Jonah insisted they continue, but wore earplugs to muffle the sounds, but they still pierced through and he found himself again screaming out in pain. His harsh protestations had caused their skin to burn as well. He was shown the welts. In time, everyone recovered. The beings decided they would not leave the station and land on the planet itself. They simply used their own recording devices to absorb the music of earth. They called it eating. For four years, he spent hours with them as they laughed and cried while listening to Indian ragas, jazz symphonies, Chinese operas, Moroccan love songs, European concertos. They requested many singers and musicians be brought to them so they could converse. Only a half-dozen agreed.
There had been only one item traded that session. The Auralites had offered a tonal instrument that seemed to have the ability to numb the senses. It was an effective analgesic and showed promise in the medical field. In time it would yield great profit, or so it was thought. However, in the seventeen years since the trade, only one musician had yet been able to master it and she could only keep the tones playing for periods of thirty minutes to an hour. It was enough for minor surgeries, but no more. No one was angry, since the Auralities left with only a compendium of recorded Earth music. They seemed quite pleased with the value of the trade. Indeed, one of the envoys apologized repeatedly, feeling that the Auralites were cheating the Earth people. Jonah’s superiors, on the other hand, were quite sure that they had gotten the better of the deal.
Jonah hoped this session would go as well. He thought it would. Enrishi was convinced that they shared the same root spirit, the same direction. Jonah was sure he could make a good trade deal.
4.
“We can share life’s breath,” Enrishi said, offering a small flask to him.
They sat on the mat on the floor. He was cross-legged. She sat with her feet curled around her hips. This time she did not reveal her head. Jonah would have preferred a chair. Enrishi would have preferred her own ship. They both tried to look at ease.
“I cannot.” Jonah was almost rude in his response, but quickly recovered. “Forgive me. I may not take before I have given.” The water had to be tested. They had drank asteroid water before, indeed miners had drained the ice from a passing asteroid six years ago. It was fine. But still the science officer insisted that the water be analyzed in case the Voyagers had enhanced the liquid.
“We are home,” she answered. “This is,” she paused looking for the word, “asteroid water. Our supply was replenished on the asteroid we call Deep-with-ocean. I believe on your star charts it is Artemis. The water there is sweet without the fire of star or the dust of comet.”
“Perhaps another time.” Jonah felt his cheeks become hot. Enrishi loosened the scarf around her head, and a soft breeze flowed. Jonah caught his breath and tried to keep his voice even. “Perhaps you would have some of our water. We could trade. It’s been purified by River’s Return.”
“River’s Return? It comes from a water road, then?”
“Well, maybe once. I mean maybe, because maybe it is desalted ocean too. You never really know, but the company that markets it ensures it’s purity. They are named River’s Return.”
“Where did you find this River’s Return water?” She was genuinely confused.
“We didn’t find it. We bought it from a passing supply freighter. They tour the satellite stations and give us food, water, entertainment, supplies.”
“You make a value exchange for water?”
Now the man paused. “You mean do we buy it? Yes.”
“If water is given, what is returned?”
“Credits.”
“Credits?”
“Money.”
“Ah.” She nodded that she understood. “A contract of promise.”
“No, not a contract, just credits, and then whoever gets the credits can use them to buy something else, say clothes or fuel or to pay a worker’s salary.”
“What is a salary?”
“We all work and we are given credits for our work, for our time. My time now is paid by the Xavier Mineral Retrieval Incorporated.”
“Your time is not your own.”
“Not during work hours.”
“So right now you are a slave.”
Jonah chuckled. “Some would say so.”
For the first time, Enrishi was afraid. The coven had deduced that they were slavers, but Enrishi refused to believe. They were so advanced, she told them. Listen to their music, look at their communication modes. They had spaceships and stations. But the coven focused on the weapons. Only slavers need so many munitions, they warned.
Jonah stared. Her skin was changing from green to grey. He knew that this was not good, but he did not understand the problem.
“No, no, I was only joking. Some people joke that we slave for our wages, our credits, but it is not real slavery. I work for credits and then buy whatever I need.”
“Are there those who do not have life’s breath, I mean, water?”
“Some have more, some have less. Some water is better, some is not as good. But all humans must have water to live. It is as you say, life’s breath.”
“Then how do you make value exchange?”
“Everything has its cost, its price, its worth.”
“We only know the giving.”
“But when you give, you expect a return. That is all we do. We buy water, the company gets credits. They give the credits to a worker who takes them and buys whatever he or she needs.”
“Water?”
“Sometimes.”
“So you sell water so you can buy water? Why do you not simply have the giving?”
Jonah paused. How could he answer the question? His earphone buzzed and then the commissioner’s impatient voice hissed out, “That is not the way of capital.”
“That is not the way of capital,” Jonah said, echoing the voice that spoke into his ear.
For the past two weeks, the Voyagers had debated moving closer to Earth and possibly landing. The history of the planet was one of discord and a distrust of differences. Although it looked beautiful, most of the old ones felt it was far too dangerous. It had been generations since the ship had neared a hospitable planet. Some Voyagers wanted to land, to see. Others felt nothing but destruction could come of it. It would be three Earth years of travel before they reached the Earth’s atmosphere. Finally they had come up with a compromise. Enrishi hoped Jonah would welcome the trade.
She spread her arms and he heard the familiar rustle that her clothes always seemed to make. “Water is a small part of our home. But you are home in water, home of water.”
She put her hands on his which were spread softly across his thighs. She turned them over and flattened her star palms close to his. They were dry but soft, almost like a piece of raw silk. She lifted her hands up and the rustling sound came again. Jonah realized it was her, like autumn leaves of the oak tree in the park where he played as a child. When she lifted her hands from his, a drop of his sweat hung from the glistening tip of one finger. He realized his palms were bone dry. In only a moment, she had absorbed all of the sweat from his palms. His mouth dropped open.
The earphone hissed. It was the doctor. “Damn you. She could be safe one day and dangerous another. No contact.” Jonah rubbed his ear and the plug popped out.
“You are home of water,” Enrishi said, seeming not to notice the small device that had fallen to the floor. She touched him again. He tried to pull his hand back but she had already wrapped her palm around his, enclosing it like a banana leaf wrapping sweet rice and mango. He felt moisture like a smooth lotion move into his palm. She lifted her hand and let it blow in the breeze.
“Water is life, and we can use some more life around here,” Jonah answered. Suddenly he heard a voice yelling from the floor, but could not discern the words. He knew the essence of the comment thought. The need for water was the one thing he wasn’t supposed to mention. He could express desire, but not need. How could they bargain now? How could they
not lose too much? Jonah hoped he could repair his mistake.
“We would share life with you.” Enrishi poured a thimble full of water into a translucent cup. She quietly passed it to Jonah.
“Don’t drink, you fool!” The voice came out of a wall speaker.
Enrishi jumped. Jonah drank.
“It is so sweet. Our water is recycled many times and tastes stale. I mean on the station, at home it is another thing.”
Jonah smiled weakly. Enrishi seemed not to care about the monitoring. She had regained her composure and was smiling.
“Why are you not home on the station?”
“I am at home. But not the same home.”
“Home is always the same. Only the –” Enrishi thought of the picture she should make. “– only the river changes, but the water is still always water.”
“Yes, but sometimes salty and sometimes sweet.”
“Sometimes cloudy and sometimes clear, but always water. That is life’s crossing.”
“Yes,” Jonah answered.
“Yes.” Golden tendrils danced on Enrishi’s lips. She covered her mouth with her hands. “You have given stories and we have received. We have given stories and you have taken.”
“You have let us see star charts and our scientists are very pleased. We would like to know how we can repay you.”
“We would have you in our home.”
“Excuse me?”
“We would have you in our home.”
“You want me to visit.”
“We would share a stream for a time. We give and are given.”
“One cannot trade life stream for water.”
“But do you not sell each other?”
“No,” Jonah said calmly as if speaking to a child. “We do not sell each other. Long ago we did. On my birth continent we had slaves into the twenty-first century, but not now. We are all free now.”
Jonah realized that he was out of his depth. He found the earplug and put it back in his ear. He hoped he had been discreet.
“You are an idiot!” the commissioner yelled. Then a spew of angry epithets followed. “Get a price that we can negotiate. This is no time for a history lesson,” the commissioner screeched, “Get a price, don’t accept it, just get it.”
“Your ear whines. I see it run colours. Perhaps you would cross tongues with those who cut roadways.”
Enrishi got up to leave. Jonah jumped up after her. “Did I offend you?” he asked.
“No, Jonah,” Enrishi spoke very softly. “But the one who lives in your ear crackles and hisses and does not share home.”
He scrambled for the right words. “I am sorry, but I do not know how to negotiate trade, so they are helping me. I am a translator, not a trader.”
“We are all traders.”
“Not on Earth.”
“All is trade, Jonah.” Enrishi moved towards the door.
“We have,” Enrishi unrolled a note hidden in the cuff of her sleeve and read, “one metric tonne of water. The coven has written out the details of trade.”
“Damn.” The commissioner was laughing.
“That’s what I want to hear.” The science officer chortled.
Jonah’s eyes grew big as he began to read the paper. Enrishi said nothing as he read, just stood at the door. Then she resumed: “These are the seeds we would trade. We want no more or less from this sharing.”
Enrishi turned and left the chamber.
5.
Jonah sat grim-faced. He had been on the Voyager’s ship for hours, maybe days. The last thing he remembered were the harsh words of the commissioner before he went to sleep. They were repeated for hours: “duty . . . responsibility . . . desperate measures . . . hero . . . no choice . . . only choice.” He had stopped listening after a while, heard the phrases only as discordant chords that irritated his spirit. Jonah left the meeting with the word “no” emblazoned in his stance, on his lips. He had, in fact, quit the project. When he went to sleep, it was in his own cabin. When he awoke, he was in a strange room with weights wrapped around his ankles and wrists that let him lie softly on the bed. There was also a shelf protruding from the wall and a computer console. The light was muted, as if it were dusk. There was a window that showed the stars, a window that showed his space station as a small green blinking dot in the corner of the oval frame.
Jonah was surrounded by crates that he at first thought were trade goods. He was surprised because there had been no discussion with him. He thought the Voyagers had indicated that he would be the only translator. Who on the team had arranged this transfer? The air was dry and cool. He got up to move and found himself much lighter than he had been on the station. He bounced around the room, hovering a few inches from the floor on each large stride. He began to open the boxes.
The first one was full of foodstuffs. What a surprise! What would the Voyagers want with dried apricots and marinated artificial meats? How could they digest grains, and what in the world would they do with fine cognac? Jonah began to tremble. He opened a third crate. He found his books and music disks, instruments and hologram portrait book, clothes and toiletries, and a communications radio.
There were six more boxes. He did not bother to look. What did it matter? It was obvious the trade had been made. He was sold for water. He was alone on an alien ship that never docked.
Jonah heard a soft chime and then saw a door open. Enrishi entered the room.
“Jonah, you have awakened. It is good. We are, excuse me, welcome home.” She saw that he was stiff and did not offer the handshake.
“This is not my home.”
“We are always home.” She bowed her head and let the cloth fall off her. He saw that she was frowning, that soft red tendrils glistened close to her scalp.
“It seems I am never to be home,” Jonah replied, his lips dry and cracked.
Enrishi carried a jug with five litres of water. She placed it at his feet. “We are always home.”
“This is kidnapping, you know,” Jonah sullenly responded.
“If you would drink, we would drink. If you would fast, we would fast.”
Jonah needed the water, but did not move.
Enrishi opened the squat jug and daubed the corner of her sleeve into the water. He saw it turn from a pale yellow to a deeper saffron. She then moved to him and put the cloth on his mouth.
“You are home to water,” she smiled. Then she put a small ladle into the jug and put the rim at Jonah’s mouth. He opened his lips and let it in. He had dreamed this water the night before, dreamed it as melting snow that he had rolled in, as a cresting river that he had rode, as a rainstorm that he had walked in open-mouthed, clothes drenched. Not one drop was wasted. When he emptied the ladle she refilled it and again fed him. Jonah could not resist. It was so sweet, slightly chilled without a trace of chemical aftertaste.
“Enrishi, I am a translator. I have trained for years. I am not a Voyager, I am a scholar. I have lived on the station for years. I don’t stay on a ship. In fact, I was to return home on the next freighter. I had given up my position. You understand, I was going home. I don’t want to be here, but there are others who would love to go with you. We have a captain who can navigate. We have a ship’s doctor, we have a –”
“We carry stories. That is our purpose. We need one who unfolds tongues. We need you.”
“How could you make me an object of trade?”
“There is always a giving. We have given a metric tonne of water to the station. We have given a communications device that will work so that you may talk to your friends for several Earth years. We have given star charts. We have asked only for you. Only for another with a tongue that can carry stories. It is a good trade. We have made a doorway for you. You have said that your blood is made of travel. Now, you do not have to work for credits. You are truly free. What you need we will give.”
“I was already free.”
Enrishi ignored him. “We will fill the Hall of Being with your stories. Our artists will b
raid your tales into the ship. You would become the forever of our journey. In time you will be engraved on the Tunnel of Passage.”
“Are there others on your ship who are not Voyagers?”
“We are all Voyagers.”
“Others who are not from the planet of your homebound?”
“We have traded for forty-one generations. We have known others. We have welcomed others.”
“Now? Now are there others?”
Enrishi again ignored him. “Our ship has been tethered for months. Our people grow restless for the swells of the sky winds. They want to move on. It has been decided. Do not worry, we will cross other life streams. If you choose you will join them and leave us. Perhaps one will be an Earth ship again. As the wave rises, we rise too.”
“So I am the sacrifice for the station.” Jonah spit out the words.
“What do you sacrifice?”
“My home, myself.”
Enrishi shook her head. A few of the red tendrils drifted and landed on Jonah’s cheeks, prickling him slightly. “But we do not take your home, we give one. Come, let me show you around. We will meet with my grandfather. Did I tell you he walked on an asteroid once, as a child? And wait until you see the Hall of Being. I believe you will like it. You and I are already there.”
Enrishi reached out and took his hand. He looked out the window and saw that the beacon light from the station was becoming smaller and smaller. “Come, Jonah, let me show you home.”
“Home?” Jonah began to cry.
“Yes, yes. It is so. We are always home.”
Carole McDonnell is an essayist, fiction writer, and writer of devotionals. Her book and film reviews appear online at thefilmforum.com, compulsivereader.com, and curledup.com. Her devotionals appear in Christian online and print magazines and also on faithwriters.com. Her short stories and essays have been anthologized and published in publications including the essays “Oreo Blues” in Lifenotes: Personal Writings by Contemporary Black Women and “That Smile” in Then an Angel Came Along. She is putting the finishing touches on an SF novel called The Daughters of Men and on Father Gorgeous, a Christian horror-romance. She is also currently finishing a Bible study called Scapegoats and Sacred Cows in Bible Study. She lives in upstate New York with her husband Luke (an illustrator) and their two sons.
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