The Tapping in the Wall

Tova woke to a small sound. Tap. Tap-tap-tap. It came from somewhere inside the wall. Rosa sat on the end of the bunk, one ear up, one ear flopped over. "Did you hear that?" Tova whispered. Rosa's nose twitched twice, which meant yes. The station hummed the way it always hummed. But under the hum was the tapping, slow and patient, like someone knocking very politely. Tova pushed off her blanket and floated, toes first, into the hall.

The hall was cool. Tova put both hands flat on the wall and slid them along. One patch was cold as a spoon. The next patch was warm as a cup of milk. "Warm here, cold here, warm here again," she said. Rosa drifted beside her, whiskers forward. The tapping came again, further down. It was louder where the wall was warm. So Tova followed the warm places, hand over hand, with Rosa turning slowly in the air behind her.

They passed a round window. Below it, Earth went by, blue and white and quiet, turning the way it always turned. Tova pressed her cheek to the glass for one breath. The glass was cold. The wall beside it was warm. Tap-tap, said the wall, and Rosa's ears both came up at once. They went on past the sleeping lamps, past the floating spoon someone had let go of at dinner, all the way to the little green room at the end.

The green room was the coldest room on the station. Tova felt it on her arms the moment she floated in. Plants grew here in long trays, small and leafy, leaning toward the window. Their soil smelled like rain. And there, running along the floor beneath them, was a fat silver pipe. Tova put her palm on it. It was warm. It was so warm it surprised her. Tap, said the pipe, right under her hand. Tap-tap.

Tova laughed into her sleeve. The pipe was not knocking to be let in. It was full of warm water, going somewhere, bumping its elbows along the way. She followed it with her fingers, tray after tray. Under the first tray, warm. Under the second tray, warm. Rosa hopped along the pipe in little floating hops. The leaves above it were soft and open. "Warm here, cold here, warm here again," Tova said, quieter now, because the last tray was cold.

The pipe stopped before it reached the corner. The last tray sat alone by the window with no warm pipe beneath it. Tova touched one leaf. It was cool as glass. The seedlings there were the smallest of all, three of them, bent low. Rosa laid one ear against the tray and did not move. Tova thought for a moment. Then she turned and floated back down the hall, fast, past the spoon, past the round window, to her own bunk.

She came back with her blanket bunched under her arm. It was still warm from her sleeping. Tova shook it out and it opened like a sail in the air. She wrapped it round the cold tray, twice, and tucked the edge in underneath. Rosa pressed the corners down with her paws until they stayed. Now Tova's arms were bare and the room found them. She rubbed them and did not mind very much. "There," she said. "There you are."

They waited by the window while Earth went on turning. Tova put her finger under the blanket to check. Warm. She checked again. Still warm. The pipe tapped on behind her, carrying its warm water round and round the station, knocking politely all the way. "Warm here, cold here, warm here again," Tova whispered, and her eyes stayed closed a little longer each time. Rosa nudged her shoulder. Tova was already drifting, slow as a leaf, in the middle of the room.

Rosa took Tova's sleeve in her teeth and pulled. Along the floating girl came, head first, arms loose, past the round window where the blue light moved over her face. Down the hall. Past the spoon. Rosa towed her through the door and settled her onto the bunk and pressed her down gently until she stayed. The station hummed. Far off, something small and warm went tap, tap-tap. Rosa curled against Tova's back, one ear up, one ear down, and closed her eyes.