Only once did he seek Spence out in his secluded corner of the cargo bay. He wasn’t sure what he expected to happen. All he knew was that he’d go crazy if he had to spend another afternoon alone in his cabin watching the video logs of a doomed man.
He found Spence and Treesa in their makeshift room, using a crate as a desk, bent over a portable access terminal.
“This is stupid,” Treesa was saying to Spence as Denver entered. “I hate fractions. Nobody cares about adding them.”
“Fractions are important.”
“Are not.”
“They are so.” Spence threw an exasperated look Denver’s way, but his tone was infinitely patient. “Just because we’ve left Titan X doesn’t mean you get to stop doing schoolwork. We talked about this, remember?”
“But I don’t want to do math. I want to play with my friend in the crates.”
Spence sighed and turned toward Denver. “I admit, it never occurred to me how hard this homeschooling thing would be. I mean, the approved education packets are all right there. I figured she’d follow the program, and that’d be the end of it. But getting through each lesson is like pulling teeth.”
It hadn’t occurred to Denver that Spence would have to plan for Treesa’s education. How exactly did teachers get seven-year-olds to do their work? He had no idea. “Hey, Treesa. Have you ever heard of an old Earth movie called Pinocchio?”
Treesa frowned at him but looked intrigued. “No.”
“There’s a copy in the ship’s computer system. Maybe you can watch it once you finish your lessons for the day.”
She chewed a fingernail, considering. “Can my friend in the crates watch it too?”
Denver raised his eyebrows at Spence, asking the obvious question. Spence gave him a frown and a waving gesture that seemed to say, “Let it go for now. It’s nothing.”
“Sure,” Denver said. “Your friend can watch it too.”
Treesa’s frown didn’t exactly turn upside down, but it subsided. “Okay. I guess I can finish these stupid fractions.” She bent over her terminal, the tip of her tongue peeking out from between her lips as she concentrated on her work. It was actually kind of cute, although Denver was glad he wasn’t the one in charge of her education.
Spence left her at the desk and came to stand by Denver, in what counted as the doorway of their room, standing close so they could talk quietly without disturbing Treesa. “Thanks for that.”
“No problem.”
Spence rubbed his forehead, suddenly looking several years older than he actually was. “Of course once she sees the movie, I’ll be back in the Scab without a light.”
“You’ll do fine.” But he couldn’t stop thinking about Treesa’s strange question. “What did she mean about her friend in the crates? Do we have a rat on board or something?” Of all the species to survive Earth, rats were perhaps the most frustrating. Rich people kept them as pets, but enough of them had escaped or been willingly released, or had been stowaways on previous vessels, to still make pests of themselves. Just a couple of rats with enough time to reproduce could wipe out half their stores in an alarmingly short period of time.
Spence waved his hand dismissively. “It’s nothing. Just an imaginary friend.” But despite his attempt to sound unconcerned, the effect was anything but.
“Is that a problem?” Denver asked.
Spence spared a glance Treesa’s way to make sure she wasn’t listening in. She was still hard at work, but Spence pinched Denver’s sleeve and pulled him a few steps away, partway through the maze of crates so they were out of Treesa’s sight. “She had imaginary friends when she was little,” Spence explained quietly. “No big deal, right? A lot of three-year-olds have them. But I thought she was over it.”
“It started again when you came on board?”
“The day after we left Titan, yeah.”
Denver thought about it, trying to remember what it felt like to be seven. “Like you said, it’s a big change for her, suddenly leaving her home. It’s probably not a big deal.”
“Probably not,” Spence said, but he didn’t sound convinced.
“Think of it this way: she’s used to having somebody her own age she can talk to, at least for a few hours a day while she’s in school, right?”
“Right.”
“But suddenly she’s here, where there’s nothing but adults. You’re the closest person to her age, but being her brother—and her guardian—sort of eliminates you from the role of confidant.” He wasn’t all that sure he was making sense, but Spence was listening, nodding in agreement,