Fairweather

by Jones, Raya

  ‘It’s what we do that isn’t,’ I managed.

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘Not harmless. What we do with things is not harmless.’

  He stared at me.

  ‘I must go to Phoenix-3, Freedom.’

  ‘Earth? Why, what for?’

  ‘Yoko left something in local storage I must retrieve.’

  ‘Yoko?’

  ‘That was her name when she died.’

  ‘Yes, I know that. But how do you know?’

  ‘I’m the Retriever.’

  ‘Right, okay, but if you’re going to Earth, I’m coming with you.’

  ‘You’ve promised yourself never to go back.’

  ‘Promises are made to be broken. There’s no danger for me on Earth, only bad memories. I’m overdue for an early retirement anyway. Do you know what you’re looking for or is it a wild Tracker hunch?’

  When I didn’t answer, he said quietly, ‘One day you’ll tell me your personal connection to all this.’

  I said nothing.

  He said loudly, ‘I’m frozen to the bone. Next time you want a secret rendezvous in my own home, please let me know the dress code. Won’t do you any good if I catch my death of hypothermia before we even set foot on a ship.’

  Back in my room I rolled out the mat. I deliberated whether to rig an alert to warn me when he approached the room. In the end I didn’t, and didn’t even close the door. I wanted to continue to feel safe with him a while longer. But I couldn’t put out of my mind how he looked at me when watching me without my knowing, unaware that he was caught on my camera. I logged into my childhood’s toy-box and messaged myself: Freedom Cordova is a Russian doll too, identities within identities. I didn’t want to forget that. I liked him too much.

  Then I opened the record of the social workers’ visit for the first time since posting it there.

  Why did they expect me to be a girl? Why did they think there was a mystery about my birth? I raked their networks. All the case files were still there, duly archived, as if nothing had to be covered up. There was a psychologist’s profiling report advising that I was probably female, based on my avatar and other clues, and that my mother probably didn’t tell me who my father was. The name they had for her was an alias she used when I was a toddler. She sometimes told people that she’d been kicked out of ET for selling passwords to OK. Sometimes she told other stories. It was plausible that she’d been killed for the reason that Boss Ben believed, and that her death had no connection to my Harvey avatar being tracked down.

  ‘Did you ever find out who your sponsor was?’ Freedom’s voice came from the doorway.

  I logged out. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘To attract your attention so you won’t accuse me of voyeurism. Care for breakfast?’

  When we sat down for breakfast, he said, ‘I’ve been awake all night thinking. Mostly thinking about how someone like you becomes what you are. Here, read this. A little poem I wrote when I couldn’t sleep, just for you, very personal.’ He passed me a folded piece of paper across the table.

  I unfolded it taking care that its content couldn’t be captured on camera. It was handwritten: Your sponsor might be implicated in what you’re looking for. ‘Nice poem,’ I said, smiling, and tucked it into a pocket. ‘I don’t know who my sponsor was.’

  He smiled back. ‘I sponsored someone once. Would you like another round of toast?’

  When I got up to make it, he said that we’d have to get us an android maid. It was a routine joke of his, although there was no reason why he didn’t have a domestic android. For the first time it occurred to me to wonder why he didn’t own anything manufactured by Cyboratics.

  He waited until I came back with the toast before saying, ‘You know which corporation your sponsor belonged to. You’ve been told when you graduated in case you end up investigating them.’

  ‘I didn’t graduate. Do you know who you sponsored?’

  ‘It wasn’t you.’

  ‘I didn’t enlist as Al.’

  ‘I don’t know their name, but it wasn’t you.’

  ‘How can you tell if you don’t know their name?’

  ‘It was too recent. And you,’ his eyes twinkled mischievously, ‘you’re ancient. The Mystic Seeker has been around forever. Some say he was born in the dawn of civilization. Some say, even earlier, in the mists of the internet.’

  I couldn’t help smiling into my piece of toast.

  He merrily grinned to see me smile, and went on to reading his mail.

  When I started to clear away the table, he said cheerfully, ‘On second thought we won’t get us an android. I don’t buy from Cyboratics. I hope your sponsor wasn’t one of them.’ He was getting at something, but I couldn’t fathom what. I asked him whether he could find out who my sponsor was. He retorted, ‘Can’t you, O Fabulous Tracker?’

  ‘Not without breaking too many regulations.’

  He reasoned that since I didn’t graduate, he could offer to sponsor me to complete my training. He’d request to see my file and it should have information about my previous sponsor unless that person had made a special request to withhold it. But he needed to know my name.

  Freedom could easily press the CSG to find out my official name. For all I knew, he already had. I revealed that it was Jexu Jiu.

  He laughed uproariously. ‘Like the deodorant?’

  ‘I’ve heard all the jokes.’

  ‘I bet. Is that why you dropped out of the academy?’

  ‘Could be,’ I muttered.

  ‘No, it wasn’t. You’re too hardy. You can take teasing. Going to Ground Zero will be a trip down memory lane for both of us.’ Startled, I stared at him—and found myself face to face with the other Freedom, the one that until now I had glimpsed only in fleeting moments when he believed I wasn’t watching. He said plainly, ‘That deodorant was a limited edition. They tried it out only on Earth. It probably didn’t sell well because people were not sure how to pronounce it when they read it off an advert on mute. It’s meant to be a sophisticated Jessu Joo, not Jigsaw Jew,’ he mocked my pronunciation. ‘Gee whiz, I don’t wake up one morning and decide to call myself after a shaving cream or shampoo… Sorry, sorry. You’ve heard it all before. I’m glad you’ve told me your name. Last night I had a reply from my good friend in RK-17 about your “real” name, shall we say “real” for want of a better word? Do you mind if I continue to call you Al?’

  ‘Please do,’ I mumbled.

  ‘Figure this one, Al. What are the chances that out of all the trillions of humans in the universe, by sheer coincidence two men will cross paths twice in a lifetime in two different star systems?’

  I stared at him blankly.

  ‘You’re not with me yet. Well, you didn’t sleep last night either. Shall we call this supper and have breakfast in eight hours’ time?’

  Four hours later he knelt by my mattress shaking me awake.

  I followed him to his living quarters.

  ‘You’d better sit down.’ It was going to be bad news. He was halfway through his lunch when a news item made him stop eating. He replayed it for me. An interstellar ship operating between Ronda and Proxima was heavily fined for a cryonic malfunction that had killed a passenger.

  The passenger was Haüyne.

  The nearest amenities centre was a Milkwood deep-space mall, three hours away in Freedom’s runabout. He went there a few times a month ‘to get out of the house,’ as he used to say. Previously I had no inclination to join him. Now I said, ‘Let’s go to Milkwood. I feel like getting out of the house.’ He understood. During the journey, we could speak freely. The route took us through a dead zone in the asteroid field, where signals were cut off. When we entered it I told him about the message that Haüyne had found and the CSG tag.

  He listened gravely, and then asked, ‘Do you think she found out what it is?’

  ‘I can’t imagine how she could. Only CSG high management know this tag.’

  ‘And you. Are you sure you’re not CS
G, high management perhaps?’

  I stared at him puzzled.

  ‘You’re not even denying it.’

  ‘I can’t imagine being mistaken for a chief. I’m freelance. I work closely with them. That’s how I know.’

  ‘If you say so. And now you think that your meddling has got her killed? You’re looking for facts: how it was done, who did it. You should be asking why anyone should want to kill her. Think reasons and motives. Was she a threat to someone or is it a message to you?’

  ‘That’s how conspiracy theories are born,’ I objected, ‘people pinning motives on partial facts.’

  We didn’t talk much the rest of the journey. The runabout was on autopilot most of the time, and we took naps. I woke up to an argument between Freedom and a port officer who refused to let him dock. Freedom subscribed for a reserved bay, but forgot to notify them of our arrival, and the bays were full up. I listened to him adamantly argue that he was paying a premium rate and they can chuck out someone who’s paying a lower rate to make room for us. He, Freedom Cordova, wouldn’t be shoved to a free-for-all dock in Milkwood West and pay their astronomical charge when he was already paying through the nose to have a place guaranteed right here in Milkwood East!

  It went on for some time.

  He noticed that I was awake. ‘Oh good. You’re the rules-and-regulations guy. You tell them they can’t do this. It’s a breach of my consumer rights.’

  I told him that the port officer was acting legally and he, Freedom, was in the wrong.

  ‘I know that. But I’m damned if I let them know.’

  ‘Let’s just go West for now,’ I suggested wearily.

  ‘It’s on the other side of the sector. Who thinks up designations like east and west for places in deep space?’

  ‘Milk Boon Interregional.’

  ‘Do you have to be so literal?’

  I suggested that we go home instead.

  ‘That will be giving in to them! I don’t give up so easily. Don’t look at me like that. Okay, let’s go home.’

  There was little to do on the way back. He tried to make light conversation. ‘You’re so quiet. How can you stand sitting doing nothing? At home you’re constantly working.’

  ‘I can’t work here.’

  ‘So you just switch off like an android between chores? Oh well. I overreacted back there, didn’t I? I’ll be embarrassed to return to that place.’

  I didn’t comment, and we didn’t speak until nearing his asteroid. ‘That’s odd, I usually get the home signal by now,’ he grumbled.

  Before long we had visual contact. ‘Strange, no lights. Damn. Damn. I don’t believe it!’ he gasped.

  What are you supposed to say to someone who returns home to find it razed to the ground? Parts of it were still smouldering. There was nowhere to land in the wreckage. I didn’t know what to say.

  As if reading my mind, he sighed, ‘You could say, “Welcome to my world, Freedom Cordova.”’

  ‘My world?’

  ‘Having no material possessions other than what you carry on your person. Damn. Damn. I don’t believe it.’ He went on like that for a while. ‘Luckily for you, you’ve had the foresight to bring all your gear,’ he glanced askance at me. ‘You are not even protesting the insinuation.’

  ‘What insinuation?’

  ‘That you had foreknowledge of this.’

  ‘I don’t go anywhere without my gear.’

  ‘Strangely, I believe you. Is it so you won’t be caught in this situation again?’

  ‘I was never in this situation.’

  ‘Maybe not a house, but once you did lose everything. Your world suddenly collapsed around you, everything familiar was gone. Twice in a lifetime, eh? The universe is full of quirky coincidences.’

  I thought he was speaking about himself. ‘Do you mean when you left your post on Luna?’

  ‘No, not at all. It was my decision to leave Luna and there was nothing sudden about it. It took me years to make the career change.’ Speaking, he switched off everything but the life support so that we could talk without being eavesdropped. ‘Read the old allegations against me again. I wasn’t innocent.’

  ‘I know. You weakened OK’s foothold on Earth. But there was no violation of the Code of Practice. Do you think that this might be retribution by someone in your clan?’

  ‘I don’t know. That’s why I’m hiring you… can I hire you?’ I nodded. ‘How do you get paid?’

  I pointed out that he needed his money to rebuild his home.

  He exclaimed, ‘Al, wake up! Switch your brains on. I can’t rebuild my life here. I’m a hunted man! This has happened in the last six hours. Where are the emergency services to find out if we’ve survived? Are you with me yet? I bet the official inquiry will “discover” that the gravity generator blew up.’

  ‘It was fine yesterday. I checked it before our picnic.’

  ‘Exactly my point! It’s foul play. Maybe you were the target.’

  ‘No. Not me.’

  ‘It doesn’t make sense that I’m the target. I haven’t been involved in politics for decades. What do we do now?’

  ‘I’m going to Earth.’

  ‘We’re supposed to be dead.’

  ‘We’re not.’

  ‘Should I use an alias? They’ll keep coming after us if they find out we’re alive.’

  ‘They know we’re alive.’

  ‘Because I filed the complaint against Milkwood port authority?’

  ‘No, because they waited until after we left.’

  ‘How can you be so sure?’

  ‘We are not dead.’

  He was silent for a while, and then advised me to check out Phoenix-3 public surveillance archives of fourteen years earlier. Such records are kept locally. I had to wait until we got there. ‘You’ll know the date to look for,’ he said. ‘If you don’t remember it, look for the date I left Ground Zero when leaving Sol for good. I took the spaceport shuttle from Terminal 37. That was when I found out that Suzie was dead.’

  When I didn’t say anything, he said, ‘You’re supposed to ask how I’ve found out. It was by pure chance. I usually tell an amusing anecdote about a skinny kid from the slums, eleven or twelve years old, who jaunts into an executive lounge. A social worker meets him there. I can overhear them from where I’m sitting. She asks for his name. He sees an advert for a deodorant behind her. Funny, no?’ he asked without mirth.

  ‘I was thirteen. You’ve never told me this “funny story” before. How long have you known?’

  ‘Only since yesterday, was it yesterday, when you confirmed your name. I passed near you in the lounge and you gave me a strange look like you’re doing now. Check out also footage of the mall at Terminal 37. I went there earlier with the wild hope of bumping into Suzie again. A gangster and his entourage came in. I was right behind you when you queued for the portal. That’s how I found out that the woman you knew as Yoko was killed. Was she in his gang?’

  ‘No. She did hacking jobs for him.’

  ‘She was a true survivor. You too. I saw how he held your hand and I saw the other boys with him. When I saw you later with the social worker and overheard that you were going to the moon, I knew you’d given him the slip. I’ve told the amusing story once or twice, but I never tell the other story. It’s too personal. I thought at the time: if a child can get away from a paedophile gangster and make a decent life for himself, I too can reinvent myself. How we delude ourselves. Except you. You did get away.’

  ‘It’s catching up with me now,’ I mumbled. I didn’t use the name Al since escaping Boss Ben. What has possessed me to give it to Freedom? It was like a password to misadventure.

  ‘You did get away from that man,’ Freedom was saying. ‘Don’t forget that. You knew how to contact SocServ. If he still has a hold on you, it’s only because you don’t let go of it.’

  ‘It’s not what you think. What he did to me was worse than sex. He made me watch what they did to Yoko’s killer.’

&nb
sp; ‘So that’s why you were shaking so much? You know, finding out that Suzie was dead was one of those moments that stay crystal clear in your memory, my memory. I remember how he complained that she compromised him by getting killed. You had to retrieve something for him. I remember something else too. He called you Al.’

  His gaze fell on the instrument panel and he sighed. ‘And I’ll tell you another thing, Al. We can’t go anywhere. I meant to refuel in Milkwood.’

  The emergency services towed us to Milkwood West. We checked into a cheap inn. The room was windowless and bare plastic. The only fixtures were power sockets and a basic hygiene unit. But there was no surveillance. That’s why I always choose places like that. In better hotels guests are monitored for their own peace of mind. Freedom insisted that he felt safer staying with me. ‘Welcome to my world, Freedom Cordova,’ I said when we entered the room.

  I hardly left it during the following week. When the two bedrolls we hired were spread out, the floor was completely covered. But with one bedroll rolled up there was enough floor space for my mat. I was online most of my waking hours and didn’t stop when Freedom came in to sleep. He lay on his bedroll watching my silent movements as I navigated realms he couldn’t see. ‘Don’t you feel as if the walls are caving in on you?’ Freedom asked on the second or third day. I told him that it was just somewhere to hold my body. Logged in, I don’t see much of the physical surroundings, and cyberspace is boundless.

  The official inquiry into the explosion on his asteroid was still in progress a week later, but it pointed to a maintenance malfunction. The only question was who should be sued. Freedom didn’t mention his suspicion of foul play to his insurers. He continued to run his classes and keep in touch with his friends through public portals. He brought me food and drink.

  Then he started to bring food and drink for both of us, saying that it reminded him of our meals together at home.

  He spread assorted snacks on the floor between us and complained about 1Step Teletek. His body might be interfered with in their hold. I asked him whether he wanted me to hack their internal surveillance. ‘I never know when you’re joking,’ he grumbled. ‘No, I’m just jittery. I don’t like being in the virtual not knowing what’s happening to my body in the physical. Same as you. It bothered you so much when I let it slip that I used to watch you working. But you don’t mind it now.’