The Light Years

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The Light Years Page 9

by R. W. W. Greene


  “What are you talking about?” His excitement irritated me.

  “The Spaceman!” He made an effort to calm down. “He works on a freighter. He makes these recordings every once in a while and broadcasts them. People who collect them call him the Spaceman, so we call ourselves–”

  “Spaceheads,” I said. “Clever.”

  “I know, right? Do you want to hear some more?”

  Adem’s face was frozen on the screen. I was his, bought and paid for. I’d read the contract. It didn’t require virginity like some did, but it strongly suggested I avoid serious relationships. It would keep me from ever falling in love. I leaned back against Maki’s pillows, my hands gripping his bedspread.

  Maki started another video. This one was more playful, about a man whose father had given him a girl’s name. It was more talking than singing, in French this time, and I listened closely to hear if he said anything that sounded like Hisako. He pronounced the “s” in “Sue” without a lisp or whistle.

  “Like I said, I have more,” Maki said when the “Sue” song was over. “Dad lets me use his nearsmart to look for them sometimes. It’s kind of cheating, but–”

  “Why do you collect them?”

  “I like the music. Most of it. He does different stuff all the time.” He studied the image on the screen. “Mostly it gives me something to do that a lot of the other kids don’t.”

  “Do you want to learn how to play like that? I can teach you, and you can make your own videos.”

  His smile was adorable. “Really? There’s a fan site where people post covers of his songs. I visit it all the time.”

  “I can teach you to play better than him.”

  “I don’t care about that. If I could just do it good enough–”

  “Better.” That was suddenly very important to me. “You can be better. Play another one.”

  My fiancé started singing another song. I pulled my shirt off over my head and dropped it on the bed. Maki’s eyes widened. I had his full attention. “This is an invitation.”

  NEARSMART DOCKING HANDSHAKE:

  TRADER SHIP HAJJ X773 TO

  VICTORIA STATION X252, FREEDOM

  Ship Length: 400 meters

  Ship Width: 53 meters

  Engine Type: Fusion, MK IV

  Crew: 87

  Registry: The Trader Union, Sadiq family, 2207

  Captain: Maneera Sadiq

  Chief Medical Officer: Abdul Sadiq

  Pilot: Lucy Sadiq

  Cargo: Helium, smelted aluminum, rice, pharmaceuticals, refugees.

  Ship History: Constructed in Earth orbit by the United States of America, 2127. Granted to the Caliphate. Launched as the Biriir ina, 2129. Named changed to the Morgan Freeman, 2263. Name changed to the Hajj, 3000.

  Flight Plan: Docking and unloading, Victoria Station. Expected departure to Gaul in thirteen days.

  ADEM

  Freedom, Jan 21, 3252

  Adem put his hands behind his head and studied the ceiling, trying not to disturb the woman sprawled in bed next to him. Vladlena Mullova, Vee for short. She’d joined the crew at Imbeleko, and they’d ended up in bed together after drinking far too much.

  “Your bed is huge. I love it.” Vee’s voice was partially muffled by a pillow. She twisted around and propped herself up on one elbow. “Morning, Spaceman.”

  “Want me to play you something?”

  The second time they’d talked, she admitted she was a fan of his music and had collected all of his recordings, even the old ones that had come to her homeworld before her parents were born. She showed him the files on her reader.

  Adem leaned out of bed to get one of his guitars and checked the tuning. Vee leaned against the wall to face him. “Smile,” she said.

  She was morning beautiful, sleep and sex tousled, and it was hard not to comply. His lips quirked. “What are you doing?”

  She winked at him and held it a little longer than normal. She tapped the metal stud in her eyebrow. “Taking a picture for the fan sites. I’ve never seen a shirtless one before. It will go viral if I ever get a chance to post it.”

  Adem squinted at the stud. “That’s a camera? I thought it was just a piercing.”

  “That’s what it’s supposed to look like. It stores to my reader, or I can broadcast it.”

  Broadcast? He imagined his mother and sister watching from the bridge, his mother with a disapproving twist on her lips, his sister grinning and taking notes to harass him with.

  “Worried that we made a movie last night?” She winked. “No. It comes in handy if I need help with a diagnostic or something.”

  Adem settled the guitar into place. It was an Earth-made Martin D28 he’d found in a storage locker when he was fourteen. He cleared his throat and started with a G chord. His voice was rougher and deeper in the morning. The gravel in his throat added gravitas to his performance. His fingers reached for the next chord.

  “You did that one last night,” Vee interrupted.

  “Sorry.” He was sorrier for himself than for her. When he played, he felt like he was channeling something bigger and more important, and Vee had just pinched off the connection.

  “What do you want to hear?” He tried to keep the irritation out of his voice.

  “How about ‘Here Comes the Sun’?” She lay back down and rested her head on his knee. “You cut that one about fifty years ago.”

  A half century standard. Though for him it had only been a couple of years. It was a good song for someone raised on a planet. In space, a home sun was just another star. “I don’t think my voice is ready for it.” He hummed to himself for a moment then played a song written by a member of the Hajj’s wake crew during the evacuation from Earth. It was a lonely song, but Adem liked lonely songs. It fit his morning voice, too, deep and sad. “I haven’t recorded that one yet,” he said when it was over.

  “You should. It made me feel so hollow. Gave me the shivers.”

  “I’ll get around to it one of these trips.” He hung the guitar back on the wall and rolled his shoulders. “You can take the first shower. I want to take a peek at the to-do list before my feet hit the floor. Like to know what I’m in for.”

  She kissed him on the mouth. “Thanks for such a good time last night. It was just what I needed.” Vee climbed out of bed. Adem’s eyes followed her to the bathroom door. He’d never had a groupie before.

  The first item on his chore list was flashing urgently. A bridge fill-in shift starting five minutes ago. He swore. The shower was going to have to wait.

  Adem pulled on his utilisuit and stuck his head into the bathroom. “I gotta go.”

  Vladlena peeked through the shower curtain. “See you tonight?”

  “We’ll see how today shakes out.”

  She threw the shower curtain wide. “You know where I’ll be.”

  “We’re in range, Mother,” Lucy said.

  The captain turned to the communications station where Adem was filling in for a crewman who had called in with a stomach ache. “Sync us up.”

  Adem poked competently at the communications board and opened the ship’s computer to the flood of data coming from the Freedom worldnet. “Done.”

  “Run the search,” the captain said. “Usual parameters.”

  More than thirty years of updates in laws, popular culture, politics, economics, and science poured into the Hajj’s database. The nearsmart would sort through the public feeds and paid channels and tag anything worth noting. Any important changes would be brought to the captain’s attention, and she’d let the shareholders know about potential problems at the planetfall briefing. As Dooley liked to say, events on the ground had a way of making a Trader’s life complicated. The more time they had to figure out problems, the better chance they had of maintaining their profit margin.

  “Red flags?” the captain said. Their business partners on Freedom were supposed to flag the biggest events – natural disasters, coups, surprising election results – anything that could
change the price or demand for goods and services.

  Adem shook his head then remembered that his mother was likely not watching him. “Not so far.”

  “Any problems with offloading the refugees?”

  “They’re starting a new settlement near the equator. They’ll need workers for that,” Adem said. “Looks like Rothman’s daughter has finally taken over the business. The old man retired to his private island.”

  “I always liked Tessa better anyway,” the captain said. “Send her something for me.”

  Adem made a note to send Tessa a fruit basket from Gaul, care of the Hajj. “It looks like that’s it for now. Permission to get back to work?”

  “Permission granted,” she said. “Match later?”

  “After you talk to the board? I’ll start taking painkillers now.”

  “Good idea. I may need to work off some emotion.”

  “Before we hear the planetfall briefing,” Rakin folded his hands on the conference table, “I would like to know what you found on that warship.”

  Adem and Lucy glanced guiltily at each other.

  “You have someone in your pocket,” Lucy said. “I’m guessing Mateo or Odessa.”

  “Nothing so gauche.” Rakin waved his hand. “I don’t need spies. Word gets out. Someone talks to someone talks to me. It’s a small ship.”

  “Historical artifacts,” the captain said coolly. “Logs and records. All the spare parts we could grab. We left the weapons, if that’s what you’re wondering about.”

  Rakin’s lips pursed. “I could have gotten you a good price for them on Nov Tero. Maybe a better price on Gaul what with the political climate there.”

  “We don’t run guns or instigate revolutions. I already have buyers lined up for what we salvaged. Private collectors. Museums. Good money.”

  “And you accuse me of being cagey. There aren’t enough private collectors in the worlds to pay the rental price of that survey ship, yet you sent your two surviving children into the dark for historical records and spare parts.” Rakin held up his hand. “Don’t protest. I like a good plan. If it pays off, I make money. If it doesn’t…” He smiled at the women representing the crew and the investors. “If it doesn’t, it might be time to consider new leadership.”

  “Call the vote,” the captain said. “It might go better for you this time.”

  Rakin chuckled. “Oh, not me, sister. I am too old to captain a Trader ship. I just want a nice place to live out my remaining years.”

  “That’s bullshit,” Lucy said.

  “There’s a lot of that going around this table.” Rakin leaned back in his chair. “Anything else? I motion we hear the captain’s report.”

  Adem slapped the mat to spread out the impact, but the fall still hurt.

  His mother bounced on the balls of her feet. “And that’s two for me.”

  Her throw had twisted Adem’s gi half around. He rolled to his feet and tugged it back into position. “Nice one.”

  “I thought you had me.” She swung her arms in circles. “Been a long time since anyone took it to three falls.”

  Adem winced. “You always say that. Where were you hiding that last throw?”

  “I taught you everything you know but held a few moves back for myself. Walk back with me.” She nodded to the gym attendant as they passed by. One benefit of being captain was that she no longer had to wipe down the mats after a workout. “How are you holding up?”

  Adem massaged his neck. “Nothing a hot shower and a couple of aspirin won’t cure.”

  “Wasn’t talking about that. You’re getting married. How is that sitting with you?”

  “I haven’t thought about it much.”

  “That blonde girl going to be a problem? We can’t keep buying off your playmates.”

  “It’s nothing serious.”

  The captain slung her towel around her neck. There was a sprinkling of gray in her short, dark hair. Otherwise, she looked much as she had for all of Adem’s life: strong-featured, stocky, and stronger than any two people on the ship. She spent a lot of time in the captain’s chair, but she didn’t scrimp on her workouts. The pain in Adem’s back and shoulders attested to that.

  “That’s good to hear,” she said. “But you might want to think about having a little less fun. You’re meeting your wife in less than four months.”

  “Did you stop having fun for Dooley?”

  “I got very drunk with a man from engineering the night before the wedding. Nearly didn’t get up in time.” She smiled. “Your wife might not be as flexible as your father.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  They paused at the doors to the locker rooms.

  “Speaking of Dooley, you should talk to him,” she said. “Let your friend fend for herself for one night. Let him give you some advice. You don’t have to follow it, but he might say something you can use. He’s always been better at this parenting shit than me.”

  Adem shifted his feet. “That sounds incredibly awkward.”

  “Do a gig together. Break the ice.”

  “It’s been years since we played for anyone.”

  “Years for your father, maybe.” She reached up and pushed the hair off his forehead. “I see every transmission that comes and goes from the ship. I know about your night job.”

  Adem looked away. “I’m just fooling around.”

  “I have all sixty-three videos.”

  “There might be a few more than that.”

  “I’ll have the nearsmart dig them out of the archive,” she said. “I’m going to shower. You find your father. He’s not the kind to seek you out, but I know he wants to talk to you.”

  Abdul “Dooley” Sadiq could usually be found in one of two places on the ship – the med center or Terry’s Place, the tiny pub he’d cobbled together out of storage boxes and conduit space at the bottom of the engineering section.

  At the beginning of a run, the menu at Terry’s included snacks, Dooley’s highly experimental cocktails, and whatever cheap beer he could pick up planetside. By trip’s end, the selection was often down to meal bars and the rotgut that engine room distillers like Adem produced. Some years before, on a run to Nov Tero, prune juice had been the only mixer to survive until planetfall, and the crew spent the last three weeks of the trip swilling “Moonblasts” and shitting its brains out.

  Dooley didn’t drink, but he believed that ministering to the crew’s emotional needs was just as important as tending to its flesh. When Adem ducked through Terry’s low doorway, his father was standing behind the bar talking gently to a crewman hunched on the other side.

  “You can keep drinking all you want, Tom, and I’ll keep pouring. But there’ll be no miracle cures coming out of my pharmacy for your hangover. I’ll keep you alive, my friend, but you won’t enjoy it.” Dooley affected an Irish brogue whenever he tended bar. He waved to Adem over the man’s head and leaned in to hear something Tom mumbled. He poured the man another drink. “Tom is suffering from a broken heart,” he told Adem. “What can I get for you, son?”

  “Just a beer,” Adem said.

  “It’s early for you to be down here.”

  “Mom just beat me into a paste. Thought I’d come find some painkiller.”

  “That’s why I don’t spar with her anymore.” Dooley put a frosted glass on the bar and lay a packet of beer next to it. “Got just what you’re looking for. It’s what all the lowlifes were drinking on Gaul. Tastes like cold piss, and I’m down to my last case.”

  Adem decanted the watery beer into his glass and winced at the first sip. “I know you can afford to stock this place with better booze.”

  “But that might make fine fellows like yourself drink more of it, and then where would we be?” Dooley winked. “It’s poison, you know. Kills the spirit. Might as well make you feel it die.”

  “And taste it.” Adem put the glass back on the bar, hoping a few minutes of aging would make the next sip more palatable. “I was wondering if you wanted
to do a gig with me.”

  “Nah. It’s been years since I’ve been able to keep up with you.” He laughed. “You said it yourself.”

  “I was seventeen and a horse’s ass when I said that.” Adem looked away. “I’m sorry I hurt your feelings.”

  “You were right. You kept practicing, and I didn’t.” Dooley picked up his bar cloth and wiped up spilled beer from around Adem’s glass. “It was a good lesson. I can’t always get by on my native talent and charm.”

  “So, you want to try it? Maybe in a couple of weeks?”

  “There are better ways to sow your oats. I’ve seen that lass you’ve been squiring around. Seems sweet enough.”

  “Oddly enough, she likes me mostly for my music.”

  “Well, it’s certainly not for your face.” Dooley rubbed his hands together. “Looks too much like mine. It’s a good thing you got your mother’s hair and eyes. All that darkness makes the girls think you’re mysterious instead of just confused.”

  “Feckless, you used to say.”

  “I used to say a lot of things. Some of it was important. Most of it wasn’t.”

  “So, will you play with me?”

  “Give me a set list and a couple months to practice. I’ll put it on the calendar.” He pointed to the blank wall behind the bar. “Looks like I have a couple of spots open. Maybe I’ll get your lady friend panting after me, too.”

  “She’s not panting. She’s actually pretty cool, but–”

  “You’re nearly a newlywed and can’t get too involved.” He nodded slowly. “I know the feeling. I had a lover when I left Freedom. I knew it was a bad idea, but there it was.”

  “Her name was Terry, right? I knew the name had to come from somewhere.”

  “You think your ma would let me name my bar after an old girlfriend?” Dooley slapped his hands together. “Terry was the name of the dog.”

  “Since when was your family rich enough to be able to afford a dog?”

  “Never was. We had a bunch of them in the Gap, all clones, to keep the weevils away. Little slimy bastards, the weevils were. This big.” He held his hands about six inches apart. “They’d climb up on you while you were sleeping and lay eggs in your face. Disgusting. Terry was common property, lived anywhere in the village that she wanted.” He grinned. “But she liked me best.”

 

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