by Robin Banks
“So we’re fucked?”
“Potentially. I wish I could spare you this, honey. You know I do.”
“I know. I love you too, Dee. I miss you.”
“One day. You have to go now?”
“Yes. I have to start making plans.”
“Try not to scare yourself, please. And remember that there’s always a way out. But buy good boots, for all of you.”
“Boots. Right.”
“Die fighting, Alya.”
“Seems likely. Thanks, love.”
The com goes off.
“Die fighting?” asks Tom.
“Don’t worry about it. Inside joke.”
I find my voice again. “Who was that?”
“Friend of mine. Works for the Fed. Among other things, she controls our access to sites, for a given value of ‘control’.”
“She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
Tom sputters. “You’re kidding, right?”
Alya ignores him and beams at me. “Isn’t she something? She’s one of my favorite people.”
“Everything about her is so… Luminous. How does she do it?”
“She decided a long time ago that she wanted to be happy, figured out what that would take, and has worked at it religiously ever since. I’m just glad that she’s a good person. If she’d put that level of dedication into doing evil, she would have accomplished monstrous things.”
“Is she psi-gifted?”
“Very much so. But get this: her gifts don’t work over the com. Not a bit. She just trained herself to really pay attention. And she’s smart and sensible. If she says that we’re screwed, we’re screwed.”
Tom butts in. “Isn't mud just wet ground?”
“Yes. It’s not much of a problem if you have only a little bit of it. If you have a lot of it, though, it can be really hard work, from what I’ve read. I’ve not seen it myself. There were battles on Old Terra that were won or lost by mud. I can’t even imagine it.”
“Do you want to? There’s not much we can do about it if it comes, and you’ll be worrying over nothing if it doesn’t.”
“We can try to plan for it. We will need boots. I’ve never been wet for long periods. Wet and cold must be bad. Wet, cold, and dirty must be horrid. The animals aren’t used to that, either. If I know what we’re dealing with, I can try to mitigate its impact. If it’s all for nothing, I’ll be glad of that. Kolya? Any ideas?”
He shakes his head. “Where I am from, problem is getting water, not having too much.”
“Ok. Well. I have to speak to Jameson first, anyway.”
Tom brightens up . “You think you can change his mind?”
“Nope. He does not understand the issues and has turned this into a personal battle. As if Dee could be interested in making up problems for him just to entertain herself.”
“She wouldn’t do that!” I blurt out.
Tom scoffs. “And you know this after a five minute com chat.”
“I just know it.”
“Maybe it’s you we should get psi-tested.”
“Maybe we should,” snaps Alya. “Anyway, sorry, but your threedee will have to wait. I have to get this sorted.”
We leave her to that. I don’t think any of us fancies another dose of Jameson’s screaming. Tom and I have got nothing to do, so we go back to the bunks. I feel good because we’re automatically going somewhere together. Then I notice the way Tom’s looking at me and my blood freezes.
“What the fuck was that about?” he hisses.
“Mud? And Jameson being an asshole?”
“No, I don’t mean that. I mean you.”
“What about me?”
“You bought into that woman straight up. Even after you were told she was psi-gifted.”
“Alya said her gifts don’t work over the com.”
“How does Alya know that? I bet you that woman told her. As if she couldn’t lie about her gift or use her gift to lie. She could have told you anything. You would have bought it. What’s wrong with you?”
“I… She just…”
“You are losing it. You’ve lost it. Two months ago you were all over that Raj guy like he was the most wonderful man in the world. You saw how that ended and still you don’t learn. When did you get so gullible?”
“Alya knows her. Alya trusts her.”
“That didn’t come into it. Don’t lie to me about that. And Alya trusted Raj. She’s as full of shit as you are. Way you are now, you wouldn’t have lasted five minutes back home. I thought I could trust you.”
“What? Of course you can trust me!”
“No. I can trust that you mean well, but I can’t trust your judgment. That means I can’t trust you. You’ve gotta sort yourself out. I can’t do that for you.”
He lies down on the bunk and closes his eyes. I know the conversation is over, no matter what I do or say. This feeling is so familiar that it blasts straight through me, hitting me so hard that for a moment I wonder if I’m going to cry or piss myself. I do neither. I sit on my bunk instead, my brain spinning on the spot, until it’s time to get back to work.
We don’t talk about it for the rest of the trip. We don’t talk about anything. We don’t talk.
There was a kid who lived in my mom’s block, two doors down from us. He was a bit younger than me. I never got to talk to him. Neither of our families would have allowed that. His parents used to have the kind of arguments that require stitches afterwards, but they never beat him. They were good like that. Sometimes they’d just throw him out of the house when they didn’t want him around. They’d just open their door and put him outside.
The hallway was pitch black, with no windows. The kid was too small to reach the light switch. He just sat in the dark outside his parent’s door – he knew better than to bang on it – and cried until he ran out of tears. Eventually they’d let him back in. Sometimes he was out there for hours.
I tried hard not to listen, but I couldn’t help hearing him. He’d go from sobbing to wailing to full-blown hysterics to quiet weeping to just nothing. I felt better when he stopped making noise, even though I knew that the silence was a lie. I knew that he hadn’t stopped hurting; he’d just given up. I knew that the body runs out of tears before the heart runs out of grief. I’ve always known that.
Every single time this happened, I wanted to go out and put the light on for him. I was big enough to reach, on my tiptoes. My mom never let me. She was very scathing about how wrong it all was, but she didn’t want me to drag her into another family’s business. I supposed that made sense; it wouldn’t have done her any good if anyone had gotten involved in our business, after all. It was better to pretend that nobody knew what went on in other people’s lives, even when we could all hear it, even when we could see the bruises and bottles and endless streams of visiting uncles and track marks and sheer naked fear in people’s eyes.
Some kids take way too long to learn how to lie; their eyes are windows into their lives. He was one of those kids. Maybe that’s why his parents had to put him where they couldn’t see him.
I feel like that kid now. I’m standing in front of the door and it’s dark and cold out here. It may be ugly in there, it may be full of pain and strife, but at least I’d be inside. I want back inside so bad. I don’t know what I can do, who I can be, to be let back in, but I’d do anything.
Only now I realize what’s really important to me, what I want more than anything else. I want my family back – me and Tom. That’s all I want. I don’t care about anything like I care about him. This whole circus thing was supposed to help us stay together, stay safe, look after each other. Instead it’s fucked us up. If he asked me, I’d tell him that I’m willing to give it all up. That I’m willing to play the game any way that lets us be together, or to play any other game instead. But he’s not asking. Every time I look at him all I can see is that disappointed, evaluating stare. I can see that he measures me and finds me wanting, and the door is shut.
I know that the last thing that’s gonna help me right now is acting like an emotional fumblefuck. That’d just prove to Tom that he’s right to keep me out of his business. So I eat and work and train and sleep and do everything else I should be doing as if I didn’t have a gaping hole in my middle and cold gas flowing through my veins. I’ve just gotta hope and pray that it will be enough, that when I’ve proven myself enough he’ll open the door. I don’t want to think about the alternative.
I’m keeping it together as well as I can. I think I’m doing fine. Alya and Kolya are too preoccupied with their own shit to notice if I slip up, anyway. I think that would hurt, normally. I’d like to think that they would notice if I’m fucked up and maybe even care about it. Right now, though, being ignored by them is a blessing. The last thing I need is some well-intentioned third party trying to patch shit up, totally alienating Tom in the process. I need to keep my head down, to act like everything’s fine, to prove that I can deal. It’s not so easy when we’re all stuck together in a tin with zero privacy. I can do it, though. I’m good at pretending. That’s how I survive. And as soon as we’re on Hestia, however bad things may be mud-wise and otherwise, this horrible tension will ease off. I can’t fucking wait.
Hestia
Year 2378
Terran Standard
1.
The landing is really weird. It looks like we’re heading straight into a pile of cotton candy. Eventually we get through it and we can see land underneath, but some of it doesn’t look right. It shimmers and shifts in the light. As soon as we’ve landed, I ask Alya about it.
“What was that shiny stuff?”
“Surface water. You don’t have that on Celaeno, do you?”
“Maybe we do, some places. I don’t know. I’ve never seen it. What do you call all those colors?”
She smiles at me. “I don’t know. I don’t know if there are enough names for them. I just know they make me happy. Wait until we have a really bright day and the light is shining on the water. It’s so beautiful it hurts.”
While we’re starting to wheel shit out of the ship, Tom grumbles at me. “Why do you always have to ask so many questions?”
“I don’t know. I just get curious, I guess.”
“Cut it out. It makes you sound ignorant.”
Him snapping like that should feel bad, I guess. I should probably have a go at him for it. But it’s the first time he’s said anything that wasn’t work-related in days. I’m too glad that we’re talking to be upset by what we’re talking about.
There’s green stuff all over the ground. It feels odd under my feet – squishy and springy. It pops back up where I’ve walked on it. I would like to ask Alya what it is, but I guess it’s best if I don’t, at least while Tom is around.
The build-up is unremarkable. As soon as we’re done, Tom wants to hit the bubble. I manage to go with. Alya collars us on the way out and shoves some credit in my hand. “Get boots. For the both of you. Knee-high. Waterproof. They’ve gotta be comfy, too. Don’t skimp. That should cover it, but this place is expensive. If that’s not enough, pick what you want, ask them to hold them for you, and I’ll sort it out later. If it’s too much, I’d appreciate the change. Ok?”
“Where’s this credit coming from?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes.”
“Look… I have a bad feeling about this. And it would make me feel better if I knew that we were all prepared, just in case. You can pay me back if you want, but at some point you guys are bound to have a birthday. I just need not to have to worry about this right now. I’m doing it for myself more than for you. Ok?”
“Not really.”
“But you’ll get boots?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you.”
As we’re walking off, Tom rolls his eyes. “I don’t want to waste too long on this bullshit, ok?”
“Free stuff, man. We need new shoes any which way. Mine are killing me. I’m torn between cutting off the front of them and amputating my toes. This way we can actually get something decent, for a change.”
“I guess. But I still think it’s bullshit. How much is in there?”
I unfold it and add it all up. I can’t believe what it comes up to. “Gods. There’s a month’s wages in here.”
“You what?”
“Three hundred. How expensive is this place?”
“For one-fifty, I want boots that do the walking for me. Hell, I’ll go barefoot and take the credit.”
“Too right. Nice of her, though.”
“I think she’s lost it. This just confirms it.”
We walk into the first shoe shop we find. I can’t believe the selection they have. Where I come from, shoes are just something you put on your feet to stop them hurting when you walk around. Here they seem to be some kind of art form. Some of them are really weird: they’re not foot-shaped, unless the locals have got some weird mutations going on. I have no idea how people walk in them.
We’re just having a look around, not touching anything, when a woman marches up to us. She’s wearing a uniform, a name tag, and a scowl.
“Can I help you?” she asks us, but she doesn’t seem to mean it.
“We’re looking for boots.”
“I don’t think we have what you want.”
“Oh?”
She looks up and down at us, purses her lips, and hisses “Everything we have here is very expensive.”
Nice. Not. I can see some guy walking over, in a slightly fancier uniform, so I smile my best smile at her and make sure I’m speaking loudly enough for him to hear.
“Thank you so much for telling us that they overcharge here! It’s very decent of you. We’ll go somewhere else. Thank you!”
The woman looks horrified. I walk off before she has a chance to respond, Tom right on my heels. The man starts talking to her rather sharply. As soon as we’re out the door, Tome thumps me on the back.
“Masterful.”
“I hope she gets it in the neck. Asshole.”
“We can but hope. Whoever that guy was, he did not sound happy. We could have made more of a scene.”
“Not a good idea. This way.” I turn off the main road.
“Why are you dragging me into an alley?”
“Because of this.” I whip out the pair of shoes I swiped on the way out.
Tom stops dead. Shit. I didn’t clear it with him before doing it. He could have gotten dragged into it if I got caught. This is a gross breach of protocol. Luckily, he takes it well. He takes it better than well.
“Beautiful! Serves her right. Kids’ shoes, though?”
“Only thing I could get to that I had room for. Spur of the moment, you know? I wasn’t prepared. I just got pissed off and they were there. I’m not a miracle worker. It was that or a single adult shoe.”
“That would have bugged them plenty.”
“But it wouldn't have helped anyone.”
“Gods!” he moans. “He’s doing his wealth redistribution thing again!” He’s still grinning, though. We’re good.
This is definitely our kind of town. It takes us two minutes to find some feral-looking kids. A child of maybe seven is minding two younger ones.
“Dude, that your sister?”
“Fuck’s it got to do with you?” The kid glowers ferociously and crosses his arms. Nice one.
“These may fit her. Catch.” I throw the shoes at him. I know better than to ask him to come close. Little fucker would probably flip out and bite me.
“Where the fuck do these come from?”
“Fuck’s it got to do with you? They’re not my color, anyway. Happy birthday.” And we carry on walking past them.
“Do you feel better now?” Tom is still grinning.
“Yeah. I do, actually. What next?”
“Well, since you’re asking…”
The way Fed-regulated places work is that if you get caught stealing you get arrested, cha
rged, jailed, taken to court, and imprisoned or spaced, depending on your luck and criminal record. It’s wonderfully civilized. That’s the theory, anyway. In practice, things are a bit different.
Unless you’re first class, everything Fed-related takes forever. Punishing a petty thief can be as big a drag for the victims as it is for the thief. The evidence gets held until the trial, unless it gets lost in the system. The victims have to make the time to attend the trial. It’s such a pain in the ass that people have developed alternative approaches. If you steal from the wrong people, they’ll deal with you themselves. You’ll have the shit beaten out of you, or worse, to teach you and everyone else a lesson. If you steal from legitimate places, though, you can often get away with it by just paying for what you tried to take. It all gets treated as an unfortunate misunderstanding. You’ll never be able to get in that shop again, but you can walk out of the situation relatively untroubled. If you’ve got enough credit, that is.
Tom and I have never been burdened with excess credit. As a result, we’ve never been able to afford to steal safely. We still did what we had to do, but we knew that we couldn’t bail ourselves out. Now we’re fucking loaded, we’re new in town, I’ve had a crappy few weeks, and, frankly, fuck it. So we just go for it.*
We’re not set up for a proper mission. We don’t know the lay of the land, we haven’t thought it through, and we’re not dressed right. We still manage to do a fair bit of damage, though. Most of the shopkeepers in this area are just as snooty as the first one, which for me is just gravy. I always enjoy nicking, but I enjoy it even more when it feels like retribution.
We do pretty well and we don’t come even close to getting caught. We’ve always been a good team for this kind of thing. Tom’s really striking and can act dodgy as hell. I hardly ever get noticed. Even if people see me, they seem to discount me almost immediately. Tom reckons that my superpower is insignificance. I don’t mind. It works well for me and for us as a team: he attracts all the heat and I clean shop. It’s a system that’s worked for us for years and we fall back into it now as easy as anything.