Among The Stars (Heinlein's Finches Book 2)

by Robin Banks

  I’m in a stall with them. They’re so fucking close that I could stretch my arm out and touch them. Or they could stretch their arms out and touch me. The guy’s looking at me with that hungry expression that always crawls over their faces when they don’t bother hiding it. I’m seriously close to flipping out, so I warn him.

  “If you touch me, I will kill you.”

  It comes out sounding ok. I sound angry; anger’s good. For some reason, people fear angry more than they fear scared. I could never understand that. Terrified people fight that much harder, if they fight at all. But angry works and scared doesn’t, and it’s not as if I want the guy to fucking understand me and empathize or something, so it’s all good.

  It’s fucking better than good. Apparently, it’s his thing. Gods.

  I’m about to throw up over them, so I carry on.

  “If you hurt him, I will kill you. Fuck, I might kill you anyway, just for being a piece of shit.”

  They’re done in no time. No time at all.

  Tom and I walk out and I find myself speeding up. I’m not running, you can’t fucking run, running draws attention, but my feet don’t know that, all they know is that they wanna get the fuck away, so they keep speeding up, but I’m not running, I’m good, I’m doing just fine until Tom pulls me by an arm and drags me into a side alley.

  “Stop. What’s your fucking problem?”

  “No problem. Done the job. Going home.”

  “We’ve got fucking ages before the air comes on.”

  “Ok. Whatever.”

  “Luke, we did ok. We’re ok. Everything is ok. You need to get over it.”

  I nod. Everything is ok. Yeah. Sure.

  He grabs something out of his pocket and tries to put it in my hand.

  “What the fuck?”

  “Your cut.”

  “No.

  “Don’t be an asshole.”

  “No!”

  “Man, at some point you’re gonna have to fucking decide whether you’re in or out.”

  “Ok. Whatever. Can we get out of here now?”

  “Yeah. Sure. Where do you wanna go?”

  I know he’s trying to be nice, I know he’s trying to meet me halfway, but I can’t fucking answer that question and that just makes me angrier.

  “Let’s just go. Ok?”

  We set off walking at a more reasonable pace. We’ve still not got a direction, but I guess that doesn’t really matter now.

  “Luke? We’ve got credit now. Do you wanna try something?”

  “No.”

  “Alright. Be an asshole. I was only trying to help.”

  “I know. It’s just… Not the time. We look like hobos. My head’s not right. I’d fuck it up.”

  “Ok. Coffee?”

  “Yeah. Whatever.”

  I need more caffeine like I need a punch in the guts, but it passes the time. Tom leaves me alone. I figure out what I want to do.

  “I’m going to go to the job office.”

  “What? Why?”

  “To see what’s actually out there. So I know.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah. You don’t have to come.”

  “I’ve got nothing better to do.”

  “Alright.”

  We get directions from a local and walk to the Employment Bureau. We could have spotted it without anyone telling us what it was. It’s like every other Fed place only citizens with no credit use: ugly, depressing, and oppressive. It’s staffed with sour-faced, unhelpful people who treat all visitors as an inconvenience. I have the horrible feeling that they didn’t all start out like that, that they might have once been people who actually wanted to do the job, to make a difference, to help. I guess I’d stop giving a fuck too if I saw how little good that does to anybody.

  I sit at a terminal and start scrolling through the ads. The fact that it takes me so long to read them doesn’t help my mood. It’s not a problem, though, because the critical piece of information is a number. 18.

  “Found anything likely?” I know Tom’s trying to be nice, because he’s not moaning or making fun of me for being here.

  “All eighteen and up, or have training requirements. Or both.”

  “Did you see anything about criminal records?”

  “Nope. They probably assume that people are clean.”

  “You alright?”

  “Yup. I’m great. I wanted to know. Now I do. Let’s get out of here.”

  It’s late enough now that we can walk back into the show. We help Kolya in the stables for a bit, get our dinner, then the alarm sounds and it’s time to get into our bunks.

  We’re climbing up our ladders when Tom asks me. “Luke? You wanna come over?”

  That takes me by surprise. “What happened to people talking?”

  “What people? And fuck them, anyway.”

  “Nah. It’s alright. Maybe another time.”

  “You sure?”

  “Sure.”

  The day after, we do it all over again. And the day after, and the one after that.

  It’s just like being back home. Half our life is totally separate from the other half. When we’re on show, we’re dutiful little grooms doing their job. When we’re in the bubble, we hustle. Alya and Kolya have no idea. It’s pretty damn easy to pretend that nothing’s wrong when everything sucks for everybody. Everyone is sullen and withdrawn anyway.

  Spending half our time pretending that our hustling isn’t happening helps me turn it into something I can switch on and off, something that only happens while it's happening and disappears right after. It’s not a big deal, not really. It’s just what Tom is doing at the moment. If I say that often enough, it almost sounds true.

  Tom doesn’t score another deal like the first one, but he’s doing ok. He’s being picky, too. That’s the beauty of doing it just because, not out of need. He’s right about that. I think he’s right, anyway. It’s hard for me to tell, these days.

  On the fifth day, when Alya comes over to tell us that we’re still waiting for the insurance deal or a fucking miracle and that Jameson’s slashing our wages in half, I find it hard to care. It doesn’t seem to matter. Tom has got enough stashed away to keep him going a while. I’ve got my savings. I’ll just have to get my head back in my game.

  On reflection, we should have made more of a fuss about it for Alya’s sake. If things were normal, we would have had a lot to say about it. That’s not the kind of thing she’s going to overlook.

  “What’s up with you? I thought you were going to blow a gasket.”

  Tom shrugs. “Not much point, is there? Wouldn’t make any difference.”

  “That’s very stoic of you, but I'm not buying it. You haven’t even asked when the cut starts. Are you alright?”

  “Yeah, we’re fine.”

  She nods towards me. “Sure. He’s so fine that you do all his talking for him these days.”

  Tom sneers. “Ok. I’m going to fuck off, so you can quiz him at your leisure. How’s that?”

  I try to say that there’s no need, but he’s already sloshing through the mud to the other end of the stable.

  “Alya, I’m fine. Just tired.”

  She shakes her head. “I’ve seen you tired. This isn’t just tired.”

  “In case you failed to noticed, things aren’t going great. I’ve got a load on my mind.”

  “Luke, I know you’d probably rather not be here, and I know that you don’t think you have any other good options, but please believe me when I tell you this: I’m not gonna let you lose your emancipation. That’s not gonna happen.”

  “It’s nice of you to say.”

  “I’m not just saying that. I mean it. We will get out of this, even if the show doesn’t. I will not let you get shipped home, or sent to prison, or anything like that. Do you trust me?”

  I don’t need this right now. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and try not to lie and not to tell too much of the truth. “I trust that you mean it. I trust that you’d try
really hard to help. I don’t trust that you could.”

  “But…”

  I cut her off. “It’s ok. It’s just one of those things. Please don’t worry about me. About us. We’ll manage.”

  “That’s what I’m worried about. You managing. Luke, please, don’t fuck shit up. Please trust me and hold on. If it all goes to shit, I will get you out of here and safe. But I may not be able to get you out of the shit if you do something you shouldn’t.”

  “Are you going to lecture Tom, too?”

  “Tom wouldn’t listen to me anyway.”

  “But I do.”

  “But I hope you will. And he listens to you.”

  “You don’t owe us anything.”

  “Life’s not just about dues.”

  I nod. “Alya, I heard you. I’m tired. I don’t want to think about this, ok? I don’t want to think at all. I'm grateful to you. I’m just fucking tired.”

  She looks dejected, but she nods. “Ok. You’re right. There’s no point in me telling you that I care, and I hope I won’t have to show it. Thank you for hearing me out.”

  “Alya?” I wanna tell her everything. Everything we did, everything we’re doing, that I’m scared and grossed out and sheer fucking desperate, that I’ve stopped believing that this is gonna get fixed, I’ve stopped hoping that we’re gonna come out of this anything like ok, because we’re already not ok. But I can’t, so I don’t. “Say hi to Laika for me.”

  “Say hi?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Give her a cuddle?”

  “That kind of thing.”

  “You could give her one yourself. She misses you.”

  “Yeah. Soon.”

  She wraps her arms around herself and bites her lip. “I’m not going to stop worrying about you, you know?”

  “I’m sorry about that. I don’t want you to.”

  “We’re not having much luck getting what we want at the moment.”

  4.

  Two more days and we’ve fallen into a pattern. Hustling gets easier every time. It’s becoming our new normal. Accepting that is the hardest thing of all.

  Tom and I have nearly finished the morning’s work, which is just as well because the air has just come back on. We need to get done and get out unless we want to be stuck here for the afternoon. In all honesty, I’d love for that to happen. I’d rather be here than in the bubble, doing what we do, but that’s ridiculous on my part. We do what we do because we need to do it. I need to get used to it.

  I’m trying very hard not to think about the day ahead of us when I realize I’ve been hearing a noise that makes no sense.

  “What the shit?”

  “What now?” snarls Tom. He was stuck in his own daydream, I guess.

  “Do you hear that?”

  “That what?”

  “Sounds like a ship coming in.”

  He looks up and listens out, and his eyes widen. “What the fuck?”

  “Yeah.”

  “There’s no port here.”

  “Yes. I know. That’s why I mentioned it. This could be it. Come on!”

  I drop my tools and get out of the stables. I was wrong. There isn’t a ship coming in. There are three of them.

  I have a bad feeling about this. “Tom? I’m going to find Alya and Kolya.”

  “Yeah. Let’s go.” He looks spooked, too. That makes me feel even worse. He doesn’t spook easily.

  We don’t have to go far to find the guys. They’re coming to find us. We watch the ships land not far from our portabubble, on dry ground.

  Alya shakes her head. “Something’s off about this. No reason why an assayer would arrive on three ships. I can’t think who else this could be. We’re not expecting company. I’m going to go to the office and see what this is about.”

  “I come with you,” grunts Nicky.

  “What? He won’t let you in. You know that.”

  “I don’t like this. I come with you. I wait outside. Is not a question.”

  “Ok. Thank you.”

  They leave us standing there, watching the ships land. Watching and waiting is tying a knot in my stomach, but we don’t have to wait long. Alya and Kolya come back almost immediately. It can’t be good news, though, because Alya’s fuming.

  “Fucking Jameson chucked me out of the office. He’s having a private meeting.”

  “Why would he have a meeting without you?” snarls Tom. “You do all the thinking for him.”

  “I don’t know, do I? If I did, I wouldn’t have tried to find out. That tells us one thing for sure: that’s not the assayer. He’d want me in for that.”

  “Who the fuck is it, then?”

  “I don’t fucking know!”

  “Guys,” I cut in. “Instead of yelling at each other, how about we go down the front and take a look? They’re gonna desuit soon.”

  They both glower at me, but they know I’m right.

  We walk down the site to a gap between the vehicles and peer out at the ships. The doors open and disgorge a small group of suited people. They walk to our side tunnel, half walk and half slide down it until they reach the bottom, and lurch to the front of the site. When they start desuiting, I hear a thin, pained animal shriek right behind me. The only time I’ve heard a noise like that was when Tom accidentally stepped on a rabbit, so it takes me a few moments to realize that the noise came from Alya’s throat. She’s staring at the strangers, frozen in horror. I can’t see anything particularly frightening about those guys – they’re not armed or anything – but clearly she does, and her fear is contagious.

  Tom’s the first one to snap out of it. “What’s up? Who are they.”

  “Bad people. I’m out of here.” She wheels around and walks off towards the stables, speeding up as she goes. We chase after her. Whatever the fuck this is, it can’t be good.

  Kolya manages to grab her before she bolts into her ATR. “Alyushka, what is this?”

  “I know those guys. Two of them, anyway. One of them is Parker from Starr Circus. The other one’s Sean.”

  Kolya lets her go. “Shit. That Sean?”

  “What do you think? Of course that Sean.”

  “Ok. But you must calm down. Take deep breath. This is not time for panic. Nothing happened.”

  “Whatever’s gonna happen is going to be bad. Always is with that lot. There’s no good reason why they should be coming here, and with three ships? This is not a social visit.”

  “What the fuck is it, then?” screams Tom. He doesn’t like being scared, and he likes being clueless even less. “Who are they? What are they doing here? What the fuck is going on?”

  “They’re from a circus. Another circus. They’re buying us out.”

  “How the fuck do you know that? You didn’t even know who they were until about five minutes ago!”

  “Think about it. We’re bogged down here. Jameson’s not been getting the deal he wants. He would have to actually stick his hand in his pocket to get us out and touring again. Now another circus turns up, with three ships. What do you think they’re here for, to throw us a party? I may be wrong, but I don’t think I am, and I don’t care. I’m getting out of here. Bit of luck, it’s dry enough now that my ATR can drive right out. You can stay or come along, but I’m off.”

  Kolya tries to put a hand on her shoulder, but she shrugs him off.

  “Alyushka, you must be calm. You do not think.”

  “I don’t have to think. I’m out of here.”

  “You run? Again? Everything you throw away?”

  “What the hell do you expect me to do?”

  “Stand. Fight. If you need. First stop and see before you panic.”

  “Stop and see what? I know what’s coming.”

  “No. You do not. You are guessing.”

  “I’m coming to the only logical conclusion. Why else would they be swooping in like this for a secret meeting? They’ve starved us out and now they’re buying us.”

  Everyone’s screaming, nobod
y’s thinking, and I’ve had about enough of this. “If they bought the show out, would it be so bad? You’re acting like we’re facing a disaster and I don’t see it.”

  “Do you remember me saying that I needed to leave a show, I couldn’t, and it sucked? It was that show. There are some people there I’d hoped to never see again.”

  “You’re seeing them now. You’re just going to have to deal with that. But unless they’re about to come over and slaughter us, I don’t see why we’ve gotta rush off. If they get us out of here, they’ll be doing us a godsdamn favor. And if you’re still hoping that Jameson is going to sort this mess out, then you might want to rethink your strategy.”

  “Oh yeah? Why?”

  “Because his ship is leaving. Look.” I point to it, taxiing away from the portabubble.

  Alya’s face drops. “Gods. He’s not even staying to tell us?”

  “Why would he? Is not as if he cares. At least he’s being consistent. And you can feel good about yourself, because it looks like you guessed right.”

  “Shit.” She clamps her hands to her face. “Ok. Pack your bags, then. This is the end of the line.”

  “I’m not going anywhere. Not without finding out if I have to. What’s the worst that can happen?”

  Alya looks about to scream at me, then takes a deep breath. “There are two possibilities. Well, there are several, but two are the most likely. That asshole sold the kit to these assholes. In that case, we’ll all be out of a job. Gods know there are few enough of us left, anyway. Or he’s sold the show as is, routes and all. Then chances are that the new management will want to retain the existing staff. The artists, at least. Saves the hassle of finding new ones.”

  “Either way, the animals will go, won’t they?”

  “Yes. If Jameson wanted to take them, he wouldn’t have left them behind. They might have been sold to someone else, but that’s unlikely. Their new owners would be here to get them.”

  “I don’t care either way. Wherever the animals are going, they’re gonna need grooms. Trained grooms. We’re not an optional extra.”

  Her face drops. She clearly hadn’t thought of that. This is bad. I’ve never seen her this irrational. “Ok. You might have a point.”