To See the Sun

by Kelly Jensen

  How soon would he expect them to be intimate? Up to this point in Gael’s life, sex had mostly been a transaction. Bram obviously wanted more than that, and Gael wanted to deliver. He had no idea how love worked, though, except as an overwhelming obligation to a person who relied on you to make life happen in a sensible and orderly manner. Loic had needed that, and Gael had loved his brother with every fiber of his being.

  He played the holo again, pausing just as Bram spoke his final words: “We’ll see how this works, and if it doesn’t, it doesn’t. I hope you don’t mind me sayin’ I hope it does.”

  Touching the projected image, Gael disturbed the pixels over Bram’s shoulder and moved his finger down to the center of Bram’s chest.

  “I hope it does too.”

  When the transition alarm sounded, Gael swore. He’d meant to record a return message, but it was too late now. Closing the holo projector, he stood and stretched, ignoring the squirm of his gut. He’d booked his own bunk for the last transition in the hope he’d actually get some sleep. Sleep would be good. Sleep without nightmares would be even better.

  This time tomorrow, he’d be on Alkirak.

  Oh sun.

  His bunkroom was unoccupied and relatively clean. The Lennox had good air circulation; only a slight whiff of sex remained. Thankfully, the bedding had been replaced. Gael strapped himself into the lower bunk and considered taking a sedative to help him through the transition. He’d had more access to medication over the past few weeks than he had his whole lifetime, and not all of it had been pleasant. Sometimes, his shoulder still ached from the broad-spectrum vaccine they’d jabbed him with before he could board.

  Considering the bunk above him, and the lingering hint of semen, he hoped the crew was as well inoculated.

  Long habit of not allowing himself to be caught in a vulnerable position had kept him from accepting anything else up to this point, but with fatigue sitting heavily on his eyelids and his stomach already tensing for the inevitable lurch, Gael found himself reaching for the dispenser. He wanted to look lively for Bram, right? Not like a bad investment?

  As he waited for the drug to dissolve on his tongue, anxiety rolled over him in dizzying waves. He was about to pass through to the far side of the galaxy. Travel to a planet he’d never heard of. Live with a man he’d met only five weeks before.

  Oh sun, oh sun, what had he done? Seriously, what had he—

  Gael woke up with a dry mouth and a fierce headache. He licked his lips, thick tongue sticking to parched flesh, and opened his eyes. The smell of vomit did not immediately assail him, but the low light seeping in through the bunk screen sent a sharp pain through to the back of his skull. Groaning, he sat up and checked his Band.

  They’d be docking with Alkirak Orbital in one hour. He’d slept through the trans-in and trans-out.

  After cleaning himself up—he hoped water was plentiful on Alkirak because he was so done with having the dirt blasted from his skin by charged air—Gael packed his single bag and headed to the observation deck for a first look at his new home.

  From space, the planet was disappointing. A large dark ball striped with thin clouds at the poles. He was viewing the night side, but still. Gael gripped the rail set in front of the view screens. This was it. His new home.

  Slowly, excitement caught him. This wouldn’t be the same as the jobs he’d failed at before. No killing, for one. No intimidation. He’d probably have to practice smiling. He’d be expected to smile. And if Abraham expected more than simple companionship from the outset, he could offer that too—and try to enjoy it, because he could be a new Gael here. One as bright as his new surname.

  Docking, disembarking, and documentation all passed smoothly, the knots in Gael’s gut loosening as his ID chip scanned with no warning, no arrest, no Trass enforcer popping out from behind a screen to drag him back to Zhemosen. The differences between Alkirak Orbital and Zhemosen Orbital began to filter through slowly, as he stopped waiting for trouble and started trying to convince himself that he was nearly there. Price had been right about the lack of tech. The station was utilitarian. No wide view ports, entertainment alcoves, and little to no commerce. No advertising holos and the only eatery looked like a commissary. Nor were the people decorated with temple disks, holo tattoos, feedback jewelry, and all manner of enhanced gloves.

  Gael followed a group of contract miners to his assigned shuttle and slotted himself into a seat by one of the tiny windows.

  “Not going to be much to see on the way down,” said his seatmate, a bulky figure dressed in a Muedini Corporation coverall.

  Gael sorted through possible responses before settling on one that he felt fit his new persona. He smiled. “So long as I can see the sky, I don’t mind.”

  “Hopping from one hole to another, eh?”

  “Hole?”

  “You’re from . . . let me guess. Cappadocia. Small as you are. Lived your whole life underground, right?”

  “Something like that.”

  A small jolt moved through the shuttle as they fell away from the orbital station. Gael pressed his nose to the window.

  “If you wanted to see the sky, you should have tried for one of the Betas. Clouds the color of polished amethyst and forests so old, they’re still counting the rings on their trees.”

  Rings on trees? What was he talking about?

  “Of course, getting a contract out that way is like winning the lottery. What are you here for, anyway?”

  Turning back to his neighbor, Gael sorted through possible responses again. “I, er, um, hospitality.”

  “Huh. They must be thinking of improving the town. Glad to hear it.”

  “You’re here to mine?”

  “Part of the dregs crew. There’ll be a steady run of iron for years to come. Enough to hold the company’s interest while terraforming goes ahead.”

  “The farms.” Gael nodded with some excitement. He’d read about the effect the farms had on the atmosphere. “I’ve seen pictures. It’s beautiful. So green.”

  The miner snorted softly. “You really must be from a deep hole if you think the terraces are any kind of green. But to each his own.”

  Uncertainty warred with Gael’s desire to be excited about his new home. His new life. He leaned toward the window again and looked out. “Will we be landing on the dark side?”

  “Unless you want to be served up as barbeque, yeah.”

  “Huh?”

  The miner pointed a stubby finger toward the window. “See that glow over there? That’s the sun getting ready to spread her light. We’ll pass by close enough for you to see the cracks.”

  “The cracks?”

  His companion laughed, slapping his hands on his thighs, and turned to speak across the aisle. “This kid! He thinks he’s dropping into paradise.”

  Gael watched as the glow expanded, heralding the approach of day. The distant ground remained nearly as dark as night, the charcoal-covered surface streaked with bands of burnt umber—except for the cracks. He wouldn’t have known what they were without that word nestled in his frontal lobe. Long fissures, appearing as deep lines of shadow, split the surface, all running in the same direction, north to south, as far as the eye could see. And not a single mote of green.

  Where were the farms?

  Swallowing, Gael sat back and rubbed his eyes.

  “Know what Alkirak means?” the miner asked.

  Gael shook his head. “No.”

  The squat finger pointed toward the window again. “Crack.”

  “They called the planet crack?”

  “Funny, ain’t it?”

  No. “Where are the farms? The terraces. Where do people live?”

  “Where do you think?”

  Dawning horror threatened to pull Gael through his seat, through the floor, and out into the nothingness of space. “In the cr-crevasses?”

  “Told ya. Holes in the ground.”

  And just like that, Gael’s shiny new life followed the drag of hi
s limbs, falling away from him with an almost audible thump. He really had jumped from one hole to another.

  Alkirak

  Bram surveyed the terrace set aside for transport landings. It was too large for one man to tend without machinery, but standing at one end and gazing toward the other, he could picture neat rows of soybeans, a rice field with crisp green stalks, and maybe even stands of wheat reaching toward filtered sunlight.

  A landing shuttle dropped into his vision. Scrubbing suddenly itchy palms over his thighs, Bram tried to remember how to breathe. In and out. Out and in—no, in and out. His head kept trying to lift off his shoulders, and his thoughts turned too slowly through the fish pond of his brain. The shuttle touched down with a low, grinding hiss, and Bram practiced his smile.

  A hand came out of nowhere to massage the side of his face. “Stop that, you look like a serial killer.”

  He swatted Maia’s hand away. “What are you doing here?”

  “Picking up some supplies. Your new suit filters should be in there, and those fancy drill bits.”

  A genuine smile caught him. “Yeah? That was fast.”

  “You got lucky. Deckard Station had just had a shipment when the Lennox passed by.”

  After an interminable period of time—likely minutes, though each felt like a century—the shuttle hatch slid back and a ramp pushed out of the underside, extending in steps toward the ground. Bram rocked forward on his toes as a head poked through the door. He rocked back when the head was followed by a broad set of shoulders covered in the familiar brown and gold of a Muedini Corp. work suit. Bram had worn variations of the same thing for thirty years. Still had a few sets of utility coveralls in his closet.

  Orfeo stepped out from behind the safety barrier and crossed the shuttle pad. No one landed on Alkirak without greeting the town mayor.

  Eight similarly uniformed miners exited the shuttle, and then a curly head popped out. Bram couldn’t see his face from back here behind the safety glass, but the silhouette already seemed familiar. Probably because he’d watched every HV Gael sent more times than was sane. It was stupid to be this excited—no, nervous. Anxious? Sure he’d done something irrevocable. Which he had. You couldn’t ship someone from one side of the galaxy to the other without consequences.

  Bram tried for another breath only to realize that his lungs wanted to perform the reverse function. Dusting hell, why had he done this? What had possessed him to buy a friend?

  I didn’t buy him. I offered him a contract of service. It’s a mutual agreement.

  “Aw, he’s just a baby!”

  Bram shot Maia a scowl meant to push her through the ground. “Age don’t make a lick of difference out here. And he’s old enough to make up his own mind.”

  She stubbornly remained atop the smooth concrete, smiling. “If you say so, hon. He sure is a looker. If it doesn’t work out between you two, I could find something for him to do. Or if he gets bored farming soybeans or picking up rocks or whatever it is you do out on your claim all day . . .”

  Maia prattled on.

  Bram tuned her out. Gael’s profile had listed him as twenty-nine Standard, so about eighteen years younger than Bram. Given a man could reach his hundred-and-twentieth birthday with all his faculties intact, it didn’t seem like such a huge gap. Or wouldn’t be by the time they got halfway there. If they got halfway there.

  Gael reached the bottom of the ramp and was squinting toward the barrier. His features were still a little blurred by distance, but Bram could see the tense set of his shoulders and the furrow of his brow. Gael started forward, his stride a touch jerky, and passed under one of the landing lights.

  He was beautiful. Just the same as in his pictures. Gael had definitely supplied a genuine likeness. That’d been him in the holos. His hair was a little longer and travel mussed, but his cheekbones were as high and sculpted. His eyes as large. His mouth—fantasies were born and lost to lips like those.

  As he drew closer, Gael tried for a smile. Bram watched, transfixed, as Gael’s lips ticked up at the corners, twitched, and fixed. Rather than take offense, he was comforted. His companion—oh, holy hands—was as nervous as he was.

  Then Gael was standing in front of him, duffel bag dropped to the concrete beside his feet.

  Swallowing, Bram extended a hand. “Welcome to Alkirak.”

  Gael slipped a hand into his and they shook. The feel of his skin was electric—and all too brief as Gael pulled back, reaching for his pockets. “Ah, um, thanks.” He exhaled. “It’s not what I expected.”

  Maia pushed in beside him, holding both hands out to Gael. “Welcome to Alkirak! You need anything—anything at all—I’m the one to call. Maialen Reyes. I run the store and saloon. We do food too. Shows once a week, when there’s an act worth watching. A new HV nightly.”

  Gael had a hand in Maia’s now and was staring at her with his lips parted, eyes wide. And his eyes were gray. Not brown as they’d appeared in his holo image, but a sort of mossy gray that might even tend toward green in certain light.

  They were lovely, of course. Fringed by dark lashes, and shadowed by eyebrows that managed to appear neither masculine nor feminine. Exactly right for his face.

  He flicked a look at Bram, and Bram stepped forward slightly, pushing himself between Maia and Gael. “C’mon, Maia, let him take a breath.”

  “What? You don’t want him to meet your friends?”

  “We should give him a chance to settle in first.”

  A larger shadow fell across the group: Orfeo, making his rounds. “Who do we have here, Abraham? One of your hundred brothers and sisters, perhaps?”

  Bram winced at the reference to his absurdly large number of siblings. Had he really shared that many childhood stories with Orfeo? And why was the man suddenly so interested in his business?

  “Gael, this is Orfeo Reyes. Our mayor about town.”

  Snorting softly, Orfeo offered a quick bow. “Mayor will do. Will you be looking for work while you’re here? I don’t recall seeing your name on any of the Muedini logs. It’s Gael . . .?”

  “He’s not here to work for the company,” Bram said. “I . . . I hired him.”

  Orfeo’s eyebrows did a little dance. “Doing that well, are you?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know,” Bram muttered.

  With a wry smile, Orfeo said, “Welcome to Alkirak, Gael. I hope we measure up to your expectations.” Then he touched his sister’s arm in a gesture clearly implying she should follow him to oversee unloading of cargo.

  Maia smiled. “Don’t hide Gael out on your farm for too long, Bram. A man can’t live on soybeans and rocks alone. You should know!” She trailed after Orfeo toward the line of hover carts snaking out of the shuttle’s cargo bay.

  Bram turned to his . . . companion. He had to find another word. “I apologize for that.”

  Gael shook his head. “It’s fine.” He bit his lower lip. “I’m glad they think I’m here to help out on the farm.” His eyes immediately widened, and his cheeks flushed. “I mean . . . I don’t mean . . . Burning sun. I didn’t mean to imply—”

  “Maia knows why you’re here, so Orfeo probably does too. They’re brother and sister and what passes for local government I suppose. We haven’t had much call for law enforcement yet. The colony is too small. Just about all our disputes have been civil.”

  Gael’s expression became a little dazed.

  “So how was the trip?” Bram asked. Was that a bruise on Gael’s forehead?

  “Long.”

  Bram gestured toward Gael’s face. “Can I ask what . . .”

  “Oh.” Gael touched his forehead. “It’s nothing. I fell out of my bunk during one of the transitions.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Did you manage to keep a meal down?” Bram coughed as he finished, quietly horrified that he’d asked such a question.

  Gael’s lips curved upward, and Bram’s breath stopped in his throat, nearly choking him. Oh . . . He’d get used to having such a nice-look
ing man around, but for now . . . Oh.

  “This is kinda weird, isn’t it?” Gael said.

  Bram gave into the smile cornering his mouth, relaxing just a little. “Yeah.”

  Gael chewed on his lip. “So, ah . . .”

  “Gael, honey? Here’s your luggage.”

  Frowning, Gael asked, “My what?”

  “This locker.” Maia had a large oblong case on the float pallet hovering beside her.

  “I didn’t . . .” Color burned across Gael’s cheeks, making him look flushed and uncomfortable. “I, er—” he glanced down at the duffel resting by his feet “—thought I lost the rest of my stuff.”

  “Well, it got found!”

  Gael darted a glance at Bram, then Maia, and back at the locker. “I really don’t think this is mine. Must be a mistake.”

  Maia waved a handheld over the bar code and a shipping docket materialized over the case. Gael’s ID picture, name, and destination. Gael’s mouth dropped open. He moved forward, putting his hands on top of the case, and rubbed his thumb over the code. The locks disengaged and the lid popped up. A small hand poked through the gap.

  Gael and Maia both yelped and jumped back. Bram’s eyebrows rose toward his hairline. The hand wrapped around the lid and pushed upward, exposing a slim young girl with white-blond hair. Gael’s skin paled to the color of dust as he stumbled back another few steps. The girl climbed out of the case and ran to him. He looked as though he was holding back a scream as she wrapped her arms around his waist.

  Maia stood there blinking.

  Bram couldn’t move.

  Gael seemed just as paralyzed.

  The girl greeted them all with a tremulous smile. “I’m Gael’s sister, Aavi.”

  Gael’s mouth worked silently as he struggled to disengage himself from the hug. “You’re not—”

  “Don’t be mad. Please don’t be mad.” The girl’s face crumpled into tragedy. “I didn’t know where else to go. I had to follow you. Don’t you see?”