The Light Years

by R. W. W. Greene

“Julio’s new nickname for you is going to stick better than you would want it to.” Hir hand floated up to one of hir ornate earrings. “Were I you, I would stop sharing that photo. It’s hard enough being different without drawing attention to it.”

  My throat ached, and I felt so, so stupid. I had nearly convinced myself that it was exciting and romantic to have an arranged marriage. But, really, in eleven years, I would leave all of my friends and fly into space where a disgusting old man would be waiting for me to have sex with him. “Madame, have you known any others? Girls in arranged marriages, I mean.”

  Madame’s hands fell to hir waist and came together. “Several. There are more than a few in this school right now. Brides and grooms. Though it’s possible their parents have not told them about it yet. Most wait until after secondary school, although I don’t understand why. My mother told me when I turned ten. I never knew my father, so he didn’t raise any objection.” Ze answered the question on my face. “Yes, I was in an arranged marriage, though I expect my mother sold me far more cheaply than your parents did you. I grew up very poor, you see, and I’ve never quite gotten the smell out of my skin.”

  “What happened?”

  “I had a life, children. Then I grew tired of it. I asked for a divorce, sold my shares, and came back. And here I am.” Madame peered at me through hir antique-style reading glasses. “We won’t speak of this again, Ms Sasaki, and I trust you won’t speak of it to anyone else.”

  “But–”

  Tap. Tap. Tap. “Make sure you are better focused in tomorrow’s class.”

  I caught the late bus home. My reader was full of messages from Colette and some of the other girls, but I didn’t want to talk to anyone. They’d seen my home; now they knew I was in an arranged marriage. I might as well have just announced I was La Merde.

  The shuttle stopped in front of our building. I stepped over a man sprawled in the doorway and I dropped some coins into the lift. The front door hissed open on our tiny living room. It had seemed cozy that morning, but now everything looked worn. The entertainment system only filled one wall instead of three or four like at my friends’ houses. The paint looked dirty. The apartment smelled bad, too, like the ghost of old food and skin flakes. The couch was older than I was. How many pounds of our dirt and dander had soaked into the dingy cushions? I couldn’t believe my parents had invited all my friends here. It was disgusting.

  “How was school, Sako?” my mother called from the kitchen.

  I didn’t want to talk to her, but I wanted to know the answer to a question I’d been chewing on since I left Madame Stavros’s room. I put my backpack on the disgusting couch and went into the kitchen.

  “Was it worth it?”

  “Was what worth it?” Mom was rolling out dough for pastels. “Let me put these in the fryer.” She wiped her hands on the apron she wore over her work uniform. She worked for the Transit because she was good with languages. She spoke six and could understand three more, but she had never been good at understanding me. “Are you hungry?”

  Now that I really understood how we were paying for the food, I didn’t think I would ever be hungry again. “Was it worth it to trade me for this crappy apartment and our crappy life?”

  “Who have you been talking to?”

  “The least you could have done was to get more money. This place sucks. Couldn’t you get a better deal?”

  Mom put the back of her hand to her forehead, leaving a smudge of flour. “It’s not like that,” she said. “If we hadn’t done it, you’d never have been born. They would have made me get rid of you.”

  “Maybe that would have been better. Did you ever think of that?”

  “No. I never thought that, and neither did your father. We wanted you to live and–”

  “You had no right!” I was yelling suddenly, and I didn’t care that my father could hear me and that I would be robbing him of his sleep. He had made a deal that would cost me my life. “I didn’t ask to be born!”

  “No one ever does, Sako. Sit down and let’s talk about this. Let me get you some tea.”

  “I don’t want tea! I don’t want anything from you!”

  The door to my parents’ bedroom slid open, and my father walked through it, blinking sleep out of his eyes. “What’s all the yelling about?”

  “I hate you. I hate both of you.”

  I rejoiced in the stricken look that appeared on their faces and wanted to hug them both and say I was sorry. I turned on my heel and disappeared into my bedroom.

  ADEM

  Two weeks out of Imbeleko

  The survey ship was older than the Hajj, and it hadn’t been built for comfort or beauty. Adem lifted his eyes from his reader and checked the controls for warning lights and alarms. The console was all grays and hard edges, like the rest of the little ship. The mass-grav systems were not as well-tuned as those on the Hajj, and the weeks at near c were making his joints ache. Still, the ship was Imbeleko’s pride and joy, and the planetary government hadn’t let it go cheaply. The load of foodstuff and building materials from Gaul went right into the hole with Creighton’s finder fee.

  Lucy dropped into the seat beside him and put her feet up on the control panel. “This is the worst trip ever.”

  “Good thing I have that panel locked down. You might have just killed us all.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Better than this. I’m so bored!”

  “You’re supposed to be sleeping.” Adem’s eyes drifted to a projection of the debris field they were approaching. “It looks pretty wild in there.”

  Lucy winced. “It looks worse to the sensors. Be glad we don’t have to fly into it.”

  “It’s hard to believe it used to be a planet.”

  History called it the Two-Day War, but, really, more than a standard month had passed between the attacks that had destroyed two cultures.

  “What the hell was Creighton looking for out here?” Adem said.

  “The Chin.” Lucy tugged at her lower lip. “Mom told me about him. He thinks they’re, like, a super civilization that can save us from ourselves.”

  “We could use it.” Adem pointed to the projection. “We must have had family there.”

  “Probably. And if great-grandma hadn’t won the draw and assumed ownership of the Hajj… Pow!”

  The colony on Makkah had been less than fifty years old when the Two-Day War ended.

  “Who do you think shot first?” Adem said.

  There wasn’t much more than academic value in pointing fingers. The war had come to an end more than nine hundred standard years before. A suicide pilot in a small scout ship had turned the United Americas settlement on Freedom into a crater. The UA had either responded with or had already been on its way to a planet-crushing assault on Makkah.

  “The Americans never liked us,” Lucy said. “I think it was them.”

  “But it could have been the Caliphate,” Adem said. “It happened before.”

  “It doesn’t matter now.”

  The siblings looked out the cockpit window for a time. Lucy checked the readouts on the control panel. “Go back and bunk for a while.”

  “It’s your turn.” Adem’s words turned into a mumble as he smothered a yawn.

  “Mateo is snoring. There’s no way I’ll be able to sleep.”

  The towheaded engineer was easy to get along with when he was awake but hard to live with asleep. Adem stretched. “Alright, I’ll take you up on it.”

  “We’ll either make contact with the Hadfield in eight hours, or we’ve been suckered. Either way, I’ll make sure you’re awake for it.”

  Adem kissed the top of her head. “Catching that thing isn’t going to be easy.”

  “Not in this ship. But I didn’t become a pilot because it was easy.” She swatted him on the hip. “Sleep.”

  The hallway between the cockpit and the crew’s bunkroom was broken only by the door to a small refresher unit. Adem stopped to wash his face and hands.

  Mateo Rojas wasn
’t the only one snoring, but he was by far the loudest of the three. Adem crawled into the open bunk and lay on his back, his head resting on his hands. The room was humid with exhalations and sour with body odor. The survey ship’s hygiene resources were overtaxed with a crew of five, and the quarters were starting to show it.

  Good thing it’s only three weeks back. Adem closed his eyes against the sight of the upper bunk forty-five centimeters above his face. A boot thudding into the side of his bunk woke him up sometime later.

  Mateo rubbed his hands together. “Your sister says there’s something on the scope.”

  Adem nearly brained himself trying to sit up but caught himself in time and rolled off the bunk to the floor. “The Hadfield?”

  The Hadfield’s orbit was erratic and decaying, Creighton’s data showed. It didn’t emerge from the debris cloud often.

  “She said it’s the right size. Wants us to get ready.”

  “How long do we have?”

  “She said you have enough time to eat something and take a piss, but that’s about it.”

  Adem pulled on his boots and woke the comm on his collar. “What can you tell me?”

  “Resolution isn’t good enough, yet,” Lucy answered. “We’ll start with Plan A and see what happens.”

  Plan A was an attempted docking at the derelict’s forward airlock. Plan B involved attaching to the warship like a leech and cutting through its armored hull. Plan C hadn’t been written yet, but any version relied on Lucy getting the survey ship very close to the Christopher Hadfield. “How fast is it moving?” he said.

  Lucy snorted. “Speed isn’t the problem. It’s tumbling every way it can. Shut up and let me figure this out.”

  Adem grabbed a meal bar from the ship’s little galley and washed it down with cold water. He waited in line for his turn at the refresher and came out in time to see Mateo again.

  “Do you think this is going to work?” he said.

  “What part?”

  “Any of it. Docking. Salvaging the derelict.” Mateo shrugged. “It seems like a big risk. The captain doesn’t like big risks.”

  Adem tried to remember how long Mateo had been on the Hajj. “She doesn’t like them, but that doesn’t mean she won’t take them.”

  “It just seems like a long way to go for some old records.”

  The cover story within the secret mission. News traveled fast on the Hajj, and the captain wanted to keep knowledge of the worm-drive out of Rakin’s hands as long as possible.

  “People will pay good money for anything we can pull off the ship,” Adem said. “You might be able to retire early.” Adem wasn’t much older than Mateo, but interacting with him now made him feel ancient.

  Mateo grinned. “Sun, sand, and girls on Freedom.”

  “Think about those later. Survive the operation now.”

  The ship lurched. Mateo already looked a little green. The little ship’s mass-grav system was fine in a straight line, but it was having trouble keeping up with Lucy’s twisting, turning course.

  “It’s going to be worse on the derelict,” Adem said. “Remember not to puke in your helmet.”

  Mateo was a good kid; he’d get the job done and build a nice life off the proceeds. The ship wobbled again, and Adem reached out a hand to steady himself on the wall. He tapped his comm. “We crashing?”

  “Just about,” Lucy said. “Next maneuver should do it. Make sure you’re hanging onto something.”

  The ship’s overhead lights changed to red, letting the rest of the crew know to hang on, too. Adem braced his back against the hallway wall and wedged his feet against the junction of floor and wall on the other side. Mass-grav strained to keep up with a ninety-eight-degree twist.

  “We’re in position,” Lucy announced. “About twenty minutes until we dock. Plan A looks good.”

  Adem forced himself to take his time but still made it to the airlock before the rest of the excursion crew. Once in his pressure suit, he checked the salvaging gear as the rest of the crew filed in and got ready. He sealed the airlock behind them.

  Adem hit the comm switch in his helmet with his chin. “We’re in place.”

  “If I pull this off without killing us, I expect a lifetime supply of booze and great sex,” Lucy said.

  “I’ll talk to Mateo.”

  “Don’t you dare!” She opened the comm channel to the entire crew. “Hold on everyone. This is where it gets interesting.”

  Adem wondered if he would feel more or less tense if he was in the copilot seat, watching his sister try to make contact with the tumbling warship. The survey vessel was more mobile than the Hajj, but Lucy’s link with the little ship’s nearsmart wasn’t nearly as comprehensive. She was moving mostly on instinct and talent. He closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing like his mother had taught him in martial arts class. With breath there can be no fear.

  The survey ship dropped like a dead bird and twisted sharply to the left. Adem tightened his grip on one of the handholds along the wall. A sharp impact threw everyone in the airlock to their knees.

  “Made it.” Lucy’s voice sounded small and sweaty. “Let’s not do that again.”

  “No promises,” Adem said. He performed a spot check of the salvage team and pronounced them shaken but ready. “Let’s see if we can get the door open.”

  His fingers cramped as he forced them off the handhold, and he struggled past Mateo to get to the airlock’s outer door. He slid it open to inspect the docking ring. “Seal looks tight. Are you picking up any leakage?”

  “Nearsmart says it’s holding,” Lucy said.

  “You getting anything from the Hadfield?”

  “There was no handshake. It’s not saying ‘hello’ nor telling us to get lost. I’m getting limited power readings.”

  Adem scanned the derelict’s outer door with his multi-tool, hoping to get a sense of whether the ship’s mechanical security measures were still in place. “I got nothing, either.”

  He put his hand near the big door, waiting for the arcing spark that would prove the security system was still awake and lethal. The spark failed to appear, and Adem reached for the door handle. “It’s not locked.” He twisted the handle. “I’m opening it.”

  The door opened into a dark corridor. “I’m still alive,” Adem said.

  “Good to hear it,” Lucy said. “You have about thirteen hours before this thing slips back into the debris field.”

  Adem activated his helmet light and peered into the ink beyond the door. The illumination didn’t penetrate far, but Adem could make out the walls and floor panels of the passageway beyond.

  “How many were on board?” Mateo said.

  “Seventy-two according to the history books.” Adem stepped over the threshold, the first human to do so in nine centuries. “And a dozen androids.”

  Mateo stepped up behind Adem, crowding him. “Do you think we’ll find bodies?”

  “Depends how they died. If mass-grav failed, they were all crushed to jelly. If life support went out…” Adem nodded even though he knew Mateo couldn’t see it through his helmet. “Yeah, we’ll see bodies.” He cleared his throat. “Split up. Mateo and me to the engine room. Charlie and Odessa to the bridge. If we can get some lights on it will make this whole thing a lot easier.” Adem shone his helmet lamp up the hallway toward the bridge access then back to the airlock. “Check in every ten minutes or so.”

  The mass-grav systems were still working well enough to define the corridor’s floor as down. Adem lightly magnetized his boots and headed in the opposite direction of the bridge, knowing Mateo would be right behind him. Their footsteps echoed dully. “There’s air or something in here. Enough to carry sound. Get a sample and send the data to Lucy. Maybe she can tell us what we’re walking through.”

  “I’ve played stim games like this,” Mateo said. “This would be about the time the aliens spring out and attack.”

  “We’d better hope not. We won’t last long defending ourselves with
toolboxes.”

  “It’s a warship.” Mateo twisted his body to shine his headlamp down a corridor they passed. “There must be weapons here.”

  “Lots of them. And they’re staying here. Captain says we’re not bringing anything back that shoots or explodes.”

  “Bet your Uncle Rakin was happy about that.”

  “We’re not here to make Rakin happy.” Adem opened the group channel. “Check. Mateo and I are alive and well, about two hundred meters along the ship’s axis toward engineering.

  “Check,” Odessa said. “Charlie and I are on the bridge. It’s in pretty good shape.” She paused. “There are bodies here.”

  “Try not to wake them up. You’ll be okay. Out.”

  “How much further?” Mateo said.

  Adem looked at the map on his reader. “Another fifty meters or so, then up. Engine room access is two levels above this one.”

  The comm beeped. “Adem, we’re going to try something,” Odessa said. “Stop moving for a couple of minutes.”

  “Acknowledged.” Adem and Mateo stopped moving forward.

  “What do you think–?” Mateo said.

  Adem held up his hand. “Wait for it.”

  The lighting bars embedded in the ceiling flickered, died, and then came to a steady glow at about three-quarter strength.

  “Did it work?” Odessa said.

  “We got lights. Good work. Emergency power?”

  “We just reset the cutouts. The reactor must still be working.”

  Adem whistled. “They weren’t screwing around when they built these things.”

  “It’s going to be a few hours on the nearsmart. The interface is just like the one on the Hajj, but I don’t want to start it up too fast.”

  “Once you get it, start dumping every piece of information you see into portable storage. We’re about twenty minutes from the engine room. Maybe we can get a little thruster power and slow the tumble. Out.”

  The hatch to the engine room access tube was stuck. “Come up the other side of this ladder and help me move this.” Adem shuffled to the left to make room.

  Mateo set down the equipment he was carrying and climbed the opposite side of the ladder. “I don’t have a lot of space to work.”