by London, Lia
“Coming down with a cough?” Nothing in his tone spoke of concern.
“No, Doctor. Just trying to warn my palate that space food is coming.”
Dag’s rolling laughter lifted me down the hall, and we reached the cafeteria jostling like old friends. Entering the line with my tray, I noticed immediately how the servers eyed me with a mixture of curiosity and warmth, both of which I’d never experienced before. Was it because I was with the medic? Did they think I was someone important? A dignitary’s daughter?
I scoffed at myself inwardly. At my age, no one would take me seriously if I tried to lead. And who would I lead, anyway? Gypsies? Colonists from Caren? Queen Levia and John Glenn might be my ancestors, but I did not possess their skill or opportunities… did I?
Near the end of the buffet, the light on my tray went on, indicating I’d taken my allotment of food by weight. “Who came up with this artificial appetite measuring system, anyway?” I asked, not masking my annoyance. Hunger had followed me from the ferry until now.
Dag furrowed his brows. “I’m not sure, but it’s genius, really. Most of the healthiest foods are also lighter. You can eat a whole bowl of leafy greens for the same weight as one processed vitamin bar.”
“But aren’t the fresh vegetables more expensive out here in space?”
“Yes, but on the resident decks, fewer people want them.” He gave a mock shudder. “Dirt and all.”
I may have stared at him for a full five seconds. “You are not the typical spacey medic.”
Did he blush at my comment? “Time working on the Quarantine deck has opened my eyes to different perspectives.” Tilting his head, he directed me towards an empty table by the long wall of windows. “Why don’t you tell me about growing up with a gypsy mother and a colonist father?”
I bit my lip and slid my tray onto the table, sitting down to face the stars. “Actually, it’s the other way around.”
“So, Glenn is your mother’s maiden name?”
I held my breath and nodded.
He sat down, his elbows resting on either side of his tray, and eyed me thoughtfully. “And is Glenn a very common surname on Caren?”
Either he would be for or against my family, but he was unlikely to stab me with an eating utensil in front of so many witnesses. I needed to come clean.
“I am a Glenn of the Carenian Empire. Queen Levia was my grandmother.”
Dag clasped his hands, resting them on his lips, and studied me with obvious interest. “That explains quite a bit.”
Tense, I lowered my voice. “Are you going to turn me in?”
His brow lifted. “Why? To whom?”
“There are still those out there who want to make sure my family never again rises to power.”
Amusement twisted his lips. “Are you planning a hostile takeover of the Granbo Charter Council?”
“Are you worried?”
“Only that your dinner is melting.” He grinned. “So, what’s it like growing up in a multicultural family?”
His verbiage surprised me so much I choked for a brief second. “Multicultural. That’s a nice way of saying it.”
“Is it inaccurate?”
“It’s exceedingly accurate.” I eyed him. “But spaceys don’t usually use such diplomatic terms when discussing either colonists or gypsies.”
“How about you don’t view me through the lens of every other spacey you’ve met, and I’ll return the favor?”
I nodded and took a sip of water, trying to hide my blooming smile.
“Why did you pass me through Quarantine so quickly?”
Dag shrugged. “You were clean and disease-free.”
With a measured tone, I challenged, “I’ve always been clean and disease-free when boarding an ICS, but my father and I are invariably detained for much longer, sometimes the entire voyage.”
His eyes darkened. “Your father is the gypsy. Are his physical characteristics more visible than yours?”
Again with the clinical, precise language. “His skin is darker, yes. And he’s got the curly hair.”
Dag closed his lips around his fork with a frown. With insane patience, he chewed every morsel before swallowing. “That’s probably your answer.”
I suppressed a growl. “The prejudice is really that strong?”
“Isn’t that why you disguised your heritage with your hair up?”
“I suppose.”
“Anyway, I think I’d refer to it more as a culturalism. There are darker skins in the system, particularly on Tye, where you’re headed. But it’s the wandering that worries people.”
Appetite gone, I placed my hands in my lap. “They call us dirty. That’s a skin thing.”
“Yes and no. ICS dwellers have little pigment for lack of sun, and yes, it’s a very sterile environment—of necessity, I might add. We don’t have the luxury of fresh breezes blowing airborne germs away in quite the same way as an open area on the Surface might. Anyway, some think—”
“Many. Most I’ve met,” I insisted.
“Most you’ve met,” he conceded, resting his elbows on the edge of the table. “But I believe the ‘dirty’ to which the ICS culture refers is more of an ideological one. Gypsies spread philosophies and cultural peculiarities from place to place much as someone might carry a virus or lice.”
I gave him a sour expression. “Ideas are parasites?”
Dag’s half laugh came apologetically. “If they burrow into people’s minds, they can wreak havoc, you know.” He softened this with a wink, and I gaped at this open-minded spacey. I’d never imagined such a person existed. It gave me hope for Levia’s dream of uniting people across the System.
What would it take, I wondered, to open a better dialogue between the various peoples orbiting the Granbo star?
Dag seemed to watch the thoughts cross my face and leaned closer. “Do you like to read?”
I tried to guess his reason for such a query. True, most people couldn’t read as well as our ancestors had. Only those with educations relying on past information bothered to move past the most rudimentary reading levels. So much of Granbo communications involved iconography or holographic displays.
With too much defensiveness in my voice to sound mature anymore, I said, “Perhaps you assume too much. I’m a gypsy. Can gypsies read?”
Dag wagged a finger at me. “Half gypsy. I can’t imagine anyone of the royal Carenian line reached adulthood without learning to read and do any number of traditional tasks.”
My eyes darted around the room. “Can we go somewhere else? I don’t think the Arxon population at large needs to hear about this.”
He lowered his voice as if understanding my concern. “I don’t think we should leave the food so untouched. Waste earns demerits on the Arxon. We have limited supplies of everything after all.”
Reluctantly, we finished our meal in silence. As we returned our empty trays to the appropriate receptacle, he touched my elbow lightly, steering me through a different door than the one through which we’d entered. It took us into a narrower corridor with fewer doors, and consequently fewer people walking by. He gestured to our right and we paused beside a monitor where he tapped the screen awake and pulled up a map of the guest deck. He stood close enough behind me that I could feel his breath in my hair.
“Brita Glenn, our ancestors were adventurous to dive into space, but the generations following in that long voyage were forced into a culture of isolation. Outside of their ships spread the unknown. By the time they reached this planetary system, they lost their desire to explore and just wanted to settle down.”
“Not the gypsies.”
“They—you—are a different breed.”
I looked at him pointedly. “You do know the term gypsy was re-purposed from Earth, right?”
“Of course. It’s a cultural term now, not merely an ethnicity or nationality. Those distinctions are ancient now. But something else flows in your veins. Is there a gene for curiosity? It must be recessive in this part
of the galaxy.”
“That doesn’t make sense. After so long stuck in a box, I’d think everyone would want to get out and see everything they could.”
He shifted slightly to meet my gaze with a knowing sparkle in his eyes. “When the people from confined communities in space landed, they established confined communities on the Surface. Obviously, somewhere in those first ships was a group of people who became the first gypsies. They, like you, were ready to stretch their legs.”
“Why are you telling me this? I already know.” I knew. But I hadn’t ever thought of it all in his words.
Dag pointed. “This is where we are.” He moved his finger. “And this is the library. You might want to visit it.”
I studied the map. “Hmm. I suppose there are few more boring things to do on an ICS.”
A smile curved his lips up on one side. “It’s not a very popular spot on the ship.” He stepped back a little as someone entered the walkway, putting distance between us that left me feeling colder.
“It opens every morning at 0500.”
I grimaced. “That’s very early.”
“It is,” he agreed. “I think others must feel the same way because it’s always empty when I go there before my shift in Quarantine.”
His unspoken invitation sent a shiver of curiosity and something else through me. “That’s very interesting.”
“I hope so.” With another step of retreat, he gave me a small wave. “Enjoy your voyage.”
3 ~ The Library
I arrived at the new dorm room, my head swimming with a hundred new thoughts about life in our quadrant of the galaxy, and flopped down on the berth, grateful to see someone had delivered my belongings. A standard packing crate held my clothes, but I was more concerned with my patchwork satchel. Its bright colors clashed with the monotony of the dorm, and the rich scent and texture of the leather comforted me. This bag had been a gift from my father on my sixteenth birthday, and I loved it.
Now it cradled a precious cargo of tiny boxes and vials, each containing different curative blends used by gypsies from the Rik Peninsula on Caren. I wondered if Dag Artemus would scoff at them or acknowledge their healing properties as legitimate. If he did, he would be the first spacey doctor to do so in my presence.
With a sigh, I tucked the satchel carefully into the stowing drawer beneath the berth and sat jiggling my ankles with surplus energy. Alone, but not alone, because of a medic who didn’t walk in the mold of ICS dwellers.
It occurred to me that if Dag studied everything from medicine to ancient history to surface politics, the library data bases must be considerably better stocked than the few colony libraries I’d visited, which usually held just a handful of holographic consoles with links to data bases. A few of them provided information carried over from the long voyage from Earth, but most only included local customs, bylaws, and the unfolding history of a new brand of isolationism.
Claus taught me to learn what I could about the natives of each colony from these sources because it helped understand what they valued, whether physically, socially, or ethically. On Caren, perhaps because the land masses were larger, I’d discovered less variance in cultures. On the ocean planet of Tye, however, each colony’s island grouping had a very distinct flavor. The Ikekane chains, located near the central latitudes, were tropical and warm. The people, too, were uncommonly inviting. Languid lagoons and fresh air lured many people throughout the system to try something different, and the natives of Ikekane North were most obliging and hospitable about strangers invading their space. Of all the archipelagos one could visit from pole to pole, it was my favorite destination, and the safest one for my maiden voyage alone.
I glanced at the red digits illuminated above the door, a shipboard clock set to the 24-hour circadian rhythm of our ancient Earth heritage. The day’s length served as a happy medium in the system where each planet rotated at a slightly different speed. Doing the math, I figured I could capture a solid eight hours of sleep and still make it to the library as it opened.
I smirked at myself. What stopped me from going now? I could watch the holo-vids and then sleep late tomorrow. But I knew conversation with a certain spacey might await me if I braved the early morning hour.
OOO
The door to the library slid open without ceremony at precisely 0500, and I stepped inside, triggering the motion-sensors to light up the small room. My brows dropped with confusion. I saw no consoles to watch holo-vids. In the center of the space, shelving units formed an octagon, displaying their contents to banks of padded benches lining the room.
As I circled the shelves, staring at the black and white digi-pads stacked on them, I wondered if they contained anything about Levia. What bias did the records show? Did they see her as heroic?
A door slid open opposite where I’d entered. Dag stood there, his face tilted almost shyly. “You came.” His voice held a note of both surprise and relief.
“I came.” Standing taller, I felt a wave of self-consciousness wash through me.
Except for his spacey-pale skin, he appeared rugged. A few weeks in the sun would do him good. Very good.
“I’m so glad,” he said, his voice quieter than necessary given our solitude. He met me in two strides. “What do you think?”
“Think?” I blinked. “Of what?”
Dag encompassed the room with a sweeping gesture. “The library.”
“I’m still trying to figure it out. Where are the consoles? All I see are digi-pads.”
His lips quirked up on one side. “I thought you said you could read.”
“Actually, you assumed it. But yes, I can.”
He clapped his hands together. “Then pick a subject. Any subject. What do you want to learn about?” He began pointing. “The sciences cover these three shelves. History, anthropology, and philosophy are there. Fine Arts are here.”
I arched a brow at his enthusiasm. “Why isn’t all this in the ship-wide data banks?”
Dag swept the hair from his eyes. “I guess this particular set of archives is deemed irrelevant because it mostly deals with colonist experiences. The Arxon execs don’t think it’s worth clogging up the system with something that is only of interest to transient passengers.”
“Uh huh. Transient passengers and quarantine medics.”
He grinned. “Shouldn’t I know as much as possible about the people I’m tending?” For a moment, I heard my father in his words.
“Yes. Yes, you should,” I agreed. “Is there anything about gypsies?”
His smile broadened. “Do you doubt it?” Crouching low, he grabbed the last four digi-pads on the bottom of one of the shelves.
“Four whole files?” I gave a mocking gasp. “So much knowledge.”
Dag’s shoulders sagged. “Is it my fault?” He wagged the pads between his fingers. “And really, if you ask me, these should be incorporated in the other sections. There’s one all about their historical interactions with the fanep species which should really be under the marine biology materials.”
“They’re not animals,” I countered, bristling a little. Even though I’d never encountered a fanep up close, I knew the indigenous species of Tye was more than spaceys recognized.
Dag cocked his head to one side. “Do you own one?”
I shook my head. “They’re not pets, you know. You can’t own a sentient being of that caliber.”
“But the files say the gypsies domesticated them.” He sounded genuinely doubtful but not contemptuous.
“Well, they’re very smart. Smarter than dogs.” I shrugged. “But they’re wild. When they associate with gypsies, it’s always on their terms, not ours. We’ve never had one choose to follow us, but I’ve heard of it happening.”
“Aren’t they dangerous?” His body language tensed.
I eyed the digi-pads in his hands. “Those must not have many facts in them if you don’t know that. Have you ever even seen one? They look like miniature humans.”
“With sharp
teeth and retractable claws,” he added.
I couldn’t argue with much more knowledge, though. “My cousins have interacted with several and swear they are at least as intelligent as we are, but I’ve never met one. They travel in swarms, though. In the waters of Tye and the trees of Caren. I’m told they’re alarmingly resilient and adaptable.”
“Huh.” Dag settled onto one of the benches and turned on one of the digi-pads. “Fascinating. I should re-read to see what’s in here.”
I sat beside him, slipping the other three pads from his free hand. Across the top of each, I could see engraved titles. My eyes widened at one. “Gypsy Medical Practices.”
Dag perked up. “Yes, isn’t that interesting? Do you know much about it? I understand they’ve found all kinds of natural remedies for some rather significant illnesses. Our synthetic vaccinations are inadequate with the most virulent strains…” His voice trailed off.
“What?”
“Do you?” His face beamed with unrestrained excitement.
“Do I what?” Heat climbed my neck at his intense gaze.
“Know about gypsy remedies?”
His eagerness sent a wash of pride through me. A spacey sincerely interested in something I knew. Something uniquely gypsy in nature. “I do.”
Dag swallowed and turned to me like a child about to beg for a treat. “Do you think you could teach me?”
I held up the digi-pad. “This didn’t have what you needed?”
He shook his head. “It’s all written by colonists who didn’t consult directly with gypsies. There are gaps in the knowledge. Details.”
Beaming, I handed the digi-pad back to him. “Sure, I’ll tell you anything I know. And you can teach me more about the ICS system and the Granbo Charter as you understand it.”
“Sounds boring.”
I bit back a smile. “I’m sure the teacher will make it interesting.”
4 ~ The Comet
Over the next two months, Dag and I passed many hours together, either in the library or the cafeteria, the two rooms that afforded us both access. I taught him the properties of different plants and how to combine them for restorative purposes. He was most interested in Rik leaves and their effect on brain function. Earlie syrup also provided many pharmaceutical benefits, though earlie trees were much harder to reach than Rik trees. And, of course, he was intrigued by red-armored oyster pearls. Rare and extremely potent, the crushed pearls contained miraculous curative powers.
