Last Song (Heinlein's Finches Book 3)

by Robin Banks

  “Raj is doing great, isn’t he?”

  “Yeah. He always does. You did too.”

  “Don’t get soppy, kid. Kolya is cooking. He’s got your guitar.”

  “Great.”

  His face shuts down. Alya’s response turns into a long sigh before it leaves her mouth. She turns away to look at Raj.

  He is doing well, but I’m not sure he’s doing well enough. We are an extremely pragmatic community. We have to be. I don’t think this mission is concrete enough for a majority to get behind it. I’m not entirely sure that I would support it if I didn’t know the specifics. The questions are getting less frequent and less coherent, though, so I guess most people have all the information they need to cast their vote.

  When Mattie raises her hand I don’t quite know what to make of it. Raj glances at Asher before giving her the go ahead.

  She gets up and speaks very calmly and clearly. “Why can’t we all go? Me, Jojo, and mummy too?”

  Asher raises his hand to speak. “Can I take this one?” Raj nods at him and he turns over to face Mattie. “Because if you three were with us, your nonny and I would think only about you and forget about everything else. We wouldn’t get anything done. And if you stay here, then we have a home to come back to. Without you, we don’t. We only have a house.”

  “Oh. Ok. I get it.”

  She sits back down. All I want to do is scoop her up and squeeze her for the next couple of years or so, but she’s carrying herself with such dignity that I couldn’t ruin this moment for her. How I ever came to have a child with such composure is beyond me.

  When the next question comes, I’m ill-disposed towards it because it intrudes on my mood. I don’t think much of the expression of the questioner either, but I put that down to my attitude, until he actually starts talking.

  “You keep telling us why we should do this and that. What you’ve not told us is why you’re bothering. What’s in it for you?”

  Raj straightens himself up and speaks rather stiffly. “It started off as a family matter. I have a relative here. His welfare is my welfare. His home is my concern. Then it developed into a different kind of personal matter. It is possible to fall in love with something and wish to protect it even though it doesn’t belong to you.”

  “So you came and warned us. Isn’t that enough? Should we believe that you’re going through this much trouble just to help a bunch of strangers?”

  “I’m not. I’m doing what I believe is right because I believe it’s the right thing to do. If you can’t comprehend that impulse, then I don’t think I could explain it to you.”

  “That’s convenient. Anteian representatives come here interfering with our lives with no valid reasons to justify their involvement, and we should believe it’s out of the goodness of their heart? That there’s no kickback?”

  “Are you calling me a liar?”

  “A liar, or a fool. Asking us to waste resources on this wild scheme…”

  Raj interrupts him. I swear he looks a full foot taller and a couple of feet broader than he did two minutes ago.

  “You’re right. I don’t know why I wasted my time. Anteia is not a kind place. It’s not a tolerant place. We tend to focus on results and ignore circumstances. We value those who help themselves and devalue those who can’t. I always thought that we were too harsh, too uncompromising, too judgmental, that our tendency to conflate success and moral superiority was a dangerous fallacy. Talking to you makes me think that I was wrong. Not only do you lack the motivation to help yourself, but you'd question the motivations of those who would help you rather than examine your own passivity. You do not deserve my time. You do not deserve anyone’s time. Your decision is neither my responsibility nor my concern. I will do what I want to do because I want to do it: that’s all there is to it. And I will not waste another second on you and those like you.”

  He swoops over to Alya and puts his hand out to her. She takes it and lets him help her up, looking at him as if he’d just come home from slaying a few hundred dragons and made it back on time for tea. I think I finally understand what their relationship is about. Neither of them is precisely my cup of tea, but they definitely are each other’s.

  Kolya and Luke follow them out and my whole household trails behind them. Kolya is chatting to Luke as if the assembly and its resolution were inconsequential. I am proud of my adoptive planet, but right now I’m prouder to be part of this group.

  Kolya and Luke have just started dishing out the food when people start turning up. They’re all people we already know to have our back and I’m not entirely sure how to interpret their arrival. It could be that the vote is going so well that they didn’t feel they were needed, or that it’s going so badly that they gave up on it. A bunch of them go over to Gwen and Aiden to discuss what they can do to help my household out. I know that it makes sense that they would talk to those of us who are staying, but it makes me feel already cut off from my home. I have no wish to be gloomy at this or any other party, though, so I derail that train of thought and focus on the kids.

  When that prize jerk who insulted Raj drifts in, Kolya and Luke swell up and glare at him. They look so menacing that I’m surprised he finds the courage to face them, and all for a free meal; then again, I might just be witnessing yet another proof of his lack of common sense. He doesn’t look happy in the least, which makes me think we must have won. I doubt that someone so comprehensively reprehensible would be a good loser.

  We don’t find out for definite until we’ve finished eating. We won, if you can call it a victory. I know that I should feel better, but I don’t: it makes our departure certain and I don’t want to go. I don’t want Asher to go, either. I used to enjoy adventuring, with or without him, but that was before we had the kids. Since they came into our lives, and particularly since Jojo’s birth and all the turmoil that followed, I find no joy in anything that takes me away from them. I know this mission is necessary if we are to protect our lives here, and I know that plenty of people would revel in the glory of that, but I’m not one of them. I just want to stay home and watch my kids grow up, which they are doing way too fast for my taste. Right now, I want to pick all my people up and stash them in a padded, nuke-proof box, and never get out again. Instead I have to stay here and smile at people congratulating us and wishing us luck. I guess I should be thankful for that: it forces me to behave rationally.

  As soon as everyone has been fed, Kolya downs tools and drags Luke outside. A few minutes later I can hear his violin. Asher lifts his head and smiles so broadly that I can’t help giggling at him; he never looks as unreservedly happy as when he’s hearing music, and he’s terribly partial to fiddles. I help him herd our troops out.

  Watching Asher listen to music is one of my favorite things. I’m not really into it myself, but I like most of the stuff Kolya plays. He seems to snatch melancholy out of happiness and vice versa. Most of all, I like to let my psi-bility read him: the sounds he can conjure up are not a patch on the feelings that course through him while he’s playing. I can’t do that today because I promised Luke that I would shield up, and that adds irritation to my gloom. Right now it would take a miracle to lift my mood, though, so I accept it and file it. There isn’t much else I can do with it.

  From my extremely uninformed point of view, Luke and Kolya are a good musical fit. Luke carries the tune while Kolya dances in and out of it. They seem to be playing mostly for each other right now. Kolya isn’t giving the audience the slightest bit of notice, and Luke’s only reaction is to shrink slightly every time he catches someone wandering over to listen. That only lasts halfway through their fourth or fifth piece, though.

  Kolya has abandoned the tune entirely, gone searching after a sound or a feeling that has all of his attention. Luke’s hands have been holding on to the guitar and the tune, keeping the two together, but his head has been swaying along with Kolya’s meanderings. Something happens, I don’t know what, and Luke’s eyes roll back in his head. When
they roll forward again they clasp on Kolya, though I’m not sure they can focus enough to see him, and his guitar follows.

  The tune is still there somewhere, somehow, though neither of them is playing it: they are chasing each other up and down a landscape I can only discern because of their movement through it. They climb up cliffs and throw themselves down chasms, twirl around each other, and lose and find each other time and time again. When Kolya spirals up to an impossible height Luke stumbles and falls behind; then he bares his lips and throws himself upwards. They find each other at the top, come crashing down entwined, and the tune stops with their landing. They are both panting, looking like lovers who’ve just surprised each other with a new, unexpected pleasure. Then the courtyard erupts in claps and Luke recoils. He looks at the audience as if they should be ashamed to be there, gets up, and strides off without so much as a by-your-leave, totally ignoring the people coming over to shake his hand.

  Asher, who’d been watching their performance with his mouth hanging open, leans back and recollects himself.

  “I guess the guy doesn’t like adulation.”

  I shake my head. “I think he just doesn’t like people.”

  “You might be right. Well, if I could play half as well as him, I’d dislocate my back kissing my own ass.”

  “That could be the problem right there.”

  He tuts at me, but he doesn’t even try to disprove my statement.

  9. Luke

  After I finish playing with Kolya I feel battered. I don’t care, though: I’ve made him happy and that’s all that matters. People are swarming over to talk to us but I can’t deal with that so I leave him to it and find a quiet spot where I can go through my usual after-gig bullshit. I keep telling my body to cut down the fucking theatricals, but as per usual it doesn’t listen. Why the fuck I bothered eating when I knew I was gonna spew it all up anyway is beyond me.

  After I get my shit back together I come back out, though all I want to do is crawl in a hole and not come out again until everyone has forgotten about the whole thing. I can’t face people yet so I hide behind the bar, where I can pretend I’m taking the time to select my drink. It’s another kind of torture, but an easier one to deal with. When the next lot starts playing I sit far enough to avoid people but close enough to watch them.

  Asher spots me lurking and comes over. I realize that I’m not firing on all engines: I forgot to pick up a glass. He’s smiling, though, so I can’t be in too much trouble.

  “We’ve almost certainly got something that won’t send you blind or melt your teeth. I can go and hunt it down, if you want.”

  “No, thank you.”

  “You’re not drinking at all?”

  “I’m not very good at it.”

  I’m expecting one of the usual responses, ‘you just need more practice’ being the industry standard. Instead he nods and sits next to me, watching the party. He doesn’t say anything and he doesn’t seem to expect me to say anything either. The silence makes a hole in which my words can fit.

  “The last few times I started, I had some problems stopping.”

  “Ah.”

  It carries a lot of meaning for such a short word. There’s understanding and no judgment in it. No drama, either. I like that. It’s restful.

  “Seems better not to start in the first place.”

  He nods. “Safer bet, anyway. That’s what I did, a while ago. I came to the conclusion that drowning your sorrows only works if your tolerance is greater than theirs. When that’s not the case, you drown yourself instead. Then you come back round to find that your sorrows are still there, as strong as ever, and you’re in no fit state to deal with them.”

  “Huh. Never thought of it like that.”

  “I never thought about it at all until I had to.”

  I’m not sure if I ought to ask, but I’d like to know, and he seems a straight enough guy. If he doesn’t want to answer, I hope he’ll just tell me to fuck off.

  “What happened then? I mean, you’re drinking now.”

  He gives the drink in his hand a swirl and smiles. “Gwen. At first I was too scared of fucking up and losing her, so I was on my best behavior. Getting catatonically wasted and spending my nights hugging the ‘fresher didn’t seem to be a winning strategy. Then the balance of joys to sorrows shifted. It’s hard to be sorrowful with her around.”

  He’s got the same stunned, goofy look that Raj gets when he’s talking about Alya. I’m trying not to smile, but it’s hard. He must catch that, because he grins.

  “I know, right? I’m just glad she doesn’t really get it. I mean, she’s never once asked me to rip my own liver out and serve it to her for breakfast.”

  “Maybe your liver isn't what she's after.”

  He looks at me in shock, then starts guffawing. “That was perfectly awful! I thought you’d had your sense of humor removed at birth!”

  “What?” I rewind the sentence. Shit. “That’s not what I meant!”

  “Don’t ruin it.”

  Quinn has been looking at us for a while. She finally drops the guy she was talking to and comes over. Asher smiles up at her and pats the step next to him. She sits down right next to him, close enough to touch.

  “What did Luke say about Gwen?”

  Asher guffaws again. “When did you learn to lip read?”

  “Why would I bother reading your lips when your entire face is speaking? You had your Gwen-face on and then you started braying. It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together.”

  “And there’s me thinking I was inscrutable. I’ve been working so hard at cultivating an air of mystery.”

  “If you keep spreading bullshit around it like you’re doing right now, it may yet grow well. So, what did he say?”

  “Luke made a very scurrilous remark, though I’m not entirely sure who bore its brunt: my lady fair, or me.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yup. I was shocked. Our young friend made a suggestion as to my role in my lady’s life. Organs were mentioned. Organs!”

  “I didn’t!” I splutter. “The only organ that got a mention was your liver, and you mentioned it.”

  Quinn leans forward to look at me. Her eyes are huge and full of laughter. “His liver? Nobody’s going to want that, unless it’s to frighten med students. Or as a museum piece, maybe: ‘Come see the living fossil’.”

  Asher frowns. “You know, it doesn’t really class as a joke if it’s true.”

  “So say you. I think it’s highly entertaining, provided it’s at your expense, and in a moment you’ll find your lady agreeing to it.”

  Gwen’s walking towards us. Shit.

  “You aren’t gonna tell her what I said, are you? You can’t!”

  Asher’s grin gets even wider. “Oh, really? And what would be the cause of this inability, exactly?”

  “It’s just, you know, not right!”

  “Too bad. If you didn’t want it spilled all over the place, you should have made sure it was not amusing. Or damning.”

  “Oh, come on, guys…” I trail off as Gwen approaches.

  She squints at the three of us, pushes one of Asher’s legs against Quinn’s and sits herself sideways on their knees. “Out with it. You,” she pokes Asher’s chest, “are looking way too entertained, and he,” she points at me, “is looking mortified. What have you done to him?”

  “I haven’t done anything! It was Quinn. She insulted my liver.”

  “Your liver?” Gwen blinks. “What could Quinn possibly say about your liver that isn’t the truth? The gods know that if you treated the rest of your body with the same blithe disregard I’d have something to say about it.”

  “You do realize that a liver is not an optional extra, don’t you? It’s necessary to the running of the whole show.”

  She scowls. “Don’t remind me. I’m hoping you’ll last long enough for us to buy you a replacement. If that fails, I’ll have the salient parts pickled.”

  Quinn pulls her hair. “Fr
ozen, Gwenny. Pickling is no good. They’d be all floppy and smelly.”

  Gwen shudders. “We wouldn’t want that. But freezing would make them cold. That’d be fine as a one-off, but day in, day out? I don’t think so.”

  Asher explodes. “Will you two stop discussing ways to preserve my cadaver? It’s morbid! And anyway, the idea was for you to gang up on Luke with me, not for me to get a ribbing.”

  Gwen leans over to kiss him. “My love, if you didn’t want to be teased you should have arranged to be elsewhere.”

  “And that would have stopped you?”

  “No. But you wouldn’t have been here to witness it, and this kind of thing loses some of its bite in the retelling.”

  Asher grabs her face and squishes it. “I’m going to miss you so damn much. I have no idea why, but I will.”

  “Don’t get maudlin at me.”

  “Or what?”

  “Or I’ll get maudlin right back. Tonight is not for being morose at each other. I intend to start mourning your absence the moment the ship door shuts, and not a second sooner. I’ve got other plans for how to spend our time together. Which reminds me: I’ve taken on Quinn’s debt to Mattie. I’m going to go in a moment and put the kids to bed, with three stories, thanks to Quinn’s nonexistent negotiation skills. With a bit of luck and the wind in my favor she’ll not choose something the length of a Bible. The moment I’m done with them I’m going to bed and I want the two of you to be there. Not completely wasted, if that’s an option, and most definitely not talking about pickled body parts.”

  “Is that an order, milady?”

  “Sure is.” She sighs and gets up. “I give you one hour, if you’ll last that long, then I want you at the house. Now I best go and deal with your brats. And yes, I blame you two for that.”