Among The Stars (Heinlein's Finches Book 2) Page 15

  “You’re going near shops?”

  “Yeah. I’ve got a list as long as your arm of crap Jameson has convinced himself he needs. It’s going to be like a damn scavenger hunt. He reckons we’re out of credit, so he sends me shopping. That’s logic for him.”

  “Can’t you just get it for me, then?”

  “What? No! Don’t you want to pick it?”

  “I wouldn’t know what I’m looking at, anyway.”

  “I could explain it to you.”

  “I’d still be relying on your judgment, wouldn’t I? Just go for it. Please?”

  “Oh hell. If you’re sure.”

  “Yes! Please.”

  Alya looks questioningly at Tom, who nods. “Please. He isn’t going to calm down until this is sorted. We seriously don’t have a clue. And I’m about to kill him if he doesn’t stop this crap.”

  “Ok, then. I guess.”

  I can hardly wait for her to get back. Tom can’t stand to have me near him, but he can’t avoid me either. Kolya threatens me with a whipping. They don’t really mean it, even if they did I wouldn’t care, and even if I did there’s nothing I could do about this.

  I’ve never had anything worth anything. I’ve never been able to hold onto anything. At home it would have gotten thrown out the window the first time the motherfucker got angry at me, and in juvie they would have taken it away. Only thing I’ve got that’s worth a damn is Raj’s guitar and that just came to me right out of nowhere. Knowing that I’m buying this with my credit, that I’ve earned it, makes it feel different.

  When Alya comes back I’ve not finished work yet. I see her walking into her ATR carrying packages. I don’t even know if my stuff is in there for sure, but it might be, it just might, and it’s going to be hours before I can see it or even know if it’s there and it’s the best and the worst feeling ever.

  I think so, anyway. Kolya and Tom don’t approve.

  “Your friend, he gets like this a lot?”

  “Sometimes. Well, you’ve seen him the last few weeks. He runs hot or cold, nothing much in between.”

  “And you live with him how many years?”

  “Someone’s gotta. I mean, I occasionally want to kill him, but someone’s gotta take care of him.”

  “Never I meet a kid so up and down. Like a ride on a bad ship. But he’s a good kid.”

  “At least he’s not boring.”

  I wave my hands in their faces. “You two do realize that I can hear you, right? I’m right here.”

  Kolya pats me on the shoulder. “You say this, but I don’t think is right. You are far away. But this is good. You are not so rigid.”

  “He’s completely loopy, though,” sighs Tom.

  “Yes, but not rigid.”

  I might try and give a crap about what they’re saying, but Alya’s coming over and she’s smiling and giving me two thumbs up and then laughing, and I know she’s laughing at me but I’ve not heard her laugh in days and anyway this can only mean one thing and it’s just fucking fantastic and everything else can go hang.

  “You did it? You really did it?”

  “Yes. I hope you like it. It’s not the best in the world, you know, not on your budget. For the love of all that is holy, stop bouncing! You’ll scare the horses!”

  “Does it have, like, all the bits?”

  She laughs again. “Yes, it has all the bits. If you give me your keys I can set it up for you.”

  “You would?”

  “Unless there’s something awful in your bunk I shouldn’t see.”

  “Yes please!”

  “Oh-kay. Breathe. Calm down. At least try.”

  She walks off with my keys and I get back to work. I try to focus and be calm and professional and I think it mostly works, because Kolya doesn’t kick me out until after we’ve finished moving the animals for the second show.

  “Go home. Now. Before I have to kill you.”

  “Thank you I will totally make up the time tomorrow or whenever you want thank you!”

  “Go. Now!”

  I rush back to Alya’s ATR and knock at her door, and she’s there, so I rush back to my bunk and I have to wait until she gets there for her to show me how it all works.

  “Ok, kid. I figured you mostly would be sprawled on your bed like a good teenager, or in the middle of the room bouncing around, so the speakers are set kind of in-between. All attached to the walls, so they don’t get wrecked during a move. The player is not, though, so you’ll either have to store it or take it with you. And you didn’t ask for it, but I got you a portable speaker for when you’re on ship, because I figured you’d miss it on long trips. You wanna try it out?” I nod and she takes a memory card out of her pocket. “You sure you wanna try it?”

  “Yes please.”

  “If you’re really, really sure.”

  “Alya, please stop it.”

  “Ok, then. If you’re sure. Card is a mixed bag; I just put on a lot of stuff I think is good. You might not like it. If you find something you like, tell me and I’ll get you some more.”

  I’m so wired waiting to see what will come out, because Alya listens to all sorts, that I hesitate, my hand hovering over the ‘play’ button.

  “Come on, kid. It’s a bit pointless otherwise.”

  I press the button. It’s nothing like anything I’ve ever heard. It comes at me from all sides. It’s all around me and I want to ask Alya what it is and what it means, but I can’t because the music has gotten inside me and all I can do is let it flow.

  I’m vaguely aware of Alya watching me listening, but the music is too big for me to do anything about it.

  Tom and Kolya turn up and perch on my steps. Kolya closes his eyes and nods, while Tom whispers to Alya “Did someone die?”

  “Nope.”

  “Then why the fuck are we listening to this?”

  “Philistine. No hope for you.” She gets up and budges the guys off the steps. “I’m out of here. I think I broke the kid. He’s got about twelve hours of music on that card, but I bet he’s not going to get past Bach tonight.”

  They all clear off and leave me in the middle of al that music. Tom comes back after a while. I nod at him, or try, but my body is still being carried by the music. He just looks at me from the doorway for a bit, then smiles and walks away.

  When the life support alarm goes off, he comes back to shut my door. I would have totally remembered to do that for myself, eventually. The power goes off shortly after and the player stops working, but by then the music is in my bones anyway and it keeps playing and playing, carrying me along with it until I’m finally too tired to hold on and I fall asleep.

  As soon as the power comes back on in the morning, I turn on my player. I figure I can get some listening in before work, but I’d forgotten about Tom being a giant pain in the ass. He barges into my bunk without knocking, grabs my foot before I can react, and pulls me off the bed. I barely manage to stop whacking the back of my head on the floor.

  “What the hell?”

  “Out. Now. Breakfast. I know you’ve got a new toy and I get this is exciting, though I don’t get what you get out of listening to those dirges, but you’re not going to go all weird on me again. Out!”

  When he gets like this it’s easier to go along than to argue, and the last few weeks have proven him right way too often. So I get up to eat breakfast with him. I even keep up a conversation. He doesn’t have to know that the music is still playing in my head, that maybe, hopefully, it will never stop playing now.

  At lunchtime he drags me to the café. The boys are sitting at one table, talking away in a foreign language. I try to listen in, but the only words I catch are words Kolya says a lot and Alya made me promise never to repeat. Tom goes to sit with a bunch of artists, mostly girls. He doesn’t even say hello to the boys. They ignore him back.

  It’s my first time there and I want to make a good impression, so I turn the music in my head way down low so I can really pay attention to the conversatio
n. Going in, I’m worried that these people may start asking me a ton of questions, particularly because I’m not sure what stories Tom may have fed them. I don’t want to contradict his version of events. Turns out that I was worried over nothing. Everyone here seems to be in the conversation just so they can have a chance to hear their own voice. All but two girls, that is. One listens and nods and laughs and scowls in the appropriate places, but hardly says a thing. The other one, one of the four dancers we picked up in Anteia, doesn’t even bother pretending that she’s following the conversation. She must be the quiet one Tom mentioned. She’s brought a reader with her. Judging by the sidelong glances she throws at it, she’d much rather be reading if her etiquette would allow it.

  I can’t fault her, really. All these people are talking about is other people, people on show who aren’t there. If the stories they are saying are accurate, then those people have rather exciting lives. Still, as I don’t know who the hell anyone is, neither the people sitting here nor the people they are mentioning, all I can do is try and respond with the appropriate facial expressions and the occasional nod or grunt.

  I assume they know who I am. Tom didn’t introduce me. I guess I’m supposed to pick up their names as I’m going along. I wish I knew the quiet girl’s name, though. And just as I’m thinking about that, Tom slaps me on the back hard enough to nearly make me choke on my food.

  “Yeah, Luke got it yesterday! It sounds pretty good, too.”

  “So, are you having a party tonight?” asks one of the dancers, simpering at him.

  “Of course. After the last show. Are you going to come?”

  She giggles as if he’d said something terribly witty. I think she likes him. I’m glad for Tom. Although he goes on about girls as if they were as interchangeable as socks, I think he actually wants a proper relationship. I wish them the best of luck. I can’t help comparing them with how Raj and Alya were with each other, though, and this feels horribly staged. For a moment the memory of what came and went takes the breath out of me. I’m sure Tom would wallop me one for that, but he’s too busy flirting and organizing for a bunch of strangers to invade my bunk without my permission. The quiet girl gives me a bit of a look, though, so I feel compelled to smile at her. It’s probably not my best smile, because it’s quite hard to make my face wear it, but I do what I can.

  I can’t say I’m glad when the meal is over, but that’s only because I don’t get a chance to say a damn thing. Tom is babbling about the damn party and the damn girls and how we could make my bunk more presentable and how in the hell we’re going to get drinks in when the legal drinking age is twenty-one on this godsdamn hellhole.

  “Luke, I’ve got it. Can you ask Alya to get some for us?”

  “No way. She hasn’t let me touch a drop.”

  “Nicky?”

  “He’s not going to do something she disapproves of that much.”

  “What exactly is her problem?”

  “Dunno. Could be she’s just strict about laws, but I doubt it.”

  “So we’re stuck?”

  “I’d be stuck anyway. I have zero credit to invest in your social life.”

  “Our social life.”

  “Still don’t have any credit. I could knock up some food, though. And you could ask whoever’s coming to bring drinks.”

  “Isn’t that a bit weird?”

  “Not half as weird as a party with no food or drinks.”

  I expect I’m going to hate every moment of this. I’m pretty territorial at the best of times. The thought of a bunch of near strangers crammed in the only space I’ve ever had that’s mine and mine only makes me feel very aggravated. And if anyone dares to touch my sound system or my guitar, they’ll learn the error of their ways. Alcohol takes the edge off things, though. By the time I find myself shoved in a corner of my bed with dancers squashed either side of me, I’m pretty happy about how things are going. Tom’s in the other corner with the girl who thinks he’s funny. They seem pretty happy too. I’m still finding it damn hard to think of anything to say, though. What the hell do you talk about with people you barely know and have only seen gyrating on command?

  I realize that there are four of them and I can only see three. Unless she’s buried under somebody, the quiet one is missing. That seems a reasonable topic for a conversation.

  “So, your friend didn’t want to come?”

  They both giggle. Hey, it’s not just Tom being funny. “No, she’s probably in her bunk reading.”

  “Does she read a lot?” More giggling. Could it be I’m good at this?

  “All the time. Boring, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t know. I guess it depends on what she’s reading.” This time their giggling fit seems to go on forever. Although the alcohol insists that I’m doing great, a nagging suspicion starts to emerge that they may be laughing at me, not with me.

  The one to my right pokes me. “You like her, don’t you?”

  “I don’t really know her.” Seriously, I’ve never even exchanged a word with her. What the hell are they on about?

  “Tommy said you’d like her.”

  Fuck you, Tommy.

  Also: Tommy? I’m going to call him that tomorrow and see if I still have all my teeth by the end of the day.

  “Honestly, I don’t know her.”

  “But you’d like to know her better, wouldn’t you?”

  Think think think this feels like a trap but they’re looking at you and waiting for you to say something so say something you twit but don’t say the wrong thing shit what is the right thing shit just say something now.

  “I guess?”

  They giggle some more, then they turn around to talk to the guys to the other side of them. It’s beautifully synchronized. If I liked the sight of girls blanking me out, this would be a real treat.

  Godsdamned Tommy and my godsdamned brain. I need more alcohol.

  I stumble off my bed and tiptoe my way to the booze and the door. I manage not to step on anyone, which I’m classing as a win. I wonder what the time is. With a bit of luck, this lot will have to clear out soon. I’ve had my social moment and now I want my space back, but I’m not clueless enough to think that I can just turf them. As Tom – Tommy is apparently trying to crawl into that girl’s mouth, he’d hardly appreciate me interrupting them. Gods, I’m tired. I hope he gets a screen or a steady girl or something so I don’t have to do this too often.

  I’m sitting on my bunk steps rubbing my eyes and trying to convince the alcohol to either make me socially brilliant again or dull my brains enough that I won’t care, when Nicky pops out to go to the ‘fresher.

  I remember way too late that I’m holding a drink I shouldn't be anywhere near, but I'm not drunk enough to try and hide it now. Gods, I hope I’m never drunk enough to fudge things that badly. Instead I try to convince myself that my drink is perfectly legal and smile at Nicky as I do when I’m not worried about getting busted. Either it works or he doesn’t care about what I’m doing, because he smiles back and walks over.

  “You kids having a nice time?”

  “Yeah. Bit crowded, though.”

  “This why you are outside of your bunk?”

  “I just needed some air. Space.”

  “This is me. Every time there is party, I end up in kitchen.”

  “Sounds like a good idea to me. That’s where the food is, right?”

  He pats my face. “I am glad you have Tom. He gets you out of kitchen. Maybe next time you take Alya, too. She needs party.”

  “Shit! I didn’t invite her. But we didn’t, like, not invite her? I mean, she’s always welcome. You too. You two know that, right?”

  “Is not your fault. She also is girl in kitchen. She is sad now, not in the mood for party. So she needs party.”

  “Fuck. If we do this again, I’ll make sure I go and ask her.”

  “Do not take no for answer.”

  “Are you kidding me? You want me to try and make her do something she doesn’t wan
t to do? Are we talking about the same Alya?”

  He chortles. “Is easy. You just have to know magic.”

  “Magic?”

  “Magic word.” He pats my face again. “You work this out. When you are sober. Bad kid. Have fun.” And he walks off and into his bunk.

  The alcohol hasn’t done its damn job. I still feel antisocial and crowded out. I try opening the door to my bunk and going in there, but I honestly can’t bear it. Instead I grab my guitar and drag it out with me. They’re going to have to fuck off soon and leave me alone. In the meanwhile, I can carve myself some private space right here.

  I run through a few warm-up exercises, scales and stuff. Raj told me that playing cold is bad for your hands, though Alya said that with our job there’s no hope for our hands anyway. I like the warm-up, either way. It helps me cut out the rest of the world, to make a space and a time for just me and the guitar.

  After a few minutes my headspace shifts and I start running through the tunes I know. There’s a weird disconnect between me and my hands. They have a will of their own, but they’re playing better music than I can, so I leave them to it. I can sit back and listen to what they’re making instead. It’s pretty good.

  I’m tired, though, and I don’t know many songs, so it doesn’t take me long to run out. I’m not in the mood to try and work through anything I don’t know, so I just stop.

  It’s only then that I remember that I was out here for a reason, and that the reason was a bunch of people in the bunk right behind me. There’s no music coming out of there. When I turn around, the door is open and they’re all staring at me.

  Fuck.

  Ok, so this wasn’t part of the plan.

  The life support alarm goes off right then. It’s the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard, because it makes everyone fuck right off. I get off my steps to let them pass and feel like a damn fool greeting people on the way out. Darling Tommy and whatever-her-name is are last. I briefly wonder whether he’s going to get her to go to his bunk, but she follows the herd down to the opposite end of the site.

  Tom stands next to me watching her walk away, then turns and tousles my hair, which I fucking hate, so I push him off me with my free hand.