through into the outer darkness where, somewhere far above, it would join itself to a convoy of a dozen others, in a fleet of dozens and dozens more. And from there their fusion drives would carry them on to the Black Gate and they would pass through, and never in her lifetime would they come back to this world again.

The dome resealed far overhead, blotting out the stars.

Jerusha looked down, across the glowing grid work of the field, down at herself standing in this dark, empty hall, alone, like a castoff stick of furniture. Oh, my gods… She covered her face with a hand, swaying.

“Jerusha.” Miroe steadied her hesitantly. “I promise you, you won’t regret it.”

She nodded, pressing her lips together. “I’m all right. Or I will be, when I catch my breath.” She lowered her hand, tracing the seal of her jacket down. “Like any other newborn.” She smiled at him, uncertainly; he fed her smile with his own until it grew strong.

“You belong here, on Tiamat. I knew it from the first time I met you. But I had to wait until you knew it too… I thought you’d never see.” He was suddenly embarrassed.

“Why didn’t you say something, anything, to help me understand?” almost exasperation.

“I tried! Gods, how I tried.” He shook his head. “But I was afraid to hear you tell me no.”

“And I was afraid I might say yes.” She looked out the window again. “But I’ve belonged to this star port too. And so have you…” She sighed, looking back. “Neither of us belongs here now, Miroe. We’d better get out of here before they seal it up like a tomb.”

He grinned, easing. “That’s a step in the right direction. We’ll take the rest as it comes; step by step.” He turned solemn again. “Whenever you’re ready.”

“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be, Miroe. For whatever comes.” She felt her excitement and her courage coming back to her. “It’s going to be interesting.” She felt her face warm as he touched her. “You know, Miroe—” she laughed suddenly, “among my people, “May you live in interesting times’ is not exactly a benediction.”

He smiled, and then he began to laugh; and together they started back through the abandoned halls — returning to Carbuncle, going home.