The Light Years

by R. W. W. Greene

“It’s bedtime for muffins and magic fish.” Joao lowered Hisako to the floor and stood to stretch. The chair had been the winnings of a Sunday spent cleaning out the flat of a dead woman in midtown. Her son, a supervisor at the oxygen works, had offered money for the work, but Joao negotiated for the chair and carried it home on his back. It was worn but easily the most comfortable thing in the apartment.

  Hadiya came back in from the kitchen and took her daughter’s hand. “Let’s go to bed, yavru.”

  Hisako rubbed her eyes with her fists and followed her mother into the bedroom. Joao sat back in the chair and opened the hand-bound book again. He had enough English now to read the message on the back of the girl’s photo: “Thank you for all you have done for me. I will never forget you.” It was signed “Eleta.”

  “And what exactly did you do for her, Davet?” It was not the first time Joao had asked the question, and, like all the other times, it went unanswered. He tucked the photo back into the book and put it away in the chair pocket.

  Hadiya came out of Hisako’s bedroom. “She’s asking about a pet again.”

  “Two more years. We decided.”

  “Just a small one, though. Nothing expensive. Maybe a rock crab or a dome slug.”

  Joao made a face. “She can’t cuddle a rock crab.”

  “A slug wouldn’t survive the experience. What’s your point? The important thing is, she’ll have a pet. It will teach her responsibility.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “Did you want to read some more or watch a vid? I think we have some points left.”

  “Both. But I have to meet Alfonse tonight.”

  “It’s late.”

  “Just a drink. I’ll be home before you turn out the lights.”

  Hadiya narrowed her eyes. “You’ve said that before, and I’ve finished the night alone in the dark. What do you talk about with Alfonse and his friends?”

  “They are my friends, too.” Joao pulled his jacket off a wall hook. “We talk about politics. Things we would change if we had the power.” He grinned. “We talk about our wives and how beautiful they are.”

  “You spend too much time with Alfonse. I don’t trust him.”

  Joao kissed her on the cheek. “You don’t know him.”

  “Change that.” She put her hands on her hips. “Bring them here.”

  “You have a good job.” Joao shrugged into the jacket and grabbed his makeshift club from behind the door. “If the EuroD knew you had been talking to Alfonse–”

  “If it’s a bad idea for me, how is it good for you?”

  Hadiya’s voice was growing louder, and Joao put a finger to his lips. “I crush rocks all day. You work for the Transit. No one cares what I do or whom I associate with. You? They would care.” He turned to go. “I’ll be home soon.”

  The door closed on her protests. Joao took the stairs two at a time and looked up and down the sidewalk before leaving the doorway of his apartment building. The neighborhood was safe enough in the daytime, but predators came out at night. He pulled the hood of his jacket up and got a better grip on his club.

  The path to Alfonse’s tavern was familiar to him now, and he wasted little time in getting there. The energy inside was tense in spite of the boisterous warmth of Alfonse’s greeting. Joao had a heavy arm around his shoulders and a beer in his hand before his eyes could adjust to the light. “My friend,” Alfonse said. “I am so glad you could come. Let me introduce you to someone.”

  Alfonse guided Joao to the back of the bar where a small group of men was waiting. At the group’s center was a thin man with tired eyes. His skin was gray and unhealthy-looking.

  “Joao, this is Teodoro, newly arrived from Imbeleko. He’s not much to look at now, but he tells me he is directly descended from the Aztec warriors. He was on one of the last ships to leave Earth and has traveled far to be with us tonight.”

  Teodoro was sweating heavily. Joao had to resist wiping his fingers on his shirt after they shook hands. “Are you unwell?”

  Teodoro pushed his limp hair off his forehead. “My wife–”

  Alfonse put his hand on the gray man’s back. “Fresh from the freezer. It takes a while to relearn how to regulate body heat.” He pulled Teodoro close to him as if to share his warmth. “This meeting is for him. He is doing a job for us later tonight.”

  “What’s the job?” Joao said.

  Alphonse tapped the side of his nose. “The less you know the better, my friend.” He winked at Teodoro. “Our friend here lives in a fine apartment. His wife works for the EuroD.”

  The man’s face darkened.

  “For the Transit,” Joao said quickly. “She works on the schedules part time. Decides when and where the shuttles stop. Nothing more.”

  “Joao’s daughter is promised to a Trader. It’s sad. Our best and brightest go–” Alfonse snapped his thick fingers. “Like that.”

  Alfonse tucked Joao under his free arm and herded the two men to the bar. “Let’s celebrate.” He signaled the bartender. “Three whiskeys.”

  He released the men and picked up his glass. “To Teodoro.” He held the glass high and raised his voice. “To Teodoro and to better days.”

  The apartment was dark by the time Joao stumbled home. He slid open the door to Hisako’s room and studied her under the glow of her night light. She was perfect. Every part of her a miracle and a masterpiece. The best thing he had ever been part of.

  “You can’t save her.” Hadiya stood in the doorway, her arms folded. She looked more weary than angry.

  “I don’t–”

  “No matter what you and your little group of revolutionaries do, nothing will change. Babies will be made in La Merde. Your daughter will be sold to a Trader.”

  “We didn’t sell her!” Hisako gasped in her sleep. Joao held his breath. The little girl was a beast when she was wakened unexpectedly. He dropped his voice to a whisper. “We gave her a chance.”

  “Be content with that.” She uncrossed her arms and held up the reader she was holding. “Tell me you weren’t part of this.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “A refugee just down from orbit. He ran to the gates of La Mur and blew himself up with a homemade bomb. The gates were barely scratched. Did you know about it? Was it Alfonse?”

  “We were just at a party.”

  “The report said the refugee was crazy. His wife and child died in the freeze, and his brain was damaged.”

  “What was his name?” Joao rubbed his fingers on his shirtfront.

  “It didn’t say.” Hadiya’s arms fell to her sides. “I have to go into work. Everyone in Transit does. It’s a state of emergency.”

  Joao was silent.

  “Make sure she gets off to school. I’ll be home when I can.” Hadiya moved to leave the room. “You love her too much.”

  “She’s my daughter!”

  When she turned back to face him, there were tears in her eyes. “As soon as she was born, I knew she wasn’t ours. She’ll leave us. There’s nothing we can do.”

  ADEM

  Two months out of Gaul

  Adem rested his chin in his hand and watched the show. Uncle Rakin was in rare form.

  “Imbeleko?” Rakin sputtered. “Why would we go there? They don’t have any money!”

  “We were forced to make a course change out of harm’s way.” The captain projected calm from her side of the conference table. “It put us off the line for an efficient run to Freedom.”

  “The pirates? You’re continuing with that nonsense?” Rakin stabbed his finger at his sister. “There haven’t been any pirates since–”

  “Since you stopped funding them, Uncle?” Lucy said. “Apparently they found someone else to help them to their deaths.”

  Rakin’s florid face flushed redder, and he put both hands on the conference table as if his next action would be vaulting across it to strangle his niece.

  Adem forced himself not to overreact. Rakin’s rage was partly a fiction, probabl
y. It was hard to be sure where the former racketeer was concerned. In the past, Adem’s uncle had worked with pirates in exchange for a cut of whatever they brought back, and there was a price on his head.

  The captain cracked her gavel. “Enough! We keep personal issues away from this table.” She narrowed her eyes at her older brother. “The maneuver was necessary, Rakin. Imbeleko was the best option.”

  “Convenient that the comms failed and the sensor data on your pirates disappeared.” Rakin’s face twisted like he had eaten something sour. “I am part owner of this vessel, Maneera. I expect to be told about anything that might affect our bottom line.”

  The disgust and petulance were real. Rakin had left the Hajj after his mother declared his younger sister would be the better captain, and it remained a sore point.

  “You are being told,” the captain said. “I would have called an emergency meeting if I’d thought it would affect profits.”

  “Not all business goes through you, Maneera,” Rakin said.

  “By charter, I sign off on everything we haul. Is there something you want to tell me?”

  Rakin leaned back in his chair. “There’s nothing in the charter against selling a few personal items.”

  “So, I’m to assume that last-minute cargo pod that came up from Gaul is full of your personal items?” She turned to look at Lucy. “That pod wasn’t on the manifest, correct? But someone made it a priority haul.”

  “We had to leave a freezer of cattle in orbit in order to pick it up.”

  “Looks like you cost us some money, brother.” The captain considered Rakin. “I didn’t know you liked Gaul’s cuisine and crafts so much. Maybe I should take a look and see what’s so wonderful.”

  Rakin pointed a stubby finger at his sister. “Stay out of that pod. It’s private property.”

  “Lucy, make sure to bill your uncle for hauling his private property.” The captain smiled. “It’s only fair.”

  Rakin’s financial troubles were an open secret at the table. He’d sold his stake in the ship when he left but came back on board in some desperation the last time they’d stopped at Nov Tero. His sister had made him buy his way back on, to the tune of three full shares.

  The Hajj was a family business, but it was also a co-op. Ownership, a total of one hundred shares, was divided among the people around the table. The captain owned twenty-five percent of the Hajj, and her husband Dooley had worked his two-share marriage gift into an eleven percent stake. Lucy and Adem each held five shares. The remaining fifty-one shares were owned by the crew and a handful of investors.

  “We’ll load up with refugees at Imbeleko,” the captain said. “The government will pay, and, provided Freedom will accept them, we can offload them there. Easy money.”

  “I’m sure we can all sleep better knowing we’re providing refugee services.” Rakin didn’t share his sister’s soft spot for refugees. He would vote in favor of leaving them in orbit around Freedom whether they were welcome or not. He’d done it before. “We’re not going to stay solvent playing taxi. However,” he stroked his chin, “I do have some contacts on Imbeleko who can put us in a position to make some real money.”

  “Is this one of your slaver pals, Uncle?” Lucy said. “Can he get us a good deal on genegineered women and children for the sex trade?”

  “They’re not children,” Rakin snapped. “They’re just small. We’d make three times what we would running refugees and raw materials back and forth.”

  “You’re a sick bastard.” Lucy colored.

  “Another outburst like that, Lucy, and I will fine you,” the captain said.

  Kalinda Maynard, representing the investors’ interests, cleared her throat. “I’d like to entertain Rakin’s idea.”

  “Is that a second?” the captain said.

  Kalinda inclined her head.

  “We’ll put it to a vote, then. Know, though, that should Rakin’s plan be approved, I will be asking for a buyout today. The Hajj has never been a slaver, and she won’t be with me as captain.” She pushed a button to open the voting. “We have a motion to authorize Rakin to make us a deal to haul slaves.”

  “Slave is an ugly word,” Rakin said.

  “It’s an ugly business.” She folded her arms. “Ayes will be in support of Rakin’s plan, nays against it. Cast your votes.”

  The ship’s nearsmart made the tally: Twenty-two shares for Rakin’s plan, seventy-eight against.

  “Closer than I’d like,” the captain said. “But your plan has been shut down.”

  Rakin smothered a yawn. “A few more lean trips and you might hear a different song playing. This ship can’t run on principles.”

  “Any other business?” the captain said.

  The crew’s representative raised her hand. “We have a buyout request from Sarat Fawaz in engineering. He’s from Duniya but says he’s happy getting off anywhere.”

  “Did he say why?”

  “Says he wants to try something new. He owns a quarter share and the value is up by thirteen percent.”

  “Let’s buy him out at that rate and advertise for a new hand planetside.” The captain leaned back.

  “I second it,” Dooley said.

  “Any discussion?” The captain looked right at Adem, maybe daring him to say something. “All in favor?”

  The motion passed. The captain looked around the table, taking in supporters and opponents alike. “Meeting adjourned.”

  Adem went back to his suite to get a guitar and his recording gear and carried them to the corridor where the spine of the ship widened to the hips of the engineering section. The space had excellent acoustics.

  Adem set up his gear. He had been practicing an ancient blues tune about a train, a type of Earth vessel that carried cargo and people from place to place. The song’s narrator was asking the train to take him from the world he knew to somewhere better. Adem recorded the song once, then a second time with different intonation. He listened to the playback. His voice was still better than his playing, but he thought he’d captured the right feeling.

  He added his intro and outro to the first recording and ordered the Hajj’s nearsmart to broadcast it. The recording would travel for years or decades before finding a receiver, but for anyone tuned in, the Earth song would live again. Adem had been making such recordings for years. Learning the songs and then letting them go.

  He checked the tuning on his guitar and tried a song called “Rocket Man” that he’d found the last time he’d had access to the Freedom worldnet. It didn’t fit his voice as well. He dropped it an octave and tried again.

  “You’re getting better, little brother,” Lucy said. She emerged from the doorway she’d been listening from. “Remember when you first started playing? It was horrible.” She slid down the wall to sit next to Adem on the floor.

  Adem flicked the top E string with his thumbnail. “Never stopped you from hanging around and listening.”

  “What were my options?” she said. “There’s nothing else on this ship worth doing for a kid. I used to listen to you just to pass the time.”

  “Bullshit,” Adem said. “You followed me around everywhere. You couldn’t get enough.”

  Lucy used to have long black hair that flowed like a comet tail as she dashed around the ship after him. She had come back from Gaul twelve years older while only eight months had passed for her brother.

  “I listen to all the recordings you make,” she said. “The ones I can find.”

  “I think I started making them with you in mind, but I never knew you heard them.”

  Adem played the first verse of a song Lucy had enjoyed as a kid. She’d made up stories about what she thought “crawdads” were. “Do you ever wish you hadn’t come back aboard?”

  “I had a boyfriend who said he’d pay Mom back if I stayed.” She held her hands out for the guitar.

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “I didn’t love him, and it was too conservative planetside.” She played the ghost
of a G chord. “Maybe it’s better now. But I didn’t want to live through all the years I knew it would take to get there.” She tried a C chord and winced at the sour sound that resulted. “So, I’m finally getting the little sister I always wanted.”

  Adem laughed. “You hated being younger than me. I think that’s half the reason you wanted to be a pilot. You were sick of seeing me do everything first.”

  She grinned. “Maybe. When you started sniffing around Teresa, and Dooley said I was too young to have a girlfriend…”

  “You were ten.”

  “Still wasn’t fair.”

  “I think you’ve done all right. You might even have made up for lost time.”

  “You don’t know the half of it. I could tell you stories that would straighten your hair.”

  He took the guitar back from her. “Shouldn’t you be on duty?”

  “I told Mom I was going to grab a nap.” She hugged her knees to her chest. “She’s worried about you.”

  “Can’t have all that money she’s spending on my wife go to waste.”

  “That’s part of it. But she cares about you, too. This is marriage. It’s supposed to make you happy.” She listened to Adem noodle for a couple of minutes. “Do you love Sarat?”

  Adem strummed a few more bars of the song, an Earth tune called “Heartbreak Hotel.” “I care enough that it hurts me to see him in pain.”

  “That’s just guilt.”

  “I was always honest with him.”

  “But you kept sleeping with him. If it had been just a week or two, then you moved on to the next pretty face…” She laughed. “But you’re not like that. My brother: the romantic.”

  “I just don’t like spending all that time getting to know someone new. It’s exhausting.”

  “You don’t have to know them all that well to have sex with them.”

  “I do.”

  “That’s why you’re doing this marriage thing, and I’m not.” She stretched out her legs again. “You’ll never leave this ship. You like being sad too much. You’re like a message in a bottle just floating around out here.” She pushed herself to her feet. “I’m going to get my nap.”

  “Were there really pirates?”