"Go away," said Rashala, her gaze not lifting from her screen.

My sister didn't like being helpful. Especially when it involved walking somewhere with a functionary. Nevertheless, Oren had to ask again. "Rashala, please confirm that you refuse to help me."

"Confirm. Confirm, confirm, confirm. Confirm!" She looked up at us, her gaze fierce. "Happy now?"

The functionaries didn't have moods, but I sometimes imagined a flicker of irritation in the whirr that went through Oren's fingers, little flutters against the back of my hand.

"Thank you, Rashala," it said.

✾

Mother was in her quarters next door. The door slid open to her impeccably neat space. Brons once told me of the time she had come to us from Voidhold Three, bringing a shuttle full of goods that she stacked in storage and never took out again. The only item she seemed to care about was a painting, sparse oils applied to a thin metal sheet, showing a wide waterscape. It was my favourite thing in her quarters, and I stared at it while Oren and Brons privately shared information.

"Mother is sleeping," Oren relayed to me. "She requested a strong stabilizer and will not rise for some time."

With Rashala unwilling, Mother asleep, and me too lowly, there was only one other human on Voidhold Zero.

✾

Father's quarters were next to Mother's, but the door did not slide open upon Oren's touch. We had to wait for Vilett, the functionary who lived with him, to let us in. Through the small window beside the door, I could see Father sitting at his desk, working on the contents of a large box. His dull-brown hair hung from his greasy scalp, concealing his face.

The door swished open. Father didn't acknowledge our entry at first. He was completely absorbed in his work of building a toy. He had built many toys, lining them up on shelves in his quarters. Rashala once told me that he played with them at night.

"Greve," said Oren. "Please come with me."

Father did not look up from his toy. It had an indeterminate shape but a fine gold colour. "Later," he murmured.

Click click, click-click-click went the functionaries in their private language.

Vilett moved in to take Father by the arm, spray-syringe ready. Father's protocol did not give him the option of pills and their refusal.

"Please wait," I said, stepping forward. "Can I ask him?"

Oren released my hand. "You can try." I don't think it liked Father being forced any more than I did.

The toy on Father's desk was a mechanical bird. "Father, what is this one?" I asked, pointing to it.

Past the curtain of hair, a slow smile formed on his rough, old face. "A nightingale. The finest singer of them all."

"Can it sing for us?"

"It will, one day. I must find the components." A frown appeared, and his eyes shifted to the box. It was filled to the brim with parts, most of which had nothing to do with birds.

"I am sure we can find them," I said. "Father, come with us for now."

His brow furrowed. "Why? Where are we going?" he asked Oren.

"The wardroom," it said.

"The wardroom?" His furrowed brow smoothed and rose. "I haven't been there in many a year. I thought it had collapsed."

"No, Greve," said Oren. "The wardroom has not changed since Gould took over operations a century ago."

"Good." Father stroked his stubbly chin and nodded. "Good, good. Vilett!"

"Yes, Greve?" said the functionary, inches from his shoulder.

"I must dress…important matters to attend to." Father looked down at his desk. "And clear this up. Just…" He waved his arm at the pile of parts. "Just put it away for now. I am needed! Off to the wardroom!"

As Vilett helped my father dress, I turned to leave and go to the Garden Room, which was my custom after the morning walk, but Oren held me tight.

"May I go to the garden, please?" I asked.

Oren considered me, its face making those little shifts it did to show that it was being thoughtful. Then it leaned in and spoke softly, "You will be in the wardroom with both Greve and Gould. Together, they might be convinced to grant you full rank."

If I could be a full human-present, it would never again have to ask someone else. Mother insists that the functionaries have no feelings or thoughts of their own, nothing beyond the instructions inside, but Oren was quite clearly desperate for me to be more useful.

"I shall come to the wardroom," I said, excitement building. Going to the wardroom meant a trip down. I had never been down before.

✾

We slowly descended the ramp, the corridor curving downward as we entered the belly of Voidhold Zero. Down here were things I had never needed to know about, let alone consent to. Oren was on my left, as usual. Father was on my right, and Vilett was on his right. I had never seen Father to well groomed. He wore a new uniform in deep blue that was only a little too big for him. Vilett had even seen to his hair, tying it neatly back.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Father suddenly stopped. "Where are we going?" he asked.

"To the wardroom" said Vilett. Its grip on Father's arm tightened. "We must continue."

"No," said Father, his eyes growing wide. "I must…I must see."

I quickly took Father's free hand in mine. "You are needed in the wardroom, Father. We have little time to waste."

He looked at me. His pale eyes were weak from years of being confined to quarters. His head was misshapen from the accident that had put him there. "You look so much like your mother when she was young," he said.

I tugged on his hand. "Tell me about her while we walk."

"She arrived on her shuttle, but it didn't stop for her. It was only myself and my sister Alyce, but the shuttle took Alyce away. So it would have only been me had your mother not come."

"You traded your sister for a mother." I had heard this many times before, but if I could keep him talking he would keep walking and Vilett wouldn't need to use its spray-syringe.

"Yes. I was quite nervous, of course." A thin smile appeared.

I felt Oren's hand close a little tighter on mine. It wanted me to tread carefully around all mention of Mother. It needn't have worried — this was a tightrope I had long learned to walk.

"Does she like her latest toy?" he asked suddenly. “It’s a thrush!”

"She does," I said. "She has it by her bedside and plays its music every night."

In actual fact, it was by Rashala's bed as Mother never accepted any of the gifts Vilett brought her from Father. Family life in our voidhold was difficult, but I knew no other way. Sometimes Brons talked about other people in other voidholds, but those were just fantasies. It told of crews numbering as many as 20! I couldn't imagine a number as large as that. Indeed, I couldn't imagine another face.

Father continued to chatter as we moved up towards the wardroom. "Should I made a clock for her next? Would she like a clock?" Mother had seven clocks and never looked at a single one.

"I think she would love a clock," I said. "What colour did you have in mind?"

"A pretty silver, of course," he said. "Sparkling like the morning floor"

"I think she would like that." It wouldn't go with her seascape, but that didn't matter. The clock would go to Rashala, who within a day or two would toss it against a bulkhead to hear its clinking smash.

We took a sharp left, and reached a ladder. Oren went up first, then crouched down through the hatch, its arm stretched out to guide Father. He huffed and hauled his way up, then gave a happy grunt of satisfaction at what he saw there. Then it was my turn. I gripped the rungs.

"Ascend with care," Vilett said behind me.

Above me, Oren made a encouraging motion.

I climbed.

The wardroom was round, displays covering every surface. Father made pleased murmurs, as if greeting an old friend. I followed more cautiously, noting how different the air felt here. Cooler, with a faint metallic taste that penetrated even my veil.

Then I looked up and saw the view outside.

Beyond the voidhold's external lights, massive clouds churned in endless motion, their colours shifting between deep purple and pale lilac. It was beautiful and terrifying, an infinite storm. Gould stood beneath the viewing window, commanding the centre of the room, its huge silver body reflecting the purple glow. Its face was a cluster of sensors arranged in strange geometric patterns. These sensors moved and glittered, acknowledging first Father, then me.

"Acting-Commander Greve," it said, its voice deeper than any functionary I'd heard before. "Thank you for coming."

Father straightened at the title, his thin shoulders pulling back beneath the baggy uniform. "I was informed that there were important matters to attend to."

I drifted to the back of the room, making myself small and unnoticed — a skill I had long honed. Other functionaries were gathered: Yeller, Oren, and three I didn't recognize. They clicked rapidly to each other, their movements somehow more urgent than usual.

"We have detected another voidhold," Gould announced. "It appeared on our scanners approximately 43 minutes ago."

Father nodded, though his eyes were fixed on a small panel of blinking lights. "I see. It's like the old days, isn't it?"

"Yes, Acting-Commander Greve," Gould continued. "We require your authority to establish communication."

Father reached out to touch a control panel. "Here," he said. "I remember this button."

A new display came on, showing a series of symbols I didn't understand. The functionaries began clicking faster, their sounds overlapping.

"It is Voidhold Four," Gould announced. "They wish to perform a trade."

Father's head tilted to one side, his hair slipping across his shoulder. "We must respond. Protocol demands..."

"This is a significant development," said Gould. "The first contact from another voidhold in seven years, four months, and twelve days. The trade offer appears comprehensive. I strongly suggest that we accept their terms."

"Yes," Father said quietly. He suddenly looked tired and lost. "I agree."

"Of course, acting-commander." Gould's sensors dimmed as new data filled the screens. "We will make the necessary arrangements." Its sensors glowed brighter. "Perhaps you and young Shade would like to return to your quarters now."

Oren paused, perhaps thinking we should ask about my rank, but Gould had already turned away. I kept my pose relaxed, my eyes wide and empty as if I saw nothing, not even the storm outside.

"Come, Shade," Oren said, taking my hand. "The Garden Room awaits."

✾

Oren's grip was gentle as we walked the familiar corridors towards the Garden Room.

"Oren," I said softly, "are there many voidholds?"

"That information is not relevant to current protocols."

I kept my voice light, innocent. "Father said there used to be many."

A slight whirr went through Oren's fingers. "Acting-Commander Greve retains memories from previous periods."

"But Voidhold Four exists. We saw their message."

"Correct." Oren's tone was careful, measured.

"Do they look like us? Do they have Garden Rooms too?" I let my gaze drift to the wall panels we passed. "Do their functionaries look human like you or more mechanical like Yeller?"

A few quiet paces. Then, "I have no data on their current practices and functionaries."

"But you must have some records of when they last contacted us. Seven years, four months, and twelve days ago..." I trailed off, realising I'd quoted Gould's words too precisely.

Oren's step faltered slightly, the tiniest break in its perfect rhythm. Then it squeezed my hand gently. "You are very observant today."

I quickly looked down. "I like numbers and counting things. Like you taught me."

"Indeed." Its voice carried a hint of something. Approval perhaps, or amusement. "Would you like to count the maintenance panels as we walk?"

I nodded, accepting the childish task as a reprimand for having let my facade slip. But my mind was full of the storm outside and the other voidholds that rode it.

"Oren?"

"Yes, Shade?"

"Will things be different after the trade?"

Its answer was very soft: "That depends on what is being traded."

"Do you know what it is?" I asked, keeping my voice carefully light.

"I do."

"Can you tell me?"

"That information will be provided through appropriate channels."

I nodded, then ventured another question. "Will it come through the Waygate? The traded thing?"

"Most transfers occur through the Waygate."

"Like Mother, when she first arrived?"

Oren's fingers twitched against mine. "Your mother's arrival predates my activation."

Another deflection. I fell silent, letting Oren think I was satisfied with its non-answers. But its careful evasion told me something. Whatever was coming through the Waygate was significant enough to make even Oren cautious.