Our first sleep in the cage is deep.
I come out of my void to see Jacobi marshal her team and lead them in limbering up—another diagnostic, I think, making sure they can still fight, or at least move together in a coordinated fashion. Ishida works the hardest, complains the least. Litvinov gathers up his three Russians and does the same.
Kumar seems content to drift to a far side of the cage, where I imagine he’s making plans. That’s what Wait Staff do, all they’re good for, right? Without Mushran, can he possibly carry on?
Joe rolls and floats up beside me, asks, “I wonder if the Antags will make us join their fight.”
“They’re doing everything they can to avoid a fight,” I say.
DJ flaps by, ineffective at swimming or flying or whatever he’s doing, and chimes in. “They’re really unhappy. They’ve spent their whole lives training to push us off Mars and get ready to invade Earth. And now—they’re giving up and planning to get the hell out.”
“Fuck ’em all,” Jacobi says as she bounces along the bottom of the cage.
“Just passing it along,” DJ says and slides against the mesh without benefit of a mat. He grips the thick wire with his fingers and hangs on. “Some fucking hamster ball, ain’t it?”
I lie back beside him, stretch out my arms, and stare toward the center of the cage. DJ joins Kumar and some of the others in pretending to sleep. Being hooked in by the tea isn’t easy on either of us. I hope it doesn’t leave mental scars to match the ones from our lobster suits.
There’s now a faint suggestion of g-force. We seem to be accelerating. What can this ship do? What kind of maneuvering? How fast, with what kind of power?
I can’t drift off. I let go of the mesh. DJ follows. Borden and DJ and I join in another daisy, gripping hands and pulling our heads almost together. Our feet impact softly against the cage.
Jacobi swings by and grabs a hand from Borden.
“What do you know about this ship?” Borden asks DJ and me.
“Not much,” I say. “Bird Girl’s not very consistent at keeping us informed.” I tell them about the apparent connection between our Gurus and their Keepers.
“What the hell are Keepers?”
“Their Gurus,” DJ concurs.
“This whole war was arranged and coached on both teams?” Jacobi says.
“We knew that,” Borden says.
This sobers them, but in fact nobody seems very surprised. “Awkward communication could be to our advantage,” I say. “As the weak partners in this dance, DJ and I should listen close and hope for more embarrassing revelations.”
Borden looks at us with some surprise. “Strategic thinking?” she asks. I smile, showing my teeth.
Now Joe is with us. Not many of us can sleep. “Vinnie always thinks strategically,” he says.
“Whatever’s out there scares the hell out of the Antags,” I say. “They need to take control, but they don’t know how. And it all seems to involve Keepers. Gurus. Whatever.”
“Wonder if that explains where Mushran is?” Borden asks. That hadn’t occurred to me, but the idea gains no traction in ignorance.
“Where are they planning to go?” Jacobi asks.
“No idea,” I say.
“There’s something they call Sun-Planet,” DJ says, and I give him a severe look. He’s getting ahead of what I’m comfortable speculating on.
“What the hell is Sun-Planet?” Borden asks.
“Still collating,” I say.
“It’s way out there,” DJ says. “Could be Planet X.”
Joe and Borden frown.
“Planet X,” he says, about to launch into that story, but they raise their hands and he cuts himself off.
Do I truly understand the import of that basketball-on-felt diagram Bird Girl fed me earlier? She doesn’t seem to remember Sun-Planet in any detail. She’s got textbook knowledge, nothing sensual or immediate. I wonder if she’s ever been there.
“Anything else?” Joe asks.
I hold back a few subliminal impressions because I’m not sure they make sense. Antag family structure? Something important is missing, but maybe about to arrive. “They’re way below strength. Maybe only thirty or forty Antags, not including the bats.”
“Got that,” Borden says.
“I saw some squids,” Joe says. “Did you see them, too?”
“Yeah,” Jacobi says. “Haven’t seen them since, and I wasn’t sure I saw them the first time.”
“What about the hunters out here in orbit?” Borden asks. “Ours and theirs—Box and the rest?”
“Doesn’t seem to be their biggest worry,” I say.
To my relief, the group breaks up to return to exercising.
Every few hours, three or four bats show up with a tank and a hose and let loose a spray of water. The spray cuts a tangent across one side of the sphere. We wash in it, drink from it, or simply avoid it.
More hours. Nature takes its course.
“Dignity in the Corps!” Joe calls out. “We get to crap behind blankets.”
Exactly right. Nobody’s much embarrassed, but we hold up the mats for individual privacy.
After a couple of hours, the bats lob fist-sized green balls through the hatch. I grab one and bite into it. It’s dry and yeasty, slightly salty, slightly sweet. The others see my tacit approval and grab their own.
The lights go down every thirty hours. That leaves those of us who are still not sleepy to cling to the mesh or bump into one another.