by Z. M. Wilmot
~Joseph Antiochus, Jesuit Missionary and Master Chef, in his pledge to adopt the child Ezekiel Yevon
Once the ship was underway, I was pretty sure that I would be safe for a while. Not many people go into the cargo hold – other than the cook’s assistant. After an hour or so of waiting, I emerged from my hideout and stretched my legs. I wandered around the hold for a while, taking note of the layout of crates so that I could quickly hide if need be. It didn’t take very long for me to realize that there was nothing to do in the cargo hold.
In an attempt to pass the time, I went around to all of the boxes, and tried to recall what was in each and every one of them. Then I tried again. And again. And for good measure, I did it a fourth time.
I was going to have a lot of time to spare as a stowaway. Sighing, I returned to my spot for food. I walked over to the crate that I had stashed my supplies in – the “Misselaneous Goods” – and then realized that I had stacked another crate on top of it, preventing me from opening it. I sat down heavily on the floor. That was the only crate I had the key to. The other ones were all locked tightly, both to preserve the food and to keep stowaways – much like myself – from eating them. There was no way for me to get any of the crates open. I had no food except for the one apple in my pack. I moaned and put my head between my hands. I must have looked rather pitiful – but then, I felt pretty pitiful.
I somehow managed to sleep that night (I thought it was night at least), though how I did so with my stomach rumbling as it was amazes me. When I woke up, the hunger was infinitely worse. My apple eased it for a little bit, but a few minutes later it returned in full force, along with a massive thirst. I had brought no water with me. I cursed myself inwardly for what I estimated was the rest of the day – I had no way to tell – before finally falling asleep again on an empty stomach and a parched throat. Or perhaps I passed out from hunger and thirst – I’m not sure which.
I was awoken by someone pouring water down my throat. I coughed and sat straight up, staring straight into the eyes of another boy. He looked frightened, and backed away. I was still thirsty, having coughed up most of the water he had tried to make me drink.
“More?” I croaked. Hesitantly, the boy handed me the jug of water he had been holding. I gulped it all down, savoring the sweet flow of liquid down my throat. Wiping my mouth, I put it down. “Do you… have any food?” The boy nodded and handed me a bag of crackers. I stuffed them into my mouth, ignoring the stares of the boy. I finished in less than minute, my hunger finally at bay.
Once I was finished, I turned and studied the boy. He wore nice clothes, and had brown hair and eyes. He was white, like just about everyone I’d seen in my life, other than Captain Korzos. “Are you a stowaway, too?” I asked him, before realizing the foolishness of asking him that.
“Is that what you are, then? A stowaway? I had wondered.” He had a pretty voice.
I don’t think my response was intelligible. I tried to deny it, but in the middle realized that I really couldn’t, and my words turned into meaningless sounds. He smiled knowingly. “That makes sense. Mighty stupid of you, though. How’d you think you’d survive with no food or water?”
My indignance helped me gather my composure, and I explained my plans to him, as well as how I had thwarted them myself. He laughed. It was a light, tinkling laugh. I found myself liking him already, even though I had just met him and he had scarcely said a word to me. I think it was his laugh.
It was my turn to ask him a question. “If you’re not a stowaway, then what are you?”
He grinned. “You seem intelligent enough, I suppose. Who has reason to come down here the most often?”
“The cook’s assistant?”
He nodded.
“So… you’re a member of the crew?” Whatever trust I might have been developing vanished in an instant. He was going to have to reveal my presence to the captain. No matter how friendly he was, I knew his first duty was to the crew and the mission.
“Of a sort. If you consider me crew.”
I said nothing. I was too afraid to speak, in case I incriminated myself further.
He smiled and held out his hand. “Don’t worry, I won’t report you.”
I loosened up and glared at him suspiciously. “Promise?”
“Promise.”
“Swear?”
“Swear.”
“By?”
He blinked. “Whatever you want?”
“You have to choose. It isn’t the same if I do.”
He sighed. “Fine. I swear by the ship. Happy?”
I grinned. “Very much so.” I took his hand, which was still outstretched, and shook it. “My name’s Jak. What’s yours?”
“Ezekiel.”
“Where’re you from?” The name sounded foreign.
“Ysrayel. My family was Jewish.”
Jews always had lots of money. “If you’re Jewish, then why are you serving in this position? Shouldn’t your family be the ones funding the expedition or something?”
He smiled sadly. “I said ‘was’ for a reason. They died. Murdered.”
I kicked myself for not paying attention. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean-”
He interrupted me. “It’s okay. No worries. It was a while ago. I’m over it.”
“Didn’t they leave you anything?”
He shrugged. “No. The murderers took everything.”
Neither of us said anything for a moment. I decided to change the subject.
“So how’d you wind up here then?”
He wrapped his arms around his legs. “Only work I could get. I wasn’t going to refuse it. My family knew the cook – he’d tried to convert them to Christianity many times.” He started. “Gah! I came down here to get something!” He scrambled to his feet. “I need sausage! Where is the sausage?”
I hid my smile behind my hand as I stood. I grabbed his arm. He flinched from the touch, but followed me as I dragged him to Crate 46. “In here,” I told him. He smiled his thanks and took out a key. He used it to open the crate. He took out what he needed and was about to seal the crate when he hesitated. “Do you like sausage?”
I grinned. “Do I?”
“I don’t know. Do you?” He clearly did not understand the meaning in my tone of voice. I would have to fix that.
“Of course I do! How can you not?”
He shrugged. “I don’t eat pork.” I kicked myself again for forgetting that queer habit of Jews. He went on, “I’ll leave this unlocked. Don’t tell anyone, though.” I smiled. Who did he think I was going to tell? I wasn’t going to walk up to the captain and tell him that the cook’s assistant was conspiring with a stowaway.
I grinned my thanks, and then said what I grinned, just for good measure. He nodded in reply and walked over to a nearby crate. He squinted at the number, then unlocked that one too. “I’m guessing you’ll need water as well.” He was right. Water is kind of essential.
“I need to go back now. I’ll see you later. Nice to meet you.” He smiled at me and ran off, a pack of sausages under his arm. I waved at his back as he left, and then shook my head – he had forgotten to close the door behind him. I did so for him, then returned to my hiding space. I fell into a deep sleep again, despite having only been awake a few minutes.
When I awoke, I helped myself to some sausage and water. I was standing next to the water crate when I heard the handle on the door turning. I panicked and hid behind a nearby crate, praying that it was Ezekiel.
My prayers were answered, and I silently thanked whoever it was that did so. I ran out to greet him. He smiled at me. “How have you been in the…” He glanced at a chronometer on his wrist. “Five hours since I saw you last?” Apparently I hadn’t been sleeping that long.
“Just dandy,” I replied, feeling slightly silly. For whatever reason, Ezekiel made me feel better about myself. I’d only known him for a few hours, and only actually been with him for a few minutes, but I already trusted him quite a bit. It must have b
een his swearing by the ship.
“Good to hear. Do you know where the cod is?” I showed him where it was, saving him several minutes of searching. We used up that spare time in talk. He told me all about himself, and I told him all about myself.
His family had been poor, even by my standards – not all Jews were rich, apparently. I had to make some serious adjustments to my worldview after that revelation. He was the tenth child out of sixteen, as well – I felt sorry for him. I could only imagine what that had been like.
When Ezekiel was nine years old, everyone else in his family had been murdered by one of his father’s enemies. He had then entered the service of his father’s friend, Joseph Antiochus.
At the time, Joseph was merely a wandering chef and Christian missionary, spreading both good food and the word of God, but shortly after Ezekiel entered his service, he began to serve the rich and powerful, and was offered a permanent job at Sladjik’s Resort in Lithestatvia, his home country. He had been reluctant to leave that job for the expedition, but the government had exerted considerable amounts of pressure on him to accept the new job. He left on the promise that he would be given his old job back when he returned. Ezekiel, on the other hand, who had been brought along by Joseph to continue assisting him, was quite excited about the prospect of a space journey. He and I had a lot in common.
We continued to meet like this for weeks. I showed him where all the food was, and we used the minutes saved to talk. He became the best friend that I ever had, and the loneliness that I had felt for most of my life vanished when I was with him. I was happier than I had ever been in my life. He made sure I had access to the right foods (so I didn’t catch scurvy), while I showed him the ins and outs of what was in the inventory. I thought, and even dared to hope, that it could continue like this forever.
3
“I am honored to accept this post to lead humanity’s ambassadors in this quest for alien civilization, far from beloved Sol’s light. The best that humanity has to offer will ride out with me to the Seven Seas, and together, unified by our common humanity, we shall show anything that lives out there that humanity is the greatest race ever to dwell under the stars.”