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Signet wakes up alone. She sleeps in Belgard's cockpit sometimes—often—but Belgard's request queue had woken up the moment they reached fleet airspace, the soft ping-ping-ping of a dozen minor fires and local emergencies flooding down the monitor. It had taken nearly a day of flying to catch up with the rest of the fleet, weighted down by the bags of seed they'd traded for. Signet had given in to the haze of exhaustion blurring the edges of her vision and taken one of Privign's temporary overnight quarters, re-purposed from the station's original visitor rooms, while Belgard, not subject to exhaustion or hunger, set off to address a week's worth of repairs and requests.
Signet wakes up quickly, snapping to consciousness the way she always does when she's not with Belgard, and briskly assesses herself. She is sufficiently rested, only a little hungry, and she can feel Belgard carefully shaping the glass hull of a ship, the low hum of her satisfaction as the spider-webbing cracks melt away beneath her touch. She wants to go find Belgard, to curl up in her cockpit and soak up a little of that satisfaction for herself, but instead she sits up and unrolls a fresh set of robes from her pack. A request from Kamala blinks steadily on her communicator, asking for a report on the mission.
There's a direct route to Kamala's offices, through narrow passageways and a maintenance corridor, but Signet takes the winding path through the center of the ship instead. She wants a little time to settle back into the rhythms of the fleet, and a little waiting won't hurt the Cadent.
They're building additional apartments off the main atrium, white coral scaffolding jutting out from the smooth glass and stone of the ship's walls. Signet pauses for a moment to watch Barricade shift a beam up to the third story where two workers instantly crouch down to fasten it into place. Her eyes skim over the half-erected walls and bare supports until she spots Melodica near the top of the building, bracing a panel as more coral spills from her arms to hold it steady. Signet turns to go before they catch sight of her, not wanting to disrupt the work, when the low rumble of conversation by the base of the construction escalates into shouting.
She recognizes Topple Caudex, one of the members of the fleet's Council, taking an aggressive step forward as she says, "I want to speak personally with the excerpt. We agreed, the time Barricade was to allot to this project was one month, a timeline I note you've already generously exceeded-"
"The project has had setbacks—understandable setbacks, with the ongoing repairs to the ship–" protests the lead engineer—Chadi Veer, the part of Signet that indexes names and positions helpfully supplies—their arms crossed.
"The agreement we've brokered between these two ships is in a delicate position, and your selfishness–"
"You want your politics to take precedence over necessary shelter for the fleet's citizens, and you accuse me of selfishness–"
Signet sees Melodica descending on a smooth swell of coral, approaching the disturbance even as Signet steps forward and says, "Stop." the word carrying with it a week's worth of long-distance travel and three hundred odd years' worth of dealing with Divine fleet bureaucracy. Topple and Chadi stop mid-sentence, turning as Silver vaults out of Melodica to land neatly next to Signet.
"Signet!" Topple says, and a crackle of surprised yellow-green electricity runs over the smooth panels of her face. "You're back, we–" She half-starts, then abruptly cuts herself off, uncertain which excerpt to direct her explanation to.
Signet looks over at Silver and says, carefully, "I don't want to... overstep."
Silver arches an eyebrow and smirks. Signet pauses and revises, "I don't want to–" she quickly dismisses 'offend' and 'intrude', "You are Barricade's excerpt," she settles on, instead.
Silver does laugh at that, amused and friendly. "Don't worry," they say, "this is what you do. You and Belgard. You make sure there's enough to go around."
"Enough to go around," Belgard, having finished with the repair that was occupying her attention before, echoes Silver's words in the back of Signet's mind with soft pleasure, directly at odds with Signet's own instinctive exhaustion at the idea.
The situation, presented in much quieter tones in the face of Signet's unsmiling appraisal, is this: Barricade is entrenched in the apartment construction. "Each time they're called away for a delay adds full days to the project," Chadi explains, and it's clear from the way Barricade is woven into the architecture that any sort of extraction would be a lengthy, wasteful process. "It's four, five times faster with Barricade here, but we have to re-do days of work if the supports are removed partway through."
Topple, on the other hand, is here on behalf of two ships—the First Light, Sacrosanct and the Temple's Verse, one an agricultural hub and the other a key source of energy for the fleet. The respective councils have, after an extended back-and-forth, agreed to merge the two smaller ships into one vessel, a larger city-ship that is ultimately more capable of self-sustained life. But modifying the physical structure requires Barricade to stabilize the ships. "The Sacrosanct Verse represents a union of populace and community, embodying the spirit of the fleet and our journey forward," says Topple, impassioned, a string of pretty words that mean almost nothing when carefully examined.
"Hm," Signet says.
"Hm indeed." Belgard says, a teasing hum like summer cicadas muffled through a window, like the slow curl of an earthworm beneath heavy soil. It makes Signet smile, and Topple looks startled before smiling hesitantly back, some of the rigid tension slipping from her joints.
"That wasn't for you," Signet doesn't say, because Belgard would disapprove. Instead, she says, "Belgard and I will take a look at the ships, while Barricade stays to complete the construction, if that seems reasonable." She turns to Silver, who inclines their head in agreement. Both Topple and Chadi look deeply relieved, as much to be done with the impromptu tribunal as for the resolution, and Silver shoots another amused look in Signet's direction. "Belgard will meet us at the site," Signet says, when Topple offers to show them the way to the construction site.
Topple gestures excitedly about the project while they walk to where the ships are being held in place, and Signet understands that it's taken a series of long, complex negotiations to finally arrive at this resolution, and Topple, in particular, is jittery about giving the leadership groups too much time to have second—or even first—thoughts about the accord.
They come to a stop in front of a wide circular window that overlooks the place where the two ships have been hastily lashed together. It's not a simple join. The Sacrosanct's engines are trapped between the bulk of the two ships, and its oddly shaped fins jut out against the hard angles and sharp planes of the Temple's Verse. Signet tilts her head. There's something about the shape of the two ships that's familiar, an echo of a memory.
"Oh," she says distantly, realizing, "it's like..."
***
"... and the palace was magnificent indeed, a lofty open thing that seemed to hardly touch the ground," Predine is curled up on the loveseat, reading aloud in a low, steady murmur, while Signet, restless, fiddles with a biscuit at the kitchen table. Someone who likes to read, Signet had said, sliding the credits over the counter. Someone who likes telling stories.
She gets up, giving in to the urge to pace aimlessly—a small luxury, she thinks, for any movement to be aimless. She runs her fingers over the flaking whitewashed sills, looking for a flicker or glitch in the rolling green hills visible through the window. Sunlight spills into the room, pooling in honeyed puddles on the floorboards. It's artificial, but there is comfort in the artifice too, Signet finds.
She wanders over to the red brick fireplace, examining the row of folded paper figures on the mantelpiece. Old, storybook creatures: an elephant, a crocodile, a tortoise. Behind her, the pages rustle, then stop, as Predine reaches the end of the chapter. The floorboards creak as she walks over, the sound only slightly tinny for being regurgitated from historical archives.
"Could you teach me this?" Signet asks impulsively, fingers hovering over the delicate wings of a katydid.
Predine tilts her head, dark curls brushing Signet's bare shoulder as she reaches forward to pick it up. She pauses for a moment, then says, "Not this one, I think." Signet glances over, a question in her eyes, and Predine smiles half-ruefully. "I am being a little selfish, I'm afraid, but some things I am still reluctant to give away." She shrugs, replaces the katydid and picks up a scorpion with clever, wicked curves instead, "This, perhaps?"
Signet nods easily, lets Predine lace their fingers together and lead her back to the table. Selfish, she thinks, and hears the echo of a voice saying, Signet, go, the flash of a silvery shape receding as Signet loosens her grip, drops from the cradle of Belgard's cockpit. She doesn't know which of them she means.
"Here," Predine says, taking two long strips of paper and neatly twisting them together. "You form each half separately, first, and then," she tucks one end of the shape into the other and Signet watches as, almost miraculously, the jagged, abstract forms become a single figure.
***
"... folding paper." Signet can see the shape of it, the ghost of another pair of hands showing her where to pinch and bend the metal. Topple looks politely baffled, and Signet pauses, trying to think up a suitably brief explanation that isn't simply trite reassurance. "I can go take a closer look at the components with Belgard," she begins.
"Topple!" A sharp voice cuts through the air, and Signet looks up to see a woman with smooth, iridescent scales and an engineer's jumpsuit approaching them.
"Ah, Signet this is Well-spring, the lead architect for the project. She's been heavily involved in the technical design—although, of course, we haven't been able to start any work yet. Spring, Barricade is still tied up in the apartment construction, but Signet and Belgard have come to help." Topple says, the chrome and copper plates of her face sliding apart in a smile.
"What did you have planned for the construction?" Signet asks.
Well-spring looks between the two of them, visibly at a loss, then rallies heroically while shooting Topple a look that promises lengthy discussion about appropriate introductions in the near future. "Well, this is as far as we'd gotten, but the engine still presents a problem," she says, flipping over her clipboard to pull up a three dimensional ink wireframe of the ships.
The broad strokes of her design follow what Signet had been picturing, and she leans in close to point out several key points, "If we bend the structure, here and here, it would create an enclosure for the engine while preserving the structural integrity of the join."
Well-spring nods, quickly adjusting the blueprint with a few quick gestures, "Right, Belgard can move this from the exterior—you'll want to watch out for this hinge in the process though, the movement will place a lot of pressure on that connection." She rotates the diagram, pursing her lips, "But aside from that, I think this would hold."
Signet nods, taking a last look to memorize the places they'll need to adjust. "Belgard's just outside," she says, "We can get started."
"Now?" Well-spring says, startled.
"I don't see any reason to wait," Signet says, thinking of the worried edge to Topple's earlier chatter.
Belgard is waiting off the deck, and Signet swings herself into the cockpit. It feels like sloughing off a too-small carapace—like it always has, even when there was just a whisper of Belgard left in the empty monitors and switches. Signet stretches, her muscles uncoiling for the first time all day, and feels Belgard's wings flaring out in response. They flip backwards over the railing into space, Belgard tucking in to perform an extra roll that leaves Signet suspended, weightless, for just a moment. As Belgard speeds towards the ships, she's flung back against the harness with enough force to knock the air out of her lungs, and Signet is fiercely thrilled by the impact.
They don't take vacations or weekends, but it's not like it was back when the fleet was first trying to leave the Mirage. The edge of panicked desperation is gone, and without the frantic incessant pressure it feels like Signet finally has time to draw breath again.
Belgard twists neatly between two beams, touching down lightly where Signet points out a metal ridge pushing up against a network of pipes from the other ship. They shape the metal, molding it seamlessly around the pipes, then, vaulting over the newly-constructed archway, they spring smoothly up to the next join. Signet sinks into the work, holding the image of how the ships should fold together in her head as she helps Belgard navigate the crisscrossing metal flaps and beams. They move as a unit, as fast as conscious thought, Belgard's course swift and straight as Signet pulls the panels into shape behind them.
The trick is in careful construction, Signet selectively pinching and shaping until, with a sudden, final push from Belgard, the two ships slide into place, locking against each other. The pieces of metal settle into position, forming smooth, curving arches between the ships and Signet feels, through her weariness and hunger, a deep pleasure at the sight.
"Good work," says Belgard, a statement of fact, a descriptor of the thing they helped build, and Signet finds herself smiling.
Belgard lets Signet off at the same dock, where the others are waiting. Topple looks as if she's an entire standing ovation compressed into one body, while Well-spring, smiling, takes an aborted half-step forward as Signet steps out.
"That was–" Well-spring starts.
"Wonderful," Topple interrupts, clasping her hands together in delight. "Thank you so much, excerpt."
"Signet," she corrects, but smiles at both of them to soften the edge. "You're welcome. We did the easy part, really, the hard work is up to you now."
***
It's late by the time Signet takes her leave, docking with Belgard on the side of Privign, a silvery cocoon dangling off the station's walls.
She's curled up in a hanging nest of sashes, swaying a little with the motion of the ship, the low hum of Belgard in the machines around her, constantly recording and cataloging and organizing.
Belgard doesn't need cups of tea or breaks for food or even sleep, the way Signet does. Belgard is, after all, something other, something not of flesh and bone and limb. What Belgard needs is this:
Signet, leaning back against her harness, telling her about Topple Caudex, who had been born on the second story of the By-and-By and had worked her way up to the fourth by the time the Miracle shifted the landscape of everything she'd ever known. About how the act of building, of creating something new, looks good on Silver and Barricade, how settled and self-assured they feel. Signet feels a little opportunistic, at times, hoarding these fragments of people, of the fleet, to give to Belgard. She finds she doesn't feel guilty about it, not any more.
This, Signet thinks, they keep for themselves. Belgard, listening as Signet tells these stories piecemeal; listening as Signet falls asleep, safe.