by Nōnen Títi
Before the moon was over she received a message: Brita had heard of Daili’s decision and wanted to talk. Daili called her back and invited her over for the third freedays.
“That’s okay, the girls will look forward to the beach, but first I want to talk to you alone.”
Daili promised to meet her two days later when she was in the city. She felt nervous and apologized for not getting in touch when she stepped into Brita’s office.
“My kids don’t know yet. I heard at work,” Brita said.
Daili wasn’t sure about that. It could well be that Laytji had called Hani with the news. She explained it had been Anni who’d made the decision. “It isn’t any easier now. I’m afraid that when the time comes I won’t be able to do it. I’m looking at the calendar all the time.”
Brita looked more pale than ever, and it was emphasised by the red around her eyes. Without looking what she was doing she dusted the wave-unit on her table with shaking hands. “I don’t know if I could do that. I mean, Hani is over kor. If a crew member’s child can choose to stay behind then why not the other way around? Only she’s still so young.”
Daili asked how Hani had been.
Brita sat down when she was talking but stood up again before she finished. Hani hadn’t spoken much. She’d been skipping Learners. Just yesterday Brita had found the inspectors on her doorstep, who had more or less suggested that Hani had user-prone tendencies. Brita had been advised to take her to a mental doctor or Hani would end up a worker or worse.
“Oh Brita, I’m so sorry.”
“I need you to talk to her again. Please, Daili? She seems to respond to you better right now. I don’t know what to do anymore.”
But what could Daili tell the child? That she was ruining her life?
“She must know that. She never answers me. ‘I’m still going’ is all she ever tells me. I’m scared for her, Daili.”
Brita was leaning on the table to keep from falling over. “Would you take her, Daili, if there was no other way? Could you take her as if she was your own? I don’t want her to be alone. I’ll end up visiting some mental hospital every moon. She’s a difficult child, but I love her.”
Daili felt the helplessness creep inside her. Here was a mother who’d have to yield to the wishes of her child. It never could be a mutually agreed decision. Hani was too young. By the time she was old enough she’d be in too much trouble to be allowed another chance or she’d be drugged for years and never be able to live an independent life. “Of course I would.”
She would have to talk to Hani again; it was their last chance. She would have to stay on top no matter how determined Hani was. For Brita’s sake she couldn’t be kind and gentle. There was no going back. If Hani was to go she would have to fight for it. “If I talk to her, Brita, I need you to be there. To hear it and at the same time you’ll have to let me do the talking. Don’t interrupt, even if I’m not nice. You have to trust me.”
“If I didn’t trust you I wouldn’t ask you to take her.”
Daili explained what she felt she had to do. If she wasn’t nice and Hani’s only chance was to go with Daili, she might still change her mind. Brita smiled at that, though it was a sad smile. “Hani can handle people not being nice as long as they’re fair.”
The next morning Daili went to Brita’s home more nervous than if she was going for a job interview. Brita had kept Hani home from Learners. As soon as the girl realized Daili was here to talk she got defensive. Daili braced herself. She sat Hani down on a low seat and put her own chair in front of her. “I want you to tell your mom and me exactly why you want to leave DJar.”
“I told you already,” Hani said.
“I don’t care if you told me a set of times. I need to hear it again.”
A little doubt came over Hani for just a fraction. Then she straightened. She’d understood.
Daili made sure there was no doubt from her side. She managed to keep Hani looking at her the whole time. She never accused her but had Hani put into words what her behaviour was doing to her family. She made her repeat the words over and over. As time passed it became more than clear that Hani really meant it. Her desperation was sincere, no matter how it was phrased. She had thought about the consequences of going and she also knew what would happen on DJar if she caused more trouble.
It was lunchtime when Daili ran out of options. Hani had been close to tears and gotten over it at least twice. Brita was crying silently in the background. She knew as well; there was no changing Hani’s mind. How could a young child be so sure?
Daili turned around. “I’ve done all I can, Brita.”
“Tell her, will you, Daili? Tell her if it’s okay with you.”
So Daili told the girl they would agree to let her come, that Daili would be in charge and that there was no going back, even if she was sorry later.
Hani finally let go then. She hugged her mother and made a mas of promises. Daili again wondered about the maturity in these young people. When she was that age she’d blamed herself for her misery. The doubts about DJar had come much later.
Brita seemed almost relieved now all was said. Daili, more tired than ever, went along to the registration, which took two hours because it wasn’t the done thing. She had to call Kalgar to mediate. Then she went home.
Life went into hyperspeed after that. More doubts came. Could she actually do this, exchange her own child for Hani? Would she be able to care for this little girl the way she did for Anni? But even for worrying there was very little time. There was so much to do, to feel, to think about and time went too fast.
She asked Anni so many times if she was really sure that the girl burst out crying. “Mom please! It isn’t easy for me either, you know?”
So Daili stopped asking, stopped hoping. The girls were more sure than she was. She heard from Marita that Tini had given in to her daughter and was going as well. One moment she felt happy, knowing she was part of the project, and the next scared that she wouldn’t be able to go through with it.
So much had changed in just a few stations. She’d met so many people desperate to get their name on the list, fighting to go as Hani had. Her own family was being separated despite her initial promise to keep them together. Was that right or wrong? She didn’t know. She had to give it over. For better or worse they had all been given the right to choose.
Geveler City
1/2/5/6184
After Jitsi and her parents had left for Freberer, Benjamar found his home empty and quiet. He’d seen them off at the wingport. Jitsi had been so excited she hardly needed the herbals Miya had given her to keep her going during the long trip.
“I’m very fond of your little girl,” Miya had told Sofi. “She reminds me of my daughter when she was young; determined and bright.”
She’d given them the name of a local healer who would keep an eye on Jitsi while she was there.
Benjamar was kept busy after that with all the work that was still needed for the journey. Once he’d said he would join them, Kalgar and Frantag hadn’t taken long to get him involved.
He went through lists of items that needed modifying or a replacement sought because they couldn’t take along what they were so used to using on DJar, like pulseboards and chemwashes — on the kabin they would return to using water, which could be recycled. Writing would be done with the different implements suitable for paper or plastipack and the kabin was being outfitted with old-fashioned distance speakers for people to communicate with during the journey.
They organized mats, thick fold-up ones that could be used as a seat or put flat for use as a bed at night, and chests, one for each of the travellers to keep their personal belongings in. They organized enough of every kind of sanitary provision to sustain a mas of people, not only for the journey but for however long after that.
Then they needed eight mas of reusable plastic cups for the kabin’s habitats for every year, and the same amount again for the first year on the new planet, along with enormous quan
tities of pouches of dried food, which were small enough to carry and would only expand when water was added; one for every person for every day of the journey and for the first year after. Similar amounts of tablets in different colours would create tasty drinks when water was added. The water itself was partially carried in large tanks, but most of their needs would be met by the fuel cells which were on board to provide electricity.
Just as many requirements were listed for needs that already existed on DJar but would need to be transported, like oxygen tanks, generators, excretorials and material for making and repairing clothing and bedwear. Then there was the need for specialist equipment for the seakabins they would assemble on Kun DJar: ropes, netting and sails, as well as materials specific for the farmers: irrigation tubing, hydroponics trays and sheeting, enough dry food for the cattle that would come along, and giant fish tanks.
The same applied to tools for every other profession; tools for the trade rooms, sports equipment, tablets to sanitize the swimming pool, wave-units with printers and large plasma screens, partikels and paper — excessive amounts of paper — as well as reading prints, screen movies and toys. The lists were endless.
“We need to get more people involved. Give the volunteers an incentive to start thinking. Give them an assignment,” Benjamar said.
At first Frantag was reluctant to put the organization into too many hands, but he soon found himself outvoted. “Fine, arrange it.”
Benjamar went straight to Wolt. “Okay, mister messenger. We need our first notice to all people going on this mad journey.” He explained what he wanted — people with ideas or time to help.
Wolt, eager as always, responded quickly and the next moon the notices were sent. Confused user guards found themselves wondering whether to hand this information to the users who didn’t have any idea they were leaving. Some families got three notices. Children too small to read did. Even Benjamar discovered a notice in his mail.
“If all you can do is follow orders, I’ll have your name taken off the list,” he told Wolt over the wave. “This journey needs people who can think for themselves.”
Wolt was clearly hurt by the scolding but promised to correct his mistake. It was a good thing the guards were equally incapable of making decisions for themselves and had asked a superior for instructions or else there would have been a riot.
It was early Station Five when Tjarkag and Sofi returned from their holiday. They had left Jitsi behind to come back later; Freberer life seemed to do her good. They had two paper letters for Benjamar.
One was from Jitsi, telling him all she’d done so far and for him to please not forget her, because she really wanted to go on the kabin. He asked her parents if they were aware of it. “It doesn’t make much difference to the two of you whether I go to the Land Beyond or to Kun DJar, but the big question is Jitsi.”
His son and Sofi stressed how hard this decision was. They had talked it over. They had accepted that it was unlikely they would be able to keep Jitsi. It was only a matter of time. They had considered leaving her on Freberer for good, even moving down there themselves, but neither really wanted to. They had discussed it with Skawag and Mektar. In the end they had decided it had to be up to Jitsi herself and Jitsi had chosen the kabin. So if she was still capable come Station Six, they would let her go.
Sofi made a long list of excuses, possibly to herself more than to him. Neither she nor Tjarkag was happy with the uncertainty of the kabin, to never know what would become of their daughter, but they would trust Benjamar to do the best he could.
Benjamar accompanied them to get Jitsi officially registered under his name. Markag heard about that and paid him an unexpected visit at home.
“You’re not supposed to go on that journey,” he said when Benjamar had pulled out a good wine and filled up the glasses.
“Were you planning to stand in my way or send in the guards to stop me?”
“You’re too old, Ben. You won’t be able to contribute to that colony. Your ideas, like mine, are outdated. It’s over. Go to the Land Beyond. Get some peace. Bue knows you deserve it.”
He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. His manners were as weary as his expression; more tired of life than Benjamar felt.
“Jitsi wants to go. She needs someone to watch her.”
Markag shook his head. “You know the chances of that kabin actually getting there in one piece?”
“I’ve decided they are about equal to those that we won’t, Markag, but that will not deter me.”
Markag drank his wine in silence, still shaking his head.
“What about Harmon? Have you talked to him?” Benjamar asked.
Markag had. He’d given his son his best wishes. “Keep an eye on him, would you, Ben? He’s weak.”
“I thought you just told me I was past being of any use.”
“It seems to me you’ll make a good childminder for a while if that’s what you want,” Markag said.
“That’s just fine with me.”
Markag left wishing him all the best for the journey. Now there was only one thing left on Bejamar’s mind: The second letter he’d received was from Skawag. He had read it several times.
Skawag wrote that he was happy with his father’s intention to go to Kun DJar. He apologized for that last night. “I guess I was upset about the thought of you leaving for the Land Beyond. It made me angry; angry at Geveler, but even more at you for just accepting that as a fact.” He stressed that he’d never seen Benjamar as a bad father. “Without your visions to go by when I grew up I would have never become what I am now. You taught me to think for myself and I will be forever grateful for that.”
“Traitor” he’d added with a smile at the bottom.
Benjamar knew he had to write back. He’d made a few attempts already but with little success. He cursed himself for his inability to just say sorry. Even on paper that proved very hard. Was he really so arrogant then that he couldn’t admit to not knowing everything? Not even to his own son, whom he’d never see again? Pride was the cause of all wars and Skawag had made a peace offering. It was up to Benjamar to honour that; to respect his son’s integrity.
The evening after Markag’s visit he forced himself to sit down at his desk and refused to get up even for a drink until the letter was written. He still had to start four times over but in the end he had two pages.
He wrote that he’d never known how Skawag felt about Benjamar treating both his sons equally. That he had come from the assumption that if he himself wouldn’t be able to cope with certain responses, everybody else must feel the same way. “Maybe you are right that not everybody’s heart beats by the same timekeeper, but you have to believe that I have done everything in my power to respect you for the person you are.”
He added that he understood that Skawag had reacted from his anger at the system as he always had, but it was that same passion that made him such a good doctor and that his choice to live on Freberer was a blessing for his children. He ended his letter by sending his regards to Jaji’s family and to tell Jitsi he’d be waiting for her.
He had to bring the letter to the city mail centre, which was the only place that handled paper correspondence.
All was prepared now. It would be a station yet, but at the end there was a sign reading ‘Kun DJar’ instead of ‘Land Beyond’. His sons would stay behind. They would be fine. For himself there could be a lifetime ahead. Jitsi would be with him. Both had no choice but to go and they had nothing to lose.
Greguia
6/5/5/6184
Jema tried to be with Kaspi as much as possible during Station Five. She tried not to sound too excited about the journey and not to mention leaving DJar at all. She had something to live for now; Kaspi did not. She didn’t talk about Kaspi going anymore. Kaspi had made peace with the idea of leaving for the Land Beyond. Jema respected that even if she couldn’t understand it.
She had informed the director and organized leaving work for good. The crew list
was out now but surprisingly few people had bothered to read it. At work they knew she was leaving, but only the director knew where to. Jema never spoke a word more than necessary with her colleagues anymore and ignored the existence of the psychiatrists altogether.
On her last day, Klara’s mother walked into the ward. She told Jema that Klara was still the same. “But even if she can’t say it, I’m sure she misses you.” She handed Jema a framed photograph. It was taken in the bedroom where she’d spent so many hours. Next to Klara’s bed sat Nori. As she so often had when in conversation with her invisible world, she was laughing. “Keep it as a memory,” Klara’s mother said. “I know what it feels like to lose a child.” To stop the tears burning in her eyes, Jema embraced the woman. That was the only good day at work in the entire station.
Kityag didn’t know she was leaving work, but he knew she was no longer happy there. “Why don’t you see if you can get a job on Freberer for a while? Isn’t that what you always wanted anyway, to work with the poor?” he asked.
“They’re not as poor as I thought. They’re allowed to live as long as they can and have as many children as they want. They’re richer than all of us.”
“You know what I mean, Jema. They have diseases and not always enough food. Children die there.”
“Children die here too! Nori died.”
He gave up on the idea, but kept promising things would be okay; that after Kaspi left they’d go on a holiday so she could forget about it.
The last day of Station Five Jema spent at Kaspi’s. She arrived with a heavy heart. Two moons were left for Kaspi. Two moons without visitors. Tisji and Lusji would come over for the last freedays. Kaspi had let herself cry more than ever before these last moons. She looked tired. Jema sat with her. She had no words. All that needed saying had been said. She couldn’t cry herself. She apologized to Kaspi about it. “It’s not that I don’t care, you know? It’s just that I can’t.”