by Robin Banks
When Dee lowers her hands, her bottom lip is quivering. These days she hovers on the verge of tears at the slightest provocation. “We don’t have anything. No party, no presents, no cake…”
“All I want is a quiet night with you, lovey. Right now this is my idea of heaven: no work, no stress, and my two favorite people in the world. Oh, and Pax, just to remind me that life can’t be perfect.”
Dee makes a noise between snickering and sniffling. “Honey, you know he’s just joking.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m well aware that this is the pinnacle of his wit. Happy birthday. I’m surprised Martyn let you off. Didn’t the first batch of Pollux refugees turn up this morning?”
He nods. “They did. There are less of them than we anticipated, which is a relief. Apparently a bunch of them went missing in transit.”
“What? How the fuck does someone go missing on a spaceship?”
“They didn’t. They went missing from the first nexus. The ones who made it here are adamant that they have no idea where they went.”
“Obviously. They’re not going to fucking tell you, are they? You’re Fed.”
“The hell I am!”
Dee whispers, “Rody, sweetheart, that’s not an insult.”
“That’s debatable. Anyway, very few of them aren’t injured, but they are far enough along their healing that they don’t really need us. They’re all taking care of each other, too, and they’re really organized. You can tell that they’re used to doing without much Fed help, or any help at all. They’re doing all they can to help themselves. They just can’t do enough.”
Something about the way he’s talking sends a shiver down my spine. “Birthday my ass. This is not a social call, is it? What do you want?”
He glowers at me so ferociously that I know I’m right. “It is my birthday, and I do want to see Dee. But we could do with your help. Nothing medical, as I said, but you are really good at organizing shit and Dee is really good at being a wonderful human being, and we could do with some of that.”
“Are you kidding? You want us to go back to the med bay? I’ve had to get us extensions on literally all of our classes, and you want us to drop everything again? After what you…” He looks so upset that I bite the rest of the sentence off. I haven’t told Dee about the little chat we had, and I don’t intend to. “Hang on. Did Martyn send you?”
“He’s out of his depth, too. A lot of the refugees are girls. We can’t help them. They need people to talk to and they won’t talk to us.”
“That doesn’t answer my question, but whatever. Alright. This is how it’s going to be. We can help for a couple of hours in the morning before class, for an hour or so at lunchtime, and for a couple of hours after classes. That’s if we can get our meals there, which I don’t imagine will be a problem. And that’s that.”
“That’s your best offer?”
“That’s my only offer. We’ve got too much shit to do.”
Dee stretches her hand across the table to grab mine. “But honey…”
Rody talks right over her. “That’s perfect. Could you move back to the tower, though? Just to be on callout at night. They will probably never need you, but it’d be nice to show them that we actually give a fuck.”
I look at Dee. Her eyes are huge and watery and her bottom lip is quivering again. Three months ago she would have ‘pathed me exactly what she thought of my response and dragged me to the tower without any further ado. Now she’s waiting for my permission to do what her heart tells her is right, and that’s all kinds of fucked up.
I nod. “Sure. Where are we going to stay? The Bens are in our closet.”
“Not anymore. We’ve split the towers up by gender.”
“You what? That’s rather Terran of you!”
“It makes sense, OK? You’ll understand why when you get there. We’ve kept families together, because I wasn’t going to split them up, but your old tower is women-and-children only. Well, mostly: Ash is still in situ.”
“What? He’s not been cycled out yet?”
“Nah.”
“Gods. What the hell happened?”
“He’s not doing great. He’s trying, but…”
“He’s drinking, isn’t he?”
Rody glowers at me again, but nods.
“And you left him in a tower full of women and children?”
“He’s not a hazard to anyone!”
“Except himself, by the sound of it.”
“Moving him would be a righteous pain in the ass. He’s still using his tank. His recovery isn’t quite going as planned.”
“I’m not surprised, if he’s drinking! Martyn warned him about that.”
“Could you be more judgmental?”
“Easily.”
“Try putting a floating suit over a third-degree burn, then talk to me about your healing rates. He’s trying, OK? “
“He sure is. He’s the most trying man I ever met, present company excluded.”
“Very funny. And he won’t be in your hair for long: his time runs out at the end of the week.”
That stops me feeling angry and makes me feel worried, which makes me feel even angrier. “Shit. So what is he going to do?”
“Float. That’s pretty much the only thing he’s got going for himself now that he can’t fly.”
“Has he passed his floating test?”
“Not yet.”
“What if he doesn’t pass?”
“I don’t know! Look, I’ve got enough to think about with refugees and children and the Patrolmen we’re still dealing with. Would it kill you if we forgot about all of that for a single evening?”
“You started talking about it.”
“You carried on. Are you going to help us out or what?”
“I fucking said we would, didn’t I?”
“Thanks!” He spits that out in exactly the same tone he uses to tell people to fuck off.
“Stow it. I’m not doing it for you.”
“Of course you’re not. You wouldn’t piss on me if I were on fire.”
“Oh, I’d piss on you alright. Just not on the fire.”
“Good to know.”
That’s when Dee starts crying in huge, harrowing sobs that shake her entire body. We both rush to her. I get there first, but I know that Rody is better at this kind of thing, so I let him get past me and hug her.
“We weren’t really fighting, lovey.”
She sobs even louder. “I know! It’s just so nice to see you guys get along so well! I love you both so much!”
Rody hugs her tighter and turns to me. “My best girl has finally lost it, hasn’t she?”
“She’s alright. She is just tired, and she needs feeding. I’ve been working her hard. Can you take her to dinner?”
“I sure can. What about you?”
“I’m not quite done yet. I’ll join you in a bit.”
“I can bring you something back if that’d help.”
That sets Dee off all over again.
“Rody, for the love of all that is holy, take her away before she floods the place. Maybe find her something to drink. Find all of us something to drink. We could do with a break.”
“It will be a pleasure. Nate? You coming?”
Nate nods. “In a bit. I just want to sit down for five minutes.”
Rody mumbles something about the fact that Nate is still standing, but doesn’t try to talk him out of it. I thought there was something off with them; now I'm sure of it.
As soon as Dee and Rody are out the door, Nate frowns at me. “I don’t want to disturb you. I know you’re busy. I just thought they needed some time alone together. Is that even English?”
“Just about. And yes, I think they do need time. Maybe we can organize a belated party for Rody when we’ve all got our heads back in the right place, though at this rate it might overlap with his next birthday. Are you going to sit the fuck down or what? This is your room.”
He frowns, walks over, and perches himself n
ext to me, abnormally rigid. Every time I look at him, he hoists up a smile that evaporates seconds later. He clearly doesn’t want to talk, he clearly needs to, and this is more bullshit than I can handle right now.
“Nate, are you going to tell me what’s up?”
He tilts his head down and his eyes disappear under a mop of curls.
“Do I have to?”
“No.” I brush the hair off his face and tuck it behind his ear. It’s long enough that it stays there. “You need a haircut.”
“I know.” He pulls his legs up on the seat and wraps his arms around them. He’s so long, thin, and angular that he reminds me of something from the tech lab: a robotic arm folding itself up for transport. When he speaks, his voice sounds oddly mechanical, too. “I had to perform an abortion today. It was the right thing to do. It was the only thing to do. The girl wasn’t even of age, and she didn’t want to… I mean, not just the baby, before… And it’s my job, anyway, it’s not for me to even think... But they… It wasn’t just her. Someone did that to them, Alya. Someone like me. Someone like me looked at those girls, and thought… And did it. And I don’t understand anything anymore.”
He turns around to look at me, shaking his head so hard I worry he’s going to hurt himself, so I put my hands through his hair to hold him still. His eyes catch mine, and there’s so much need in them that something inside me breaks and all the stuff I feel for him comes out. Turns out that there’s quite a lot of it, and most of it is burning hot.
“No. Not someone like you. You’re nothing like that.”
“Because I’m a plant?”
“It has nothing to do with that. Evil isn’t something you are: it’s something you do. And you don’t.”
“But I could.”
“But you don’t. That’s the only thing that matters. People who think they are good only because they are too weak or scared to do evil are full of shit. The issue isn’t whether you could do that or not: it’s whether you would. And you wouldn’t. Not in a million years. Plant or no plant.”
His shaking stops. He slowly relaxes in my hands and leans over until his cheek is resting over the top of my head. He’s fucking heavy, but I wish he’d never move.
“I’m glad I’m a plant, though.”
“I’m glad, too. I’m glad of everything that makes you you.”
“The world feels ugly.”
“It is. But it also has people like you in it. You make up for all the ugly.”
He chuckles. “I do?”
“Yup.”
“And Dee?”
“Yup. Big time.”
“And Rody?”
“Don’t push it.”
He snorts, gets off me, scoots his ass along the seat, and lies down with his head in my lap. I look down at him. He really needs a haircut, a good feeding, and a couple of hundred hours of sleep. The lines at the edge of his eyes are etched deeper than I remember. Maybe they were always like that, and I didn’t notice. I have never paid enough attention to him. He calls himself a plant, and I’ve treated him like one: taking him for granted, reaping the benefits of his presence, and giving him nothing in return. Thinking that puts a big knot in the middle of my chest. I know that if I try to talk I’ll end up making a scene, so I keep quiet and stroke his forehead instead. He lets off a huge sigh, the corners of his mouth curls up, and slowly his head becomes about three times heavier.
When the guys come back to find where we got to, I have a dead leg and he’s fast asleep.
Moving back to the tower should be the easiest thing in the world. All we have to do is grab our readers and lie down on our cots in our cupboard instead of on our beds in our room. There is no actual work for us to do, because Rody was right: the Pollux lot have very little in the way of medical needs, and they are self-reliant and highly organized. All we have to do is be there for them. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
Maybe it’s because they have lost everything – their homes, their dreams, their families, their community, everything that made up their lives – and they are still standing. Maybe it’s because they carry their hurts with such dignity. Maybe it’s because they make me feel so worthless. I can’t fucking help them; all I can do is witness their hurt and their recovery, and I am not brave or strong enough for that.
Dee is both. She spends a lot of her time listening and weeping, letting people’s stories flow through her, releasing their tears out of her eyes. It takes a lot out of her, but it gives them so much. By herself, by being herself, she’s giving them more than the rest of us put together have yet managed.
It hurts me to watch her go through it, but it’s beautiful, too. It hurts almost as much to watch Rody and Nate watch her go through it. Nate’s eyes are pools of grief. I wish I could protect him from this, but I can’t, and he knows how to let feelings flow, anyway. He’s doing better than the rest of us. Rody is the one who is suffering the most. He would walk over hot coals to spare Dee from this, but that would do no good, so he just watches her do her thing, torn between pride and anguish. His expression is harrowing, and far too close to what I see on my own face when I happen to walk in front of a mirror. Whatever is coursing through Dee is spreading through us, tying us in a net of too-big feelings, taking our bodies and our hearts and crashing ferociously against every bit of resistance we put up. This is reality: people harm people. This is also reality: people can help people get better. And all of it hurts.
I spend my days with a lump in my throat and in my heart. I am ashamed of how little I can do, how puny I feel standing in front of this cataclysmic reality unfolding around me. I know what would make me feel better: being able to fix some shit, to slay some monster, to actually do something, to fool myself into believing that I have some control, that I can have an impact on the world. When the opportunity comes, I am so relieved, so exultant, that my shame reaches an unprecedented level. I don’t have time to indulge in it, though, because there’s serious shit to do.
The problem is simple: some of the Pollux refugees are under age and have no adult relatives who can take responsibility for them. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that they are all injured, too: judging from how these people take care of each other, I think we only got the kids who needed professional medical help. The adult Pollux refugees, being third-classers, homeless, and jobless, can’t adopt them. Their future, such as we see it, is a Youth Sorting Centre – not Alecto, because a place like Alecto is too good for them. From there, there is a chance that if they excel at their training they might get a job somewhere, get the opportunity to make and choose their own life, but it’s a chance so slim it’s practically transparent.
Dee finds out as soon as they do. She is so close to them that they have no compunction about telling her, even though they don’t expect her to be able to do anything about it. They are just sharing their present with her, same as they shared their past. They probably expect her to accept their fate, same as they do, but they don’t know her well enough: she’ll accept what can’t be changed, but she’ll fight against everything else with every ounce of her strength, using all available resources. Which is why she gathers all the facts, arranges them neatly in her brain, and comes to me.
“Alya, honey, this isn’t going to happen.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Make it not happen.”
That’s the dragon I have to slay, and I am so happy at the prospect I could burst. I know how the Fed operate: every conceivable problem has a direct, clear, inflexible solution. I also know that the Fed lack imagination as much as they lack heart. We can’t fight them head on – well, we could, but we’d lose. We can’t appeal to their tender sensibilities, because they don’t have any. I have something they don’t have, though: I’m an underhanded, devious piece of shit whose greatest joy in life is bending rules to their breaking point. If there is a crack in their system, I’ll find it, and systems that rigid always have cracks. I’m finally in my element.
I take a h
iatus from classes and coursework and park myself at a monitor. It takes me just a few hours of digging around Fed procedures to devise a reliable course around our obstacle. Enlisting enough support to make it practical takes mere minutes. It all seems so simple, so achievable, and so fast, until Dee and I find ourselves in the Chancellor’s anteroom.
My plan seemed perfectly sensible in the med bay, when I was talking to the guys about it, but the more I think about it, the dodgier it sounds, and the more wound up I get. Being eyeballed by the Chancellor’s secretary isn’t helping my confidence. She has a way of looking right through people, as if she were measuring flaws and taking notes. More importantly, she controls the Chancellor’s door. He is busy at the moment, and has left instructions not to be disturbed unnecessarily. If we want her to buzz him, we have to tell her why we’re here.
I take a big breath and go for it. “It’s about the Pollux refugees. As soon as they are fit to travel, the kids are to be sent to a Youth Centre.”
“I am aware. I have their transfer orders.”
“They don’t have to go. They are all over sixteen. They can be adopted and emancipated.”
She squints at me. “Would you care to explain yourself?”
“They can’t be emancipated straight up, because they are wards of the Fed and the Fed don’t allow that. But if they are adopted, the person who adopts them can emancipate them. The kids would have to prove that they are financially independent and remain so until the age of eighteen, or they’ll go into Fed care, but that’s a piece of cake.”
“A piece of cake? Unhealthy and not readily available?”
“No. It’s easy. They’re all miners’ kids. They grew up watching their parents work. Most of them have been working alongside their parents for years. There is plenty of work at the mines here, and they prefer hiring locals because it’s cheaper. All they need is an adoption and a job offer, and they can be emancipated. It’s simple.”
“I am not entirely sure the Chancellor will agree.”
“Maybe not, but we’d like the chance to explain it to him.”
She purses her lips. I think she is suppressing a smile. “You already have, dear. He has been listening all the while.”