We had reached Fonette.
I got dressed, shivering. Now the train was halted and idling, the wall vents issued a cooler wash of air.
I opened the door and slipped out, casting one last look behind me. In her sleep, Crezia had curled up into a ball, cocooning herself in the bed-sheets, shutting out the cold and the world.
Outside, it was near-freezing and very bright. The wide platform was busy with passengers leaving or joining the express, and servitor units conveying pyramids of baggage.
Snow was lightly falling. I hugged myself and stamped my feet. Several other travellers had got down from the train to stretch their legs.
Fonette station occupied an elevated area above the town, shadowed to the north by Mons Fulco and to the south by the Uttes, Minor and Major, and then the weather-veiled bulk of the Central Atens.
'How long do we stop?' I asked a passing porter.
Twenty minutes, sir/ he replied. 'Just long enough for change over and for the tender to take on water.'
Not long enough to ran down into the town, I figured. I stayed on die platform until the boarding whistle sounded and then stood in the carriage hallway leaning out of the doorway window as we slowly pulled out of town.
The station building slid by, revealing a view of the town below that had not been visible from the platform. Steep roofs iced with snow, a Minis-torum chapel, a sturdy arbites blockhouse. A landing field, just below the station causeway, filled with berthed and refuelling fliers.
One of them was small and yellow.
I went back to Crezia's cabin, took off my coat and boots and lay beside her until she woke. She rolled over and kissed my mouth.
'What are you doing?' she asked, sleepily.
'Checking the timetable/
'I don't think there are any changes on this line/
'No/ I agreed. 'We'll be at Locastre in about four hours. There's a longer halt there. Forty-five minutes. Then the long run to New Gevae/
She sat up, rubbing her eyes. Drowsy, unguarded, she was more beautiful than ever.
'So what?' she asked.
'I'll check the astropathic account there. There'll be time/
There was a knock at the door. It was the cabin-service steward with a laden trolley. The last thing we had done the night before was to order a full, cooked breakfast.
Well, not quite the last thing.
Eleena and Aemos were up, taking breakfast together. Crezia pulled on her robe and checked on Medea, who was still stable and sleeping deeply.
The signs are good/ she told me on her return. 'Tomorrow, perhaps the day after, she should be back with us/