"But what would happen if you were wrong?"
"We could re-enter space too close to Lingane's sun."
She considered that, then said, "You have no idea how much better I feel."
"After what I've just said?"
"Of course. In my bunk I simply felt helpless and lost with so much emptiness in all directions. Now I know that we're going somewhere and that the emptiness is under our control."
Biron was pleased. How different she was. "I don't know about it's being under our control."
She stopped him. "It is. I know you can handle the ship."
And Biron decided that maybe he could at that.
Artemisia had tucked her long unclad legs under her and sat facing him. She had only her filmy underclothes for cover, but seemed unconscious of the fact, though Biron was definitely not.
She said, "You know, I had an awfully queer sensation in the bunk, almost as I were floating. That was one of the things that frightened me. Every time I'd turn, I'd give a queer little jump into the air and then flop back slowly as if there were springs in the air holding me back."
"You weren't sleeping in a top bunk, were you?"
"Yes, I was. The bottom ones give me claustrophobia, with another mattress six inches over your head."
Biron laughed. "Then that explains it. The ship's gravitational force is directed toward its base, and falls off as we move away from it. In the top bunk you were probably twenty or thirty pounds lighter than on the floor. Were you ever on a passenger liner? A really big one?"
"Once. When Father and I visited Tyrann last year."
"Well, on the liners they have the gravitation in all parts of the ship directed toward the outer hull, so that the long axis of the ship is always 'up,' no matter where you are. That's why the motors of one of those big babies are always lined up in a cylinder running right along the long axis. No gravity there."
"It must take an awful lot of power to keep an artificial gravity going."
"Enough to power a small town."
"There isn't any danger of our running short of fuel, is there?"
"Don't worry about that. Ships are fueled by the total conversion of mass to energy. Fuel is the last thing we'll run out of. The outer hull will wear away first."
She was facing him. He noted that her face had been cleaned of its make-up and wondered how that had been done; probably with a handkerchief and as little of the drinking water as she could manage. She didn't suffer as a result, for her clear white skin was the more startlingly perfect against the black of her hair and eyes. Her eyes were very warm, thought Biron.
The silence had lasted a little too long. He said hurriedly, "You don't travel very much, do you? I mean, you were on a liner only once?"
She nodded. "Once too often. If we hadn't gone to Tyrann, that filthy chamberlain wouldn't have seen me and-I don't want to talk about that."
Biron let it. go. He said, "Is that usual? I mean, not traveling."
"I'm afraid so. Father is always hopping around on state visits, opening agricultural expositions, dedicating buildings. He usually just makes some speech that Aratap writes for him. As for the rest of us, however, the more we stay in the Palace, the better the Tyranni like it. Poor Gillbret! The one and only time he left Rhodia was to attend the Khan's coronation as Father's representative. They've never let him get into a ship again."
Her eyes were downcast and, absently, she pleated the material of Biron's sleeve where it ended at the wrist. She said, "Biron."
"Yes-Arta?" He stumbled a bit, but it came out.
"Do you think Uncle Oil's story can be true?"
"Do you suppose it could be his imagination? He's been brooding about the Tyranni for years, and he's never been able to do anything, of course, except to rig up spy beams, which is only childish, and he knows it. He may have built himself a daydream and, over the years, gradually come to believe in it. I know him, you see."
"Could be, but let's follow it up a little. We can travel to Lingane, anyway."
They were closer to one another. He could have reached out and touched her, held her in his arms, kissed her.
And he did so.
It was a complete non sequitur. Nothing, it seemed to Biron, had led to it. One moment they were discussing Jumps and gravity and Gillbret, and the next she was soft and silky in his arms and soft silky on his lips.
His first impulse was to say he was sorry, to go through all the silly motions of apology, but when he drew away and would have spoken, she still made no attempt at escape but rested her head in the crook of his left arm. Her eyes remained closed.
So he said nothing at all but kissed her again, slowly and thoroughly. It was the best thing he could have done, and at the time he knew it.
Finally she said, a bit dreamily, "Aren't you hungry? I'll bring you some of the concentrate and warm it for you. Then, if you want to sleep, I can keep an eye on things for you. And-and I'd better put on more of my clothes."
She turned as she was about to go out the door. "The food concentrate tastes very nice after you get used to it. Thank you for getting it."
Somehow that, rather than the kisses, was the treaty of peace between them.
When Gillbret entered the control room, hours later, he showed no surprise at finding Biron and Artemisia lost in a foolish kind of conversation. He made no remarks about the fact that Biron's arm was about his niece's waist.
He said, "When are we Jumping, Biron?"
"In half an hour," said Biron.
The half hour passed; the controls were set; conversation languished and died.