This time it was the bitterest of laughs. "My mother wanted me to marry a cousin and make us truly rich. She thinks computers are unwomanly. Now that I'm over thirty, she tries not to see me. Her friends all know better, when they're boasting about their kids, than to mention me."

Darryl's tongue had frozen. All he could think, looking into the too bright glitter of her eyes, fury just stemming tears, was, And I thought my lot were rough.

"So you see," she sounded almost shaky, "why I might find it-easier-even better-" she swallowed, "-to leave."

Reality recoiled on Darryl like a blast from a deep-freeze. "For G.o.d's sake, you can't want to go that far-leave, yes, but-They're aliens! You'll be all alone!"

She looked up at him, fighting suddenly for control. Not at what he had said, he realized. At the concern in his voice. The human warmth.

Then she wiped the back of a hand over her eyes, and tried valiantly not to sniff. Her voice hardly wavered when she spoke.

"I'm used to it."

The inflection pierced him like a lance. He found he was struggling in his now pa.s.sive bonds. "No-Jeezus, not like that! Dora, not alone!"

She went to retort and stopped. The half-withdrawal of her body's reply stopped too. Suddenly her face changed. Understanding, excitement rose there, something even wilder, that might have been hope.

Then she stepped suddenly forward and said, "Then you come too."

"What?"

"You understand why I'm going. You aren't that scared of them. You mightn't know the math but you see things-you think. And you don't-discount me. Don't think I'm-I'm some kind of-"

"No," Darryl said. He looked full in her face and said the words with absolute sincerity. "I think you're b.l.o.o.d.y wonderful."

"Oh . . ." Her eyes actually might have gone misty. Then she smiled up at him, tremulous and starry-eyed as a teenager. "That's good. Because actually . . . I think you're pretty wonderful too."

"Oh, Dora." He yanked one arm out of the invisible coc.o.o.n. She reached for him, the bonds suddenly undid and he had her in his arms, Dora hugging him furiously while he tried to reach her face for the first kiss.

When they let go, both breathless, Major loomed suddenly at Dora's elbow. "Now," the unhuman voice almost sounded long-suffering, "you are ready to leave?"

Dora looked round. Drew in a long breath. Then she picked up the laptop, dropped in the heat of stress, and glanced up at him-her? it? "We're ready," she said.

Major signaled. The silent pods opened, door sections swinging up and out and ramps extending like the reality of every science fiction film Darryl had ever seen, and for a moment pure wonder stole his breath.

Something tugged on his hand. Dora looked up at him, suddenly uncertain, deadly serious.

"Darryl-you sure?" She glanced at the pods. "Those things-and the way they stopped you, before. They could do anything to us. Ursa Major-you know, we probably aren't coming back?"

"Yeah," he said, following her eyes, feeling the fear rise. And fall again. "I reckoned that."

"But what about your family?"

Darryl looked down at her, recalling the messages on his phone. Then he said to Major, "Hang on a minute, mate. Gotta make a call." He dragged the cellphone from his pocket and dialed the number he knew by heart.

"Bianca? This is Darryl. Get Roberts to make a voice-test, so he can swear this isn't under duress. Then tell him to sell the farm. Split the money with the kids. Tell Alys to find another cat-feeder, and Joe, when the farm money's gone, he'll have to pay his own bills. I won't be around." He felt himself smile down at Dora, unable to help it. "No, haven't got time to explain. But someone's just made me an offer I couldn't refuse."

Acknowledgements Many thanks to Ian Riedel of Fireworx Brisbane, who patiently answered a cascade of queries about pyrotechnic terms and procedures. Any errors in pyrotechnic matters are my doing.

Thanks also to Cat Johnson for advice on football terms, and a homage to James Tiptree Jr., for this story's foremother, "The Women Men Don't See." Thanks even more to Lillian Stewart Carl, whose part in this story was fundamental.

IN THE NIGHT.

Steven H Silver.

The communications department was the eye in the calm of the storm as The Pride of Pavo prepared for orbital insertion around Oshun. Communication Sub-Officer Lolanyo Oum was completely removed from the typical pre-insertion, organized chaos that reigned supreme on the ship as he made contact with Oshun's navcom officer.

"The Pride of Pavo requesting orbital slot." He tried to keep his voice calm, but knew that he failed. In many ways, Oshun was like any of the fifteen other worlds the Pavo had visited since it was last here, but Lolanyo knew there was a difference. Oshun was the home of the s.e.xiest voice in the galaxy. With luck, the voice would be on duty and respond to provide him with the coordinates to feed to the ship.

"The Pride of Pavo requesting orbital slot," he repeated.

Lolanyo double-checked the distance to the s.p.a.ce station and the frequency. a.s.sured he was broadcasting properly, he was about to repeat his request when Oshun Control responded.

"Oshun Control to The Pride of Pavo, insertion data is being provided on B-band."

Lolanyo's heart leapt. It was her. He didn't know what she looked like, nor her name, but he had fallen in love with her voice-which called to mind the soothing, mellifluous tones of an oboe-on the three previous trips to Oshun, and this time he was ready to act.

The Communications Shed on the s.p.a.ce station Oshun formed a safe coc.o.o.n for Dianthe Secca. The small room kept her separated from the physicality of other humans while allowing her safe, limited communication with people thousands, if not millions of kilometers away.

"The Pride of Pavo requesting orbital slot," the voice of the s.p.a.cer commie came faintly over her com. She could almost hear each of the million kilometers the message had to cross from the ship to the station. The Pavo came to the station about once every six months. She called its record up on her computer and sent them information over the B-band.

"Thanks, Oshun. We're looking forward to seeing you." It was just a friendly greeting, but it made Dianthe tense up. All too often, the men who traveled between the stars seemed to want to meet her. s.p.a.ceships generally had an almost equal mix of men and women on the crew, but after traveling for months on end with each other, anyone would seek out variety. Dianthe had no desire to be that variety.

A sudden klaxon sounded and she jerked her eyes back to the computer. Another ship had come through the wormhole on the Pavo's tail. According to the data scrolling across the screen, the new ship and the Pavo were too close to be safely traveling at near-relativistic speeds.

"Oshun Control to The Pride of Pavo, take evasive action. Mystery ship at 420 plus 8. Set heading 156 and minus 21!

"Oshun Control to mystery ship," the computer displayed its name, taken from its guidance beacon, "Oshun Control to Zubarah! Take evasive action. The Pride of Pavo at 156 minus 8. Set heading 420 plus 21!" She pressed the b.u.t.ton to have her instructions repeated.

Six seconds later, she received her first acknowledgement. "Pavo confirms new heading of 156 and minus 21."

She waited, but there was no acknowledgement from Zubarah. She kept an eye on the data scrolling on her screen, watching The Pride of Pavo making its course correction while Zubarah continued on its set course. She tried to imagine the klaxons on both ships and wondered what was happening on Zubarah; there was no response to either her directions or what must be happening.

Suddenly, the data showed the ship pulling away and almost simultaneously a voice with a thick Mindeni accent. "Zubarah to Oshun. We acknowledge orders and are changing course."

The scrolling data showed the two ships moving apart. At their closest approach, they were less than 1,000 kilometers apart. A near collision that the Captain of Zubarah would have to answer for once he docked.

Dianthe turned her attention to the next ship arrival and finished off her shift without any further incidents.

Several hours later, leaving the ComShed, she was still jumpy from the close encounter. Without her job to occupy her thoughts, she found herself quivering with nerves.

One of the advantages to living on a s.p.a.ce station was that, although the population was mostly human, there were enough aliens around that she could ignore human culture. She had discovered a Nardak rumination center that catered almost exclusively to an alien clientele. It would be crowded, but when Dianthe was among aliens, she was still separate from her own kind and could imagine a solitude that was otherwise lacking.

A bat-like Tseekahn led her to a rumination pit where she could lay on a strange, jelly-like substance that would support her weight. Nutrients and relaxicants would infuse into her skin through the jelly. In fact, as she lay down, she could feel the tension disappear from her bare arms and neck, replaced with a deep warmth.

The moments of panic when the second ship had appeared vanished. The thousands of humans on the station could just as easily have been on the planet below. She was alone on a soft, warm bed. Aromas from the Nardak homeworld filled the air, ashy smells mixed with the tang of ozone. An atonal, bichronial tune played softly. When Dianthe had first heard the Nardaki music, she didn't think she could stay in the room longer than a few minutes, let alone relax to it. It seemed to work with the relaxicants, though, and while she wouldn't listen to it in normal circ.u.mstances, it seemed right in the rumination center.

Soon it was as if she was alone. The rest of the station vanished from her thoughts.

"May I join you?"

Dianthe opened her eyes to see a young officer standing above her and looking out of place with his neatly pressed uniform and, more importantly, his human features. For a moment she wondered how the alien clientele of the rumination center looked at her, but that pa.s.sed as she realized she was simply annoyed that anyone would interrupt her when she thought she had found solitude.

"If I wanted human company, I would have gone to a bar. I wouldn't be here." she closed her eyes, focusing on the Nardak scents.

"But you are Lieutenant Dianthe Secca. I was told you might be here."

The rumination center was a strange, almost psychedelic experience. A thin, moss-carpeted path wound between pits filled with variously colored slimes. Lolanyo had stopped at the front desk and asked the attendant if a human was using the facilities. The bat-like Tseekahn pipped through its translator, indicating there was one relaxing in the back. Lolanyo wound his way through until he saw her lying in a pit of pink goo.

She wasn't what Lolanyo would consider pretty. She had a nose a little too broad for her face and her hair was a washed-out rust color. But she had that voice, and at the very least, he wanted to thank her for helping avert disaster when the Pavo dropped into norm-s.p.a.ce.

"May I join you?" he asked, unsure of the niceties of the situation. Should he even be talking to her in a rumination center?

She opened her eyes and glanced up at him, closing her eyes dismissively. "And I've already told you, if I wanted human company, I would have gone to a bar." Even her terse tone couldn't hide the quality of her voice and in spite of himself, Lolanyo could feel his heart quicken.

"But you are Lieutenant Dianthe Secca," he pressed on. "I'm Lolonyo Oum. From The Pride of Pavo. I wanted to thank you for your quick action earlier today." He could feel the words burbling out of him, staccato, nervous.

"You've thanked me. And set back my relaxation."

He nodded. "Well, anyway. Thanks for spotting the other ship. It was nice . . ." he realized she wasn't listening, had dismissed him.

On his way out of the center, Lolanyo stopped once more to talk to the attendant.

The kid was gone and Dianthe listened to the music and allowed the smells to overwhelm her.

The rumination center allowed her to drift away from her daily concerns. Ships coming and going were her coworkers' concerns. The crowds that were between her and her apartment were imaginary, easily ignored. Oshun's walls were closed down to just the walls of the pit in which she lay, the music soothing her despite its utter alienness.

And despite herself, Dianthe found herself thinking of the earnest young officer who had disturbed her. n.o.body had ever searched her out before, at least not successfully. Every commie she had ever spoken to had been at a distance of millions of kilometers. He had intruded and introduced himself to her, but she had no recollection of what his name was, merely that he was from The Pride of Pavo. Or possibly the Zubarah. One of the ships involved in the incident. She had no idea what he looked like. Slight of build? Perhaps. She would never see him again.

Normally, she would have been annoyed at the interruption and the fact that she was dwelling on it, but the jelly was giving her a steady supply of relaxicants and she found she couldn't muster the anger she knew she should.

She realized she was herself impressed with the anonymous commie's diligence. Eventually, she rose from the jelly and stopped at the front desk, only to find that the commie had paid for her session. Enough of the relaxicants were still in her bloodstream that she couldn't get angry and she left to seek the comforting vacancy of her own apartment.

Lolanyo saw the lift doors begin to close and he ran for them, calling. He managed to catch his foot between the doors and as they reopened, he slid in. There was only one person in the lift.

"We meet again, Lieutenant," he said, immediately cursing himself for how stupid he must sound.

"I'm sorry," Dianthe answered. "Have we met?"

"A little while ago. In the relaxation place. Lolanyo Oum. From The Pride of Pavo."

An awkward silence filled the car. It was eventually broken by Dianthe.

"You had no right," she started before taking a breath, "Thank you for paying for my session. It was very generous."

"You're welcome. It was the least I could do after this morning."

Silence again as Dianthe made a concerted effort to examine the b.u.t.tons on the wall in front of her. Lolanyo looked up at the floor display while trying to catch glimpses of Dianthe out of the corner of his eye and trying to think of a way to start a conversation. Anything just to hear her voice.

Suddenly, the silence was made even more complete as the lift shuddered to a halt between floors and the lights dimmed.

Dianthe began pushing random b.u.t.tons to no avail. She tapped on the lift's com unit.

"Is there anyone there? We're stuck in the elevator."

She was greeted by silence and pulled a com unit from her belt.

"d.a.m.n! No signal." She said without even trying to call out.

Lolanyo began banging on the lift doors, shouting through them. He noticed that Dianthe simply sat on the floor in one corner of the lift.

"What are you doing?"

"They'll realize we're stuck eventually and get us out. The com unit isn't working and I don't have a signal. Yelling isn't going to help if we're between decks. The only other option would be to climb through the access hatch," she pointed to the trap door in the lift's ceiling. "And I'm not about to do something that risky."

She reached into her pouch and pulled out a sharp needle.

"What's that for?"

"Embroidery," she responded. "We're going to be here for a while. I can do that or I can talk to you." She continued to pull cloth and thread from her pouch.

Lolanyo was amazed. No matter what she said, no matter how harsh her tone or how dismissive her words, her voice had an uncanny ability to make his heart skip.

He turned back to the door and began to pound on it, yelling for help.

After a few moments, Dianthe spoke up. "Could you stop that? It won't do any good."

"It seems my only other choice is to watch you knit, which doesn't strike me as any more interesting or productive on my part."

"I'm embroidering, not knitting." Dianthe lapsed back into silence.

"Why?"

"Sorry?"

"Why are you embroidering?"

"It beats pounding on the door and yelling my head off."

Lolanyo thought about it for a moment. "Has anyone ever told you that you have a beautiful voice?"

Dianthe looked up. "That's changing the subject a little."

"No, really. A lot of other commies have mentioned that they look forward to arriving at Oshun because they enjoy hearing your greeting."