by Майк Берри
As soon as Marco had put his fork down and wiped his chin with his sleeve — a gesture that, as a mother, Lina found it hard to approve of — there was a knock on the door.
‘I’ll get it,’ Lina said, already rising.
She opened the door, half expecting bad news of some sort, and was thus pleasantly surprised to find a grinning Eli standing there, hands deep in the pockets of his traditional flight suit.
‘Hey,’ he said simply, walking past her with the unquestioning confidence of a long-time friend. Lina shut the door and followed him back inside.
‘Eli!’ cried Marco with undisguised pleasure. ‘How’s it going?’
‘Oh, you know,’ said Eli, twisting one of the dining chairs around and sitting on it backwards, elbows resting on the backrest. ‘Functioning as normal, pretty much, despite the company’s attempts to inflict malnutrition on me. And you guys?’
‘Oh, you know, bearing up,’ answered Lina for the both of them. Eli shot her a look, which although brief, said it all. They were all bearing up because they had to. Death in the family, missing shuttle, emergency rations. . . What could they do but just carry on?
‘Is the game still on?’ Marco asked, missing the significance of the moment, or else choosing to ignore it. He looked innocently up into Eli’s weathered face.
‘Er, no, champ, it’s cancelled actually,’ answered Eli apologetically.
Lina glanced back at the window behind her, where asteroids drifted like ghost ships. There, she thought. That’s where all the trouble has come from. That damn belt. First you kill Sal, then you take our shuttle — I don’t know how I know that, but I do — and now you’ve taken my son’s football game away. I hate you. And we’re going to leave you before you hurt us any more.
‘Ohhh. . .’ groaned Marco, childish disappointment creasing his face. A few years ago that expression would have been the prelude to tears, but now he simply sighed and shook his head, suppressing his disappointment.
‘I thought maybe you and I could go down into Bay Seven and have a kick-around, just the two of us, instead.’
Lina’s heart bloomed with warmth at that — Eli was, as she had said herself, one of the good guys.
‘Yeah!’ exclaimed Marco, coming alive again instantly. But his expression became suspicious quickly. ‘Is that allowed, though? Nobody’s supposed to go in there, I thought. Only specially authorised games, right?’
‘Well that’s right, buddy,’ agreed Eli, helping himself to the coffee that Lina had left on the table — cold, now, as well as disgusting — and draining it in one gulp. ‘But we have special authorisation, you and I.’ He puffed his chest out importantly. ‘I have friends,’ he said grandly, ‘in high places.’
‘Cool! Nice one, Eli! Can we go now?’ Marco was already up out of his seat.
Eli arched an eyebrow at Lina, who felt herself beaming back at him. ‘Sure, go on,’ she said. ‘You kids have fun.’
‘Thanks, Mum!’
‘Yeah, thanks, Mum!’ Eli imitated. ‘Got your ball handy, Marco?’
Marco dashed out of the room to get it.
Eli turned to Lina, his battered face concerned. ‘So how you really doing?’ he asked, sotto voce.
Lina looked into his soft grey eyes and saw her own worries mirrored there. ‘As I said — bearing up. Scared, sad. . . You know. . . the air, it’s. . . I. . . I want to take Marco to Platini,’ she stammered, unaware that she had intended to tell him this, and suddenly feeling an inexplicable pang of guilt, as if she was admitting some secret and perverse desire. Part of her wanted to scream, The tooth! I saw Sal’s tooth bounce off the screen of my ship! I saw her fucking tooth, Eli, and that was it for me, that was the end of the line! I simply cannot take it any more! She felt tears welling in her eyes and squeezed them shut until she knew it was safe to open them again.
Eli was nodding slowly, staring back at her, and she felt that she was seeing through a mask, seeing the real man behind the laughter lines. He was becoming an old man — even he was not invulnerable. This thought strengthened her resolve. Time had moved on, but it was still not too late for her to make a change. She hoped.
‘I think you should,’ Eli said, and Lina felt a genuine gratitude swell inside her.
Just then, Marco’s football flew into the room, rebounding off one of the wall-cupboards, making Lina jump. It was followed by Marco himself, who stopped it deftly with one foot. His face was grinning beneath his mass of golden curls, and he looked like any kid without a care in the world.
‘Come on then!’ Marco yelled, apparently surprised to see Eli still sitting at the table.
‘Right!’ Eli exclaimed, leaping up with a lightness that Lina knew was at least partly artificial. ‘Later, Lina.’ He cuffed her on the arm, kicked his chair back in, and went to the door.
Marco ran around the table and gave her a brief hug. ‘See you, Mum,’ he said.
‘Enjoy your game,’ she answered, releasing him.
And without further ado, the two of them dashed out, Marco dribbling the ball as he went. The door shut behind them, erasing them from reality and leaving her alone in the cool greyness of her quarters. She sat at the table, looking around herself and wishing she had gone with them.
Presently, she found that she was looking at the belt again, her gaze unconsciously and inevitably drawn to it. It made her feel cold inside. And uneasy.
Farsight claimed those rocks had value, but Lina knew the truth. The belt was worthless. In the grand scheme of things it mattered precisely jack shit. It wasn’t worth anybody’s life: not Sal’s; not hers; not anybody’s. She wondered if she would ever be prepared to fly through it again. Well, she thought, hopefully once more. When I’m on my way to Platini with my son.
Darkness reigned out there, cold and infinite. She wondered how many dispersed molecules of Sal Newman still drifted in that hostile void like so much dust on the solar wind.
She busied herself by cleaning the steel-tiled floor of the main living-slash-dining room, stacking the sofa, table and chairs in one corner. She didn’t even care that, despite her work, the floor still remained stubbornly stained and grimy, as if it was made of dirt and all she could do was abrade the layers. When she was done she put everything back and sat for a minute on the sofa, at something of a loss for what to do next. Lacking any better idea for the moment, she flicked the holo on.
For a while she watched a documentary about the new and ambitious engineering works commissioned on Platini Alpha — the Grand Chasm Bridge, the new spaceport terminal, the vast network of irrigation aqueducts — but the longing this induced in her, for solid ground and civilisation, soon became unbearable and she began to flick channels.
She was surprised to find that channel ninety-nine, reserved for in-station broadcasts, was actually running. It showed the dark and cavernous space of Bay Seven, where the game was supposed to have been held today. Clearly the channel had gone live in response to some automated routine, even though the actual game had been cancelled.
And there was Marco, chasing his brightly-coloured football across the bottom left corner of the screen. Devoid of a human operator, the camera wasn’t tracking the ball, and Marco quickly dashed out of shot again. This time Eli came into the picture, looking, to be honest, a little overworked trying to keep up with the boy. To his credit, though, he darted to one side swiftly enough to intercept the ball that Marco had long-bombed towards one of the goals, controlling it and moving off out of shot with it. Lina smiled to herself, ignoring the small twinge of guilt that drifted through her mind attached to the phrase You’re spying on them. She knew they wouldn’t mind.
The ball zoomed across the shot again, away into the shadowed depths of Bay Seven. The two figures — man and boy — chased after it, silent as ghosts, jostling, gone again. Back again. . . gone again. . . back again. . . gone again. . . Blades of darkness towered above them — angular flints of shadow. Two flitting figures in a holo cube. . . seeds of life caught in the dead mat
rix of this awful outpost at the end of the universe.
Lina reached out and killed the holo, realising as she did so that her hand was shaking. She lifted it to her face and stared at it, unable to believe that her body could betray her thus. Then she put both hands over her face and, her mind entirely blank and void of reason, began to cry.
Chapter Twenty-Three
‘You can’t go in there,’ said Ella Kown, appearing as if by magic at Lina’s elbow and making her jump guiltily.
‘Ella!’ she cried, whirling around. Ella’s face looked serious beneath her stubbled crew-cut, neutral and stern, but Lina saw the glint of humour in her eyes. ‘You startled me.’
‘That,’ said Ella seriously, ‘is my job. You know — startling people who’re sneaking around the hangars when they shouldn’t be.’
Absurdly, Lina felt herself blush. Ella was one of those people who could make her feel about six years old. ‘Yeah, I mean no, I was. . .’ She trailed off, unable to justify herself. ‘Sorry.’
‘That’s okay,’ said Ella, smiling now. ‘I was going to shoot you, but you know how much paperwork I’d have if I did.’
Lina leant against the convex slab of the hangar door, putting her head back and closing her eyes. She laughed tiredly.
‘You okay, Li?’ Ella asked, stepping closer.
Lina looked back at her. Although she was solidly-built, tall and strong, Ella looked almost small there, dwarfed beneath the giant rows of pallet-racking. Blueish lights far up in the ceiling cast her in a weak, ethereal glow. ‘Yeah. No. . .’ She faltered, genuinely unable to say for sure. She wished people would stop asking her that.
‘Come with me,’ said Ella decisively. She turned and led the way through a smaller side-door and into the warehouse office, from where the one-man team of Charlie Stenning usually controlled stock and storage in the warehouse. Charlie was absent now, and it took Ella a while to find the manual control for the lights, which had failed to come on when they opened the door. The room was bare and basic — much like the rest of the station — with a simple desk and computer terminal in one corner. There was a not-quite-pornographic poster of two women stuck to the wall above a small rubbish bin, but to Lina it just looked kind of sad in the almost aggressively-soulless surroundings — a desperate attempt to impose some humanity on this bare steel casket.
Ella sat on the desk and kicked the chair out towards Lina, who stopped it, spun it round, and sat.
‘You wanna tell me what you’re doing down here, Lina?’ asked Ella without prelude. Noticing the crease that this question brought to Lina’s brow, she added, ‘As a friend, not a security officer, that is.’
‘Ella, I don’t know if I’m going insane, but. . .’ She found the words reluctant to come, now, here in the cold light of day, speaking to another rational human being, but she forced them: ‘I thought I saw somebody flying into the belt last night.’ She spread her hands, then let them fall into her lap, as if to say, That’s it, that’s all I have.
Ella nodded, considering this possibility, and Lina inwardly thanked her for not simply blowing her off straight away. ‘You thought?’ she asked after a while. ‘Or you did?’
‘Honestly, I thought,’ answered Lina carefully, screwing her eyes up as if she could intensify the memory that way, examine it more closely. ‘I’m not sure, Ella. But I thought I did.’
‘Truthfully, Lina, I doubt it. If you’re not sure yourself, I’d have to say it sounds unlikely. Why would anyone do that?’
Lina exhaled heavily: Now that was the question. ‘I don’t know,’ she admitted. ‘Why would any of the things that have happened lately happen?’ She wanted to tell Ella about her dream, about the shadow in the belt, but she knew what sort of light this would cast her in. She felt she was barely hanging onto credibility as it was.
‘Crazy times, right?’
‘Yeah. Crazy times.’
‘How are you, really, Lina? I’ve hardly seen you since the Sal thing.’
‘The Sal thing,’ Lina repeated, amazed that it could be summarised so simply. ‘I think I’m all right, Ella. But I want to take Marco to Platini on the next available shuttle.’
Ella smiled kindly, but Lina caught a hint of sympathy in there, and felt an irrational surge of annoyance at that. ‘I think you should,’ said Ella.
‘That’s what Eli said, too.’
‘We all have your best interests at heart, you know. Yours and Marco’s. Clay would miss him, of course — we’d all miss you guys — but it might be best for you. One day, me and Clay might even come and join you there.’
Lina stared more deeply into her friend’s eyes. ‘This has you thinking, too, doesn’t it?’ she asked. One of the reasons Lina was so close to Ella was their shared history: Ella also had an ex-husband somewhere in Platini system; she too had been left with her son on Macao. Lina wasn’t surprised that Ella understood.
‘Yeah, I guess so,’ admitted Ella. She jumped down off the desk and rummaged in the drawers, taking something from the bottom one and turning round to show Lina. It was a large bottle of whisky, about two thirds full. Ella grinned broadly.
‘Hey, I don’t think we should drink that,’ said Lina, feeling a smile trying to surface on her own face.
‘Call it a customs seizure,’ said Ella, spinning the cap off. Lina laughed as Ella took a swig, her face contorting. She coughed and handed the bottle over. ‘Charlie won’t mind,’ she said, her voice comically hoarse from the drink.
Lina swigged, feeling the liquid run like fire down her throat and explode in slow motion inside her belly. ‘Man!’ she coughed, turning the bottle to read the label. ‘Green Goddess? I don’t think that’s what this actually is.’
‘Nah,’ confirmed Ella, taking it back. ‘It’s not. This is the local moonshine. The ground crew have been brewing it behind the hydraulic pumps for years now.’
‘Really?’ Lina wondered how many other little secrets her friend was privy to.
‘Hits the spot, eh?’
‘I suppose so,’ agreed Lina, chuckling to herself. They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, the bottle changing hands several more times.
‘I’ll have somebody check the Kays, if you’re really concerned, Lina, okay?’ said Ella after a while. ‘But you mustn’t go sneaking around by yourself. If somebody had been tampering with the ships — which I repeat is unlikely — then the finger would inevitably come to point at you if you were to be found creeping around down here. Make sense?’
Strangely, after a few doses of Charlie’s moonshine, everything was starting to make more sense. Lina nodded. ‘Yeah, it does. Has the hangar been locked down all this time, then? I mean, have you had someone watching it at night?’
‘Lina, why would we do that? Everyone knows the ships are grounded. Who would try to fly one? Why?’ She held the bottle at arm’s length, looking at it a little ruefully, then capped it and returned it to the drawer.
‘I don’t know,’ said Lina. And then, before she could stop herself, she added, ‘I think there’s something wrong here. . . in the belt, or on the station. . . something. . . happening.’ She waited a little nervously to see what effect this would have.
Ella nodded wisely, seeming to give this paranoid suspicion genuine consideration. That was one thing Lina liked about Ella — even if she thought you were wrong, she’d still listen and consider before deciding that for sure. She never just brushed somebody else’s concerns aside. ‘Maybe,’ she said at length. ‘But then, I’m not surprised, after what happened on your last shift. It’d be odd if you felt that everything was fine.’
‘Yeah, I know you’re right. And the Sal thing has got me shaken up. But I feel like there’s more to it than that. I know that sounds entirely baseless — and I guess it is — but I can’t escape the feeling that, well, there’s more to it.’
‘More to it?’ asked Ella. Although her tone was light, her face was serious again. ‘You don’t mean that Sal’s death could have been deliberate in s
ome way? Do you? ’Cause that would be a pretty serious allegation.’
Lina felt her conviction suddenly collapse. That had been what she meant, but in truth it sounded insane, now that she heard it said out loud. Ella was right — she was just trying to deal with Sal’s death, seeking some sort of culprit for what was essentially just an accident. If anybody was to blame it was those penny-pinching corporate accountants at Platini Dockyard. ‘I think I’m just tired, maybe a little shocked. I know you’re right, Ella, I just. . . I guess I just want someone to blame, is all.’
‘Lina,’ said Ella, spreading her hands benevolently, ‘it’s fine. And I’ll ask the ground crew to check the Kays and the ISL to make sure nothing’s flown.’
‘Thanks, Ella.’
‘I repeat: this is a perfectly natural way for you to feel, I’m sure of it. And taking Marco to Platini sounds like an excellent idea to me.’
‘Well that’s another thing. . .’ said Lina cautiously. ‘Where is our damn shuttle, Ella?’
Ella shrugged, as if it didn’t matter. ‘My guess? Another bloody equipment failure. I reckon it’s scattered across space somewhere between here and Way Station One. I don’t expect it to come now — it’s just too late — but I don’t suspect any sort of sinister influence beyond that of corporate greed and laxness. Don’t, of course, quote me on that.’
‘I suppose. It’s just funny that these things have come at once.’
‘Yeah,’ said Ella, standing up and pulling her uniform straight. ‘Regular sitcom, this frontier life.’
‘Will we be okay, though?’ asked Lina. ‘Until the next one, I mean.’
‘The food will last, under our rationing regime. We have it all worked out. They’ll be hard times, but the food will last.’
‘And the air?’ asked Lina in a tiny voice, catching her friend’s eye. ‘Will that last?’
Ella sighed, as if she’d hoped not to field this question, and looked away. Lina didn’t think this was a particularly good sign. ‘Honestly? Who can say. Officially? It’s all under control. Nik’s people are working on a standalone, jury-rigged alternative system, but you didn’t hear that from me. We should be okay. And that’s the best I can do, I’m afraid.’
