AsCoS: The Rishkan Drive, #1

CHAPTER ONE

This stinks! Gwen hacked at the frozen ground with the pickaxe once more, then gave up. "Latrine trenches. Why don't they dig them!"

Them? Debbie snorted. Risk rad exposure? You'll be lucky!

The tents of the Fourth Welsh Refuge Camp spread out behind them did not look too bad with fresh snow covering the mud on the ground and moisture darkening faded canvas, but the squalid reality showed clearly at Gwen's feet. The over flowing latrines threatened to infect the fresh water supply and bring cholera back into the tent city, so now they had to dig new cesspools. The last outbreak had halved the population, and the two girls knew the importance of their task, but that did not make it any easier.

This would take five minutes if they'd just get some of that equipment in here! Gwen insisted, waving at the other side of the chain link fence that circled the camp.

The stark contrast between the sides of the fence was too familiar to interest Debbie, and she just grunted, and swung her pick axe down again, but Gwen stared enviously through the wire.

Cardiff Space Port was not the bustling tourist centre it had once been. Most of the buildings had been destroyed by a tsunami, generated by the bomb that destroyed Bristol, so now it was little more than a flat field, surrounded by decaying concrete and wire. The Terran Confederacy had repaired the areas they needed when they first took over five years ago, but now heavy machinery was busy at work again, digging out the foundations for a new control tower.

Everyone in the camp hated that control tower. It was a symbol of oppression, a sign they were never going to get their own country back. The camp would be moved as soon as the tower was finished, the thousands of people housed in its tents dispersed, the nationalistic pride that made them declare themselves an independent nation ignored. No one believed in the Confederacy promises that they could return to their own country once the weather improved. Glaciers grew down Snowdon and Cader Idris, while water drowned Anglesey; it would be centuries before the land could support them.

Come on, Gwen. Debbie pulled her friend's sleeve. We've got to get on!

Gwen lifted her pick axe and drove it down into the frozen mud. This should have been done weeks ago, in July, when the ground was as soft as it ever got, but the new camp commander did not realise the ground froze before the end of September, and kept putting off the task. Now it was a priority, and she had ordered all non-assigned workers to be put to work. That meant that the most vital job in camp was being done by a group of fifteen teenagers, half of whom had already disappeared, slipping through the wire to find shelter from the wind.

An armed guard wandered along the line of workers, checking on who was there. The refugee camps were meant to be a civilian responsibility, staffed by aid workers, but it was an open secret that ninety percent of those aid workers belonged to the military. This guard had been there for nearly two years and knew most of them, so Gwen was surprised when he stopped in front of her. Confederacy guards learnt quickly which of the girls would trade favours, and the ones that carried knives. She put her pickaxe down, and stared at him stonily.

Gwen Davies. I thought so. You should be in the Commander's office. She's been looking for you. The tone promised punishment, and Gwen's eyes narrowed. What was she supposed to have done now? There was no point asking the guard, he was a typical Fed, blaming the Welsh for the war that laid Earth waste when they had really been innocent bystanders. No Welsh finger had pushed a button to launch Armageddon; the Feds could not say the same.

I'll go now then, she shouldered her pick axe, and headed for the store room. The tool had been issued on her palm print, and if she did not return it she would be had up for theft.

The guard watched her go, suspiciously. Gwen Davies looked ordinary enough, not pretty, not ugly, average height, average build, and her record was spotlessly clean, but that was just because she was too clever to get caught. She had stayed in school as long as she could, even though she ended up teaching a couple of classes rather than taking them, but she was seventeen now, and had to leave. Next week she would be assigned full time to a work party; then little Miss Clever would learn what real life was about.

Gwen handed in her pick, before heading for the largest tent, where a spotlight picked out the green circle on a black background that was the Terran Confederacy flag. She had never seen this new commandant, all her fights had been with the old one, but all her hopes has gone with him when he left. He tried to be fair, had even helped her find a way to go to college, but he left before anything was finalised. Gwen hated him for that, raising her hopes, then disappearing.

A high pitched whine made Gwen look up to see the ITC shuttle drift down towards the metal scaffold that served as a docking station; its badly maintained shielding set up sub-harmonics that made her teeth ache. ITC stood for Interstellar Trading Company, but since they only owned this one ship, and only ran it between Earth and Moon, the name was a joke, but not a fun one. The ship arrived and departed every day, bringing in luxuries for the Confederacy relief workers, and taking away irreplaceable antiques, stolen from the homes the Welsh refugees were not allowed to visit.

There was a guard on the commander's tent, a new one, whose smartly pressed uniform made Gwen's cut down sheep skin jacket look barbaric. He looked at her in envy though, as he shivered in the bitter wind; no one had told him that winter started in September here.

Gwen Davies, she identified herself before he could ask. The commandant wanted to see me. He nodded, and lifted the tent flap.

A small vestibule inside the tent prevented valuable heat being lost every time the flap was lifted. It also helped disguise the fact that this camp was not as temporary as the Feds pretended. Gwen climbed the step to the prefabricated building hidden beneath the canvas, and opened a solid door at the top. She headed across the empty reception room to the open door to the commander's office and knocked before stepping in.

I'm Gwen Davies. You wanted to see me? The woman behind the desk raised her head, and stared at Gwen. Gwen stared back. The woman was hooked!

A thick gold line ran between ear and eye, just under her skin. It disappeared at the corner of her right eye, plunging through her eye socket to connect directly to her optic nerve. The other end of the line branched in two, with one track disappearing into the short hair above her ear, while the other curved down along the line of her jawbone and on to her neck, where it disappeared beneath the ribbon wrapped around her throat. That was her external adapter, picking up data from the ocean of information being constantly broadcast around the world. Here it was an affectation. There were not enough working data sources left in Wales to generate a puddle, let alone an ocean, and the computer standing in the corner of the tent must be the commandant's only source, so why hook up rather than use the screen and key pad on the desk? She was not even using the key pad to program the box; a ribbon very similar to the one around her neck circled her left palm, picking up nerve impulses from her hand and translating them into letters.

Gwen Davies? the commandant stared through her, looking at something on the information screen fed directly into her brain. Why didn't you come before?

I didn't know you wanted me, Gwen shrugged, rudeness masking her unease. The commander's blind stare made her hair want to stand on end.

That's impossible, she insisted. I sent out an Ident call the day I received notification of your scholarship!

Scholarship? Gwen stared at her, stunned. I got it?

You got it, the commandant agreed, still glaring. Which you would have known weeks ago if you'd had the common courtesy to answer your Ident.

I don't have one, Gwen said.

Of course you do! she fumed, Everyone has an Ident. They're put in when you're born!

So? Gwen shrugged. Mine got fried. The commandant stared blankly. You know? In the electro-magnetic pulse from a nuclear explosion? I wasn't in an E M shielded building, so my chip blew. It got taken out.

And should have been replaced, the commandant insisted.

Oh, there weren't enough around for that! Gwen said kindly. I don't know anyone in Camp that's got a working one.

The commandant drummed impatient fingers on the desk, then she actually looked at Gwen, her whole face more mobile as she disconnected from her computer. Being hooked was second nature to Commander Wanaka, but it still took a lot of concentration.

Let us start again, she decided. Please take a seat, Miss Davies. I wanted to see you to tell you that you have been awarded a scholarship to attend AsCoS.

Gwen had always wanted to go into space. Her elder half-brother had been a pilot in the Solar Patrol, and used to send her to sleep with stories of inter-planetary travel; her dreams were full of stars. He had been killed, like so many others, trying to prevent the war that poisoned the Earth, but the dream of space flight had been with her ever since; surviving his death and all its attendant horrors.

Competition for places at any of the space training colleges was fierce, and Gwen's only chance of training lay in the most prestigious college of all. She was a second class citizen on Earth, part of a conquered minority of dubious loyalty, and not trusted close to any vital facility. That ban included all military bases, and since both remaining Terran space training schools were located adjacent to military areas Gwen's applications to them had been turned down automatically. That meant she had to talk the old commandant into sending off her application for a place at the Astronaut and Cosmonaut School of Space Endeavour, on the Moon. The Solar Patrol ran AsCoS too, but unlike the Terran detachment, the Lunar based Patrol did not discriminate between Confederacy and Free citizens; as long as Gwen could pay she could have a place. No college course was cheap though, and no one would offer her a grant, so she had to earn a full scholarship or not go. This last year she spent four hours a day after school, and six hours every day during the vacations, studying for the scholarship exam.

AsCoS offered twelve scholarships a year to Earth born students. It was a way of proving their superiority to the Earth based colleges, that Terran students should fight for a place there rather than attend the more conveniently placed home schools. Gwen knew the odds were against her, the Camp school could offer no extra tuition, but she had to try. The old commander had agreed to put her in for the exams, but did not believe she had a chance; when he was recalled to Australia at short notice he left no instructions for notifying her of the results.

Commander Wanaka looked at Gwen, and sighed.

I was notified a fortnight ago that you had been awarded a Scholarship to attend AsCoS, and I sent for you immediately, but you didn't come, and I'm afraid it's too late now. You need to be there by noon tomorrow to accept your place, and there are no flights that would get you to Woomera by then, let alone up to Hyginus.

She had a scholarship. She had a scholarship, and nothing was going to stop her taking it up! All passenger flights to the Moon might run out of Woomera, but it was not the only Space Port still working on Earth.

The ITC fly to Hyginus, Gwen stared Commander Wanaka in the eye. I just saw their freighter land.

Commander Wanaka tapped her fingers on the table thoughtfully. The girl was right, the ITC could take her, and it was not her fault that no one had told her about the lack of identity chips in the camp. Few people on Earth were fully hooked, but everyone was supposed to have Idents so they could be located. Message boards would flash as they passed, offering customised content so they were never out of touch with their friends and family, but now this girl was saying no one in the camp had access to even that most basic call up ability. She would have to do something about that, no wonder the camp was so chaotic! She activated the band round her hand, switched her hook up into communications mode, and called up the space port.

Half an hour later Gwen stood at the entrance to the ITC ship, her head spinning from the speed of events. A scruffy carry-all lay at her feet, holding all her clothes, but there had been no time to say Good-bye to her friends. Only Debbie knew what had happened to her, and could pass on a message; the other girl stood at her shoulder now, eyeing the cargo officer who lounged in the shuttle's doorway. His brown jacket bore the insignia of the Interstellar Trading Company, but his scruffy appearance did nothing to reassure a traveller.

Wouldn't catch me travelling on this junk pile, Debbie commented, using Welsh so the crew man would not understand.

Better than nothing, Gwen argued. At least I get to go. All at once the enormity of what she was doing came crashing in. She was leaving behind everything she had known for the last five years, to follow a dream that everyone said was impossible. I'm going! she stopped, not liking the way her voice wobbled. Debbie grinned at her.

You'll show them not to underestimate the Welsh. Keep your spirits up. Yn iach!

Diolch. Gwen hitched her carry-all higher on her shoulder before reaching out to hug her best friend. She stepped back, eyes dry, and turned toward the gaping black hole that led into the freighter.

Gweneth Davies? Gwen stopped as the cargo officer said her name, and nodded. He shook his head at her appearance, but peeled himself clear of the wall where he leant. Come this way then. Gwen glanced over her shoulder at Debbie, who gave her the thumbs up, then followed the cargo officer.

The door slid shut, trapping Gwen in a hold full of odd shaped boxes and bags that bulged with food stuffs; animal produce and fresh vegetables commanded a high price on the Moon. The cargo officer pointed to an acceleration couch roughly bolted to the floor that filled the only clear space, saying,

Hurry up. We're behind schedule. The trip'll take just over five hours including manoeuvring into AsCo.

AsCoS? Gwen was startled. We go straight to the school?

Not AsCoS, the cargo officer frowned at her. AsCo. The Astronaut and Cosmonaut space port at Hyginus. It's next to the school, but not part of it. Hopefully we'll be able to drop you off at the passenger terminal rather than the freight, but not if you delay us now by asking questions! Please keep your safety harness on at all times. You're not hooked, are you? Gwen shook her head, busy trying to make her mind work in Standard, not Welsh. He was talking too fast for her to translate, but it was a long time since she last used Standard on a regular basis, and her ears refused to switch. You'll need to look at this then. He strapped her into the seat, and handed her a grubby plastic folder.

I'd cover your ears when we take off. The motors are a bit old, and the shielding in here isn't all it should be. The door slid shut behind him, cutting off Gwen's view of the cramped control room.

Gwen soon learnt what he meant about the age of the engines. The sound that had been merely unpleasant from outside manifested internally as a high pitched whine that held her static in her couch more effectively than the straps. There was little she could do to shut out the ever increasing noise as it reached an unbearable pitch, drilling into her head. Just as she was beginning to think that it would never stop, that her skull would split apart, there was a merciful silence. She put her head between her knees and breathed deeply; the noise had left her feeling faint and almost light headed. No, she decided, not light headed; the lack of gravity did that.

Gwen grabbed at the folder in her lap before it could float away. Almost as soon as she had it safe she found that she had weight again, less than on Earth certainly, but still weight. That meant they must be under way. The Rishkan drive should be noiseless and vibration free, negating the gravitic pull of the Earth, and then pushing away from it as it attained the opposite polarity of gravity. The ship would be under power all the way to the Moon, accelerating half the distance, then decelerating the other half, which generated a constant internal gravity. It was Lunar rather than Terran though, and she was glad she had eaten nothing since breakfast. She swallowed hard, and turned to the folder to distract herself.

Regulations Governing Behaviour in the Event of an Emergency showed clearly, but when Gwen turned the page by touching her thumb to the bottom right corner the print changed size. Many of the pixels were damaged, making reading difficult, but there was nothing else to do. By the time she reached the title again Gwen knew more than she ever wanted to about the effects of pressure loss and, in extreme cases, explosive decompression. Still it did offer some sage advice about locating the nearest pressure chamber or airlock. She looked around, but there was no sign of a pressure chamber and she knew that the cargo hold did not have an airlock. Boredom threatened, despite the possible horrors of an accident. Gwen had always taken Earth's atmosphere for granted, and she found it difficult to remember that she would never be able to step into the open on the Moon.

Gravity disappeared abruptly, to be replaced by the whine of the engines. The whole ship vibrated in sympathy and her hands went up to cover her ears, but the sound built up until it weighed like a physical presence, tearing at her sanity and trying to scramble her brains. A scream blocked her throat until she could not breathe. Just before the pain knifed her head open, it stopped abruptly. Gwen felt the silence as an absence of sound as she lay back gasping for breath. She did not notice the door to the pilot's cabin sliding up until the cargo officer's voice asked,

Are you all right? His voice seemed to come from a long way away.

I think so. Gwen was not sure, her hearing felt as though it would never recover.

We're on manoeuvring jets now. No commercial flight's allowed to use Drive this close to AsCo. We'll be docking shortly. We've managed to get a short term berth at the AsCo terminal, so we'll let you off there. Best get up and find your Moon legs. He took the folder, then undid Gwen's straps.

The floor seemed a long way away as she tried to walk, and the slight judder as the shuttle docked knocked her off her feet. She fell slowly, her Earth conditioned reflexes letting her recover before she hit the floor but she felt silly, and the cargo officer standing in front of the exit door watched her antics with amusement. A green light showed and he pressed the button to open it, but the door did not move until he aimed a well practised kick at the lower runner. The door slid aside reluctantly as he turned to face Gwen.

Someone should come to collect you, but we're not a scheduled passenger flight, so you may have to wait. Gwen nodded in understanding, then picked up her carry-all and stepped gingerly through the door. There was an inner door too, which opened into a large concrete cave crowded with people, none of whom seemed interested in her. The cargo officer peered out of the ship and looked around. Gwen stared over his shoulder at her first view of the Moon. Her heart sank.

There were no windows, nothing to show what lay beyond the low space that stretched out before her. Low roof or not the room was an impressive size, with numerous open corridors leading off in one direction, and even more sealed doors lining the opposite wall. There were signs everywhere, pointing towards the Hyginus Tube, the Arago Shuttle service, the Darkside check in desk. Unfortunately there was no sign of anyone waiting to collect Gwen.

Oh well, the cargo officer sighed. Only to be expected. Follow me. He set off across the room towards what was obviously a temporary desk, labelled, AsCoS Admissions. Gwen's heart began to beat faster; once she checked in here her scholarship was assured. An elderly man sat behind the desk, wearing the black jacket that Gwen would learn was the mark of an AsCoS employee; everyone wore them, from baggage handlers, to students, and all the teachers, right up to the Dean.

Gwen tried to keep up with the shuttle officer, but she kept using her energy to go up rather than along and bounded around feeling very undignified. He had almost finished speaking to the clerk before Gwen reached them, breathless. I must insist, I have no record of an AsCoS student on ITC flight 0009. All the Terran students came up yesterday on 0023. Gwen dug into her carry-all until she found the print out that the Commandant had made for her and handed it over silently. Half her life had been devoted to getting that piece of paper; she was not going to be told she had no place at AsCoS now.

I'm not Terran. I'm Welsh. She hung on to the edge of the desk, feeling in danger of flying towards the ceiling as the clerk examined the letter carefully.

Humm, it seems to be in order. He pressed a button on his desk, and looked at a screen set where only he could see it. There was a short wait, and the cargo officer drummed his fingers impatiently, his ship had to clear the airlock they were using in five minutes or be subject to landing fees. He was about to speak when the clerk spoke again.

Gweneth R. Davies. Reserved place, full Terran Scholarship, exam no 1342. He was obviously not talking to them, and anxiety rose up to almost choke Gwen. Had she come so far only to be refused entry? Maybe the Commandant had made a mistake, and there was no scholarship. There was a short silence, then the clerk looked up at her, and nodded.

Place confirmed. Gwen let her breath go in a sigh that brought at smile to the clerk's lips. The cargo officer smiled too, and clapped an over friendly hand on her shoulder,

Good luck! Then he was gone, before Gwen could thank him.

The clerk cleared his throat noisily, and Gwen turned back as he said,

We have a few formalities to observe now. You don't have an Ident? Gwen nodded, and the clerk smiled at her. Well, we non-techs have to stick together, so let's get you sorted. Palm prints were taken at the time of your exam, were they not? Gwen nodded, wondering what he meant by non-tech, but he gave her no chance to ask. Put your hand on the plate there, he pointed at a panel set into the top of the desk. Gwen pressed her palm cautiously against the metal, and something beeped at her. Good, the clerk smiled. They did a careful job at that school of yours. It's a perfect match. That's all you really need to work the system, and at least with the palm print they only know where you are some of the time, not all of it. Some one'll be along to collect you soon. Please wait here until then.

Gwen thanked the clerk, not knowing exactly what he had done. In fact he had registered her as an conscious objector to the Identity chip system, someone who refused to allow the state to monitor her location. It would cause her problems throughout her time on the Moon, and totally confuse the AsCoS staff; why did a non-tech want to attend a technical college? Gwen had no real objection to having an Ident, but she would never be offered one now.

Everyone using the space port shuffled, keeping their feet as close to the ground as possible. Her eye was caught by a young man walking towards her who managed to turn the inelegant Lunar shuffle into a stride without ever bringing his feet more than an inch off the floor. He was Moon born, and had never seen the sun; the short black jacket he wore made his skin look impossibly white, apart from the gold tattoo of his hook line. The jacket had silver insignia sewn on the sleeves, making it’s purpose as a uniform clear, and he wore it over grey overalls that looked as though they had seen hard use. These were the clothes that AsCoS promised all its students, and they had been chosen for practicality rather than looks. All the girls hated it, overalls do not go with the female anatomy, but had no choice but to wear it. The second year student stopped beside Gwen.

Gweneth Davies? Gwen nodded. Good. I'm Dave Quarman. Training Captain Gerstman asked me to show you to the reception lounge. Sorry I wasn't here waiting for you. With a barely civil nod to the desk clerk he launched himself back the way he had come. Gwen shuffled after him. She was surprised how much easier it was to walk with her feet kept low, she could even keep up with him, despite the fact that he was walking faster than she would have liked. He indicated Gwen's carry-all.

Shall I take that for you?

Thanks, but it helps to keep me weighted down. He smiled at her reply, this was obviously not the first time he had escorted students who were used to heavier gravity.

He led her down a warren of passages and corridors, all of them faced with rough, off white, concrete. Were the living quarters were as drab as this? At least the camp had colour. The air smelt strange, not unpleasant, but odd. Gwen tried to identify the difference, at last realising that it was the absence of smells that was tricking her senses. A barrier blocked the way ahead, but lifted as Quarman approached, then dropped behind him, leaving Gwen on the other side. She stared at the sign on the wall. You are now entering AsCoS. Authorised personnel only.

Stupid machine! Quarman snorted. It's not recognised your Ident! Try the palm plate, that should lift it.

A red painted hand print lay just beneath the sign, so Gwen pressed her palm against the plate. The computer scanned her palm print, matched it and agreed her clearance, then bleeped, just like the one at the space port. The barrier gave way, letting Gwen through, but nearly catching her carry-all as it sprang back.

You have to be quick. These things are set so no one can sneak through without registering.

Thanks, Gwen supposed she should have expected some security system.

Her escort did not speak again until they stopped at an entrance marked Reception Area Two.

Here we are. He ushered her through the open door and into a bare room full of young people.

Gwen tensed as she looked round. Everyone seemed so tall! They were not Moon born though, their tanned skins were nearly the same shade as Gwen's, and they did not seem to know how to walk in the Moon's gravity. These must be the other Terran students, but why so many? There were at least twenty, which meant some had to be paying their own fees and the arrogance of the rich showed clearly in the way they acted. Dave plotted a careful course through the chaotic crowd and came to a halt in front of a much shorter man clad in a similar black jacket.

Captain Gerstman? He turned as his name was spoken, and stared at Gwen as Dave continued. This is Gwen Davies. You asked me to collect her from the space port?

Oh, yes. Thank you, Quarman. Tell the kitchens we'll be wanting lunch in half an hour.

Yes, Sir. His gaze unfocused as he accessed the Ocean.

Gwen looked round the featureless, room with sinking spirits. Lunch. She was ready for dinner, it was gone six by her body clock, and Captain Gerstman was talking about lunch. She put her carry-all down as Captain Gerstman called out,

Can I have some silence please! And sit down! On the floor since there's nowhere else! The room went quiet while everyone got comfortable on the hard floor, then Captain Gerstman continued. "Thank you. Now that we are all together I'd just like to welcome you to AsCoS and explain a little bit about how we are organised. As you know the Astronaut and Cosmonaut School was originally founded to provide training for the safe use of space. Since the early days we have come to offer a wide range of courses covering all aspects of life in space. Places on each course are awarded on the basis of suitability, and acceptance onto the course of your choice is not automatic. The next three days will be taken up with physical and theoretical tests that give us some idea of your capabilities. All of you have already taken a basic exam to ensure it was worth while bringing you here, and you are therefore guaranteed a place, but I can NOT guarantee that it will be on the course of your choice. I expect everyone here wants to take pilot training, why else come to AsCoS rather than a nearer school? You will be lucky of a third of the people in this room are judged suitable after the tests; you must be prepared to accept other options.

At the end of the test days you will be given a list of courses that will accept you, and then, and only then, will you become official students here. Until that time I would ask you to keep your ambitions quiet, there are many more Moon born applicants than there are places, and some of these feel that offering places to Terran students decreases their chances of acceptance. Gwen felt bewildered, surely she had been accepted as a student already, why should he make such a point of their not being official students? She caught murmurs of dismay from many of those around her, and almost missed Gerstman's concluding words,

You are free until thirteen forty when someone will arrive to take you to your first and only theory exam, a multiple choice, but I would request that you stay in this room. Food will be served from the hatch. I shall remain here to answer any questions you may have. The chattering grew louder again, and Training Captain Gerstman was submerged in a tide of eager students. Gwen was not one of them; Gerstman’s mention of food made her empty stomach rumble loudly, and the smell of food was too tempting to ignore. She found the hatch in the far wall from which food was being passed out, and headed towards it, leaving her carry-all where she had been sitting. Many of the others had the same idea, and Gwen had a hard time avoiding them since they did not seem to have found the trick of walking. She was half aware that she was being watched, but was not prepared to be stopped by an arm held across her path. She looked up into an arrogant face.

Hey, Mongrel, get your own food.

I am, Gwen held his gaze. A golden tattoo ran to the corner of his eye, but his glare was too focused for him to be hooked at the moment.

Pull the other one. I know everyone who came up with me, and you didn't.

I came up from Old Cardiff. I'm Welsh.

Welsh! You look Asian to me. His voice expressed scorn at Gwen's half Indian blood, No one comes to AsCoS from Wales.

I do. Will you please let me pass? Gwen kept her tone polite, used to dealing with arrogant Feds from the camp. He let her go reluctantly.

How come you walk like that then?

I got tired of hitting the ceiling so I watched everyone else. She wondered which he disliked more, that she had learnt to walk easily, or because she had Indian blood. Gwen was unused to racial prejudice, no one had cared in Wales; she had a Welsh name and spoke Welsh, which was more than many of the other Welsh citizens could. Why should it matter that her father had come from India?

She put her thoughts behind her and carried on towards the hatch. The food did not taste of much, but it was better than the slop dealt out in camp, and she was hungry enough to eat it all; from the scraps of conversation that she overheard the quality of the food was a source