Last Song (Heinlein's Finches Book 3)

by Robin Banks

I’ve never seen Alya this flustered. She never talks about her days in the Patrol. She never talks about her past at all, really. Neither of us do. I wonder what the hell went on with her and this guy. Something did, for sure. I think Raj has spotted something too, though he could be just worked up over the whole getting-blown-to-bits thing.

  It doesn’t take long for that guy to turn the sound back on. “The com went out, but so did Kolya. They’re trying to track him down.”

  “While we’re waiting, would you tell me how you spotted us?”

  “That’s what I do. I hang around in space waiting for visitors. Consider me a doorman, if you will. I’m not the only one, before you get creative.”

  “But we’re cloaked!”

  “Not from me, you’re not. You might have yourselves a fancy, shiny ship, but we’ve got the best tech.”

  She blinks. “I scanned your ship. She’s older than me. It’s a miracle she’s up.”

  “Nah, that’s not what I meant. You might have the newest technology, what with you being rich bastards, but we’ve got the best techie. My cloak’s better than your cloak. My detection system, ditto.”

  “Your guns?”

  “With a bit of luck, that’ll never become pertinent. What business brings you here, anyway? It must be a surprise visit, otherwise Kolya would have told us to expect you.”

  “Oh, you know. Bit of this, bit of that. Mission to save the world. That kind of thing.”

  Raj hisses at her. “Should you be telling him this?”

  She shrugs. “Why not? He’s coming. I’m willing to bet he’s the guy Dee saw in her dream. He’d fit her description: someone she knew, but she couldn’t quite recognize.”

  Alya tells the guy the whole story. He takes it pretty well – too well, really. He’s acting like it’s normal for people to turn up talking about prophecies, psi-bilities, and mysterious threats. Just to make things more surreal, he’s panned the camera back to show the whole bridge. Sitting next to him in the co-pilot seat is a kid of maybe ten or twelve who’s also listening to Alya’s story without batting an eyelid.

  When Alya has finished, the guy shakes himself off.

  “Well, that’s something.”

  “That’s all you’ve got to say about this?”

  “Bit above my pay grade, to be honest. I fly ships and hoe cabbages. The wife does the thinking.”

  “Oh.” Alya looks a bit deflated. I hope Raj didn’t pick up on that.

  “Hang on, something’s come in. And yeah, you’re cleared for landing.”

  “Thank you very much.”

  He grins. “Hey, I have an idea. My shift is nearly over. Given that your cloak is crap and you don’t want the powers-that-be to know you’re here, would you like me to cover your landing?”

  “Say what?”

  “I could just fly around you, make it hard for anyone to detect you. Nothing special.”

  “Is that really necessary?”

  He spreads his hands out. “Can’t hurt, can it?”

  “It can, if you crash or hit us.”

  “I promise not to do that.”

  “You know you’re making no sense, right? If anyone can see through our cloak, they’ll know we flew here. It wouldn’t take much for them to work out that we didn’t just disappear orbiting Pollux.”

  He sighs. “Please? We don’t get to do any fun flying these days, and Osh here needs the practice.”

  The kid sitting next to him does that thing that Raj’s nephews do, with the eyes widening to about twice their size until they look like black holes full of despair.

  Alya groans. “Fine! Whatever! But you cut that out, alright?”

  The kid and the guy both grin inanely.

  “Much obliged! If the wife asks, there was an operational need. Don’t give her any details or she’ll work it all out. See you on the other side.”

  He switches the com off and his ship moves far enough from us for our alarms to stop flashing.

  Alya turns around to us. “Strap yourselves in. This is likely to be a bumpy ride.”

  Raj looks stunned. “That guy is not right in the head, is he?”

  “Not even close. But he’s brilliant with it.”

  She starts our descent before Raj has a chance to respond. It’s just as well, I think. I don’t like anything about this.

  2. Quinn

  Our household takes the alarms seriously. Most of our people do; they’ve learnt from their history. Twelve years may seem a long time, but it isn’t to those who are still mourning their dead, still walking every day past the physical evidence of open warfare, still struggling to rebuild, still dealing with injury, scarcity, and penury. Everyone on Pollux knows perfectly well how important a prompt emergency response is to their survival and that of their community. My household takes that up a notch, maybe, but I don’t think that’s irrational or inappropriate. As well as being affected by planet-wide issues, we’ve had our own history of troubles, and more targeted troubles at that. We also have more people involved in the early detection program than most other families. As a result, we’re slightly more passionate about the issue.

  By the time Asher’s all clear comes through, we’re all already packed and on our way to the spaceport, so we decide we might as well carry on and meet him when he lands. It’s not that far and Gwen could do with walking off the adrenaline. She’s the steadiest woman I know, but when her husband’s life is at risk she gets a touch cranky. I’m glad Sasha is off-planet; this is the first time anything serious happened during one of Osh’s patrols. Sasha has been very supporting of his training, like a good Pollux mother is expected to be, but she doesn’t like him being out there. I can’t blame her. If someone put one of my kids on a spaceship to act as the planet’s first line of defense against hostile invaders I’d be either hysterical or murderous.

  Having Asher up there is only marginally more tolerable. He’s the best pilot we know and a lot less reckless since Mattie was born, but that doesn’t eliminate the risk inherent in the job. I realize I'm being absurd, because if the Fed came back to finish what they started in ‘68 he’d probably be safer up there than down here, but I can’t change the way I feel. Gwen is tougher than me and manages to put on a braver front, but she doesn’t like it either. We’re both happy that Osh is up there with him. Asher is likely to take much greater care of Osh than he does of himself.

  I know all of this, and I keep repeating it to myself, but I also know I’ll not be able to relax fully until I see his skinny ass walk out of his damn ship. He’s been up there too long. We’re running short on pilots, as usual, so he’s been doing double shifts. It helps us out a lot as a family because we’re not precisely swimming in credit, but I miss him.

  We start out to the spaceport in a tidy and orderly fashion. Aiden stayed behind at the com desk, so Gwen is minding his twins. Little Mattie is walking along very nicely by herself. I’m nearly as proud of her behavior as she is, though half as likely to go on about it. The child is prone to fits of self-congratulation. I hope it’s a phase she’ll grow out of. Baby Jojo is walking with me. So far, so good.

  We’re about half way there when the expedition degenerates into the usual pandemonium. We spot two ships coming down, one following a perfectly normal landing pattern and another one running rings around it – literally. We don’t have to think hard to work out who’s flying the second ship. There are very few pilots who would attempt any of those maneuvers, let alone a string of them. Almost nobody could pull that off. Asher both would and could, of course. That’s the only kind of flying that really tickles his fancy.

  Gwen stops in her tracks and mutters a string of words I hope the twins won’t remember. Mattie morphs back into a five-year-old kid watching something rare and exciting and starts to jump about. Jojo realizes that this is just an outing rather than a mission, at which point he refuses to walk any further. I can see his point: why walk when you can get carried? And if you’re going to get carried, why sit nicely on your non
ny’s shoulders when you can bounce around instead?

  By the time we get to the bubble gate, Gwen’s up ahead, charging forth with a vigor that makes me fear for Asher’s safety. The twins and Maddie are skipping and hopping all over the place, but at least they’re broadly heading in the right direction. I’m bringing up the rear, partly because someone has to but largely because I’m somewhat impeded. My hair is all over my face and my damn kid decided to stick his fingers in my eyes, so I can barely see. This is not precisely how I envisaged welcoming home my husband, but I’m a fool for expecting otherwise. All I need is for Jojo to get excited enough to take a leak down my back as a finishing touch.

  Asher doesn’t seem to mind my bedraggled state. He emerges from the access tunnel with that bounce in his step that tells me that he’s had a good flight, that he’s in fine fettle, and that I’m going to get thoroughly fucked tonight. Gwen plants herself arms akimbo in the middle of the path and attempts to lecture him about the manner of his descent. She doesn’t get very far along her rant before he reaches her, puts a hand on the back of her head, and bends down to kiss her on the forehead with enough passion to make her stutter. When he whispers something in her ear she stops talking altogether. Then he looks up at me, winks, and my legs turn to jelly.

  I’m sure there are men around who’re more attractive than he is. Sometimes I think I’ve met one. Then I see Asher again, and I realize how wrong I was.

  Asher circumnavigates a stunned Gwen, walks up to me, removes Jojo from my neck without ripping out too much of my hair, and installs him on his hip. Then he kisses me from here till next week, or thereabouts.

  Once he’s rendered me entirely useless, he pulls back and whispers to me conspiratorially, “Milady’s set to have my guts for garters.”

  “No surprises there. We saw how you came down.”

  “There was an operational need.”

  “I only believe you because I know that you would risk death by flying, but not death by Gwen. If you expect me to take your side…” He tilts his head slightly to look at me with that grin of his, and I give up. “…you’re probably right. But I do so under duress. Asher, that was some wild flying you just did.”

  He beams. “I know, right?”

  I try to frown at him but I botch it. Seeing him this happy makes me giddy.

  A sharp poke to the ribs jars me out of my reverie. Gwen is looking up at us, half amused and half disgusted.

  “The two of you are thick as thieves. I’m forever outnumbered, as well as outmassed. Quinn, I was trying to explain to your dear husband…”

  “He’s your husband too,” I mutter.

  Her eyes narrow. “Don’t remind me. Anyway, I was trying to explain to him that I’d prefer it if he didn’t crash his ship for the sake of doing cartwheels.”

  “I thought they were called hammerheads when…” I trail off. She’s looking dangerous.

  Asher wraps his free arm around my waist and leans into me. “Operational need. You can check with Osh: he’ll back me up.”

  “Of course he’ll back you up!” she sputters. “He’s your nephew, you’re his captain, and you’re as bad as each other!”

  “Feel free to grill our visitors: they’ll confirm it. I was merely covering their arrival.”

  “Asher, they’re cloaked!”

  He shrugs. “Not cloaked enough for us, were they? Better safe than sorry.” He takes a deep breath and his voice gets softer. “Woman, I have missed you. I’ve missed the lot of you, but you…” He shakes his head, his curls falling into his eyes. “How do you manage to get prettier every time I turn my back?”

  “Your eyesight is going to hell, that’s what it is. Not surprising, the way you fly. One of these days we’ll have to staple down your retinas.” Her displeasure would be more convincing if she wasn’t blushing.

  “I love you too.” He sighs. “But now we have business to attend to. Get your professional head on, milady. Our visitors are about to emerge.”

  He lets go of me, puts Jojo down, and marches back into the tunnel. Gwen follows him, shaking her head. There’s not much else you can do with Asher: you either go along with him or you exhaust yourself trying to slow him down.

  I look down to see Mattie staring at me. She’s the cutest girl in the world, obviously, but the jury’s still out on where she gets that from. She doesn’t look much like our Gwen. She doesn’t look much like me or Asher either; she just looks like herself. Her current expression, though, is 100% Gwen. I wonder if Mattie knows the word “withering” yet. I taught her “disgruntled” last week, because that’s the kind of thing I do, but she hasn’t used it yet.

  “All my parents are silly.”

  “I know, kitten. We’re lucky to have you. We need someone sensible around the place.”

  “Is that why you made me?”

  “Not quite.”

  “I know. Just checking that you weren’t going to try and lie to me. I can mind Jojo for you tonight.”

  The combination of non sequitur and freebie rings my internal alarm.

  “Out with it: is it something you’ve done or something you’re going to do?”

  She casts a weary look at me. Gwen, again.

  “You all have your kissy faces on. I am trying to help.”

  “By keeping your brother out of the way?”

  “Yes. Tonight only. Three stories before the end of the week.”

  Three stories for a night of Jojo-sitting is an amazing deal, almost too good to be true. I’m sure I’m getting screwed here somehow, but I can’t see how, and I really would like an uninterrupted night with the guys.

  “Alright. You mind Jojo tonight, and I’ll owe you three stories before the end of the week.”

  “Yes. That’s what I said.” The eye-rolling is Gwen’s, too.

  “I know. Just checking.”

  The child is wily but honest, and she values her word too much to back out of a deal. I stick my hand out and we shake on it. She doesn’t let go when we’ve finished.

  “Come on, nonny. Let’s find mommy and daddy.”

  She pulls me along the tunnel. I herd along Jojo and the twins as we go.

  We don’t get very far when we meet the guys and guests coming down in the opposite direction. For a moment, looking at them in the distance, I think I’m seeing double: two Ashers are trailing down the tunnel behind Gwen. As they come closer I realize that my eyes are fine. Asher is just walking next to a guy who looks a hell of a lot like him. Same height, same narrow frame, same curly hair. The similarities end there, though. It’s not just that the guy looks different, though he does. His curls are softer and golden instead of copper, his eyes are a darker blue, his complexion is pale brown, almost too dark for his hair, and his shoulders are broader. Those are minute details, though, compared to the vast difference in how they are carrying themselves. Asher is bounding down the tunnel with shining eyes and a half grin on his face, most likely listening to a tune in his head – something about girls or booze, I wager. The other guy is so lifeless in his expression and movement that I feel I ought to check his vital signs.

  When I notice that, I realize the other reason I thought I was seeing double: I can see the guy, but I can’t sense him. My psi-bility doesn’t register him at all. He might as well not be there.

  It’s been a while since I’ve been around people who were shielding. That period was probably the most awful part of my life. Watching this emotionless zombie walk down the corridor, feeling his presence – his absence – brings it all back and makes me shield up instinctively.

  I need to tell the guys about this as soon as I can, but I can’t do that until our visitors are out of our way. It’s at times like this that I really wish that my psi-bility encompassed telepathy. Empathy definitely has its uses, but sending out a dose of unexplained dread would not help in the least right now. I do what I can: I call the kids back and make sure I’m between them and the strangers. I’m not much good as a fighter, nowhere near as good as my
guys, but I have had some training and I do keep in practice. Anyone who wants to harm our kids will have to get through me first.

  In order to do my best to protect them I need to unshield, though. Using my psi-bility allows me to know how people feel, and that can help me predict what they will do. It doesn’t always give me much of a warning, but it’s better than nothing, and I cannot waste that advantage. I brace myself, unshield, and run a quick scan. The other man and the woman feel normal under the circumstances: tense and excited at the same time, their emotions fluctuating within normal parameters. A good poke at the Asher clone reveals that he’s not actually shielded – not in the way I’m familiar with, anyway. Rather, everything about him is turned down so low that it’s barely noticeable. I don’t know how or why that would be the case, but that’s what it feels like. I sense something in there, right at the bottom, but it’s so muted I can’t get a good read. I may discover more if I make physical contact, but that’s really not an appealing prospect.

  I’m trying to keep my apprehension and revulsion off my face, but both Gwen and Asher notice something. I want to convey to them that the situation is concerning but not warranting action as yet. Doing so by way of glances meaningful enough to be interpreted by them but not by our visitors is a touch tricky. I’m not sure how well I manage, but at least they’re both definitely aware that something is up. I can feel that clearly through my psi-bility, though they don’t let on.

  Asher carries out the introductions rather hurriedly, which is unusual for him, before smiling at Gwen.

  “We’re going to take our guests over to the Ivanov household so they can meet their friends. Would you do me a favor and get Aiden to put out a com? There’s fuckery afoot. We need to call the assembly.”

  “Tonight?”

  “If possible. I’m sure people will moan, but people always moan. Maybe go by the house, put on something nice, hey?” And he winks at her.

  I’m sure in most households that’d be a request for her to put on a dress or something along those lines. For us, that means that he’d like her to arm herself, and the fact that he asked her to do that while sending her off with the kids is not a good sign. Aside from the fact that Asher never tells Gwen what to do, she’s our best tactical thinker and a better fighter than I’ll ever be. She’s also the mother of our kids, though, and she’s not an empath. I wonder what motivated Asher’s decision. I am not about to question it, though.