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center until relieved.” Sullenly, the signals officer obeyed.
    â€œThat’s all.”
    Linh disconnected the Info-Coach from Eleanor’s PDD. “Nothing new here,” she said. The slight delay in her speech made her seem thoughtful, reserved. “Everyone on board knows communications are out.”
    â€œBut why couldn’t the other ship see our lights?”
    Linh had no idea. With the recording done, there suddenly felt like there was nothing else to say. Eleanor got up to leave.
    Linh looked lost in the spacious sitting room, scuffing her feet on the newly laid carpet. Why was she alone, Eleanor wondered?
    At the door, she said, “I guess my mother’s helicopter will find us in daylight.”
    â€œI hope so.”
    Her hand rested on the unopened door handle.
    â€œIf you’re not doing anything, you can come down to my cabin. Your/World is out, but I have a deck of cards and some print books.”
    Linh smiled. “Cards?” Eleanor nodded. Linh wrapped a fine lace shawl around her shoulders. “That sounds fun. What do you play?”
    â€œOh, hearts, spades, bridge if there’s four—”
    â€œPoker?”
    Being asked by the slender, dark-haired girl if she played poker was almost as odd as the Belgian boy loaning her mom a high-value credit card.
    â€œI know how to play some types of poker,” Eleanor said. Linh went to the dresser beside her bed and took out a slim, stainless- steel case, too flat for makeup and too thick for a laptop.
    â€œWhat’s that?”
    Linh popped the latches and opened the case. Nestled inside were rows of shiny disks in different colors.
    â€œYou have your own poker chips?”
    â€œIt’s my hobby,” Linh said with a gleam in her eye.
    I’ve made friends with a card shark, Eleanor decided. At least Linh did not give off the creepy aura Emile Becquerel did.
    They played until two in the morning. Linh taught her several new games, and for a while Eleanor forgot the
Carleton
losing all communications, the mystery of their near collision, and the fact that with every hour the coast of France fell farther and farther behind, making any rendezvous with her mother more and more unlikely.

Chapter 5
    Who was crying?
    France opened one eye. It didn’t help. The room was black. For a second he thought he’d dreamed the sound, but then he heard the sobbing again.
    He was in the lower bunk. Hans Bachmann was above him, thoroughly asleep. France rolled out of bed and crouched in the dark. The deck moved up and down beneath him. The old
Carleton
was pitching up and down like a carousel horse.
    Who was crying?
    The sound was fainter, more muffled than before. France realized he had been hearing it through the wall. He crept to the wall and listened. Someone was sobbing in the next cabin.
    He was wearing pajamas. His parents always insisted he sleep in pajamas, winter or summer. Anything else was disreputable.
    France opened the door. It was a light wooden panel with louvers in the bottom half. The corridor outside was dimly lit and completely empty. He stepped out. Just as he did, the ship staggered sideways, throwing France against the facing wall. Was there a storm? He didn’t hear thunder or pouring rain.
    The
Carleton
righted herself. France went to the door of the cabin next to his. He tapped lightly on the painted wooden panel.
    â€œHello? Hello?” In English he said softly, “Is everything all right?” When no one replied, he repeated the question in French. To his surprise, he heard a choked reply in his native tongue.
    â€œVa-t’en, connard!”
More of the same followed, a gasped torrent of curses and abuse.
    That was more than rude. France hit the door with his fist.
    â€œWhat’s the matter with you?” he demanded. “Come out here and say that to my face,
lâche sale
!”
    Silence. All sympathy gone, France noted the number on the cabin door, B14.