One day, about ten days after departure, Asha came into the cabin. He dipped his head to me, gave a hand signal to his son and daughter and treated Natanu with a wary look.
She hung in the sleeping mat opposite me, on her back, her legs crossed at the ankles and her arms folded behind her head. Her eyes were closed, but I didn’t mistake her rest for sleep. I don’t know that Natanu ever slept.
Asha held onto one of the wall/ceiling railings next to the door and anchored his tether.
He regarded us with the humourless expression of a military officer. As he had been since entering the ship, he was impeccably dressed in his uniform, which involved a stern jacket with protective shoulder pads of that mysterious bendable material, used in body armour, that wasn’t plastic or metal. If you move
