The Long Way Round
The handrail was cool and ribbed under Kit's hand. Kit pulled, and floated down the long hall of Space Station Nine. Sunny came after, round and slow, turning like a honey-gold moon. The night lamps had gone soft and low. Only the garden ring still glowed, far along the curve. Kit knew what happened in the garden at this hour. The little sunflowers got sleepy, and the sleepy ones got crooked. Someone had to tip them back toward their lamp.
Kit had learned it by watching, pot by pot. You cupped the stem. You turned the pot a hand's width. You did not hurry, because sunflowers do not like hurrying. Sunny bumped the wall and spun in a soft circle. "Garden ring," said Kit. "Before the lamp goes down." There were two ways to get there. The long ring, all the way around the station. Or the short tube, straight up through the middle.
Kit took the short tube. It was a round white throat with lights down its sides. But halfway up, the air was full of soft shapes. The laundry net had come open at the top. Socks turned slowly, like fish in no current. A towel drifted past Kit's ear. A wool blanket folded and unfolded itself in the air. Sunny caught a sock on her nose and looked pleased with herself. Kit stopped climbing and looked at the mess, and thought.
If the laundry stayed loose, it would drift all night. It would bump the vents. It would tangle somebody's morning. So Kit began to gather. A sock. A towel. A blanket pulled in like a sail. Sunny held the net open with her whole soft body. One by one, the drifting things went home. The lamp light slid across each fold as it went in. It took much longer than climbing would have taken.
The last thing was the blanket, and it did not want to fold. Kit chased it twice and caught it on the third try. Then Kit tied the net shut with a careful knot and tugged it tight. The tube was clear now, quiet and white and empty. But the hour had gone by, and the tube was no longer a shortcut. Kit looked down the long curve of the ring hall instead. "The long way is still the way," said Kit.
So they went the long way, hand over hand, past the round windows. Earth turned below them, blue and slow, with white weather curling on it. Light slid along the floor, then along the ceiling, then along Kit's sleeve. Sunny stopped at every window to look, and Kit stopped too. There was time to see things on the long way. A sleeping lamp. A dust speck shining. Sunny's fur going gold, then grey, then gold again.
The garden ring smelled green and warm. Twelve little sunflowers leaned every which way, nodding at nothing. Kit took the first pot and cupped the stem and turned it. A hand's width. No hurry at all. Sunny breathed on the leaves, which made them tremble. Pot by pot, the faces came round to the lamp. Kit wiped soil from one finger onto a knee. Twelve yellow faces, all looking the same way at last.
Kit sat on the floor with the warm lamp above and Sunny beside. The flowers made small sounds, the sound of leaves settling. "The long way is still the way," Kit said, quieter now. Sunny agreed with her whole body and leaned. Somewhere a vent breathed out, and the leaves nodded once. Through the window, Earth turned one more slow turn. Kit's eyes got heavy at the edges, the way eyes do.
The garden lamp knew the hour. It dimmed the way a sunset dims, slow and orange. The sunflowers closed a little, all together. Sunny's edges went soft and dark and warm. Kit held one paw and floated an inch above the floor. "The long way is still the way," Kit whispered. Then the last light went out, and the garden was quiet, and so was Kit.
