Pip had been helping with the skywatching list since the first pale star blinked awake. She stood on tiptoe beside the brass telescope, one pebble in each mittened hand, waiting for Tovin to nod before she set them down. The pebble markers around the observatory were a careful kind of map. When they chimed in order, everyone knew when to turn the telescope, when to note a passing light, and when to leave the delicate ring path alone.
Tonight, the visitor craft out beyond the dome sent a long, singing beacon through the cold air. It was not loud, but it slipped under Pip’s scarf and into the stones under her boots. One pebble marker answered with a soft hum. Then another. The sound was lovely, like a sleepy song waking up.
Pip turned in a slow circle. The silver pebbles were no longer only chiming when they touched. They were beginning to hold the note, as if the beacon had taught them a tune. Sol looked up from the telescope with his wrench paused in his hand. Tovin’s face went still.
“We need the markers on schedule,” Tovin said, careful and firm. “And we do not move them carelessly near the ring path.”
The humming pebble nearest Pip rolled once, then sang back toward the dark sky. Pip leaned closer before she meant to. The sound pulled at her attention so hard she nearly forgot the list in her hands. If she stayed with Tovin and Sol, she could help keep the markers steady. But if she tried to get involved with the humming, she might bring everyone closer to the delicate ring path, where even a small bump could send things off course.
What happens next?
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