Barbary by Vonda N. McIntyre Page A

glass or
plastic could give. The station had lots of observation ports, but Barbary
would have to learn to be careful how long she gazed through them, and she
would have to keep track of the readings on her radiation tag.
    Pictures and posters covered the wall. Barbary had always
plastered the walls of her room — whenever she had stayed in one place long
enough — with star posters, astronomical artwork, and magazine pictures from
the Ares mission. Here lakes, forests, meadows, and a long mural of
mountains covered the walls. In one corner, though, a sequence of small photos
traced the development of a comet. Barbary wanted to look at those more
closely.
    The kitchen area contained little more than one would need
for making coffee or heating soup. No room there for leftovers to steal for
Mick. On the other hand, if people ate cafeteria-style, she might have an even
easier time getting his food.
    She could worry about that later. Right now she needed to
make sure he was all right.
    “Can I see my room?” she asked.
    Heather glided past a basket-weave couch. “I’ll show it to
you!”
    Barbary followed, dragging her duffel bag. It was not very
heavy in this gravity, but she was awfully tired.
    Heather opened a door. Barbary followed her inside.
    Heather jumped more than her own height into the air,
spinning, and landed neatly on a bunk. “Isn’t it great?” she said. “We redid it
when we knew you were coming. I’ve been sleeping on the top bunk, but if you
like it better we can switch.”
    Barbary sat down abruptly on a spindly-legged chair. Two
matching desks stood nearby. The top of one was bare; the other held tapes and
a plush animal.
    “I thought...” she said, “I thought I was going to get my
own room.
    Heather sat still, trying to conceal her disappointment.
    “But it’ll be fun to share the room,” Heather said. “Like
your mom and my mom and Yoshi and the others rented a house together in
college.”
    “Is that what you expect me to do? Copy my mother?” Barbary
said angrily.
    “No, that isn’t what I meant at all,” Heather said,
embarrassed. “But it really would be fun. We haven’t finished fixing it up yet.
I was waiting to see how you wanted it to look.”
    Barbary hooked her heels on the edge of the chair, hugged
her knees to her chest, and gazed at her shoes. The weight of the secret pocket
pressed against her side.
    “I bet you’ll like it if you give it a chance,” Heather
said.
    “I need a lot of privacy. I have stuff of my own that I need
to do by myself.”
    After a moment, Heather jumped from the upper bunk. Her feet
made a surprisingly loud and solid thud when she landed.
    “You can have all the privacy you want, then!” She stamped
out and slammed the door behind her,”
    Barbary stared at the closed door.
    She’ll never be my friend, either, she thought.
    But her worry over Mickey crowded out her unhappiness at
having had to drive Heather away. She slipped out of her jacket. Mick had not
moved. Barbary opened the secret pocket, reached inside, and touched the cat’s
soft fur. She hesitated, letting her hand rest on his side, feeling for his
heartbeat, for a breath, even for a twitch. She pulled him out of the pocket.
He lay limp in her hands.
    “Mick, it’s okay, wake up, please?” She pressed her ear to
his side. At first she heard nothing. She sat up and stroked his smooth tabby
side, feeling the texture of his stripes, willing him to move. She bent down
again and held her breath to listen.
    His paw twitched, and he growled in his sleep.
    She sat up, laughing with relief. “You dumb cat,” she said.
“I’m sitting here afraid you’re dead, and you’re just dreaming.”
    Someone knocked on the door. With a quick, seared glance
around, Barbary scooped up her jacket and Mickey, dragged open the deep bottom
drawer of the desk with the empty top, the one she supposed must be hers, and
slid Mick into it.
    “Barbary?” Yoshi said. “Can I come in?”
    Barbary