by Robin Banks
“Mara? She’s great.”
“She’s terrifying.”
“She’s efficient.”
“If you’re not careful, you’re going to grow up to be like her.”
“Not a chance. All my friends are shitheads.”
He squeezes my hand and drops it. “You’re not wrong, baby girl.”
“You know, if anyone else called me that…”
“Yeah.” He grins. “I’d fear for their front teeth. But you’ve got a soft spot for me. It makes me feel special. I’ll miss you, I really will. And I hope that, when it comes to it, you’ll miss me as little as you anticipate.”
McGee’s departure unsettles me, but it’s not because it results in his absence; the real issue is what his absence indicates. Reggie let him go because the Fed have pegged him down as some kind of freak and want to check him out, but also because he didn’t need him all that much. All the cadets have passed their basic floating qualifications. All the Patrolmen have gone, bar the ones who got jobs at the Academy. Some of the Pollux refugees are still around, but they are on their way out, too.
Before the Pollux deal hit us, we were just halfway through our stay here. Now we’re mere weeks away from the end of the year. Dee and I have done nothing to sort out what we’ll do next. We have collected a ton of credit without realizing it, because Martyn and Reggie managed to get us paid for our work in the med bay, but we have no plans and no direction.
That’s not the worst of it. The realization that is clutching at my throat is that we are staring at the end of our world. For the first time in my life I know that home isn’t a place, but the people in my life. I hate the thought of that. I hate the thought that my happiness may hinge on what someone else does. It’s always been the case with Dee, I guess, but somehow the problem isn’t diluted by having more people I care about. In fact, it’s worse. If we have to part, my heart will split in two – two and a half chunks, if I have to be honest, because I’m going to miss Rody – and there is not a damn thing I can do about it. There’s not even any point in wondering whether it’s all worth it or not, whether all the good stuff that came from this is worth bearing the cost of its loss, because I couldn’t stop myself caring about Dee and Nate, and that asshole Rody too.
I keep telling myself that it was always going to come to this and I should have seen it coming, but that doesn’t help. It all sucks, and the suck is building up and accelerating, coming at me harder and faster every godsdamned day.
5.
One of the few advantages to living with Rody is that the guy has virtually no filters. It pains me to admit it, but it’s not unusual for us to think the same things. I tend to keep them to myself, though, while he blurts them out at the least provocation. That’s why when Dee finally walks into our room, wretchedly late and somewhat disheveled, I don’t even consider telling her off. I know Rody has got this, and I’d rather it was him taking the flak.
“What time do you call this, young lady?”
“It’s a bit late, but…”
“A bit late? You missed dinner. And our game. You know that these two gang up on me when you’re not around. You were with your redhead again, weren’t you?”
Dee’s face says it all, which is more than Dee’s mouth has: she hasn’t said a damn thing to me about any women of any coloring, which means that this is serious. I’ll be damned if I ask her about it, though. If she wanted me to know about it, she’d have told me already.
I also know I don’t need to ask because this type of consideration never bothers Nate. He beams at Dee, as oblivious as the day is long, and blurts out, “What redhead?”
Dee pushes her lips tight together, scowling at Rody, who responds by doing the opposite of what she clearly wants him to. “Dee has been befriending the Pollux wench with the green eyes and the fearsome grin.”
Nate nods. “Oh, cool! Her lung capacity is terrific.”
Rody blinks at him. “I don’t suppose that’s a thinly-veiled reference to her rather ample bosom.”
“What? No! I had to log the results of her health check. Her lungs are great. Her blood pressure is … Why are you all looking at me weird?”
“Nothing, my darling boy. It’s just that the lady’s vitals aren’t the issue at hand. Our Deeqa isn’t planning to harvest her organs.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t do that. Not without a full health scan, anyway.”
“Nate…” Rody sighs. “Don’t worry about it. But you, young lady, don’t think you’re off the hook. You like that redhead. Don’t tell me you don’t, because it’d be a blatant lie.”
Dee scoffs rather unconvincingly. “I like her well enough.”
“And she likes you back.”
“What of it?”
“So you could be friends.”
“We’re friends now. We talk.”
“I’m well aware of that, but it’s not what I meant and you know it.”
“What am I supposed to do if she doesn’t suggest anything?”
“Suggest something yourself. Check your reader: this is 2468, not 1468. Women can take the initiative.”
Dee crosses her arms over her chest, which means that she knows that she’s in the wrong but she’s determined to stay there. “She’s a woman, and she hasn’t. What am I supposed to tell her?”
“What about ‘hey, how about it?’ I know it’s not original, but…”
“No. That’s like saying ‘hey, talking to you is fun, but you know what would be really fun? Getting naked and doing the nasty.’”
Rody plops himself into his seat, feet on the table. “The wording could use some work, but yes, that’s the general idea. What’s your problem?”
“It’s not appropriate!”
“Are you sure you’ve not been spending too much time with our Nathan? You’re turning into a plant, my girl.”
“I’m not! I just don’t see how I could possibly introduce the possibility of, well, extraneous activities into our conversations when I don’t even know if she likes me.”
“Of course she likes you! You two have been spending every free moment you have together for days, and some of the time when you’re technically not free, too. Were you not the best girl in the world and one of my favorite people, I would have told you off about it. What do you talk about, anyway?”
Dee glides into her seat, her arms still firmly crossed. “You won’t believe me.”
“Of course I will!”
“No, you won’t.”
“Try me.”
“Terraforming. We talk about terraforming. And Terra, too.”
He squints. “Is this a euphemism I’m not privy to?”
“No.”
“Huh. OK, so that’s not what I had in mind, but whatever. Why in the hell do you talk about terraforming, of all things?”
“I’d never thought about it. It’s fascinating. On Terra you didn’t need to buy your air. It was there for the taking, by anyone. Rich people, poor people, and anyone in between all breathed the same free air.”
“That’s not technically true. Rich people breathed better, cleaner air since the Industrial Revolution, if not sooner.”
“But air was free. Poor people couldn’t run out of air just by running out of credit. As soon as you were born, your air was guaranteed. Water too, more or less.”
“In the 21st century, one in ten people on Terra didn’t have access to clean drinking water. And that was before things really went to shit.”
“But they had water. They didn’t have to buy it.”
“Water you can’t drink isn’t much use, lovey.”
She doesn’t seem to hear him. “And the food on Terra just grew out of the ground. You didn’t need labs and vats to grow it. You just waited until it was ready to eat, you picked it, and you ate it.”
“The land belonged to somebody. So did the food that grew on it. If you picked stuff that wasn’t yours, you were a thief, and were treated accordingly. Terra wasn’t a community; it was an agglomeration o
f warring factions stuck together on one planet against their will.”
“People could start out with virtually nothing and survive. Even thrive.”
“That was then, and this is now. We’re not on Terra. Starting out with nothing in space means that you end up with nothing, and dead. The resources you need to establish a colony are staggering.”
“That’s because the game is rigged. Just look at what happened on Pollux! The colony didn’t fail because it couldn’t support itself. It failed because the Fed charged them with so much debt that they couldn’t meet the payments. If they’d charged them at cost…”
“The Fed aren’t a charity. If they charged new colonies at cost, there would be no incentive to establishing any.”
“Apart from the fact that people would have decent places to live, for a change. Do you know what it’s like being a third-classer on a tube?”
“Not personally, and neither do you, but I’m sure that it’s no better than being a third-classer on a colony. That’s not the point. Third-classers aren’t citizens. You know that. We’re tolerated as long as we’re useful, but we aren’t welcome. We certainly have no rights to… Well, to anything. Everything belongs to the Fed, and third-classers aren’t a part of that.”
“And you think that’s right?”
“No. Of course I don’t. But that’s how it is.”
“It doesn’t have to be. Humanistic terraforming would change that.”
“Humanistic terraforming? What the hell are you on about?”
“The creation of self-sufficient colonies whose main purpose would be to benefit the people living there, regardless of class. Any surplus could be used to create more self-sufficient colonies. If the focus was on tailoring habitats to human habitation, rather than on profit-making…”
“Then the Fed wouldn’t be the Fed anymore. You remember their motto, right?”
She rolls her eyes. “Of course I do. It was carved into every available surface back on Alecto.”
“Then you know where they’re at: ‘creating improved quality-of-life options for our Citizens through long-term stakeholder value creation.’”
Dee shudders. “Don’t remind me. Seriously. Every time I hear those words I vomit in my mouth a little.”
“Can’t blame you. Every time I hear the ‘together, in unity’ bullshit I can’t help thinking that they missed a trick. ‘Together, impunity’, seems more accurate. But do you know what it all means? They’re not about to start sponsoring self-sufficient communities. It’s just not going to happen. So where would the initial resources come from?”
“Some planets managed. There are plenty of non-Fed colonies. Anteia, Phrixos, Rhea…”
Rody interrupts her. “Phaedra, Halcyone, and a smattering of ex-Fed stations taken over by people so desperate that they thought it was a good idea. Girl, I know my astronomy. Do you know your history? Do you know why those places aren’t Fed?”
Her voice gets smaller. “I know that Pollux isn’t Fed anymore.”
“This is what your redhead is talking to you about: bloody revolution?” The second Dee’s face crumples, he’s off his seat and hugging her. “I’m sorry. I was only joking.”
She hugs him back. Her voice is still shaky. “You weren’t. But you’re not wrong, and that’s not what I’m into.”
“I know that. Maybe it’s not such a bad thing that your redhead is going to get cycled out soon, hey?”
“Maybe. But her theories on terraforming, though… Imagine if worlds were made to support people, instead of the other way round. Free air, clean water…”
He gives her a squeeze and lets her go. “Food growing right out of the ground. Yeah, it’d be heavenly, wouldn’t it? But we won’t live to see it.”
“You’re right: we won’t. But it doesn’t mean that it’s not worth working towards. If I could do something to push the machine in the right direction, even if it’s only a tiny little bit… Or if I could do something to just help some people, so they can help other people… I think I should.”
“That’s an honorable goal.”
“No, it’s not. It’s selfish. I know that if I don’t do it, or at least if I don’t try, I won’t be able to live with myself. Trying may not get me very far, but not trying feels wrong. I’d call it sinful, if I believed in sin.”
Rody stares at her, nodding to himself. “You’re right.” He turns around, biting his lip so hard he lives a mark. “Nate, I’m quitting at the end of term. I can’t be here anymore.”
I hear all his words and each of them make sense, but my brain can’t process them as a whole sentence. Dee doesn’t seem to be doing much better: she’s frozen solid, still holding onto Rody.
Nate mouths off soundlessly for a little while before he manages to engage his speech faculties. “What do you mean you’re quitting? You can’t quit. You’ve got a year to go!”
“I don’t. I have a year to go if I want to be a Fed medic.”
“And you don’t?”
Rody shrugs. “Yes and no. Nate, those people from Pollux got a bum deal from start to finish. They got sent to a new colony to run a godsdamned mine with two medic assists. That was it. And they weren’t even good medic assists, not like you: they were just two poor mugs who weren’t good enough to get a training position anywhere. That’s really messed up.”
“And you quitting your training is going to help that?”
“Going out and actually using my training to help people may make a difference. To some people at least. Here I’m useful, but I’m not needed.”
“Godsdammit. Am I hearing you right? You want to go grubbing?”
“Not necessarily. I want to work with third-classers, though. They’re the ones who need medics the most and get them the least.”
Nate’s face keeps flickering between his little frown and wide-eyed concern, until it settles on a tiny, mirthless smile. “OK. I get you. It makes sense.”
“You’re not angry with me?”
“No. Of course not. But I’m going to miss you.”
“You’d miss me anyway. You’re going to be out of here, same as me.”
“Yeah, but… Martyn is going to kill you, you know that?”
“He put up with me for three years. He’ll be fine.”
“He won’t have a fourth year.”
“He can have two first years instead.”
He looks at me out of the corner of his eye, and I have to say something. I don’t want to be a factor in his decision.
“Count me out. I’ve had all the time in the med bay I could handle. It’s not for me. It makes me too angry.”
Dee chimes in. “Same here. Well, not quite. It makes me too sad.”
Rody sighs and shrugs. “Well, that’s it, then. Martyn is going to kill us all. He was counting on us.”
“He still has the Bens,” murmurs Dee.
“It won’t be the same, and you know it. Heh. He’ll understand. He has been somewhat disenchanted with things lately, to put it mildly. I’ll speak to him, if you guys are sure.”
Dee and I look at each other. We haven’t spoken about this. Now that I let the words come out of my mouth, I find that I can’t take them back. I don’t know if she reads my thoughts or my face, but it amounts to the same: we nod at the same time.
Knowing what we don’t want to do doesn’t get us any closer to knowing what we’re going to do. However, it does slam the reality of our situation right in my face. At the end of term, our lives as we know them will be over. Maybe Dee and I will manage to stay together, but we’ll likely not. Nate will have to leave here for sure, unless a vacancy opens in one of the med bays out in the bubbles.
Rody is the only one of us who really wants to leave. Maybe that’s why he is the first one to find an assignment, although that could just be because nobody much wants to do what he proposes. Hard work for low pay in dangerous conditions isn’t everyone’s idea of a career move, but it’s his. After sifting through more offers than the three of us tog
ether are likely to see in a lifetime, he picks one that isn’t too likely to kill him but will allow him to make enough of a difference. Nate approves of his choice, though it’s obvious that he doesn’t like any part of this. That’s Nate, though: provided we’re not self-destructing, he’ll support us no matter what.
Rody’s assignment is the first step towards the abyss. It doesn’t change our situation, but it makes it feel more immediate, more final, and it sets Nate into action. Nate and Rody have been living together for three years, during which time they have accumulated the stuff that turned their room into a home, the stuff that made our collective life so comfortable. They’d both be happy to let us have it all if they could afford that, but they can’t, so they will have to take what they need and sell the rest. It’s not a simple process. A whole lot of what they have belongs to both of them, or has been theirs so long that they either can’t remember or don’t care about who it actually belongs to. It’s the kindest, gentlest separation I’ve ever witnessed, but watching them systematically dissect three years’ worth of shared life makes my stomach cramp up so tightly that I just can’t bear it. I opt for the sensible, mature solution: I make myself scarce so I won’t have to see it.
I don’t have much to do, but I find reasons to be out as much as possible so I only get home to go to sleep. Walking around the bubble is good for me, anyway; it helps me think and stops me from feeling quite so much. That’s fine, until I am forced to walk through the door at night and find that our room is a little more barren, a little less like a home and more like a temporary resting area – if I could rest there. This place feels so impersonal and transitory that I can’t get any rest at all. I blame the guys for that: I’d never known how nice it is to have a home before I met them. It was silly of me to fall for it, anyway: it was always temporary. Everything is. We don’t have the power to hold on to anything, including each other. I should have known better.
It takes Dee a few days to work out what’s up with me. When she does, she’s not precisely impressed. She collars me as I’m trying to sneak out after breakfast, drags me in a service closet, and lets me know what she thinks of my behavior. It takes her quite a while to express it all in detail, but the gist of it is that it’s not OK for me to go off brooding because we have so little time left to spend together, thereby wasting that time. I can’t work out whether she’s more upset or angry, because it all comes out in a flood of tears and stern words. I try really hard not to respond in kind. I want to be angry at her for all the feelings I’m having, for the way I find myself so fucking weak all of a sudden, but that wouldn’t be fair. I also want to throw myself at her and cry in her shirt until I’ve ran out of tears. That wouldn’t be fair either, though the real issue is that I know how easy it’d be to start and how hard to stop. I shut up and take it instead. When she’s finally done, we walk back together to our room. Seeing the light come up in Nate’s eyes when I walk through the door makes my insides clench.