by J. L. Hilton
She left him working on the blog while she went out the back door into the communal garden she shared with her blockmates. Filtered light poured in through the ceiling and illuminated the sunflower wall, the trellises of beans and cucumbers, and the columns of strawberries and peas.
Genny loved the garden.
Asteria Colony always had light because the planet was tidally locked and did not rotate, so there was a constant supply of solar energy. The glass windows in the ceiling contained filters programmed to lighten and darken throughout the “day” to mimic Earth’s patterns. At 1200 colony time, the garden appeared to be lit in the full light of noon. At 2400 it was dark as night.
Automatic sprinklers did most of the watering, and pests and weeds were nonexistent. But there were extensive interrelated systems which were essential, and those systems required tending. The bee hives, soil sensors, aquaponic fish, nutrient-release systems, water recycling machines, microbe and mineral levels, and the block’s composter all had to be checked and maintained throughout the day. There was also the work of constant harvesting, replanting, weighing, recording and storing of the food products. The blockmates shared an app for tracking their garden data, food consumption and inventory. Any surpluses would be sold or traded through the Asternet or the Colony Square.
Genny was picking raspberries and singing to herself when she noticed Duin standing in the shadows under the hydroponic potatoes, watching her. Glin were hunter-gatherers. They did not have cities or cultivation, so gardening was yet another fascinating human technology to him, like the Stellarnet.
“I’m not s’posed to be eating them until they’re weighed and logged,” she admitted with blithe guilt. “But I can’t help it. Raspberries are my favorite. I just have to make sure I pick as many as I eat, then double the weight and manually input the data. Can you eat raspberries?” She picked one and offered it to him.
“Yes.” He took the fruit from her but didn’t eat it. Instead, he cradled it in his hand, holding it out into the light where it sparkled like a jewel.
“I’ll make us some raspberry leaf tea tomorrow.”
“I won’t be here tomorrow. I have to leave for a few days. Colonel Villanueva has asked for more water.”
“But that’s perfect. I can go with you and—”
“No. It’s much too dangerous, J’ni.”
“More dangerous than shifting space in a metal box and living on a planet without any atmosphere?”
“Much more.”
“More dangerous than the risk of becoming an alien egg sac?”
This made him smile, but it didn’t drive the seriousness from his eyes. “Much, much more.”
She felt a flutter of worry in the pit of her stomach. He was flying a stolen enemy ship to an occupied world, after all. “But you’ve done this before. So, it’s not that dangerous.”
“Of course.” It was said in a tone both consoling and hollow of conviction.
“Please be careful.” She didn’t know what else to say. She wanted to hug him, but she didn’t know if Glin hugged each other or what hugging meant to them. Instead, she placed her hand on his arm.
Duin looked at her hand and then looked into her eyes. “Before I leave, would you finish the song for me? You were singing about a flower and a river.”
“Oh, right. I’ll l’up it for you.” She looked up the Irish playlist on her bracer, but he covered the display with his hand.
“I want to hear you.”
“I’m no singer.”
“I heard otherwise. Or is this something like tits, which we should not discuss?”
“No.” She laughed. “I just feel silly singing to someone else.”
“Singing is the expression of our emotions. When mere speaking is not enough. It is nothing frivolous. Please.”
It was the “please” that moved her. She’d never heard it spoken with such need in all her life. She tried to remember where she’d left off, and began to sing. “It’s not for the parting with my sister Kate; It’s not for the grief of my mother; It’s all for the loss of my bonny Irish lass; That my heart is breaking forever.” Then she repeated the chorus Duin must have overheard. “Red is the rose that in yonder garden grows, and fair is the lily of the valley. Clear is the water that flows from the Boyne. But my love is fairer than any.”
“Thank you.” He ate the raspberry with an air of reverence, as if he were taking communion. Raising his hand, he touched his fingertips to his forehead and then touched her brow. Without another word, he turned and left her alone in the garden.
Genny didn’t want him to go.
***
Seth wouldn’t answer her calls or her email. Whenever she l’upped his locator, he was unavailable. The location of military personnel wasn’t provided to the general public while they were on duty but Genny couldn’t decide whether he was working triple shifts or blocking her. It was a pain in the ass not knowing if she should feel sorry for him or pissed off.
Her forums were crazy with questions and discussions about Duin, but she couldn’t explain his absence. He wasn’t supposed to be transporting water in a stolen Tikati ship, and the colonel wasn’t supposed to be accepting it. Instead, Genny blogged about Asteria Colony.
“The homeless shelter was too dangerous,” one colonist told her during an interview. “My cousin was killed there, and my mom died waiting for a doctor to regenerate her kidneys. I was offered a sponsored relocation and I took it.”
Another told his story. “One night, during a riot, they started grabbing people and shoving us into blocks. We had no idea where we were going, or what to do when we got there. One guy, I think he died of a heart attack. He started freaking out during the space shift.”
“I thought they were sending us to Mars,” said a woman who had become a minor celebrity on Asteria and changed her ID to Demona DeViant. “But they shifted us out here. The block I arrived in was one big room, with a toilet and a sink for, like, fifty people. I made friends with a woman who had her own compartment in another block and we do porn vids.”
Genny was editing the blog post about Demona when she heard Duin’s voice on the other side of her compartment door.
“J’ni, I am here.”
She jumped up from the table to let him in. This time, she did not hesitate as she did in the garden, but threw her arms around him. “You’re all right.”
“I am mostly right,” he corrected in a very tired voice. “But I will not be all right until Glin is free.”
She let go of him, feeling sheepish. “Of course. I…um… I’m glad you’re back, and… I’m working on another blog post right now. But I want to interview you about the ecological issues on Glin, and maybe get some experts to talk about whether or not the damage is reversible.”
His eyes glided over her hair, the edges of her face, her throat, her eyes and around again in circles, taking in every detail. When she began to feel self-conscious, he grinned like a mad monkey and declared, “I will visit the children until you are done.”
It was strange to Genny how much he liked the children. It wasn’t that Genny disliked them—not like Taya and Wyatt. Kids mystified her. And kind of annoyed her. But Duin was so comfortable and affectionate with them, and seemed to enjoy them, even though they weren’t his, or Glin.
Genny returned to her blog. When the post was finished and the vid uploaded, she l’upped the live feed from Mose’s school to see if Duin was still there.
“Shall I do The Tempest?” he asked the children seated in a circle before him. “Or do you want to hear The Little Lost Eel again?”
The response was overwhelmingly in favor of the eel.
“As I suspected.” He spoke with exaggerated disappointment. “Are you absolutely certain it shall not be…O, wonder!” His voice filled the room. “How many goodly creatures are there here! How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world, that has such people in it!”
He was met with groans and giggles.
“All right, if I m
ust.” He took a deep breath and began, “Once upon a time, there was a little eel named Glippit.”
Shakespeare could not have delivered a more riveting performance about the trials of an orphaned eel who finds a home. Genny watched until the end of the story, at which point Duin looked directly into the netcam and asked, “Are you available, J’ni?”
How does he know I’m watching? Activating her own netcam, she tapped SHINING STAR SCHOOL in the list of contacts displayed on her tabletop. “Yes, Duin. I’m done.”
“I’ll be right there.” He bid goodbye to each child in turn, and had to extricate himself from a few clinging to his legs. Genny watched Mose walk Duin out the door then she closed the live feed window. Minutes passed, however, and Duin didn’t come in. She l’upped the hall cam.
“It’s bad enough we have to endure these breeder brats eating our food and running up and down the stairwells. He is in here all the time.” Taya was in the hall, yelling at Mose and Duin. “I don’t know what scam you’re pulling, but you can quit the alien act, you earless freak.”
“I assure you, I am truly not human,” said Duin.
“Then go back to your stupid planet.”
“If I return to my world, then I must abandon it to slavery and destruction.”
Genny went out into the hall.
“You!” Taya turned on her. “You are in violation of the contract. You should be the one moving. You let him in the garden and gave him our food.”
If she didn’t like this sort of attitude in Seth, she was not going to tolerate it in Taya, either. “Duin drinks tea. And if I want to give him my share, that’s my business.”
“Tay?” Wyatt stepped out their door, dragging several cases. “Let’s go.”
“We’re moving in with my aunt until we can sell out or trade compartments.” Taya pointed one of her hi-res digital fingernails at Genny. “I should file a formal complaint and make you buy it.”
Taya was full of shit, and Genny made a face she hoped expressed that sentiment. “You’ve been planning to move since we got here.”
“Prove it. If it’s not on an archive, it didn’t happen.” Taya left the block with Wyatt.
Duin’s large eyes looked very sad. “I am disrupting your life again.”
“You’re a pebble, you make ripples.” Genny quoted the statement he made the first day they met.
Mose patted Duin’s arm. “Don’t worry. Some people were a mess before you ever got here.” She returned to the children.
“I think we need to go somewhere you might feel more welcome. And I need a drink.”
Duin followed Genny into the public thoroughfare.
“Does Mose have a viewer log?”
Duin stepped over a puddle of some unidentifiable oily substance. “I don’t know.”
“How did you know I was watching you? Was my name on the wall?”
He swirled his hands in the air and shrugged. “I knew.”
“Are Glin psychic?” He reached for the translator and she explained. “Psychic means you know things beyond the natural input of your senses, you know, sight, sound, touch. Things you should have no way of knowing.”
“No, my assumption was based entirely upon observation. I know how long it takes you to edit a vid and write a blog post, and a sufficient amount of time had passed.”
“That still doesn’t explain how you knew I was watching you.”
“You were very likely finished, but had not come to find me. Your previous actions indicate a strong likelihood that you would check the netcam, see me telling the story, and not want to interrupt.”
Uncanny as it was, he was right again.
Owen was at his favorite wall, his hands thrust deep into his pockets. “You brought your green man for a pint? It’s a good night for it.”
“Is there such a thing as a bad night for it?” Genny asked.
Owen’s lip twisted in amusement, which looked out of place on his hard face. “There’s the truth in that.”
They entered the pub and found a table near the stage, where the musicians were setting up. Using the pub’s menu app, she ordered them both some of the dark beer brewed in the block’s garden area.
“What is failt?” Duin asked, pointing to a word on the wall.
“It’s pronounced fault cha. It means welcome.”
Duin added it to his translator while Aileen herself brought their drinks. Genny introduced them.
“I’ve been reading about you on Genny’s blog,” Aileen said to Duin. “It’s terrible, the trouble on your world. I hope you get it sorted out and it doesn’t drag on for hundreds of years.”
“So do I,” said Duin. He indicated his pint glass. “Thank you for the very interesting water. You are very kind.”
“The word is hospitality,” said Aileen, winking at him. “The Irish are nothing if not hospitable, except maybe rebellious.”
“An excellent combination,” said Duin. When Aileen left, he whispered to Genny, “I think there’s something wrong with their water recycling system.”
She laughed. “It’s supposed to look that way. It’s beer. Try it.”
Duin swallowed half the glass in one gulp and declared, “It tastes like stagnant swamp water.”
“If you don’t like it, you don’t have to—” finish it, she was going to say, but he emptied the glass anyway.
The musicians played mournful “Skibbereen,” followed by the angry “Come Out Ye Black and Tans,” and the rousing rebel song “Rising of the Moon.”
Duin was captivated. “It’s as if they’re singing about Glin.”
Genny linked her blog to the live feed from the pub and tickered from her bracer. When I was growing up, these were songs from ancient times. They might as well have been fairy tales. But to Duin, they speak to what he and his people live through every
“’Lo, Genny.”
She stopped mid-ticker. “Seth?”
He dragged over an empty chair and sat between her and Duin, setting his pint glass on the table. To Duin, he said, “Why are you here?”
“I am free to move about the colony.”
“Which must be nice for you, since your world is all fucked up and everything.”
Duin tilted his head and raised one hairless brow. “As you say. Fucked up. And everything.”
“Does this mean you’ve read my blog?” she asked Seth.
“Yeah, figured I should. Everyone’s talking about it.”
Genny was curious what Seth’s military friends thought of Duin’s presence. “What do they say?”
“They say, ‘Isn’t that the piece of ass who took you to dinner with the Old Man?’ and ‘Why is she pimping the frog?’”
Duin pulled out his translator to l’up pimping.
That wasn’t the sort of reply Genny expected to hear, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear any more. Instead, she checked the notifications on her bracer and let the subject drop.
“Hey, Duin, the Little Lost Eel story is very popular. There are already some net-toons and fanvids. Mose says you should set up an account for the units.”
“Units?” Duin echoed.
She clarified. “MUs, monetary units. Money. Currency.”
“Yes, I know what units are.” He waved his hand. “But where are they coming from?”
“People send them to Mose when they watch you on her archive or live feed. Your Glippit story has over two hundred thousand views already.”
“It’s not my story. It was told to me when I was a child. Every Glin knows it. Please, tell Mose she can keep the money.”
“What about your war?” asked Seth. “Don’t you need to buy weapons or something?”
Duin didn’t reply, but leaned toward Genny—which meant crossing in front of Seth. Seth grabbed his pint glass and backed out of Duin’s way.
“What do you think, J’ni? Does the money belong to the orphans or the liberation of Glin?”
She placed her hand over Duin’s. “I think if you have to gain Glin’
s liberation at the expense of children, then you’ve already lost.”
Duin grinned in satisfaction and squeezed her hand. “As you say.”
Seth glowered at them. It made her feel guilty, even though she knew she’d done nothing wrong.
“I’m going to ask Emma to play ‘The Butterfly.’” Genny pulled her hand away from Duin’s.
She left Seth and Duin sitting together in grim silence and went to the stage to talk to the harper.
When “The Fields of Athenry” ended, Duin spoke. “I know you don’t like me. But I appreciate the fact that you tolerate me, for her sake.”
“Trust me, I’m not tolerating you. If the colonel lets you stay here, he has a reason. So I’m not about to put my ass in a sling by bashing your frog head in. Which is what I would like to do, for her sake. But I’ll have to leave that to someone else.”
“Mm.” Duin acknowledged Seth’s sentiments with a short humming sound and said no more. When Genny rejoined them, he stayed only long enough to hear the song she requested. Then he thanked her for a very enlightening evening and stood to leave.
Damn it, Seth was getting to him. She wanted to reassure him, and herself. “See you in the morning. We need to finish going through those files about the Boer Wars and do an interview about the Tikati work camps.”
“I’ll be there.” Duin inclined his head and swept his hand in a gesture almost like a salute. But it was the way he ignored Seth entirely—did not even glance in his direction—that said the most to her. She could imagine Duin’s voice saying, To Yaggla with him.
When Duin was gone, Seth brooded over his pint and the musicians began a rendition of the tragic and melancholy “Grace.” About halfway through the song, he said, “Don’t bring that thing to Aileen’s any more. They’ll lose business.”
“Like hell.” Genny laughed. “Mose’s school gets donations every time Duin visits.”
“That’s different. That’s charity for kids. This is a business. Aileen is too nice to say so, Genny, but you think anybody wants to eat with a two-toned toad sitting right beside them?”
“It’s called countershading. It’s a kind of natural camouflage. And Duin’s not a toad.”
